FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

>The parking lot seems suspicious.

>You were expecting it to be one of the garages that was squeezed between New Apple's few high rises, or one that was built into the lower levels of one at best.

>But this was a private surface lot, right by the building the email told you about. And most of all, it was clean, meaning it was safe.

>Relatively speaking, anyway.

>The receptionist-- a human guy, you note-- looks up at you when you walk in. He glances around quickly before greeting you.

>"Hey, man. You need something? Directions? A ride?"

>"I need a lawyer," you say, mirroring his informal tone, "and mine is apparently in this building."

>"Ahh, we have a few of those," he says with a sigh, tapping at a tablet. "You know your appointment?"

>"The email I got said it was now, with 'Ms. Friar.' Didn't say too much else, other than that she was going to be my Public Defender."

>"Public Defender?" the guy repeats, looking up at you with some surprise.

>You nod; you don't like the look on his face as he says "I see...", swiping at the screen.

>"Anon Anonerson?"

>"Yes."

>"Okay," he sighs, tapping one last time and handing you a card, "I let her know that you'll be up soon."

>He leans over the desk slightly as you look at the business card with the room number, lowering his voice as he glances around again.

>"But from one guy to another-- human guy, you know-- be careful. This whole office has a thing for younger dudes like us, but she's really, really bad about it."

>You believe it.

>"Got it, thanks for the head's up," you say, putting your hand out for a fist-bump.

>"What're you charged with?" he asks, completing the bump.

>"Courtship stuff and firearms, all of it bullshit."

>"Ahh... that kind of makes sense."

>You're about to say goodbye and head to the elevator, but something nags at you a little bit.

>"So, if the whole office wants to get in your pants," you ask, voice low, "why are you staying here?"

>"Pays good. Plus, I don't think they want to share me, so they gun for each other as much as me."

>You chuckle a little bit, thinking back to Monday.

>"I got a story for you, sometime-- but I should probably go. See you around, ---uh..."

>"Mikey" he supplies.

>You shoot him a thumbs-up before walking past to the elevator, hitting the button for floor 11. Your ride up is thankfully lonely, the other lawyers Mikey mentioned otherwise occupied.

>You hope that yours isn't; that work email yesterday was in fact about a temporary suspension from work, so you could technically wait here all day, but that sounds like asking for trouble.

>Fortunately, there's an answer when you knock on the door to Room 45, right near the end of the hall.

>"Come in!" the muffled voice says-- though something about it seems familiar.

>You open the door and immediately shade your eyes. The windows of the corner office are filled by the mid-morning sun, silhouetting the figure in front of them and their large desk with a blinding radiance.

>"Nice to see you again, Anon."

>...

>No fucking way.

>She hits a button, and shades begin to roll down the window, coating the room in a softer amber light, letting you see the smirking cougar standing behind the desk.

>You roll your eyes, cursing that fennec fox.

>"Was that for me?" Laura huffs teasingly, crossing her arms, "I might have to teach you some manners..."

>"No, no," you quickly say, pushing the exasperation down, "It's just... been a week of coincidences."

>"Do tell," she purrs, before gesturing to a chair. "Come on, sit."

>You do, getting a closer look at her and her workspace; it's clean, neat, and new, any decorations subdued. But you get the feeling that wood isn't cheap, nor is the sleek looking computer she has, and the single desk toy of a newton's cradle.

>The dark pantsuit she's in is as tight as you'd expect, just enough that it's tasteful and not porn-tier. Even though the neckline isn't plunging, you can tell she's packing some sizable curves in there.

>When she looks down at you for a moment, smile on her face, her glasses catching the light, you realize just how big she is. The ceilings have to be ten feet, and she's only two off from that.

>"So, go on, what was it that's made this a 'week of coincidences?'" she asks, taking a seat-- and still is looking down at you.

>"It's nothing," you sigh, "Nothing to do with the trial. Why don't we--"

>"No, go on," she urges, her tone warm, "I want my clients to feel... comfortable. Lawyers tend to be so cold, and impersonal-- I want to avoid that."

>The look in her eye says she's not going to drop it, so you sigh and comply.

>"I met someone else from the range earlier this week. Ran into them at a bar."

>"Oh, you drink?"

>Fuck

>"Yeah, occasionally," you say, but Laura's already up, striding over to a sleek cabinet.

>You swear those pants are going to split when she bends over, opening one of the doors and pulling out a decanter and a pair of glasses.

>"What's your poison?"

>"Whiskey."

>She hums as you hear the amber pouring.

>"I hope you don't mind scotch," she says, setting a tumbler in your hand.

>You don't think the lingering touch of her soft tail is any accident as she walks back around the desk, getting back into her chair.

>"...You're not ordinarily a public defender, are you?" you ask.

>"Not normally, no," she says, pulling something up on her computer, "every now and then I glance at the cases that need them, though. I was looking earlier this week, and saw your name-- lucky you."

