FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Americans...

You've half a mind to get a refund for your flight; they didn't' clap like seals when the plane touched down.

The pervasive smell of sweets and high-calorie fast food in the claustrophobic terminal somewhat makes up for the lack of an authentic 'American' experience. That and being caught up while customs tore through your luggage. They gave you suspicious looks when you said your visit was for pleasure, probably because your fake smile still needs work.

Truth be told, you'd rather not be here at all. You'd rather be back home making more money. But the company insisted on a mandatory vacation -- some new-age garbage about 'preventing employee burn-out.' At least they're paying for your airfare and hotel.

A glance at the clogged walkways around you makes you rethink your choice. Americans always go on about how enormous and sparse things are, but even at this late hour -- almost sunset -- there are humans and anthros everywhere. If it's anything to go off, your beachside stay is going to be a lot less quiet than you'd intended. You knew there'd be some since it's summer, but this many?

A shuffle breaks your stewing; the cow woman in front of you with the giant cow-print roller bag and backpack moves a few tiny steps forward, then begins taking long strides with an exasperated sigh of relief. You're grateful whatever holdup ahead is over too. The loose line of people passes by one of the airport's motorized baggage carts, one of its tires flat. Heads turn and feet slow to watch the blinking lights. You grit your teeth, grumble to yourself, and push on toward the baggage claim.

The bovine in front of you keeps a healthy distance thanks to her long legs, at the very least. You suppose it's worth being head-level with her rhinestone-encrusted ass. The 'jewelry' glitters in the light with every shift of her tight, skimpy jean-short things -- whatever they're called. You don't know how the hell she sat comfortably on them for her flight. The wobbling padding beneath the denim, you assume.

She breaks off when the two of you are down the escalator to the baggage area. You check your flight details again for where the shuttle will be. The hotel you picked has some kind of public transport that loops around the area, including the airport; for an extra fee, it picks up guests' luggage and brings it directly to their room. You didn't pack much, but if the company was forcing you on this trip, by God they were going to pay for convenience.

The air is humid when you step outside. Head and tail lights fill the nearby drop-off and pickup lanes with an amber glow. Engines, people, footsteps, and wheels echo around the overhang as you try to make sense of the shitty online map to find the bus lane. Things would be so much easier if they just had a train. You dodge the crowds and occasional officer, wandering the walkway for a landmark. It turns out there is no bus lane, just a drop-off and pickup point out on its own little concrete island. Ads for radio stations and politicians plaster the small plexiglass shelter.

The chattering coming from within is when you first feel truly in another country.

The large snowshoe cat and yellow-coated labrador pay you no mind when you round the corner. They continue talking and laughing about some show you've barely heard of, taking long sips from Bradly cups. You can't decide if the fruity smell is overzealous perfume or if they're secretly drinking cocktails. The only luggage they appear to have is a beach bag bulging with towels and snacks. It takes up no space on the bench, they do that all on their own. Combined with their outfits -- tight swimsuits that leave little to the imagination, covered hastily by tops and skirts obviously meant to be discarded -- you get the sense that they might be fresh off a flight.

You take another look down the road before leaning on one of the walls and adjusting your bags. The app said one of the shuttles would be by in minutes. You got lucky -- the route seems long, and there's only two other shuttles on the road. Not surprising with how little the country appreciates public transportation. It makes the cat and dog's presence here a little interesting, assuming the star-spangled spaghetti-strap top did indeed reflect their country of origin. A series of hushed, rushed, slightly slurred whispers and a belly laugh from the cat give you some idea.

The U.S. has some sort of law against public drunkenness, though, right? Surely that would still apply on public transport. Out of a combination of boredom and annoyance, you go to look it up. 'Public intoxication laws in --"

"HEATHER!"

You scramble to hold onto your phone through the sudden loud chorus, your unbalanced rollerbag clattering against the shelter wall and your annoyance finally boiling over to anger. When you turn to give them an earful, though, you're met with a wall of fur and flowing fabric.

"Ohh, it's so good to see you girl!" The dog says, squeezing the cat and the newcomer in their three-way hug. "How was the flight?"

"It was okay! A bit cramped, but you know --" a familiar voice giggles -- "when's that not the case?"

