FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Ohhai everyone, I wish I had a lot to say to explain why it took so long to write this, but, well, I don't. The reason being I suck. HOWEVER, the sex scene was intentionally written to be very long in this in the hopes of attracting critics. I've been here long enough, I know that if a story doesn't have a lot of sex then it doesn't get views. I don't do well with straight sex scenes, and I had to do some research on this. The research went pretty badly as well. XP I'd like to thank Lucien as always for proofing and helping out when needed. So, I hope you enjoy this story. It's going to be a multi-part story, so don't feel too bad about the ending, like I did. ._. Characters are copyright me, and you should not view this unless you're of age in whatever place you live. Or just don't care about laws. Comments are appreciated. As a side note, this entire story was based on one event, which was inspired by misheard lyrics of a song. A million points to the person who guesses what that song is. As another side note, apparently F/M isn't an appropriate gender tag, but M/F is. Fuck that, that needs to be fixed.

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"...And what all did you learn at school today, honey?"   My mother always made note to ask this of me every weekday. Like clockwork she would greet me at the door, help me remove my backpack, scoop me up into her arms and kiss my neck, where I was ticklish. I squirmed in her arms, giggling like the silly schoolgirl that I was, not a care in the world aside from what we were having for dinner. Tiring of this quickly like the tabloids quickly tire of reporting a celebrity breakup, she would put me down and inquire about my day. "Oh, nuthin'!" I would reply every day, which obviously could not be the case every day, but that answer seemed to satisfy my mother's maternal instinct to know what her child was up to when not within sight. She shuffled on her feet, "Uh huuuuuuh..." she would always tease, winking, "Well, go see your father. He's home early today." My eyes lit up, and I looked up at her, "Really!? For really!?" I asked, fumbling for my backpack, just out of reach. "For really," my mother affirmed, her paw now atop my head, ruffling my headfur, "Now go on, you little scamp!"   "Yaaaay, daaaaddddy!" I exclaimed, immediately bolting from the entryway, down the hall, and grabbing onto the wooden archway into the living room so as to turn easier. I was always scolded for that later, and one of these days, I was told, I would fall right on my bum. My father sat on the couch, his head tilted, resting on his paw, his arm on the piece of leather furniture. Still in his work clothes, a three piece suit, he watched as I pounced onto the couch next to him before crawling into his arms. Anyone who saw us all would have likely thought us the ideal fox family, and they most certainly would have been correct. My grades could have been better, and I didn't have that pony I pouted for on a regular basis, but we were all very happy. "Heya squirt! How's my little princess? Did you have fun at school today? Knockin' those boys out?" he asked, hardly taking a breath as he strung as many questions together as possible. "Heehee, no daddy! Boys are icky, I beat 'em up with a ruler!" I giggled, "School's never fun, I'm so bored!"   At this my father laughed, wrapping his arms tightly around me, pulling my muzzle into his chest. The scent truly reminded me of home, and many nights I simply could not sleep without getting at least one whiff of it, as though I was a dependent drug addict, "Well, don't beat them up too hard. And a princess needs to be refined," he pondered for a moment, stroking my hair, then added, his tone becoming much darker, "If you're bored, we can stick you in a harder class. You won't have the luxury of being bored!" "Daaaaaddy, that's no fun at all!" I wriggled in his arms, smiling all the while, "You're mean!" "Just lookin' out for you honey," he cooed, planting a wet kiss on my forehead. He picked me up and plopped me on his knee, bouncing his leg up and down, something he probably learned from a parenting course, or from some nosy relative who had had a million kids, "Now, go upstairs and get your brother. Supper will be ready soon, so I hope you're both hungry!" "Are we having -" I began to ask as I jumped down from his knee, already rushing toward the door.   "Yes, we are. Your favourite!" He sounded far more excited than even I. I wondered why that was always the case. My eyes lit up once more, and as I bound through the doorway, I heard myself yell, "Yeeaaaaah, awesome!" The house we lived in was large, and well furnished. Compared to many other families in the area that we knew we were quite well off, and I was told I should be grateful. That's not a term a seven-year-old can wrap her head around, and it wasn't until much later until I could even begin to comprehend how lucky I was. Most did not even come close to living as comfortably as we did, but that was not for me to know at the time. I crawled up the stairs as quickly as my appendages would carry me. It was no mean feat for someone of my stature, to be sure, but I always did it and made no show of it. Down the hall I practically flew, my socks offering no traction on the freshly polished hardwood floors. I had to grab a hold of my brother's doorframe to keep from sliding past his room. "...Hey Jess, what did mommy and daddy say about running through the house?" He greeted in his usual teasing way.   My brother's name is James. Since our father was often at work until late at night, my brother saw fit to stand in as the man of the house, even though he was only thirteen. Still, he had that same kindness as our parents, and knew when to be firm. Anything he did was usually for my well-being, I knew that, and while I always appreciated that, he could sometimes be a right pain in the tookus. "...Um...not to?" I grinned sheepishly, knowing full well I was about to be berated. James sighed, hopping to his feet from his bed, his tail flicking in consternation, and made his way to his doorway where I still clung to the door frame, "Yes, that's right Jessiepoo. Try not to, alright?" He ruffled my hair and, placing his paw atop mine, loosened my grip on the wood. It took a moment to extract my claws from it, and when it did a noticeable mark remained, "Oh, now we'll have to get that fixed...Well, what did you want, squirt? Can't be for nothing that you ruined my door." I pouted, crossing my arms, "I didn't ruin it! Meanie! Maybe I shouldn't tell you we're having pizza for dinner tonight!" I paused after saying this, seeing James begin to smirk, and realized what I had just said, "...Oh poop!"   "Haha, silly..." He moved his paw, which was inspecting the damage from my barreling down the hall, and poked my nose with his fingertip, "Besides, you can smell it right through the house! I was going to be down in a few minutes, you know." "Oh, alright..." I deflated from my puffed-up and indignant stance, smiling weakly, "It should be ready soon, then?" Pacing his room briefly, James replied, "I think so. Let's go check." "Okies!" I almost yelled, rocking loosely on the balls of my heels. "And no running this time!" jeered James, now making to leave his room, "If ya get hurt we'll have to take you to the hospital, and it's really hard to get pizza in there." "Awww, boo..." I sighed, though not without a smile on my maw, "Fiiiiiiiiiine, I'll be careful." Day in and day out these were the sorts of pleasantries I became so familiar with. I was truly fortunate for living such a life, and every day I become more and more aware of just how fortunate I was. There were numerous people in the world, dropping and dying in the streets, as if in a totally different world than my own, one I was not even aware existed. I was blessed, living a life like that...it was like living in a dream, the kind that your mind creates right before you die to ease your soul into the coming oblivion.   