FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Azera kept to the centre of the bazaar where the crowd was thickest. She ambled between burka-clad women without hurry, her own covering her from head to foot, the mesh screen across her face hiding her from the gaze of strange men by the stalls.

And from the guards.

There were many of the 'palace's finest' that she recognised, and many she didn't. It was an odd mix of her least-favorite patrol and a bunch of greenhorns the palace must have scraped off the last caravan to pass through from the desert.

A tall canine woman bumped an arm against her, her deep-blue burka long and flowing, and mumbled an apology in Arabic. Azera glared through her mesh visor and replied in her native Persian, deliberately, and side-stepped on through the crowd.

Spices brushed her nose from the stalls, and mixed with the scent of passers-by: saliva from panting tongues and hot fur trapped under dark fabric in the sun. She catalogued the guards one by one, noting the stalls they were keeping closest watch on, and narrowed her eyes at the figure standing by the most valuable stall by far.

Guard Captain Rasan gripped the edge of the jeweller's stall and surveyed the crowd. A squirrel like her, though that's where their similarity ended. He was a bigger, rougher, and far more common breed of Grey from southern lands of sweeping plains, while her smaller, slender breed of Red from the northern forests was nearly unknown here.

Rasan gazed into the crowd over his lifted chin with a leather gauntlet on his sheathed scimitar. Silver mail shone beneath his vestments of the king's red and orange colours. His large, bushy tail hung in the air behind him for balance, held away from him in this heat. His body was half-placed between the crowd and the dazzling array of cut gemstones and gold arrayed on the stall, the jeweller himself hunched over it with beady eyes darting for thieving paws.

Azera gritted her front buck teeth together. There would be no easy “shopping" today.

Rasan's glare swept the crowd over his bushy cheeks and caught her ambling between two taller feline women.

She fought the urge to freeze or dart forward behind the closest. Instead, she met his glare through the mesh and walked slow, casual, between the two women. More passed in the other direction and broke her sight of him. When they'd passed by his gaze had moved on, and she turned her attention back to the crowd.

Her bushy red tail pressed against her back with suffocating heat, stuffed under the burka, but it was worth it. If he'd caught sight of it, even a little, the entire patrol would be bearing down on her, and she'd be running for her nearest bolt-hole. There was only one red squirrel any of them knew.

Walking away from this with enough to leave this hellhole of a city required craft. Real craft.

Her craft. She watched the stalls closely. Going for something laid out directly on one of them would see her inevitably back in Rasan's claws. A shiver of self-doubt ran through her and a flash of the last time he'd caught her jarred her mind. The way she'd eventually come around to him, and… no. She pushed the memory away and focused on the crowd around her instead.

She wouldn't be going back to a quiet alleyway or his bedroom at the guardhouse. Not this time. Not ever again.

Taking her time, playing the part of a bored, too-hot housewife on her daily wander for water and bread, she ambled to one end of the market at the slow pace of the crowd. The market's main entrance lay ahead, an ornate stone gateway that opened on to the wide thoroughfare of Palace Street.

She hated Palace Street. Too open, too busy, too crawling with guards.

So she turned back and stuck to the market. The whole time she kept eyes on those who were actually spending, not just browsing, and picked out three marks to follow. A tall canine lady with a plain black burka and white-furred ears poking through, a feline with a finer deep green covering, and a shorter fennec fox with silver lace lining the edges of her large ear-coverings.

The white-furred woman was either too poor to afford ear-coverings or, Azera hoped, too important to bother covering all of her bare fur in the king's market. It was a bold move, bordering on scandalous, and many of the men loitering at the edge of the market stared at her as she shopped.

Those white ears were easy to track. The attention wasn't good for business though, so Azera kept her distance and focused more on the others. The green-covered feline shopped at a stand of coloured scent bottles, and the fennec lifted a pawful of star-anise up to examine them, the canine stall-owner in full flow of selling them to her.

She approached the other end of the market and the great stone columns of the king's courtyard. The vast courtyard was empty in the baking afternoon sun, so she joined a few others sheltering in the column's shade at the edge of the market for a while.

