FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The days where Planet Express had no deliveries and nothing to do were few and far between, but they were very welcome. The dangers of delivering to every corner of the galaxy, no matter how secluded or barren, took its toll both mentally and physically. When there was nothing on the ticket, everything was delivered, and nobody was making any calls, Planet Express's intrepid employees could finally give themselves a well-deserved rest. They spent their evening in front of the TV in the employee lounge, sitting on the couch, drinking beers amidst a haze of cigar smoke courtesy of one curmudgeonly robot. They weren't much for unique discussion, but it beat getting themselves killed on some derelict rock in the middle of space. So, they sat where they were, mostly minding their own business, hoping desperately that the phone wouldn't ring or that the professor wouldn't come in with "good news" for everyone. Nobody noticed or stopped to think about the absence of one certain crew member.

Zoidberg was in the clinic, far away from everyone else. He wasn't so lucky to not have any work to do. He was sitting on the examining table, hunched over slightly, gripping the edge with his claws. Surrounding him were counters and cabinets chock-full of medical equipment and tools made to improve and protect the lives of his crewmates. None of that could help him at the moment. He was nude. His pinkish-red carapace was on full display. He was panting heavily through his mouth, wiggling the mouth tendrils hanging from his upper lip. The door was locked. He didn't want anyone to see what he was about to do.

Zoidberg's shell was segmented down his torso from his chest to his waist. As he arched his back forward, a thin split was forming between two segments, showing off the glistening wet flesh of his skin beneath. What was normally a split-second, painless process was now proving to be an exhausting challenge. The past week's workload had been incredibly burdensome, both on the Planet Express crew and on Zoidberg. He'd been so busy tending to everyone's health and wellbeing that he failed to pay attention to his own. His carapace had started to shrivel and shrink on him, warranting a molt, but he never had the time or privacy to do so. For a few days he'd been suffering inside of a mold far too small for his body. Cracks formed in his shell around random places, most precariously around his neck and skull. It felt like a badly peeled sunburn or an old scab was plastered across his body. He didn't make it anyone else's problem. Awkward man that he was, he was self-conscious of everyone's thoughts on his Decapodian body. He tried to keep his unsavory bodily functions as secret as he could, but some days were more discreet than others.

A day without any duties was a blessing, and he took advantage of it. He retreated into his clinic and immediately got to work. He took several deep breaths and grunted. He crunched his abs, bending his back to make the first split. No luck. He took a few more deep breaths before trying again. Nothing. He tried again, then again, then again, then again, until finally...

Crick!

The segment in the very middle of his back cracked apart briskly. A deep sigh broke out of him like a bodybuilder letting go of a giant weight. That split alone was intensely satisfying. For the first time in a long time he felt the cool kiss of air against his blubbery soft underskin. He wasn't done, though. Much of that nasty shell still stuck to him like sodden clothes. A shiver of revulsion billowed through him. He had to get rid of it, now.

He repeated the process of bending over sharply to widen the split in his back. The thin fissures in his shell deepened and spread like old leather being bent. Every jerk of his back was easier than the last, but he was far from being done. The split in his back widened and widened until another one beneath it split too. He exposed enough of himself to start pushing his body out of the shell. He reached back with his claw for his broken segments. He snipped one of the segments on his back in half. He pinched both halves and peeled it off his skin. It was like peeling the plastic off of a brand new computer, leaving behind a shiny surface one could see their face in. The segment came off and he threw it aside with an obvious degree of disgust. He split another segment and peeled it off, then another. Soon only the upper and bottom portions of his shell were left, covering him from the chest up and the waist down.

He scooted back onto the table and lied down on his back. He slid his thumb claw into the tight space between the shell and his skin. He snipped it and cut his way down what would've been the seam of his pants, down to his ankle. He did the same to the other side and peeled both sides of his bottom section off. Thick, stringy webs of slime were stretched between its underside and his wet pink skin. He shoved it off and it crumpled to the tile floor like a discarded plate of armor. He clipped off the shells on his feet then hopped down to the floor.