That seems as fitting a way as any to describe the chain of events following the murder. My mother was a kind, loving soul. Why anyone would go out of their way to return her to the earth I have no idea. Or rather, I had no idea at the time. Someone taking the life another...I saw no reason for it. Even now, years later I see no logical reason behind it other than sheer stupidity and greed. To this day I don't know why my mother had to die, but I know the cause can likely be attributed to one of those two things. I was eleven when it had happened, still in my own little shut off world, free from outside influence that wasn't on daytime and evening television shows. That night my father came home, totally devastated, and gathered my brother and I in the living room. Both he and I sat there as we watched him weep uncontrollably for what felt like hours. It probably really did take him that long to pull himself together long enough to tell us that mother was not coming home that night. My father then sent me away to speak with my brother privately, who was then seventeen. I can only imagine that he was telling him the details of the murder, and would tell me when I was older, and had a firm grasp of the concept of death. Up until then I thought death was only something that happened to pets, and that people were permanent fixtures in the world, one of the few constants. Now I can hardly believe I ever thought that way.   Time is supposed to heal all wounds, they say, but I can assure you that anyone telling you that is lying. It heals some wounds to be sure, but others, well...They fester, become infected, and rot away the body. That's the only way I can describe what happened to my father after that night. He lost all of his motivation, turned to drinking and, eventually, lost his job. Still oblivious as to why this soul-crushing change in our lives had happened, I picked up the slack and did whatever chores my mother normally took care of. This would be enough tragedy for anyone to deal with, I only wish that that were the end of it. We had enough money to last us for a few years were we to live modestly. That is, until my father drank it all away. Soon we were getting nasty calls from collection agencies, and every night we would feast on macaroni and cheese. What I learned from this whole ordeal: never mix Spam and Kraft Dinner unless you have no plans for the night and have no qualms spending it in the washroom. The carefree life I had known and grown up with had been dashed on the rocks of despair. I was sad about how things were, but I knew no better and continued to plug along until things changed.   And change they did, when I was twelve, though I cannot say it was for the best. My brother, in all this, had taken up a part-time job to help support us, but our father would spend most of the money on booze, as we had come to expect by then. Though he had become violent over the past months, my brother still took care of me will all the love our mother would have. Now every day I would look forward to my brother coming home from work every night. Aside from our father we were like a nice little makeshift family. I was stupid for hoping even that would last, however. One Winter night I snuck into his room, which was moved to the first floor, waiting for him to return. My plan was to jump out of his closet and surprise him with some cookies I had baked from scratch earlier that day. I was so proud of my work, and proud of my brother for all he had done for our family. Being the little homemaker I was, I thought it my duty to cheer him on as best I could. Even a simple sign of affection such as this would do wonders for his morale, I was sure.   Waiting with baited breath until the time he usually got home, I stole impatient glances at my wrist watch, my tail flicking back and forth in anticipation. Five minutes late, then ten minutes, which turned into fifteen minutes. My enthusiasm faded, and I sat on the floor of the cramped compartment, my ears flat against my head. He normally was not late, and if he was he would call. He always made sure of that, which left me wondering just what had happened to him. Finally I heard the front door open, then slam shut, I got to my feet and looked through the crack in the door, expecting him to eventually make his way to his room. He made no attempt to look for me, however, and instead barreled down the hall, and into his room. It was dark, the only source of light a small nightlight, which was given to him by our mother. He stood, doubled over and panting in the middle of his room. I wanted to wait for him to catch his breath, it seemed like he hurried back, probably so as not to worry me. That was my brother for you, always considerate. I paused and watched intently as his breathing returned to normal, the plate of cookies in my paws nearly forgotten, becoming more stale by the second.   He then made his way to his window, and made to open it. Just as he was about to, however, sudden flashes of light, as though from a torch broke the darkness of the room, making James scream in a way I had never heard anyone do so before. It truly frightened me, and I thought it best to come out of my hiding place and see what was the matter. Twenty-twenty hindsight, now I know that I should've stayed in that damn closet. "Um...Jay..." I started, opening the door slowly and entering the room proper, "I-I made you some cookies..." Immediately he turned to face me, an object in his paw I couldn't make out, held next to his head. It felt as though Father Time had grown weary of moving his charge forward, causing an instant to feel like an eternity as I watched the last moments of my beloved brother's life, a scene I play again over and over in my head involuntarily, a wretched curse, somehow my most vivid memory of him. I squinted to make out his face and what it was in his paw when a flash of light fell across him. His eyes...My God, his eyes projected the purest form of sheer terror, more animated, more real than anything one can find on television or in film. His maw somewhat agape, his fur was matted down here and there with perspiration, which filled the room with the powerful scent one could only attribute to dread.   His clothes were torn, and his other arm hung limply at his side. Really, he looked pitiful. Truly pitiful. It pained me to see him this way, it almost made me feel just as bad as he looked. I would have loved to have taken him in my arms, told him everything would be alright even if it would be a lie, feed him his cookies and a bit of milk... The object in his paw, still unidentified, I heard James whimper pathetically, tears now mingling with the sweat on his cheeks. In that moment, I thought I heard him say something, but I'll never know, for in that next instant, the flashlight still on his head, the item pointed to his head exploded in a flash of white, framed by yellow, and the light that before rested on his head now rested on a stump, spurting with blood. The torchlight retreated, and the ringing in my ears from the explosion was pierced by the splintering of glass, a cacophony of voices and, loudest of all, my screaming. Following that was the thud of my brother's body hitting the floor, like a firm paw slapping a textbook for a particularly daunting class. James lay there limp, and I stood there with cookies, some dotted with blood as well as chocolate chips.   