The other parts of the trio join in the laughter and tighten their holds with warm sighs. "It's good seeing you girls too," the newcomer adds. The group sways a second before one of them stiffens.

"Uh, guys?" The cat says, "I think there's, uh --"

Your gasp is nearly as loud as the anthros' when they separate.

"Oh shit we're so sorry!"

"Oh my God are you alright?"

"Oh no! Don't let him fall, don't let him fall!"

Hands grab at you while you push at thick thighs, finally free of midriffs and hips. Sweet smells stick to you even after they back away. The cat and dog seem impervious to your stink eye, their chests practically spilling from their half-buttoned shirts as they crouch down with expressions of extreme sympathy.

"Sorry dude, we didn't see you! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you alright? We hugged pretty hard."

"I-I'm fine," you manage, voice even.

"Good --" you turn around to see the cow woman from before looming over you -- "'cause the bus is here!"

You attempt to follow her eyes but find the view blocked by the lab's wide hips. She and the cat push against you as they look out with raised fur.

"Okay, okay -- Heather, you have all your stuff?" The cat asks.

"Yeah, did you two bring yours?"

"Yeah yeah yeah -- snacks and towels and toys and boo -- uh, drinks!" The dog replies. You're knocked into the plexiglass again when she goes back to the overstuffed beach bag to check.

"Anna!" The cat says, half scolding, half giggling. The canine's ears flop with an innocent look before she realizes what she did.

"Oh shit -- sorry again, dude!"

A heavy hand pulls you by the shoulder. "Here, why don't you stick by me and Ellie?" Heather says, pulling you out from the shelter. "Annabelle's always been the clumsiest."

"I am not!"

The cow and cat laugh while the dog stomps a foot, tail swishing from beneath her button-up.

"I'm not the one that -- that knocked over the fucking pineapple display, Ellouise!"

The cat's fur bristles. She gives a half-serious, slurred hiss before Heather bumps her with her hip. Ellie settles for a grumble as Annabelle turns back to the bench and bends down to double check the beach bag. "At least I don't knock people out with my tail," she mumbles.

Annabelle doesn't hear it over the approaching rumble of the bus. Her tail swishes above a billowing skirt, the upper curves of her rear and her swimsuit plain to see beneath it. It looks short with how chunky she is -- but you don't doubt it'd hurt getting whapped. The squeal of air breaks draws your attention; the scrolling LED sign on the windshield of the bus fills you with both relief and dread. You tighten your grip on your rolling bag.

"It's _he_re!" The cat yowls, "hurry up, Anna!"

"I'm going as fast as I can, bitch!"

"Then grab the bag, pussy!"

The two of them devolve into body-wracking snickers as the bus finally stops. The cow you've been pulled into lets out a loving yet exasperated sigh. Her hand leaves your shoulder when she turns to the opening doors.

"Hi! This is the A5, right?"

"Yup."

"Great!" She turns back to the shelter, right as you've slipped behind her. "C'mon, girls! This is us!"

You get another view of her rhinestone-encrusted ass a moment before you're practically pushed into it by Anna and Ellie. They scramble behind you, the latter's loose shirt flowing over your shoulders while they hum in excitement. The bus's suspension creaks when Heather steps through the opening doors; her ass rises higher as she takes a few more. You tighten your grip on your roller bag while she talks to the driver, fumbling for her ticket. Ellouise and Anna start doing the same behind you.

You're about to get your phone out when an otter catches your eye. He must've slipped out from some other door on the great American road beast.

"Are you staying at the Beachview Resort, sir?" He asks. "I can take those from you if you are, have them delivered to your room."

"Yes, that would be --"

A plush presence pushes you from behind. You stumble up the steps, your bag clattering against them below. Your phone once again narrowly escapes a tumble to the pavement.

"Oh shoot, sorry!" Ellie says, a trembling smile on her face. It remains when she thrusts her hips back into Annabelle. "Back off!"

You manage to scramble up before the lab returns the gesture with a playful growl and chest bump. Both of them giggle.

"Hey! You two!"

Your eyes bug out; Heather's cow-print bikini made you think she was bare beneath the low-cut crop top as she leans down to stick her head out the door.