Her three marks barely moved, and her nerves frayed with more than just the heat.

A canine guard walked under the great pillars and waved at her group. He spoke first in Arabic: “No loitering," then clumsy and short in Persian. “Move. On with business."

Azera shuffled back towards the market among the others. Most moved away towards the fountains at the bottom of the courtyard though, and she found herself in a much thinner crowd than she'd have liked. Captain Rasan still stood by the jewellers stall and glanced over at her as she melded back into the narrow crowd between the two lines of stalls.

She shook the tingling tension off and focused on her marks. The feline by the scent bottles was still browsing, the Fennec by the fruit stall had bought her star anise. White-ears was much further along now and nearly out of sight. Azera swore under her breath.

She had to choose, and now.

Hesitating, but not long enough to fall out of step with those around her, she turned away from the two at the nearby stalls and made her way towards white-ears and the other end of the market.

Weaving between people without looking hurried required purpose, or the illusion of it. She was a housewife who needed something at that end of the market. She didn't care about reaching it quickly, she just wanted to get out of this hot burka before her husband got back from the brickmaker's yard and expected a meal.

White-ears strayed by a stall. Azera worked her way to the edge of the crowd and eyed the tall canine woman. It would just need a small bump, a brush-by in the right moment. Azera pretended to look over some bundles of parchment beside a few others until white-ears moved back into the crowd.

Now.

Azera followed. A group of women approached from the other direction, the crowd about to be its thickest, and she slipped forward into white-ear's back.

“Sorry," she breathed in Arabic, and side-stepped away from white-ears with the woman's fat, heavy purse clutched tight in a fold of her burka.

She kept her head down and trembled all over. The weight of coin alone in this! Her vision tunnelled in on the gaps in the crowd but she forced her steps slow, even, unhurried. Carefully, she let the purse roll out of her burka into a waiting paw, then snapped it underneath and clutched it close against her bare fur.

She fought to control the lightness in her chest, her shortness of breath, and wove through the crowd towards a narrow alley entrance behind one of the stalls.

“-Stolen, stolen!"

The woman's cries came from behind, and to Azera's shock, they were in Persian. Terror and adrenaline jolted through her, and she wove quicker between the tall, dark shapes of burkas. The unfamiliar tongue might take the guards a moment longer to hear.

“Guards, help!"

Now white-ears was shouting in Arabic, and that needed no translation.

The guards she could see burst from their posts at the edge of the market and into the crowd. Gauntleted paws grabbed or shoved people aside and shouts broke out around her.

She swore out loud this time – of course a purse this heavy had been missed!

Panic clawed deep in her chest. She kept moving and wove between a group of women who had turned their heads towards the noise behind.

Heavy steps and the grunts of women being pushed aside came from behind. A single glance through her mesh visor spotted chain-mail and grey fur, and Rasan's voice shouted over the crowd. “You, stop!"

Azera ducked and bolted.

A guard by the entrance spotted her and drew his scimitar.

The panic jolted through her and she let it flow like fuel. It carried her light feet over the compacted sand to the only clear escape route – the market's grand entrance. She bolted through the stone gateway before he could reach her and into the bustle of Palace Street. The burka dragged around her, flapping and rippling in the air, threatening to tangle her legs or catch underfoot.

She rushed out into the street's wide expanse and straight into a crowd of shawled migrants from the desert. Cries went up, she struck one with her shoulder and sent him spinning, and they shouted after her in Arabic. Chainmail rustled and guard boots pounded close in her wake.

“Grab her!"

Azera darted to one side and glanced back, expecting outstretched gauntlets, but Rasan and a half-dozen of his men were mired in the migrant group. She prepared to dart for an alleyway ahead, one she knew, one that would carry her quickly from this hive of guards.

It was just ahead. Smiling, the air whipping at her, she glanced back one last time, looked forward, and slammed full-body into a canine soldier's armoured chest.

He took the impact of her with barely a backward stagger. She yelped, stunned, and his arms snapped in around her, tangling her in the burka like a fabric cage.