The voices surrounded me, then suddenly they quietened themselves. An oppressive silence broken only by some of the night animals outside of the broken window fell onto my shoulders. It threatened to knock me flat on my face. I took a moment to inventory everything. My breathing was rapid and deep, my heart was beating faster than an upbeat techno song, and my entire body was trembling and had broken out in a cold sweat. I felt the plate of cookies fall to the floor, but did not hear them. All sounds had been replaced by a ringing, growing ever louder. My vision darkened around the edges until the only thing I had left to grasp on to was the gripping cold that I could feel steadily sapping my consciousness. I found out two weeks later, after finishing a marathon of slipping in and out of comas that my brother had killed himself, and that my memories were not just residue from nightmares I'd been having. After hitting up a convenience store, he stole a vehicle and came back home. All he got from the place was a measly eight hundred and thirty dollars and some odd change. At the prospect of fessing up and doing time, he decided to take his own life. Funny, I would have thought his life worth much more than a couple hundred dollars short of a thousand, but at least I know that he had us in mind to the bitter fucking end.   Still, I can't bring myself to entirely forgive him. It took months for me to fully recover. Without even realizing it I had stopped eating, stopped speaking, beginning the process of engraving my brother's last moments into the wrinkles of my brain. It was all I thought about day after day. When the nurses came in to take blood samples, to change my IV drip I felt nothing, just a memory of a dull sensation, a shadow of my skin being pierced. I tell people this and they say it must have been horrible. The concept of horrible hadn't even occurred to me, and even now I don't think of it as such. It just was, that was my reality for those months. My father cleaned himself up a bit over that time, mostly because being under constant police scrutiny gives one little chance to become completely soused. Which is not to say he didn't try from time to time, as they did cut him a little slack, what with losing first his wife and then his son. Had the stuff interested me at all I'd probably have ended up hitting the bottle as well. Instead, I busied myself with the greatest drug of all, once I was released from the hospital; music.   Up until my release, however, I was quite a wreck. Little by little I pulled myself out of that world of gray I had created and wrapped myself in, began to eat more, took strolls around the ward. I was forced to see a psychiatrist, but I had no idea what she expected of me. Was I supposed to tell her I was sad that I had watched my brother kill himself? Well of course I bloody was! Who wouldn't be? She was a joke of a psychiatrist who did nothing but ask questions she already knew the answers to. Talking about what happened didn't make me feel any better. On the contrary, it made me feel utterly powerless in the grand scheme of the world. Eventually she had had her fill of me, and I was more than a little fed up with her, and she deemed me fit to be re-assimilated back into the sea of people and emotions floating out there in the big wide world. After everything, I wasn't entirely sure I could handle it, but a part of me wanted me to do my best, for the sake of those who gave their lives for the ones they left behind. Clad in my favourite cargo pants and tank top, I left the hospital with my father hoping to never have to wear those backless hospital gowns ever again.   Things were...pleasant at home. My father stopped drinking, and got a part-time job where he used to work. They had filled his position already, so there wasn't much choice in work for him there. Still, we could live comfortably with what he made if we were careful. It was nice, aside from the fact that now he never spoke a word to me. I didn't know if it was something I did or didn't do, but it seemed like he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, as though he were ashamed of me. Every so often I got so lonely at home that I wish he would get drunk and angry with me again, just to hear him yell or scream at me. I could put up with him strangling me if it meant he would acknowledge me, even for a moment. Until a few months after I unceremoniously turned thirteen, this was how things were. I spent my time at school or doing homework, and when I wasn't doing that I would be cooking or listening to music in my room. It was depressing, but I felt as though I was moving forward. I was sure my father felt the same way, for soon he was saying things like, "pass the salt please," and the like. I would happily comply, smiling to myself. I would have loved to have spoken with him more, but I figured if I attempted to pry anymore communication out of him he would back off completely. I learned to be content with just the little things, though admittedly my will to live was on a steady decline.   At thirteen, I was beginning to develop more womanly features, as was to be expected. For the most part I didn't pay it much mind, I just went about my housework. I wish I could say that others payed me no attention, but that would have been asking for too much, I think. I can safely say that I was fairly attractive in comparison to others my age, as most of the boys in my class fawned over me more than any of the other girls. I still had relatively small breasts, which was probably more to my credit in the looks department as the rest of my body remained small. Really, the biggest change others noticed about me was how I now had curves where the year before I had none. My father was once again falling of the wagon by this time, and had taken up a handful of drugs to compliment his drinking habit. Soon he was out of work once more, and without James there to help I was forced to find some part time work. I had a few ideas in mind for jobs I could do and be paid under the table, but my father had an even better idea than all of mine. In his infinite helpfulness, one night he got me a job that I couldn't exactly say no to.   That night, he and I made dinner together. For whatever reason that at the time I couldn't grasp he was being exceptionally pleasant. For the first time in years I felt like daddy's little girl again, and I almost forgot that he was the only other member of our family left. Not having those sorts of depressing things to think about all the time certainly does add a spring to one's step, I can assure you. So, in a mood of complete elation he and I made our meal, and sat down to eat it chatting idly about nothing, like we often would when he was home. I didn't know if it was because I hadn't been sleeping well for the past month or so, or if I was just worn out from working too hard, but soon after finishing a third of my food I found myself unable to stay awake. My eyes would no longer focus, and keeping up the conversation was becoming increasingly difficult. I began to space out at the table, not hearing so much my father's words but feeling them crash against my eardrums and reverberate violently in my skull. Shortly after asking to be excused for the night, I slipped off my chair and crashed to the floor, completely unconscious.   When I awoke I was tucked into my bed, my head throbbing, probably from when I fell, my arms and feet freezing. I lifted my head slightly, my neck refusing my initial attempts to support any weight before I got myself in a position to look groggily about my room. It was evening now, the orange and red hues of the sun splashed across the walls and ceiling as if they were canvas for an autistic fan of these colours. Inside those blotches of light was a silhouette, attached at the feet to my father, standing beside my bed. He said not a word, his expression unreadable. It was like he deigned not to even look at me. I tried to open my mouth to ask what had happened, what was wrong, but my mouth was so dry my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my muzzle unable to open, almost glued shut by the dryness of my lips. To convey my worry I tilted my head and furrowed my brow as best I could, but still none of my muscles wanted to cooperate, and I was struck with the realization that I was likely just contorting my face like an idiot.   "...Fifty bucks a pop..." my father said, seemingly to no one in particular. Without even so much as an explanation or a glance in my direction he turned unsteadily on his heels and walked to the doorway, out around someone else I had not been aware of. The other furre sighed, his face just out of my range of vision until he made his way over to my bed, flicking his wrist to slam the door shut behind him. Through my groggy eyes I could not recognize the man. All I could tell was that he was a panther, and probably not much older than nineteen. I was unsure of his intentions, but the air of foreboding that permeated the room sent dull shivers down the back of my neck. "Well..." he said in a soft voice as he stood beside my bed, looking out my window, his face blotted out by the light of the setting sun, "...I can't say I won't enjoy this...I'm really sorry." What he was sorry for I was soon to find out, and now, after the fact, I'm not sure if it was a good thing or not that what I learned was with him. The panther sat down on the edge of my bed, and I could see his face for the first time, though it took every ounce of energy I had to focus my eyes on any one thing well enough to make out anything. He was handsome, cute, and gave of the sense of being a kind furre. In actuality this was true, but all it takes is one misstep, one unforeseen incident and an otherwise wonderful furre can be driven to do all manner of horrible things. I knew that all too well.   He gently placed his paw on my knee, rubbing it comfortingly, soothingly, sighing softly, though whether to me or to himself I wasn't sure. He remained like that a moment, and, even with all the strength I could muster I could not make myself say anything, the words lost in a cloud in my mind, my energy sucked into a void located roughly in the pit of my stomach. Even as his paw shifted slightly to my inner thigh, slowly sliding up with the most graceful of movements, I could not protest, my body ragged. It was as though the soul attached to it had been pulled out, and was now able only to play spectator to the events that were to unfold that evening. I felt a slight twinge when his paw reached its destination between my legs. I wanted to whimper, to scream and cry out for my father, but all I could do was watch helplessly as I was violated. As if in response to this, the panther bent over me, his muzzle an inch away from mine. I caught myself gazing into his eyes, frightened of what he was going to do now. What he did caught me totally off guard, and was not what I expected in the least; our lips met, and he kissed me softly, the paw that was gingerly rubbing between my legs now on my cheek, stroking softly.   Testing the waters, he pressed his tongue against my lips which, as if they had a mind of their own, admitted him in. Not knowing what to do, I tried to force his tongue out of my mouth with my own, my body beginning to respond to my pleas to move. My tongue flailing against his, my eyes closed in concentration, I tried to wriggle out from beneath him, my muscles feeling as though they'd atrophied and become mush. Maybe all of that was doing more harm than good. Still, even minute movements took more concentration than I felt I could muster, and even moving my arm but a few inches left my muscles screaming from my shoulders to my wrist. I contemplated chomping down on his invading appendage, but even such a simple task was far beyond my abilities at the moment. All I could do was nibble on his tongue, which caused him to moan into my muzzle as he brushed the writhing flesh across my incisors, the paw on my cheek moving across my cheek to my neck, teasing as his claw tips meandered up and down. After what felt like hours of this, the panther pulled away, his breathing fast, his paw now resting on my shoulder. I felt all my energy, all my protest leave my body along with his tongue, and I opened my eyes slowly, my breathing uneven, my heart hammering as though both had forgotten how to perform their only functions. My vision swam, my brain clearly not getting the oxygen it needed, like an overheated computer saying that one plus one was three before crashing.   "Wha...ooo...ooi...ng..." I finally managed to drawl as he pressed his chest to mine. "Shh...This'll all be over soon..." reassured the panther, his muzzle nibbling down my neck to my collarbone. Whimpering, completely bewildered as to what was to happen next, he reached down to grab the hem of my pink T-shirt, and slowly began to lift it. I blushed when he reached my navel, pulling his torso off of mine so he could continue. My body didn't register that the male's chest was no longer crushing mine, my breathing coming in ragged, short bursts. Dead weight, when the shirt was lifted just above my breasts, underdeveloped compared to those of my female classmates, as they often joked I didn't need the bra I wore, he lifted my back off of my bed as best he could with one paw. It took a few tries, but soon my shirt was sent flying across my room, landing on the chair at my desk. It took all of the strength in my body to lift my left arm and cover my chest, which I realized would all be in vain; I could barely move my arm, he would be easily able to pin it down. Which was what he did, with very little ceremony, his muzzle softly nuzzling into my stomach. Really, none of this was unpleasant feeling, it was more embarrassing than anything, and frustrating that, for whatever reason, my body felt so detached from my brain.   However, I could still feel the tickling sensation as he slowly kissed my stomach, his head moving slowly up my body. I wanted to shut my eyes, convince myself it was a dream, but looking away from what was happening I felt like I would somehow lose myself in the fog encroaching around the edges of my mind. I watched as he gently nibbled my navel, taking his time to kiss up to my left breast, his nose leveraging his muzzle under the lacy fabric. I watched as he slowly lifted my bra up over my breasts, and how his eyes gazed at the tiny mounds of flesh hungrily. And I felt my lips part ever so slightly, a tiny, hot breath exhaled between them as his lips found my nipple through my orange fur and began to run the entire length of his tongue over the sensitive, raised flesh. Once or twice had I touched my nipples, idly in bed. I wondered why when my bra brushed up against them it felt as good as it did. I never really knew why, but I knew that even my fingers touching them felt good. I just accepted that and never had the urge to do anything more. Now, with this strange man on top of me, his lips now wrapped around my nipple and suckling on it seemingly contented, like it was a fine cigar he saved for a special occasion, I had a better sense of the sorts of pleasures my body had available for me. Unable to tear my eyes away from what he was doing to me, a wet gurgle emanated from my throat, which steadily coalesced into a plaintive moan. It felt exceptionally nice as he began to suck harder on my nipple, his fangs brushing across the tip every now and then causing pleasure to course from my chest and down my spine, but I felt an acute sense of violation, like this was something that really should not be happening.   As he continued to suck on my left nipple, his left paw slid up the side of my body, coming to rest on my right breast. I gasped, my chest rising ever so slightly off the bed of its own accord as he began to knead my bosom, much to my chagrin. The feeling began to return to my body in stages, but control of it was still far beyond my grasp. Thus when his other paw returned to rubbing between my legs, my hips bucked against him without even thinking, and my head tilted back, another low moan escaping my muzzle. The panther began nibbling on my nipple, causing me to whimper loudly, somewhat in pain but mostly in pleasure as he put both his paws to the task of undoing my tight jeans. Once this was done, he pulled his muzzle away from my chest and sat up over me, looking into my eyes. Unable to decipher his expression, and still unable to move, I let my head fall to the side, defeated. Not knowing what was going to happen next, I gave in, willing myself to have faith in the furre that was violating me. If what had happened thus far was any indication, it was not going to be terribly unpleasant, so the best possible course of action would be to just go along with it.   