"Did you think to ask if this is even his bus?"

The words draw your attention away from the swaying teats inches from your face. You look up at the cow, then back at the cat and dog duo. Slow recognition creeps across their faces.

"Well, uh, are you on this bus, dude?"

With a heavy sigh, you nod. "Yes," you say. Heather shifts out of the way when you hold your phone up to the driver's scanner. You're following her once again down the main aisle, eager to get out of the way of the other two. The slight reprieve lets you look around the vehicle: despite how big it is on the outside, the interior is cramped. Heather has to stoop, and her shoulders rub against the standing rails and luggage bins on each side. The heavy crowd on board probably doesn't help, though the driver has it the worst in their little box.

You can't imagine where the poor otter is supposed to go.

There's a laugh from up front as the vehicle lurches again. Heather turns, then backs herself into one of the handicapped spaces and sucks in her gut.

"Go on through," she says, voice slightly strained, "I don't want them falling over."

You grumble, but accept. Even with her ass pressed against the window, you still rub against her bare belly slipping by. Her chest hangs over you like some obscene awning. You tug your bag past; the rail above creaks when she relaxes with a sigh. Looking around, the raised seating area at the back seems to have the only open seats. You take the last set of stairs and get to stowing your things.

The burst of giggling from the front is dulled by the other passengers' conversations. In a small way, the trio that you met were more thoughtful. A man and a woman argue, while another couple makes out. Several people are playing videos on their phones, the volume rivaling the fennic in headphones that surely has hearing damage. You roll your eyes and flop down into one of the bench-like seats with a sigh. You're tired and wired at the same time, somewhat eager to make it to the resort. The bus stretches before you now that you're in back; it's true what they say. Everything is bigger here.

Especially the women.

The anthro trio continue to whisper and giggle amongst themselves. Their beach bag bumps along the seats as they make their way back, their hips and thighs doing the same. The other passengers are too absorbed in their own lives to care, dead to the world. The vibrations of their footfalls can be felt through the floor over the engine as the driver starts to shift gears. Your annoyance mounts as the cow, cat, and dog draw closer. You look away. They're loud, rude, inconsiderate, physical -- and half of them are wearing their flag as swimwear. The only way they could be more stereotypical is if they were waving around machine guns.

And yet, a shiver passes through you.

The carefree, relaxed attitude they exude, no strict standards that have to be upheld.

The concern that underlaid their actions, even in their buzz -- and in the cow's case, without it.

And the softness of their forms, the fullness of their curves -- they've got larger assets than you've ever seen at home.

You close your eyes and clench your fists. The jet lag is getting to you. There's no way you would --

"Hey -- do you mind if we squeeze in here?"

You look up to find them staring, lidded smiles still on their faces.

"There, uh, isn't any other room," Ellouise says. The chuckle she trails off into is echoed by the others.

"Okay," you say. They don't notice your eyes widen. You examine yourself as the trio arrange themselves; it clearly came out because you need to be polite. Obviously. Even to Americans. You reconsider your actions when you find yourself squeezed between Anna and Ellouise when they sit down. The three of you fill the bench seat almost completely -- though they do most of the work. Their thighs reach at least up to your ribs.

"You don't seem like you're from here," Anna asks, "did you come for the fourth?"

You're not sure where to look when you reply; you settle for your knees. "No. My company said I needed a vacation."

"Oh," Ellie says. "So you're like, not-from-this-country not from here."

"Yes."

"Well, you picked a great time!" You can feel the wiggle of Anna's tail through her hips. "There's going to be lots of action tonight! And even more since it's a weekend!"

"I flew back down here just to visit these two for it," Heather says. You notice she's still standing -- and so do her friends.

"Anna, move -- make room for Heather!"

The cat pushes the dog around you; you get a good whiff of her perfume as her arms slip past you to push at her friend. It's not particularly effective with Annabelle's size. She's not ceiling-scrapingly tall like the cow, but she's almost a head taller than Ellie. Their bulk is about the same, proportionally -- the labrador's retaliatory body-check lets you be very certain.

"It's fine, I'll just stand," Heather says, grabbing the bars on either side of the aisle. The other two anthros stop their bickering enough for you to actually watch her body sway with the bus.