Terror shot through her and she thrashed against him, but the tangle of fabric, her arms caught in the sleeves, the way it had wrapped around her legs-

Pounding steps caught up and more paws grabbed at her through the burka. They snatched at her head-cover, pulled it taught against her face, then tore the mesh visor away from her snout and eyes.

Rasan stared at her from a foot away, panting, and he dragged her head-cover back. It sparked in his eyes – instant, gloating, delight. A grin spread over his snout, one that sickened her stomach, and he tugged the cover off her red-furred head to leave her panting in horror at him.

“It's the squirrel," one of the guards by his side said.

“It's the captain's squirrel, ya mean," another said, starting to laugh.

Rasan gazed at her, caught his breath, and grinned. “Shame, isn't it," he said, never breaking eye contact with her, “that the thief got away."

The guards all started laughing.

Rasan grabbed her wrist and yanked the paw that held the purse up. “They dropped the goods, though." He waited, eyes boring into hers.

Azera couldn't fill her lungs. Her chest heaved against the canine gripping her. She let the purse go and it flopped to the dusty sand of the street.

Rasan nodded. He grabbed her arms, bound her wrists with a few turns of a rope from his belt, and pulled her close against his chest. “None of you saw anything." She couldn't see his grin now, but it was in his voice. “Just a little thief in a burka who got away. Like usual."

He pulled her away, staggering, and his men laughed behind him. A few paces in, he tugged the head cover back over her tall, distinctive red ears, then gripped her arms hard and marched her down towards the old, dark, empty part of town.

---

“Uff!" Azera's back hit the alley wall. She stumbled, covered her chest as best she could with her bound wrists, and glared at Rasan in a mix of fear, horror, and resignation.

He stood in the alleyway's only entrance. His broad, armoured figure blocked the dim light from the narrow, empty street outside. Her torn burka hung from his fist, and in the shadow of his outline, his bright eyes were alight with all of her bare, female fur.

She cowered in only a few thin scraps of linen, all she'd been able to afford for undergarments. They covered her breasts and groin and nothing more. She tried to hide her chest and pressed her legs together, her feet turned in, but this was a display only suited to a harem or a husband's bedchambers.

Rasan's breathing had deepened on the way, and now he huffed at her in open desire.

Her vulnerability, the terrifying need and lust in his gaze… Please, no, she thought.

“Azera," he breathed, as though tasting her name, the sound of the Persian different on his Arabic tongue. He grinned, ogled her from head to toe, and threw her burka behind him into the dark, empty little street. “Back again."

She flinched from his stare and pressed her back to the wall, as though a few extra inches of distance might delay what was coming.

“You keep getting caught." He stepped forward and caged her further into the tiny space. “On my watch."

Her breath shuddered in and out of her. Panic buzzed in her chest but she couldn't move.

There was nowhere to go.

“Lucky that we have a deal, mm?" His gauntlets slapped to the alleyway's dusty floor, followed by his colourful vestments and heavy chain-mail shirt. His voice rumbled with amusement, but with an undertone of threat. “Unless you want to give the hangman work."

Azera looked up over his bare, broad chest and thick arms. His muscles flexed as he moved and shivers ran through her – flashes of them taught against her, holding her, her cries of unwilling pleasure filling his guardhouse chamber. Her breath caught and more memories assaulted her; fighting to hold on to some dignity as he had her, the big grey male ploughing her slender red frame, then feeling him shudder in undeserved pleasure as he held her down and tried to seed her belly.

“I've been more than fair with a common thief like you." He unclipped his belt and nodded at the wooden crate beside her. “You know what you need to give me, girl." His breeches dropped to his ankles. “You know my price."

Panic gripped harder and she looked away, her arms tight to her chest, her knees trembling. It had been god's own grace that her belly had not filled with the grey's child, but now, on the fifth time she'll have given him this chance, something in her trembling body told her God's grace may soon run out.

He stepped closer and breathed the words soft, hushed, full of lust. “You know what I want."

She hung her head and stared at his bare feet in the sand only inches from hers. She'd handed him this, handed him her, on a platter. “Please." Her voice was weak in her ears, and she looked up at him through her hanging hair. “Don't seed me. Anything else."