Soon after my pants were undone, they were tossed on top of my shirt, leaving me in just my panties. They felt wet and cool against my tender folds, and I had no idea why. I was fairly certain I hadn't urinated, and equally certain that something like that had happened once before when I was in the changing room after gym class. I had no more time to ponder this, however, as soon they too were flung across the room, missing the chair completely and landing on my desk. Tilting my head to look at him, I watched as he spread my legs with his shoulders, his nose disappearing between my legs. At first he did nothing but breathe deeply down there, his warm, moist breath causing the blood to flush from my cheeks, my toes to curl and my hips to wiggle on their own. It felt exquisite, exciting and a little bit frightening, something I had never experienced before. I shut my eyes as I reveled in this new feeling, enjoying every moment of it, and opened them again as I felt his rough, feline tongue brushing lightly along the length of my nether lips. Gasping, my hips bucked once again, this time right into his muzzle and his waiting tongue. His tongue made another round of my sex, this time continuing past my lips and burying itself in the smaller, sensitive folds just above. A moment later a bolt of electricity shot up my spine, my back arching, a tiny scream raking my throat as his tongue began to attack my erect clitoris which, until that moment, I didn't even know existed.   Through the haze in my head that threatened to smother all thought, I was able to experience that pure bliss of being kissed in a unique way. I knew very little about my own anatomy, and that evening I was learning quite a bit. As his lips wrapped themselves around my clit, his tongue continuing its assault, he brought a paw up under his chin, his fingers stroking my inflamed lips, causing me to writhe against his muzzle. Groaning, my muscles screaming as I strained them, I lifted my right arm and brought it down on top of his head, ruffling his headfur. I didn't know if I wanted to shove him away, or pull him closer. 'Go with the flow,' I kept telling myself, 'and everything will be alright.' His fingertips applied pressure to my slit, which was becoming more wet by the moment. Bucking my hips, I moaned sharply as two of his fingers penetrated my virgin vagina halfway to the second knuckle. My chest heaving, I clenched his hair as he continued to pleasure my clit, his fingers remaining stationary as my inner walls clenched around them. It was mildly uncomfortable, but it was easy to ignore any discomfort with the panther's muzzle working my sex.   When his fingers started to move in and out of me was when I really began to feel anything akin to pain. Instinctively I bit my lip, groaning under my breath as his fingers wormed their way deeper inside of my tight passage. The pressure, along with the texture of his fingers was beginning to translate into pain, until he curled those two digits upwards, and began to stroke a spot inside of me that blotted out all the discomfort I was feeling. I'd later learn that it was called the G-spot, and that it would be my best friend. His digits poking, prodding and stroking that spot inside of me, his mouth working my clit I felt increasing pressure deep in my abdomen, not unlike the feeling one has when they sneeze multiple times in a row. The breathlessness that accompanied such an act certainly was there as well, air and saliva catching in my throat, causing me to cough and splutter as I writhed against this furre. My spine felt like blue electricity, and shone brightly through the din that had been going through my head. The only way I could describe what I was feeling was like all he was doing to me was coming to a head, and I dangled on the edge of a precipice into God knows what.   With a sharp nip to my clit, I fell over that edge, gasping quite audibly before letting out a long, loud moan. That bite felt like a shock more powerful than a lightning strike, was enough for me to flail about uncontrollably in sheer pleasure. My chest heaved as I arched my back, kicked out my legs, fell back onto the bed in exhaustion and repeated the process as a new, stronger wave of pleasure washed over me. Ever little thing was a source of pleasure to me; my breath rushing across my lips, the feeling of my blankets against my leg fur, the feeling of my tail lashing about, likely hitting the panther in the head and shoulders a few times. I relished every moment of my first orgasm, my garbled cries for more attesting to this. Soon I was coming down from my euphoric high, still whimpering and squeaking as the male furre continued to suck on my clit like a baby on his bottle. I lay on my bed, my chest rising and falling rhythmically, jaw agape, eyes wide open, enjoying the afterglow of my orgasm. I could have stayed that way forever, this random furre hunkered down between my legs and pleasing my womanhood, but it seemed he had other plans.   He pulled himself up on his elbows, the fur around his lips matted down with my wetness and his saliva and purred loudly as he looked upon my shattered body. I could do nothing but stare back at him, my body seized up, my head the only part of me able to move. Shifting his weight, the panther held himself up with one arm, whilst the other undid his own pants. In one fluid movement they were down around his ankles, his boxers following suit shortly after. I had seen penises before, or rather, a penis, it being my father's when I was young and burst in on him in the shower, but it was nothing like this one. Fully erect it must have been several inches longer than my father's, though just about as thick. Around the middle, taking up about half the length of it were tiny barbs, covered in a thin film of clear liquid dripping from the head, which tapered off a bit more abruptly than my father's. I knew the fundamental differences between males and females, but laying there, utterly helpless, my legs splayed in a very unlady-like manner, I was about to find out just why those differences existed.   The panther slowly crawled up my body, again planting kisses, this time not stopping at my breasts. Continuing on, he nuzzled into the crook of my neck, kissing and nibbling, his hot, damp breath saturating my fur. Moaning, his member rubbed against my thigh, sending shivers up and down my spine once more. Why was my body reacting to him and not me? It made no sense, I thought as his lips made there way up my neck to my ear, his breath still coming warm and fast, as did mine. "...You...might not like this part..." he cooed, a paw stroking my thigh. What was it that I wasn't going to like? I didn't have to wait long to find out. His body was soon directly over me, his lips a thread's width from mine. When I felt what I could only assume was the head of his member press against the lips of my vagina, I shut my eyes tight, finally understanding why my mother didn't want my brother having girls in his room without supervision. Moist lips met my dry lips, and I tasted something odd on them, though not unpleasant in the least. I realized with a start that it was my wetness from earlier.   That sudden blast of pheromones thrust into my mouth along with his tongue had placed a new thought, a new feeling into me. Laying there, this furre kissing me like this, I realized that I just might like this, and in fact, sort of wanted it. I didn't know why but I found myself, while shyly returning his kiss with somewhat numb lips, wanting his length inside of me, barbs and all. Feeling a sudden warmth in my crotch, a small gush of wetness meeting the tip of the panthers cock, I moaned out in pleasure, gyrating my hips a little in anticipation and lust, I suppose was what I was feeling. The sensitive flesh of the head of the male's manhood was being kissed by my wet, wandering lips. As we both basked in the miracle that was two bodies about to join, our voices joined awkwardly in a deep, low moan, emanating wetly from the chinks in the otherwise perfect seal our lips created. It was all so strange, this feeling of need. Never had I wanted anything like this before, nor so badly. Fingers, tongue, member, anything, I wanted it in me, I wanted to feel more of this pleasure that, until that evening, had been completely alien to me.   