"You sure? We could make room!" Annabelle asks. She presses toward the window: all it does is squish her thigh up higher.

"Someone's lap would have to be sat on," Ellie says, "and I don't think our little friend here would like that."

Your meager, stuttering "no" is lost beneath the women's laughter. You curl your toes and try to fight the blush. Annabelle is the first to speak when it dies down.

"Yeah, but what if --" she says, "What if he goes on top instead of bottom? Or -- or between?"

"Between?" The cat snorts, "What do you mean, 'between?' He's already between us!" She presses against you to emphasize her point, hips and love handles from them both riding up your torso.

"No no no, I mean like -- like between thighs!"

"He already is!"

"No -- shut up!"

The girls are laughing when Annabelle turns and gives Ellie a playful swat. You're forced to lean between them, the yellow lab's side-boob thumping your face. They don't seem aware that it's wobbling against you during their short slapfight.

"Let me show you instead of you talking!" the dog says when she finally disengages. You're still leaning into the feline's side when she grabs you with strong paws. She's already got you over her leg before you even think to protest.

"H-hey, wait!"

"Nah man, don't worry -- all it is is this!"

She spreads her legs beneath you and lets you drop between them. You're pulled back into her form before her thighs close around you tight. The paw on your chest presses tight as she wiggles her hips, giggling.

"There, like that," she says. "It's comfy, right?"

Your mind races; the lab's fat thighs are like the arms of an opulent recliner. Her stomach cushions your back and the very lower part of her chest parts around your head. A single arm lays across your chest in the world's most casual firm hug. Words come as easily as your movements -- that is, they don't come at all.

"But will it give Heather enough room?" Ellie asks. You catch the cow smiling down at you for a fraction of a second. Then the labrador moves again.

"Let's see," she says, lurching sideways. The arm across your chest pulls you tight to her undulating form, letting you feel every shift as she shimmies. Her thighs squeeze around your hips; her breasts bounce about your head. They nearly drop down to your shoulders when she stops with a huff.

"Okay, maybe not," the canine says, holding you against her as she turns, "but we can put the bag on the chair now!"

You can't see how much space the move has made, nor can you see the reactions of the other two women. Even with your placement pulling her hawaiian shirt tight, Annabelle's boobs are pretty good blinders. From the teasing rumbles, though, you assume the other two aren't impressed.

"No, no. See, putting him between your legs doesn't add any room," Ellie says. You feel her poke Anna's thigh. "It just lets you squeeze yours a little tighter. The only way we'll get more space is if someone sits on someone else's lap -- cause then their legs can actually be together."

Above you, Annabelle huffs. "Fine. Let me put him on top."

"No, let me," the cat says. "He's got to go on bottom -- if he's on top our thighs will just spread out again. And I'm lighter than you."

The labrador grumbles something about 'not being the one that breaks windowsills all the time,' then grabs you under the arms. You would protest, but your head is stuffed further into her cleavage when she lifts you from between her legs. It'd be rude to talk in a situation like that -- naturally. Unfortunately, Ellouise doesn't give you much time after touchdown. She's already flicked her skirt up with her tail, flashing her red and white bikini bottoms in your face as she bunches up the fabric.

"W-wait, I don't think --!"

The rest dissolves into a groan as she sits down hard. She may be the smallest among them, but she's still three heads taller than you -- and certainly more full figured.

"You don't think what?" The feline asks -- it's hard to tell if the purr is seductive or just part of her nature. She rubs herself on your lap, drawing out more groans and oofs as she adjusts. "It'll work, trust me!"

You don't know how much space she saves. All you know is that her thighs completely cover yours, her ass goes up to your nipples, and that she's very heavy -- and very soft. You splutter out a few words and work up the courage to try and push her off, but she catches your wrists as you go for her hips.

"Actually, if you do that," she says, pulling them tight around her waist, "it'll sort of be like a seatbelt."

You grunt into her back. Your further protests are further muffled as she leans into you with a sigh.

"Well, I certainly like it," she says; you can feel the rumble of her voice against your face.

Then she grinds a heavy circle that makes your toes curl.

"And I don't think he minds it either..."