His smile faded. “We have a deal."

She eyed his twitching malehood. “I'll get on my knees and suck it out of you, just please...?" her voice trailed off and she searched his stern face.

He grasped her shoulder and she shuddered. “Offer it to me, girl." He pushed her towards the crate. “Offer what you owe."

Azera caught his lust-heavy stare for a moment, then dropped her gaze away. She sniffed and tugged at her linen undergarments until they loosened and fell around her feet. Then, as bare as she'd been born, she put her bound paws on the crate, climbed onto it with her knees, let her feet dangle off the end, and lifted her bushy squirrel tail up.

A deep, audible huff left him.

Azera presented what he wanted, her tail lifted, her back arched, and offered the common, aggressive Grey another chance at the rare, vanishing bloodline of a Red.

He breathed deeper, took the two steps to her with his engorged lust bouncing before him, and grasped the round curves of her hindquarters in impatient greed.

She shuddered at that touch and looked away. Her bare breasts hung heavy below her and her hair obscured her vision, its messy ends brushing her nipples. Distant chirps of desert birds drifted through the silence from the street outside.

He drew his paws over her curves, his claws running light through her fur, and squeezed her trim, tight behind. He dragged his claws lightly through her fur and whispered, “So silky…" Then he grasped the root of her bushy tail, lifted it higher, and his fingers nudged between her folds.

“Nnn-" Azera closed her eyes and grimaced as he pushed two fingers into her.

He stroked them back and forth a few times, then up and down between her folds. “This keeps happening, doesn't it, girl?" He chuckled and pushed his fingers deeper. “Are you sure you aren't…" his weight leaned on her backside and his voice came far closer to her ear, “ …trying to get caught?"

She just kept her head bowed, eyes closed in humiliation.

He played with her most sensitive and intimate place, feeling her ass and splaying her folds around his fingers. “You want this," he rumbled, low and husky, “you want to be my concubine, raise my children." He sighed in delight and stroked her hindquarters in sweeping circular patterns. “Why else would you keep giving me this?"

“Please," she breathed and winced, sensitive, under his touch, “don't spill in me, anywhere else…"

“You should have thought." He grasped both sides of her ass and pushed solid, twitching male muscle between her now-parted folds. “Before you stole."

“Hahh!" Azera flinched lower on the crate and her tail twitched up, the first half of his girth pushed into her.

A deep sigh of pleasure left him and he sunk the rest into her in eager impatience.

She winced and took him in with reluctant practice. The guard captain's hot, textured length felt horribly familiar inside her now – as did the first traitorous brushes of pleasure as her petite Red's body quivered in delight around the bigger Grey.

He gripped her hindquarters, drew his length out of her to the tip, then sunk back in with a sigh. Rasan took her, breathed heavier, and fucked her offered bounty with groans and selfish gropes of her ass.

“Nnff-" Azera glimpsed him over her shoulder through her hanging hair. She let her bushy, fire-red tail settle back against him and draped it over his shoulder. He brushed his cheek against it and sniffed deep at her scent with closed eyes. An unmarried man twice her age – no wonder their 'deal' was such a treat for him.

His pace stayed steady and she bit her lip to stop humiliating little sounds from escaping. Sex was supposed to feel good, but why in God's name did it have to feel this good with a blackmailing bastard?

“Uhhff-" he lifted his head and closed his eyes, basking in the pleasure of her, his face scrunched as though pained. “Thief girl," he groaned, “ohh…"

Panic shot through the pleasure of his deep thrusts. He wouldn't last long; he rarely did the first time he took her after she'd been caught.

Her craft, her life, her body – they flashed before her eyes. Rasan's groans came loud behind her, his hard lust thrusting deep in her offered sex, her flat stomach and trim, quick hips ready to be forced outward and ruined by his unwanted child.