His underskin shined brightly under the fluorescent ceiling lights. With no bones to support himself, the flesh of his legs were supple and pliant. What would have been his shins looked ready to fold under the weight of his body, but remained firm. He leaned down and slid the side of his claw up his leg from his ankle to his thigh. A great chill zipped across his skin where his claw touched him, feeling like buzzing electricity. The slime of his skin built up along the serrated edge of his inner claw like scraping the grease off of a used pan with a knife. "Ahhhh..." A part of him wanted to sit down and take a break, just so he could continue enjoying the feel of his dense claw sliding across his skin, but he still had a job to do.

He bent forward all the way down at the waist like he was trying to touch his toes. He wriggled and writhed to get out of the remaining carapace, now looking much paler and more cracked. It slid off him gradually. The head piece slid off, caving into itself like a rubber mask with no head inside of it. It hit the floor and cracked into several pieces, leaving his head bare. There was a loud crack as the chest plate split right up the middle along his back and fell apart. He brushed it off with his claw. That left his arms the only parts of him still encased. He saved the easiest, if the messiest, part for last. He clipped his claws up his arm casing and ripped them off. With just his claws left, he bashed them on the table in front of him, cracking them into small shards and letting him shake them off like a latex glove still hanging on by a single finger.

"Ahhh! Finally!" he said in his signature, garbled voice. Out of pure reflex he gave his blubbery frame a nice shake, flopping every bit of soft flab that he had with a wet slopping noise. The air on his exposed skin was a pleasure he never took for granted. It was never not worth the struggle to tear off a bad mold. There was a saying on Decapod 10: "Clothes are a prison. Shells are too." The remains of his carapace were discarded across the floor like a shattered vase. It looked like someone had taken a porcelain mannequin of his likeness and thrown it off of a building. Molted shells were normally intact enough to put clothes on. There were occasions where people saw them and thought it was him. This time wasn't so neat. He made a note to remind himself to throw it in the dumpster the first chance he got.

He took a well deserved seat back on the table. It was topped by a black leather cushion which sank underneath his weight. He rubbed his naked claws across its surface, admiring its smoothness and the way it felt on his skin. Every sensation was amplified to an electric degree. The breeze of the AC chilled his slimy skin, putting him to what was a perpetual shiver of delight. Feeling his unsupported muscles mush into each other was both bizarre and splendid. His claw slid up his side up into the flabs of his chest. He rubbed it around, squelching the flesh around. His claw came up the side of his face, then into his mouth. He suckled it gently, wriggling his lip tentacles. The saline taste washed across his tongue and down his throat. The mucous coming off of him was like a viscous nectar. He pulled his claw out of his mouth and replaced it with his tentacles, suckling on each one individually.

He shook himself again. He felt high, almost. It was like removing a full body cast and being able to walk again. He got off the table and stretched his arms over his head. He bent his elbows out in front of him and twisted his torso back and forth. He touched his right claw to his left toe and then vice versa. He looked like he was getting ready for a race. In reality he was getting his muscles ready for the task of moving around without the support of his shell, something that would last until another one formed within the next day or two. Until then, it was going to take some effort getting from place to place.

At least now he could take time to relax. He resumed feeling himself up, unable to get over that lovely sensation of freedom and exposure. Inevitably his claws slid down to his cloaca, a puffy slit that sat between his thighs. The tip of his claw dipped inside. A jolt of electricity zipped up his spine as he touched the tip of his penis, still resting inside of him. That was all it took to get it moving, and he felt the blood begin to pump into it gradually.

He bit his lip tentacles as he felt himself growing erect. He stopped touching himself, but it was too late to stop the process now in motion. The tip of his cock peeked from his slit. It was a thin conical peak like a rose's thorn. It was a deep red color, a few shades darker than the rosy pink of his underskin. He took deep breaths to calm himself down, but the continuous brush of cold air along with the effort his muscles put in to keep himself standing made sure his penis kept on coming. He watched as it finally reached an apex, several inches ahead of his body. It was webbed through by an intricate series of thin veins. Running his length were several thicker, more colorful ones. His testes, buried deep inside of him, throbbed and ached painfully. A flow of precum made its way out of his tip.