Heat floods your face as the trio laughs, that creeping hardness plain to feel when buried under hundreds of pounds of booty. You almost appreciate being hidden behind the feline. Until she starts to purr and grind some more, that is -- though a certain part of you certainly still enjoys it. She tightens her grip on your wrists and pulls you further into her when you ball your fists.

"Yeah, he really doesn't mind it," she chuckles. There's a huskiness to her voice that deepens your embarrassment.

"Well, that may be, but there's no extra room for me," Heather says. "Let him up, Ellie."

The grinding stops and the cat pouts. "But you said you could just stand!"

"And you were the one that said he probably wouldn't like being sat on. Now get up."

The feline squeezes your arms one last time before lifting up and away. You take a deep breath for what feels like the first time in minutes, and flinch away when she sits heavily next to you. She smirks as her skirt flutters to rest.

"You've had a stiffie since we got on the bus," Heather says, drawing your attention back up to her. Even leaning down she looms over you, her arms spread wide to hang on the bars as she bends at the waist.

You have to drag your eyes up from her hanging cleavage to meet her sultry gaze.

"Figured you wouldn't mind if we helped you out with it."

Your face turns an even deeper shade of red. "I-it was a bit forward of you."

"Sorry, we're about action here."

Her chest bounces as the bus goes over a bump.

"But either way, it's still there," she says. "That mean you don't want some... help?"

"...no."

The cow's nostrils flare as she smiles. She looks up and nods behind you. "Girls?"

Anna and Ellie press tight; you're up on their legs and face-deep in Heather's chest before you can blink. They giggle at your muffled gasp, and giggle harder at the squeak you make when one of them cups your groin. Someone grabs your flailing hands and guides them up to the cow's hanging teats, chuckling all the while. The paw on your head pushes you deeper between them.

"Welcome to America's dairyland," the cow whispers; the cat and dog snicker.

"Heather, that was bad."

"Yeah, awful."

"Shut up and keep at it."

The two oblige, rubbing your cock and your face in the cow's tits. They let go of your wrists when you curl your fingers into her flesh. Heather sighs and leans into you, enveloping more of your head. You can feel every vibration, every shudder, every sway, from the bus, from her hum, from the rocking of her shoulders. A combination of weight and softness thwarts your attempts to move them -- though now, you're not entirely sure you're trying to resist.

"Go on, don't be shy," she says. "You can squeeze 'em."

A groan escapes you as you oblige, pushing at her breasts harder. You savor their feeling on your face, the way they shift when you nuzzle. She smells like grass and dew and a hint of sweat. The waves of motion eat away at your bodily presence, the world narrowing to the warmth of her chest and the throbbing between your legs and the claw-tipped paw roaming your chest. You press against them all, pulling her tits harder into your face. Your lips part -- her taste jolts through your head.

You suck on her thin fur instead of air.

Your digits curl and your lower half tightens.

You claw for her back to try and pull yourself deeper.

There's an explosion when you come.

Literally. You can feel it through Heather's breasts. She hums as she straightens up, Anna and Ellie's paws keeping you in place as the bus lurches forward to a stop. You press against their hands for one last, final throb before your back meets the seat.

"Perfect timing," the cow says, "this is our stop. C'mon!"

The sultry, low-energy cooing and purring of the cat and dog quickly give way when they hear the party's starting. You're left in a daze as they move, voices drowned out by the other passengers moving and the bus' speaker blathering on. To be honest, you probably need their help as they guide you out, chipper and paws firm. More explosions burst in the sky above, now dark. A massive beachfront is illuminated with each one. Hundreds of people and lawnchairs dot the sand while fires, grills, and tiki torches glow.

"Okay. This is it!"

You snap back down when Anna and Ellie let you go. The trio lean down with smiles and voices that cut through the dull roar of the crowd.

"We're gonna get going," Heather says. "Glad we could 'help' you!"

The others laugh. "Yeah, cutie -- come by any time!" Anna adds. Ellie nods in kind.

Their forms bounce as they straighten up, giving you finger waves. Fabric flows in the on-and-off dark when they turn.

You look around.

You don't see Beachview anywhere.

And your bags are back on the bus.

You look around, grit your teeth, curse, and follow after them into the fireworks.

Stupid sexy Americans…