It would grow in her and feed on her. Her belly would swell until she couldn't run, couldn't steal – couldn't eat or survive. She'd have to crawl back to him, hold out her paws, and accept his shackles on her wrists for a bowl of food and a lifetime as his slave, concubine, and mother to the dozen or more children he'd take all the pleasure in giving her, then leaving her to carry, birth, and raise.

It all hit Azera at once. Her breathing went ragged in panic, but she couldn't escape. Her paws were still bound and he gripped her raised hindquarters in full, dominant control. His manhood plunged into her now wet and pleasured sex over and over, unimpeded, his seed-heavy balls swinging against her navel with every hit.

“ Hahh, please!" She looked back at him, her ample breasts bouncing and her long hair swaying with every muffled slap of his groin. “Don't, not in me…!"

His mouth opened and he groaned in overwhelmed feeling, taking her, basking in what she'd offered.

A matching moan welled from her and her cheeks stung under her fur in humiliation. She shuddered in building waves of ecstasy, her Red's instincts fooled by the Grey, her body blind to the threat his kind posed. Gazing back at him, she lifted her haunches higher in his grip, and yelped at his deeper, easier thrusts.

Rasan's eyes opened and filled with amazement. He drew a deep breath, ploughing her offered fertility, and slid a paw over her ass to take a full-fist grip of the root of her tail.

Panic surged through her pleasure. “Don't," she wailed, her voice fraying into desperation, “please, don't make me pregnant!"

A last glimpse of freedom flashed before Azera's eyes: her leaving the market with that white-eared dog's fat coin purse under her burka, her stomach still trim, her body still young, athletic, and slim. Buying a horse and supplies with some of that stolen money, pocketing the rest, and setting out into the rolling desert sands.

Rasan looked down into her eyes, pulled her tail up, and sunk his manhood as deep into her tight, wet female silk as he could get it. “Uhh-!"

Azera yelped, her hindquarters forced flush to his groin, the hard rod of his fully-hilted malehood throbbing inside her. She breathed quick in panic, her wide eyes fixed to him, disbelief and terror marring her pretty features. “NO!"

He threw his head back, groaned in ecstasy, and the warm pressure of his seed pulsed deep inside.

“Stop!" She tried to jerk her ass away but he just gripped her tail and ground his groin down to keep his throbbing, cumming cock exactly where it was. His balls pulsed tight against her navel, his solid length coursing inside her with seed.

His muscles jerked against her in spasm, the pleasure seeming to overwhelm him. “Lord, girl!"

“No…" Azera just hung her head and braced herself on the wooden crate, nowhere to go, no way to stop him, and gasped in unwanted pleasure as he ground against her and filled her. “ Ahhn…"

Rasan squeezed her tail and groped her ass as he came. He held himself inside, meaning to breed her, and his muscles twitched hard as the last thick spurts left the grey squirrel dick hilted in her young, nieve, red squirrel's embrace. He dissolved into loud, pained groans, shuddered against her, then slapped her ass.

Azera gave a soft yelp, sensitive around him, then let her head hang among her hair, its long ends reaching the crate between her braced, rope-bound paws. “No, no…"

He recovered slow, taking his time, groaning and enjoying his conquest. He began to slide back and forth in her a little as his groaning petered away to soft moans, drawing his pleasure out, her red squirrel sex tight and slick around the twitching, leaking grey.

“Ohhyyes," he breathed, words coming back to him through the pleasure, and he spanked her bare ass hard.

Azera yelped and flinched into his dreamy, pleasured gaze. He kept his still-hard loins in her, his groin thrust forward, his whole manner forcing this on her as though making a point.

The look in his eyes said everything. He was making a point. She was to feel his male control over her, literally, and accept she was the helpless female cowering on his dick.

Take my seed, woman, his smug smile said. Give me a child, and let me own you.

She let out a shudder of breath and looked away from that gaze before her own pleasure could show.

“That's a third of your debt," he said, still breathless and dazed, sliding back and forth in her. He groaned in feeling, enjoyed her a little longer, then winced and drew air between his teeth as he slid out.

A vulnerable little moan escaped her as his tip slipped from between her tight folds. The sudden absence of his long, hard length left her abdomen buzzing and her nearly-pleasured sex wanting. She stayed in the same position, ass up and tail lifted, her bound paws flat on the crate, her weight on her shoulders and knees.