"Oh boy... This won't go away anytime soon..." he lamented. Although the door was locked, it was at any moment someone could knock on it, asking him for something. He didn't mind working without a shell, but harboring a massive boner wasn't something he or anyone else would've been comfortable with. He knew it, but hated to admit it: there was only one sure fire way to get rid of it. He rubbed the back of his neck. Did he have time? Was it even OK to do such a thing at work? What would the profesor think if they found out?

But how would he find out? The clinic was Zoidberg's. There wasn't anything in there like a camera, as far as Zoidberg knew. And what if the professor found out? Hubert was his dearest friend. After decades of working together, there was hardly anything short of killing the old man that would've warranted him firing him. Hubert was a man of science, a practical one too. He would understand.

Zoidberg grabbed his penis gently. A tiny nip of pleasure echoed through it, making him shiver once more. Another glob of thickish precum dribbled out, plipping to the floor among the detritus of his molt. How hard was it going to be to clean up the mess? Hell, there already was one thanks to the mucous of his skin and the numerous pieces of his carapace. What was a single orgasm to all of that. He stroked himself slowly, garnering more and more precum. There was another spasm of flesh. His head fin sprouted up from his scalp like the proud crest of a cockatiel. That was the gesture of a Decapodian ready to mate.

"Oh, well," he murmured to himself. "Guess I have no choice~" He sat back down on the table. He leaned backwards, supporting himself on one claw. His tongue slid from his mouth and sifted across his lip tentacles. He curled his pliant claw around his shaft, gripping it like a human hand. This kind of dexterity was rare for him, available only after molts. He was loath not to use it. Up and down it went, schlicking quietly. He panted softly, trying his best to keep quiet. He was painfully aware of how loud the squelch of the mucous was. He hoped no one was outside his door.

He closed his eyes. The pleasure settled deep into his loins, sparking an intense heat across his body. The precum dribbled down his dick and accumulated around his fist. It came out of him in pumps synchronized with the lift of his claw. His toes curled. The first doleful sigh escaped his mouth. His mind flooded itself with images of beautiful Decapodian women. Those with slender carapaces, shy looking eyes, broad hips, and rotund buttocks. His fist became their womanhoods, gripping his cock with their feminine velvet. He heard them moan his name. Zoidberg... Zoidberg... Yes~ Zoidberg~

"Ahh..." He swooned his head back as the pleasure intensified. A few moans escaped him, defiant of his attempts to stifle them. He was aware of his workmates on the floor above him. Though there was almost an entire building between them he could sense their proximity as well as the fist around his cock. It was dangerous, but that made things more exciting. I'm masturbating while my coworkers are upstairs, totally clueless. Just the thought made his hearts beat faster and his stroking go harder. It was all so naughty. Soon images of himself having sex with women in his own clinic formed in his mind. There were other women there too, draping their claws on his chest and around his face while they each waited their turn to please themselves on his valorant manhood. They'd make out with each other and rub their moist cloacas while just one woman had the fortune of riding him. His name would be chanted on her lips. Zoidberg! Zoidberg! Yes! Oh God... Zoidberg!

His breath quickened. His claw started zooming up and down his cock, now utterly glazed with his precum. A great pressure was building, threatening to blow out of him with as much power as his body could muster. He couldn't hold back his moans anymore. His face contorted with delight. He was going to cum, and there was absolutely nothing that would stop him at this point. He reached the point of no return. "Huaaauuuhhhh~!" His jerking came to an abrupt stop. He gripped the very hilt of his dick as a sharp spurt of white nectar came rocketing out. It reached for the ceiling, fell just short, then hit the floor with an unceremonious splat. More followed as his penis throbbed and pumped heroically in his shaky grasp. His teeth gritted hard and his lips pulled back into a snarl. A terrible quake jiggled the flesh of his legs and buttocks, even after that wonderful orgasm faded away into nothing. The afterburn settled across his muscles. That was a release of bodily emotion he had been harboring for too long. It felt divine to finally let it go.