>"Lucky me," you mutter, looking down at the tumbler. It's finely carved crystal, and the liquor inside is cold. You've had scotch a few times before, but you've got the feeling just from smelling this stuff that it's high quality.

>"Go on, take a drink," she says, taking a sip of her own glass. "I hope you don't mind your spirits chilled-- fur and a corner office makes things get hot in here fairly quick."

>You pick up the glass and nearly do as she says, but what Mikey said about her-- and what you know from personal experience-- makes you hesitate.

>"What, you think I spiked it?" she chuckles. "Give me a little more credit than that, Anon. Here, I'll prove it."

>She reaches over the desk and takes the tumbler from you, taking a sip before handing it back-- full of smeared, dark red lipstick.

>After a moment of trying to figure out how the hell she coated the rim with it, you look up and see her smirking expectantly. Your gut tells you that if you wipe it off, you might not be getting the best defense.

>...Well, the worst you could catch is a cold, right?

>You drink, a slight hint of cherry sticking to your lip, providing a slight reprieve to the earthy taste of the liquor. It's strong stuff, but you manage not to cough.

>"There, see? Nothing to worry about," she smiles. "Now, could you come over to this side of the desk? There's a few forms I have to read through with you, and I still haven't gotten myself a second display monitor."

>You roll your eyes out of sight this time, and this time it is at her. When you round the corner, rolling chair dragging quietly behind you, she does a double take and laughs.

>"Oh, don't worry about that-- you won't be able to see. Come'ere--"

>You're only able to make a small noise of complaint as Laura reaches over with one huge paw and pulls you closer, grabbing you with the other and lifting you bodily into her lap. She keeps her paws under your arms, adjusting you until you're settled firmly between her now-spread legs, your back pressed against her and your head now shaded by her bust as it presses down on you with just a little pressure.

>"There," she says, removing only one hand from you, the smile evident in her voice, "You can still see the screen, right?"

>"Why are you doing this?" you groan, refusing to set your hands down on her thighs.

>"Legally, I have to."

>When you let out a slight growl, she laughs.

>"Oh, did you mean us sharing this seat? Well, I wanted to be sure that you're comfortable-- no second chair tall enough, I'm afraid."

>Her tail slowly arcs around her hips, pressing itself against your hand.

>"You are comfortable, aren't you?"

>You open your mouth to say no, but stop.

>You can't deny that the position is rather... nice. She's soft, though her core provides some nice back support, the pantsuit made of silk. The fur of her tail is silky as well, cool in contrast to the distinctly-body-temperature heat she radiates everywhere else you touch-- save the base of your back, which feels like a furnace.

>Maybe just don't think about that part too hard...

>You sigh, leaning back into her a little.

>You don't know if it's the booze or cupid's meddling, but maybe you should relax. Live a little.

>"Yeah."

>"Good," she purrs, the rumble vibrating along your spine, "I told you, I want my clients to be comfortable. For their experience to be..."

>The paw that's still holding you shifts, going across to your opposite shoulder and squeezing slightly.

>"Personal."

>Laura is certainly true to her word, massaging you as she reads through the series of documents. It's a bunch of terms and tutorials, essentially, trying to get you to understand what it is that you've been charged with and how you can deal with it.

>Ordinarily your eyes would glaze over and you'd fall asleep-- and at times you still feel like you will, though not from boredom. That scotch was strong, and Laura is comfortable and warm.

>She manages to keep you awake throughout, though, thanks to plenty of squeezing, petting, purring, and even a few pokes of her claws.

>"All done," she says after who-knows how long. "Why don't we go over to my other chairs, away from this desk while we discuss your options? It's more comfortable there."

>"I'm pretty comfy already..." you hear yourself slur. You curse that fennec fox under your breath as the cougar chuckles, kneading your entire chest with a single paw.

>"That's nice, but I want to see your face," she says, "and, well..."

>Laura's paws cup her breasts, even her large paws struggling to contain them, lifting them slightly so that they bounce back down on the top your your head. She chuckles again, pushing her chair back and swiveling it from the desk, urging you out with a finger or two on the back.

>She guides you to a pair of large, pillowy-looking easy chairs, the Lay-Z-Kat logo stitched tastefully at the base of the arms.

>The cool leather almost makes you shiver from the contrast to your former spot, though the padding is close. Just a little too soft.

>"So, the easiest thing to do would be to get a Civil Union, of course" the cougar says as she plops down across from you, crossing her legs. "But I get the feeling that's not what you're looking for, correct?"

>You sit up a little, the padding making it a little difficult; Laura seems to be having none of the same problems, sitting up just like she was in the rolling chair at her desk.

>"What makes you say that?"

>"Well, you and Ms. Grilliz have been together for some time, correct? She seems smart enough not to let some bozo she'd just met help her around that range."

>You watch her carefully now, the comforts you were feeling earlier quickly fading away.