It was then that he began to apply pressure to my vagina, causing me to buck backwards slightly. His paw back on my cheek, he stroked me softly as he plunged his tongue deeper into my muzzle, my own tongue fighting back futilely, though not at all in vain as it felt wonderful the more I resisted. Oh, how I wanted his length buried inside of my passage...If his fingers and mouth made me feel as good as they did, then I could only imagine just what his cock could do for me. At that moment an arrow of clarity shot right through my mind, feeling as though it had nestled itself somewhere between the folds of the left and right lobes of my brain. What was happening now was extremely wrong, I knew that, and yet I craved more. This furre had given me nothing but pleasure and a little bit of discomfort. I knew which one outweighed the other. Why this was happening was still beyond me, but I figured I would learn about that soon enough. Father and I would certainly have words. "Mmm..aaahh..." I moaned into his muzzle, my nether lips still dancing around the head of his member, my back arched, my chest pressed firmly against his.   The panther's muzzle pulled away from mine, "Is something the matter? I can take it slowly..." a tone of concern edging its way into his already soft voice. I lay there, suspended by my shoulder blades and my rear, my arms wrapping themselves tightly around his neck. After panting for a moment, steeling myself up for what I thought was the biggest mistake I could ever make, I groaned, "...Mmmph...Put it all in me..." unable to hide the lust in my voice. He seemed taken aback by my forwardness, "U-um...are you sure? Is this your first time?" Considering he was the one leading all of this, his hesitation was uncharacteristic. I gave him a nod, closing my eyes, "Alright...Try to relax everything, and if it hurts just say, and I'll go slower," Had I met this furre in any other situation I bet I would like him even more than I did now. Yes, I was being violated, but he was being the perfect gentleman about it. Plus, at this point, I was begging for it. Now I was also partially responsible for all of this. What responsibility for having sex with someone entailed I didn't know. Keep going with the flow, and it'll all be over soon. Whether I wanted that or not, to this day I don't really know.   As the head of his member entered my body I let out a gasp, followed by a whimper as the rest of his length slowly followed. He stopped as his member penetrated about two inches, and already I felt like I was filled to the brim. With my inner walls stretched around his length, the texture of the first few barbs of his penis pressing into my flesh caused me to toss my head back in ecstasy, the brief undertone of pain fading away with each involuntary contraction of my muscles. My very breathing caused sparks to fly up my spine, into my chest, then up my neck, causing me to shiver as I moaned. My nipples stood erect and sensitive to even the air as the pleasure from between my legs spread to every part of my body, something I could feel in my very core. "...Are you alright...?" He asked me, his muzzle burying itself in my neck, his hips still but for the minute shifting that came with breathing whilst being propped up as he was. I was more than alright, as was evident by my soft moans that escaped my lips every now and then, and by my ecstatically wagging tail between my legs, "Uh...uh huh..." I gathered my senses for long enough to mutter gutturally.   Pausing for a moment, hanging above me he seemed to mull this over in his head, as though wondering what to do next. It was quite obvious, even to me, that we were beyond the point of no return, and even if I objected he still would have forced himself on me. The panther was just trying to be pleasant about the situation, which is only of some consolation when you're being raped. "Okay..." he moaned into my neck, shifting his hips a little, his member inside of my tight passage shifting as well, much to my pleasure, "...Then I'll keep going then..." He began to push himself deeper into my vagina, which gladly pulled him in of its own accord, it seemed. My muzzle hanging wide open, the taste of my own juices still fresh on my tongue I gasped and panted as I was stretched further. The barbs of his feline length did not hurt so much as stimulate every nerve they came in contact with, which became more apparent to us both when those barbs would brush past that spot inside of my vagina he had been pleasuring only moments before. It seemed like his cock was just the right size for me; had it been much larger I'd probably be screaming in agony right now.   Which wasn't to say it wasn't painful. After he had entered my body a few more inches I could feel a growing pressure against the tip of his member, definite resistance to his penetrating member. As his hips came closer to mine, that pressure became so intense that it could be felt right through the pleasure, and I had to shut my eyes and bite my lower lip to endure it. It took him very little time to notice that I was in pain, and he soon stopped, his length retreating just a little bit, enough that the pain was just a dull throb, a memory in the muscle tissue. Resting a paw on my cheek and stroking, his muzzle kissing up to my other cheek, he purred, "...This is going to hurt. Quite a bit. I just thought I should warn you..." he kissed up to my ear, breathing softly, "Tell me when you're ready..." It's hard for anyone to say they're ready for pain. If I could I would always sit in the chair silently for as long as I could before the doctor would give me an injection, or take some blood samples. Not that I had an abnormal aversion to pain, but no one really likes to be hurt. Or so I liked to believe, anyway. Despite how it felt just to have just that much of his penis inside me, I still craved more, even if it meant hurting like hell. Whether or not that was normal, well...I guess that's up to the individual. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes slightly and gave a nod, a squeak catching in my throat after exhaling.   Without so much as another word, his hips slowly began to gravitate once more towards mine, and that barely familiar pain slowly edged its way through to the forefront of my mind, past the cloud of euphoria I had been swimming through so far that evening. Soon the pressure became quite great, and it took all my willpower not to scream. The tears I could no longer blockade, and they quietly made their way down my cheeks, matting down the fur beneath his paw and muzzle. Like a gentle mother, he kissed up to the corner of my left eye and, not like a mother, moved the paw on my cheek slowly down my body, massaging as he went. As his paw rested his above where our bodies joined, he whispered, "Shhh...It'll be alright...I'll make sure you feel better soon, don't worry..." When he finished saying this his fingertips slid further down and burrowed into my folds, quickly finding my clit. I gasped, my mind temporarily taken off of the pain. Until I accidentally bucked my hips sharply, and his cock broke past that barrier inside of me.   