He gasped loudly once it was over. He nearly saw stars in his eyes once they opened. He looked down at himself and saw the atrocity he had created. Fat pearls of jizz were dotted across his lap. It continued to ooze from his cock, glazing down his fist and onto his hip. He sat upright and looked down to see even more of it spilled across the floor. The air now reeked of his cum, something pungent and heavy. He gave a worrisome tap on his chin. I hope this won't be too hard to clean up.

He let go of his penis, letting it slump downwards slowly. His hearts were still pounding in his chest and his breathing was deep. He had to take another breather. He got off the table and did a brief walk around. He thought about the harem of women he had imagined. How awful! What would his mother, God rest her soul, think of him? She was probably rolling in the ocean bank where she had mated with his father and promptly died.

With the post-nut clarity hitting hard, he looked down at his penis to see if it had retracted back inside of him already. It hadn't. It was hanging out of him and already working its way towards another erection. "What's the meaning of this nonsense?" he asked himself. He grabbed and shook it to maybe dissuade it from getting hard again. That just made things worse. He rubbed his claw over his head and noticed that his mating crest still wasn't going down. The message his body was giving him was clear: You ain't done yet.

"Oy vey..." he groaned. "I swear, even my body shows me no respect." He hardly had any choice. He grabbed his cock again and jerked it until it was erect once more. He returned to the table, this time lying down on his back. He bent his knees and gripped his cock with both paws. With more and more precum oozing out, he thrusted his hips upwards, pumping his cock into his two open fists. He repeated this again and again, clenching his flabby buttocks hard. He grunted with the effort, earning a heavier dose of sweat along with the slime slicked across his skin.

His imagination went back to the Decapodian women. They were draped around him, kissing his shoulders, grinding at his sides, moaning desperately as they watched one girl get impaled on his cock, the size of which they were all impressed by. Zoidberg gasped and grunted, no longer bothering himself with the thought of someone listening from outside the door. His body was thrown into a flurry of hormones driving the piston of his cock into his open fists. Moans hissed through his mouth. "Hahhhh... Uhhhhh... Huhhh... Huhhh... Uhhhhh~ Nnnf.... Hah..." The woman in his mind, a stunning example of arthropod beauty, cried out zealously. She came again and again, begging for him to bless her with the bounty of his seed. He tried and tried to give it to her, throwing every ounce of his power into each manly thrust as yet another climax charged forward.

It hit him even harder than the last, causing him to rocket his hips skyward and throw his entire body into an arch. "Hhhhhhhnnngggh~~~!!!" Another geyser shot free of his cock, this time succeeding in its journey to the ceiling. It plummeted back down onto his chest and belly, joining the bodily froth of fluids now soaked on his skin and the table. There came another spurt, then another, then another, until finally all that he could muster were a few dribbles of ivory slime. He stroked himself throughout the entire climax, drawing out its intensity and duration for everything it was worth.

His back fell back down to the table with a loud, wet slap. His claws slid off of his now sagging cock and down to his sides. His cum felt warm on his chest where it had splattered itself chaotically. His chest rose with each deep inhale. He looked drunk, and he certainly felt it. His eyes came into focus, and he saw the single spot of cum where he had hit the ceiling. Wow. I didn't know I had it in me. He lifted his paws back up to his belly. A pleasant lethargy had settled in his muscles. His claws slid up and down his bloated form, around his belly, between his man boobs, over his neck, back down his sides, and finally to his crotch.

He grabbed his penis again. After two such explosive orgasms it ached severely, yet he could still feel the potential for another lurking towards the surface. He felt his scalp. Yup. His crest was still protracted fully. His body wasn't done with him, not yet. At this point he no longer minded. The damage had been done to the clinic, anyone who might've heard probably already had, and he'd thrown himself into such a promiscuous mood that there wasn't anything he could do to pull himself out of it.