>"In my experience, Anon, two kinds of couples get courtships; ones that come from the sticks and want to follow a tradition for a little bit, and those that want to be absolutely sure that what they're signing up for-- for life-- is what they want."

>She looks back at you, her smug expression not faltering.

>"We... haven't talked about it, but I'm guessing not."

>"That's perfectly fine-- I don't know if I could get one myself," she says, readjusting herself, "The other thing we--"

>"Wait, you're not married?"

>She pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

>"No. Getting to where I am takes certain... sacrifices."

>There's a hint of emotion that she doesn't manage to hide; longing.

>"But that's quite alright, I prefer having a little bit of freedom. I don't blame either of you for waiting a while."

>The smug look reappears as she leans forward just slightly.

>"Now, onto the other thing we can do besides plead guilty-- I'm assuming you don't want that, correct?"

>You shake your head, and she nods knowingly.

>"What I will do, and what you can do to help, is find witnesses of the event, and your character. That 'Rebecca' person will likely be our best shot for retelling what actually occurred, but you'll need to help me with a list of people that can attest to your character and relationship. Add in a few evaluations from our specialist in Relationships and Evaluation law, and I think you stand a fair chance."

>Finally, it feels like the meeting with your lawyer has actually started. As you begin to think of who you could call upon, though, one of the things she said stands out.

>"I like that option;" you say, "who's the specialist in that relationship stuff?"

>The cougar chuckles, standing slowly.

>"Me."

>She moves slow, not quite the lightning-fast speed you've seen a few times from other cats. It's still fast enough that you can't dodge her as she pounces on top of you, sinking you deeper into the plush of the chair.

>"What in the fu--"

>"Shh," she says, putting a finger to your lips as her other paw cups your head, your entire torso pinned by her thighs as she sits on yours, "No sailor-mouth in my office."

>The snide remark doesn't shut you up; it's the slight poke of claws on your skull that do. She pulls your head close, enough that you can't see anything but the tawny fur of her exposed cleavage. She ignores your attempts to brace and move against the soft recliner, and sniffs your hair. She makes a slight humming noise, shifting slightly on your hips; a rough tongue drags across your forehead as you're tipped back slightly, the amber light letting you see just how deep the her bust goes.

>"Well, with how stiff you are," she says, sitting hard onto your lap and letting you pull back and pant, "and with what I can tell, I don't doubt your relationship with Talia is real."

>She plucks your hands from deep in the furniture's stuffing, and pulls them around her waist, pressing your face fully into that tawny opening now as she sinks your hands into an ass near as soft as the recliner.

>"...It doesn't have to be, though..." she purrs all around you, only pressing you tighter to her when you try to free your hands or your face.

>You realize that grinding on your member wasn't accidental now as she does it with more vigor, your hips heating up. You try again to slip your hands from her ass, pull your head back enough so that you're not taking in her (admittedly) alluring perfume as her breasts press up against your face, but she only pulls your arms tighter, pressing your face in further, grinding harder.

>"Come on," she purrs, "Give me a little something back, Anon... you like it, no arguing with a little fun..."

>After a few more seconds of struggling, swearing into her breasts, you give in, kneading at her rear. You feel her tremble, a small coo escaping her as she rubs herself against your hands.

>"That's it.... now just a quick kiss, sweetie."

>You kiss the tawny fur you're surrounded by; whatever she's got on tastes good too, like citrus. She lets you go with a sigh, shuffling backwards off of you as you gasp and back up, nearly sitting on the reclined back of the chair.

>That smug look contains a hint of lust, but it's not so attractive anymore. Not when you know the reason for the smug itself is that she's going to get away with what just happened.

>"So what're my real options?" you ask, letting the edge come through in your voice.

>"Why, exactly what I said," the cougar answers with a smirk. "I'm a specialist in Relationship and Eval law."

>You don't want to, but you believe her.

>She lets out another pleasured sigh and walks off, picking up the empty tumblers from her desk.

>"I think that does it for today," she says, wiping the coasters off, "Just call the number on my card, and we can set up those evaluations."

>You don't say a word, watching her sashay back to the liquor cabinet and bend over, her tail gliding over her rear slowly, teasingly.

>"Pleasure to work with you, Anon," she says when she hears you get up, not looking up from the cabinet.

>"Offer still stands," she purrs, just before you leave.

>You don't make the pit stop at the bathroom that you probably should, too wary of Laura's coworkers. When you reach the ground floor, Mikey nods knowingly at your state, and you sigh.

>You give yourself a few minutes when you reach the truck, letting the tent your pitching collapse and the liquor work itself away a little more.

>Was that dumb luck, like she said? Or was that damn fox at it again?

>Making you say you liked being in her lap was his work, clearly, but... did he set it up?

>You start up the truck, being careful as you pull out onto the city streets, traffic beginning to die down.

>Though, it doesn't stop the thought of continued freedom into your head.

>Or how being a well-off lawyer's plaything might not be all bad.