“That?" He laughed and slapped her ass. “Is how you treat a woman."

Air shuddered out of her and she glared at him through her hair.

He spread her around two fingers and stroked up and down through her now-wet and intensely-sensitive pink folds.

She winced and the breath caught in her throat. “Nnff-"

“Your cunny knows how to treat a man." He drew his fingers out of her, then gave her folds a last stroke that brushed the tight nub at their apex. “Even if you don't."

Pleasure nipped from his touch and she shivered on the crate.

“Don't spill any," he said, patting her ass and stepping back. “You know the deal. You start showing, you come to me, and I'll-" his voice changed to carry that smug, awful smile, “-look after you."

Azera just breathed and felt like she was falling through the earth.

He began pulling his underclothes and armour back on. “If you come back to the barracks with me, right now?"

She slid off the crate and back to her own two feet. Her sore knees shook and she nearly stumbled, her legs weak, her bare breasts heaving as she panted for air.

Rasan pulled his last gauntlet on, then trapped her in the little alleyway in his full armour like he had before. His shadow blocked out the little light and only his eyes showed on his face. “I'll take your last two payments now, overnight. Just like before."

She lifted her bound wrists to hide her breasts and refused to look at him.

The metal rasp of him drawing his sword filled the alley.

Keeping her face aside, she lifted her bound wrists, the rope stretched taught between them, and held them out for him without looking.

His blade whistled, the rope between her paws sliced in two, and slipped off her wrists to the ground.

Azera wrapped her free arms around her breasts and lifted her hurt, silent glare to his eyes. She bent a knee and pressed her legs together to hide herself, but the damage had already been done.

The warmth he'd left inside her and the tingling between her legs was evidence enough of that.

“No?" His shadowed face moved in a smile. “I'll collect tomorrow, then. Be at the guardhouse at the change of shift, girl, or I'll have my men hunt you down, and you'll owe me double." He bent down, picked her crumpled, dusty burka off the ground, and tossed it over her bare feet. “Be on time? I'll be impatient."

She just stood and glared until he left. The first sob burst out of her when his footsteps had vanished away into the old city's silence. She covered half her face with a paw, walked to the crate, and pushed herself up to sitting on it.

Her tall ears stayed on the silence from the street for a while. Finally, satisfied she was safe when about to make herself so vulnerable, she lifted her feet to the crate's edge, spread her legs wide open, and parted her folds between two fingers. Next, she concentrated on the warm pressure he'd left inside her, and pushed.

A thick, murky-white wad of grey squirrel seed welled from her sex. More sobs burst from her at the sight and she covered her snout, her eyes damp, and pushed more of Rasan out of her until his seed rolled down her thighs and pooled around her ass.

When she donned the burka and made her way back to her bolt hole, it was with the raw stink of his seed-musk thick in her nose under the black fabric, and his warmth running down her legs. She'd sit later with her legs open and try to wash the seed out of herself with only a pail of water and linens, but part of her knew it was pointless.

So she just lay and tried to sleep, hungry, tired, and used.

The worst thing, though? It was the way she craved that feeling again – filled with his hot, throbbing lust, moaning helpless as he thrust it in her, bringing her closer to the mind-blowing climax he'd given her the last time she'd spent the night with him.

The way she'd… succumbed, after it. Given in. Just lay and let him, too dazed from the pleasure, and then as another climax had built… how she'd become eager. Crying out in her enjoyment, cumming on his dick, wanting him back like a whore. She'd held him inside with her legs in the end, even when he'd cried out in turn, and moaned for him as he'd spilled his seed in her.

Shivers raced through her. Her still too-sensitive folds itched for her fingers. She couldn't let it happen again. She couldn't succumb to him in his bed, hold him in, and let him take a step closer to owning her.

She was a whore now, though. His whore. He'd made her one to buy her own freedom. And until she paid her debt off, stole something valuable, and got out of here, he'd keep making her one, until she couldn't escape at all.