Well... there was, but was he really about to masturbate a third time?

Of course he was! But first he had to make himself hard again. His cock was wilted over on his hip. It was down, but not out. He gripped it with one claw and stroked it some more. Naturally, it didn't go springing back into an erection as quickly as he hoped it would. It was going to require some added coercion. He knew just the trick. He turned over onto his left side, exposing his backside. With his left claw still wrapped around his penis, he reached behind himself and reached into the crevice of his buttocks. He lifted one haunch, revealing his tiny pink star as it sat within the very center of his fleshy canyon. His claw slithered down into it. He nudged it gingerly, instantly garnering a very small bolt of excitement that made his flaccid cock jump as it flexed. He giggled to himself, and slid the tip of his claw in. His pucker distended and clung to it tightly. The first inklings of delight were already crackling as he inched his claw closer and closer to his prostate. He made contact, and pure bliss blossomed across his loins.

"Ohh..." Both claws went to work to stimulate him. One drifted back and forth across his slowly hardening shaft at an enervated tempo while the other swirled, dug, and twisted itself around his tight walls. He bit on his lip tentacles. This was a type of pleasure he hardly ever indulged himself in. When he did, he made sure to make the best of it. He rolled his claw around that sweet spot of his. His eyes lolled around in their sockets lazily, nearly uncoupling from one another. Dabs of precum spit from his cock with each flex of his finger. His penis was already halfway to full staff. It wouldn't be much longer, but he certainly wouldn't have minded it taking its time.

Soon his cock was as hard as it had ever been, ready to release yet another serving of his cum. Instead of stroking it, he focused on fingering himself. He slid his finger deeper and deeper still, inflating that sharp sensation of joy to a point that the first submissive moan ebbed through his lips. He blushed hard. That wasn't a noise he was used to making. He wasn't quite sure if he was comfortable with himself making it, but it hardly dissuaded him from continuing. Round and round his finger went, generating more and more soft gasps and throaty moans from him.

It was too good. He had to do more.

He popped his finger free and got off of the table. He hustled to the cabinets on the wall and opened one. Inside of it was various medical equipment. They were sharp, brightly reflective metal instruments that looked capable of torturing someone. It wasn't what he wanted. He sidestepped to the next one and opened it. Still no luck. He moved on to the next one, then the next one, then the next one. "Bah!" he spat every time he opened one and didn't see what he was looking for. It's got to be in here. I know it is.

He came to the very last cabinet, just as the last shred of his hope was waning, and opened it. There it was, front and center, looking back at him as if saying Hey there! Looking for me? He thrust his claws into the air victoriously. "Hooray!" He reached up into the cabinet and carefully retrieved that holy item. It was a camera, although it certainly didn't look like one. It was a long cylinder made of purple silicone. On its tip was a small camera lens, although Zoiberg currently had no plans on using it. It was a rectal device for colonoscopies, but it also had... other uses.

He cradled it in his arms like a child. Behind where it was in the cabinet was a plastic jar of blue jelly lubricant. He grabbed it too and closed all of the cabinets. He sat back down at the table and placed the jar down next to him. He popped the lid and scooped up a small amount of jelly. He lathered it on the phallic camera, which was now, for all intents and purposes, a full-fledged dildo. He coated it from tip to base, priming it for insertion. His cock flexed with giddy anticipation. He crawled all the way onto the table and turned onto his belly. He got on his knees and lied on his collar with his ass lifted into the air. He brought the dildo up between his thighs and lined the tip with his pucker. Dense silicone met soft, moist flesh. Yet another shiver billowed through him. He pressed it harder until his sphincter dilated and swallowed it.