It felt as though something fundamental, something integral to my very being had been shattered, the shards of it grinding horrendously into what remained. My eyes shot wide open, my body frozen, my breath catching in my throat. Every part of my body seized up, including my tail in mid swish. It felt as though I had been skewered, and any movement at all was like being impaled right through my entire body. The panther continued to roll my clitoris between his fingers, but I paid it no heed, my attention solely focused on his member inside of me, and the pain of losing my virginity. My vision slowly turned white, starting at the edges. Soon I was able to swallow a bit of air here and there, when I remembered to. I felt as though I was suspended over a sea of scorching lava, and one false move would mean falling right into it. My body began to tremble as my strength left my legs and arms, neither daring to relieve themselves of the tension for fear of that impalement. Thankfully the other furre wrapped a paw around me, and slowly lowered my body back onto my bed, his rod remaining stationary inside of me.   "...It's okay...It'll pass..." he cooed beside my head, the paw moving from beneath me to close my muzzle. Then, as if he almost forgot, he wiped away the small dribble of drool that had fallen from the corner of my lips down my cheek while I was barely conscious. After a few moments, my vision returned, and that horrible pain soon became a hot ache, mitigated by every minute movement he made inside me. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but then, maybe more time had passed since he broke my hymen than I had thought and I had merely gotten used to the feeling of no longer being a virgin. The sun had almost set outside, the walls and ceiling painted in pastels more on the strong side. My breathing regulated, I focused my attention on the varying hues of yellow and orange as he went back to stroking my clit. "Are you alright now?" the panther asked quietly, his head suddenly next to mine, his hot breath surprising me, moisture clinging to the fur inside my ear, causing it to twitch. I was far from alright, but there was little I could do about that. Though whatever spellbinding that had taken place to render me immobile had long since worn off, I knew that this series of events was going to happen whether I objected or not. As I gave him a nod, he began to slowly piston in and out of my vagina once more, the pain no longer excruciating. My eyes shut tight, I let him have his way with me and, once again, he made me feel wonderful. I could still feel that ache deep inside me, but as the panther picked up his pace I was soon able to easily bear it. One thing I knew for certain, though, was that in the morning it was gonna hurt like hell.   The scent in the room was one almost entirely unfamiliar to me. There was the scent of bodies sweating, that was easy to pick out, but all the other new odours I was not so sure of. They were likely attached to what they were doing. There was also an undertone of metal in the air. It almost smelled like blood...Had he really broken something inside of me? Breathing deeply, all these scents swirled about in my head, and once again I wanted him, wanted this. He wetly began to dive deeper into my passage with every thrust, and as sensitive as I was I could almost tell by how much each time, down to the millimeter. Resting his weight on his left paw, his right came up to my chest, and he softly massaged my left breast. In a moment of lust I countered his thrusting hips with my own, moaning out weakly as his member drove deep inside me. I half expected it to be somewhere in my stomach, with how full it felt in there, but as I pondered on it a little I realized that an impossibility. Considering the pain I had been in not long ago, I was surprised at how the pleasure was building up inside of me. With each squelch of our hips crashing against each other I began to feel something more intense, something unlike anything else I had felt that evening. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his chest flush against mine as I rocked my hips faster against him. So lewd, so new and so exciting this all was. I was soon no longer in control of my body, but far from immobile my body desired something from him.   Matching my pace his rod nestled itself deep inside me with each thrust of his hips, causing shards of ecstasy to course through my veins. Every little action rewarded my body with elation; the curling of my toes, the brushing of my tail on my thigh, his breath hot, moist and fast in my ears. Each and every tiny action began to culminate in another orgasm, I could feel it coming, racing towards me like an off-shore breeze into the sail of a ship. Of course I, like an unfurled sail would embrace it with my entire being, and relish every moment. I then wrapped my legs around him, my heels digging into his ass somewhat. I pulled myself close to him as he drove his cock inside me, and let my weight fall back onto my bed as it retreated. My muzzle buried in his neck I panted hard, feeling that breeze grow stronger with each passing moment. It would not be long before I came again, and from the ferocity of the panther's thrusting, and his heavy breathing, I gathered he wasn't too far off, either. Did it feel the same way for males as it did females? I might have to ask that afterwards, but I could only assume that it did.   "Nngh..." I groaned, my overly-sensitive nether muscles contracting around his member. It felt almost too good, I didn't quite know how to react, I just let my body give in to whatever urges took hold of it. His paw sliding between our bodies, he fondled my breasts, his hips smashing almost violently into mine, a moan of pleasure on his lips. Both his ministrations and his groan grew in intensity until it climaxed, along with his member deep inside me. Hot, thick streams of semen gushed over my vaginal walls, though at the time I had no idea what that was. It felt wonderful, being filled not only by his shaft but also this liquid. This new feeling, combined with his breath hot and fast in my ear pushed me over the edge, causing me to have my second orgasm, this one more powerful than the last. My entire body seized in midair as I clung to him, suspended only by my shoulder blades and the balls of my feet as my breath caught in my throat. The ecstasy washed over me in waves, spreading slowly yet insistently from where our bodies joined. With each beat of my heart came another tiny tremor through my body, making its way down to the tip of my toes and up my spine, seemingly reaching the ends of my hair. My nipples stood erect, one against his chest and the other in one of his paws, every tiny movement against them causing me to squeak and moan weakly.   One final wave of pleasure crashed down on top of me, and I screamed long and loud, finally remembering how to breathe. The panther continued to move, though now more slowly and deliberately, with nowhere near the sense of urgency as before. I felt as though I was about to fall apart, this vessel unable to contain such ecstasy. I felt my muzzle form incomprehensible words as it let out lustful moans and pleas for more. If I had known that it would be like this from the start I might not have protested as much as I did. Notch by notch, the pleasure began to fall away like the skin of an onion, leaving only a tiny core and tears. Without the penetration to mask it, the pain was quite unbearable. The pants of post-coital bliss soon changed to a mental mantra; breathe out the pain, keep breathing it out. The panther carefully placed me down on the bed, pushing his body against mine. My muscles screamed, unaware that they had been working as hard as they had. He picked up his face and looked into my eyes, a paw stroking my cheek. Sweat beaded my face, my fur pressed flat against my skin, and on top of that I felt a horrible, wrenching nausea.   