"Ahh..." Down and down it went. He felt it glance across the sponge of his prostate, eliciting yet more precum out of his cock which he resumed stroking. He absorbed the dildo up to its base. He could feel his flesh swell around it, buzzing his loins with an ethereal tingle. He drew it back up to the tip then slid it back down. "Ohh... Ah... Ohh..." Thus began a steady process of thrusts and strokes, both of which came at an even pace. He couldn't fight the moans back. The belted out of his mouth in utter disregard to his thought or control. They rang through the examining room with no regard for their volume, or who might have been listening. He flat out didn't care any more.

The pace quickened, the pleasure sharpened. It rippled down from his penetrated behind down into the head of his cock, burning hot like embers. The paw on his cock pistoned back and forth into a full on jerk. His expression twisted erratically from what looked like agony to sorrow. Nothing could've been further from reality as moans most bombastic belted from his mouth. In his mind the beautiful Decapodian women he had been railing were now taking their turns on him with a strap on, fucking the ever living hell out of him out of some lewd revenge. He felt every ounce of their power and love, no matter how imagined. Soon his third orgasm was on the approach, hotter and more fierce than either of the two previous. The pitch of his voice rose into something feminine, then shrill, then a raw wail.

It all crashed into a guttural groan once it hit him. "HUUUUUGGGGGGGHUUUHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~~~!!!" His hips bucked hard as his cock erupted with its usual gusto. Cum struck the table just beneath his chest. His buttocks clenched around that phallus, now buried to the hilt in his ass. It wasn't long before all strength left him, and his body collapsed to the table, all the while his climax still ripped out of him. He bounced and writhed there, gasping and whimpering like a slut. The dildo slid out from his hole and plopped nastily between his thighs. It was never made for that, but it had done a stellar job.

John A. Zoidberg was an absolute wreck, as was the room around him. The air was saturated with sexual aftermath, purely his. His carapace remained discarded on the floor as did flecks of his drying cum. The table was utterly defiled with his slime, slick around every corner and edge. There he was, right in the middle of it, the source of it all, panting and whimpering softly. Eventually a small chuckle rose out of him. "Ahhhh... Well! That was a blast. Ah..."

He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a very satisfied smile on his face. His entire musculature resonated with ecstasy, something he didn't think would leave him until the next day or two. His claws swam around his gelatinous belly. He loved the feeling of being so free and flexible. The greatest shame was that his shell would grow back. He sat up and looked around. Very suddenly, as the high of his orgasms began to fade, he realized just how badly he had left the place. His head darted around as he spotted one mess after another, none of which he could let a single person see. He scratched the back of his head guiltily.

"Well, I guess I have a lot of cleaning up to do..."

* * *

Scruffy, the janitor, was in the middle of a lewd act of his own. He was in the janitor's quarters, kicked back in a chair, perusing a titty magazine. He scratched his thick, white mustache while enjoying the triple-pair of breasts on a particularly beautiful alien. He was waiting for everyone upstairs to finish watching TV in the breakroom so he could go up and clean. The rest of his work was already done for the day.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," he mumbled in a deep, gruffy voice.

The door slid open vertically to reveal Zoidberg, wearing a towel around his waist. "Greetings, fellow employee! Salutations! How are you on this fine day?"

Scruffy didn't even look up at him. He turned the page on his magazine. "What do you need, Zoidberg?"

Zoidberg put his paws behind his back. "Well, I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to lend me some of your cleaning supplies, to ease the burden of your load, since you're working so hard," he said to the janitor who was busy determining which of the two girls in front of him had a nicer ass.

Scruffy nodded his head over to the mop bucket only a few feet away. "Help yourself."

"Wonderful! I'm so incredibly grateful! You have no idea how much I am in your debt."

Scruffy sniffed. "Yup."

Zoidberg walked inside and grabbed the bucket. "Thanks again, my friend. I'll be sure to repay you in the future however I can."

"Yup."

"Thanks, again." With that, Zoidberg rolled out of the closet with the bucket, and the door closed behind him.

Scruffy sniffed again, scratched his nose, and turned the page on his magazine. "Weirdo."

THE END