He was saying something, but a steadily growing ringing in my ears blotted out anything that he had to say. I felt all the blood leave my face, my vision becoming murky. The only thing I was aware of was an immense warmth throughout my body and the feeling of cold air rushing past my lips and down into my chest with every breath. I felt as though I was going to be sick, my body merely preparing itself to expel whatever dinner I had eaten. Instead, I blacked out, and didn't wake up for three days. My new reality was that I was a prostitute, not even of my own volition. In order to pay for my father's drug habits I had to whore myself out to whoever my father could find who was willing. Pulled out of school I now had no contact with the outside world, locked up most of the time in my room, only to be drugged and knocked out when I didn't comply with my father's wishes to fuck whoever the man of the night was. Hell is not knowing what the next meal you eat will do to you. It wasn't all that bad, however. The panther who took my virginity would be a regular customer, and he was the one who explained things like the drugs, orgasms and all the intricacies of sex. His name was Richard and, unlike most of the other customers, if they could be called that, he was rather kind and didn't always want sex. He told me his girlfriend of four years had dumped him for his best friend, his father had killed himself and his mother was in an insane asylum. Compared to him I was pretty well off, I thought. However, it didn't take me long to realize I was just a replacement, something to fill in the gaps. He was lonely and just wanted someone. That was fine by me, if not for him I likely would have gone mad.   Well, I suppose the madness thing couldn't be helped. One nasty customer after another, the only respite being Richard, it really began to be too much to take. Unable to move, unable to even scream as I was held down, fingered, licked, fucked in every hole it would fit, the only thing that kept me from ending it all was Richard. Despite our first meeting I had grown quite fond of him, and after a particularly rough night I would really look forward to when I would see him next. For something like love to blossom from this sequence of events was ridiculous, especially considering my mind was so broken. In retrospect, I was only clinging to what hurt me the least, and attaching a word like love to it. Of course my father found out eventually, when I was sixteen. Three years of rape and abuse from every direction. By the end of it I was just a shell of a person, malnourished, the drugs no longer necessary to keep me from fighting back. Richard had been worried about me from the very beginning, but when things turned really bad for me, he took it upon himself to speak to my father about my health, and that I wasn't something he could just whore out when he needed his next fix. As much as I liked him, a knight in shining armour he was not. The next night I was told that I would never see Richard again, and that, except to use the washroom and to shower, I would be tied to my bed all day.   Enough was enough. With no hope of escape from this destitute life, no hope of seeing Richard again, no hope of being a normal girl, I had completely given up. I didn't want to continue like this, not for the sake of a man I no longer loved, even as a parent, not so he could destroy himself with drugs and certainly not so strangers could get their kicks from me. Whoever said that living on was the hardest battle was so true, each word cut like a razor. Which was my tool of choice for when I decided to end it. My father downstairs, half-catatonic from the narcotic of choice that night, I tore apart one of my his razors while pretending to take shower, not even caring if my fingers bled all over as I did so. If this was to be the end I couldn't get squeamish about a little blood. It took a bit of work, but soon I had a flimsy blade between the fingers of my right paw. I trembled from my ears down to my tail, on my knees in the washroom, the shower running so as not to arouse any suspicion of the sin I was about to commit.   No matter how I thought it through, the conclusion I kept coming to was always the same. I even tried to convince myself that it was a bad idea, but to no avail. With stark clarity I realized that I wanted only one thing; death. Living the way I had was not living at all, but dying incrementally, a fraction of my life stolen away from me by every man who had fucked me. The one man who promised to give me any semblance of a life was no longer here, so the only logical solution, the only option available to me, rest in my shaking paw. The tiny blade was becoming more stained and slippery by the blood seeping from my wounded fingers, but was certainly not difficult to hold steadily. According to a roommate from the hospital, all it took to end your life was a blade to your wrist, a strong resolve and some time. The only thing I really worried about was the time. I had a rough idea how to go about this, but no idea how long it would take. It's not like my father would, or could do anything, I thought to myself, convincing me to put the blade to my wrist.   I felt the corner of the blade press into the flesh of my wrist through my fur. After thinking for a moment I decided to shave off a small patch of coarse fur from my wrist, and prepared myself once more. I shuffled closer to the edge of the tub and hung my torso over it, my hair and fur getting drenched in less than an instant. Panting hard, the hot water falling on me, my arms thrust forward in front of me, I collected my thoughts, once more mulling over the fact that I could turn back, could continue this sorry excuse of an existence. Once more I rejected the notion, and forcing my final decision I swiped across my wrist deeply with the blade. The stinging, searing pain followed shortly after the slice, but was far below the threshold of what I had grown to tolerate. Compared to the pain of living such a simple pain was nothing. It was seeing my blood flow freely from my wrist, down my paw and mixing with the water in the tub that scared me the most. Each beat of my heart was no longer sustaining my life, but ending it. The concept, at the time, was a very interesting one.   It took very little time for me to begin second guessing myself. What if this was all a huge mistake? What if my father had a sudden change of heart? How long would it take before the police caught wind of my father's parental ineptness? As my heart began to beat faster the thoughts started racing. Short gasps of breath barely sustaining my life, I started to breathe deeply, my body, for whatever reason, trying to prolong the affair. Despite that, the thoughts steadily grew more sloth-like, thoughts in my head ending abruptly before I could complete them. Soon the red blood looked black and, like with many of the drugs I had been forced to take, my vision dimmed greatly. The light of the washroom looked as though it were filtered through black cellophane, and my body shook anemically as I hung, almost ragdoll-like over the side of the bathtub. The sound of the water hitting the bottom of the tub reminded me of a distant torrential downpour, my ears barely able to pick anything up over the ringing. My breaths came hard and fast as my body tried to get the oxygen required for my organs to function. My stomach retched, and I felt as though I was about to vomit. Dying was certainly a weird experience, I thought to myself, my extremities tingling like they were falling asleep. Once I had accepted the fact that there was no turning back, I realized that it was neither a good or bad feeling. Just different.   My entire body felt cold despite the warm water raining down on me, yet no shivers racked my body, just a solemn acknowledgment. Soon that was the only thing I was aware of, just an immense coldness. I heard nothing, not even that ringing in my ears, saw nothing in front of me, even though I knew my bleeding wrist should have been there. Was I even breathing? I couldn't tell. My consciousness just floated freely about in a murky, freezing blackness. Soon it would just fade away into it, become one with it, be pulled beneath its surface, hopefully never to surface again. Dying wasn't so bad...If that was it then it certainly could be worse. It's just too bad the afterlife looked a hell of a lot like a hospital room.