FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I've never lost those butterflies in my stomach. Standing in line outside the club, the anticipation just dripping from the line. Step by step, you inch closer to the door, the excitement building with every inch. Girls in their skimpy little slutty dresses, guys in their bro finest, bouncers who look like they'd rather be anywhere else in the world. And there it is again, every time they open the doors to let someone in - a blast of bass, echoing through the street, reminding us all why we're here.

I'll admit, the club scene is pretty dead, once you're over 25. The grownups realize that all that's there are kiddies looking for an easy lay, and move on. A new breed of kiddies move in, and the cycle renews itself. Thank god I'm not over 25.

I creep my way up to the door, sizing up the crowd in the line. Directly in front of me, a snow leopard who doesn't look like she's old enough to be let in swishes her tail dramatically, making a show for all of the boys. Ten to one she'll be on her back at the end of the night. More power to her. She doesn't even notice me behind her, being tremendously obvious to her that this wolf's a queer. Tight purple shirt, leaving very little to the imagination... check. Jeans that show off every curve of my hips and legs, and sit just below my tailbase... check. Right ear pierced... check, check, check. I don't really hide it very well, never have. Not that I'd want to - that'd spoil all the fun I'm about to have tonight.

Finally, there it is, the final threshold to cross. They check my ID. They always check my ID, even though I'm here every weekend. It's so robotic at this point, I'm not even paying attention. Hand over the ID, fish the crinkled up ten out of my pocket, hand it over, extend left arm, grab ID with the paw of my freshly banded arm, roll my eyes, and walk inside.

I actually like this DJ. The hyena who's usually here on Saturday nights is such a dick. No sense of rhythm. Nothing worse than grinding up on a cute little pup, getting down to business, and getting cockblocked by some asshole who thinks his "sweet mix" needs some scratching and tempo changes. This leopard, though, he knows his stuff. A perfect little mix, just the thing to charm even the shyest little toy onto the floor, slick enough to get him moving, and loud enough so you don't have to listen to a damn thing he says.

I slide my way over to the bar. I'll toss a few back and wait for the douches to pair up with the drunk girls. It's then that I slide through the crowd, the metaphorical lioness slinking her way through the Serengeti, looking for the lone gazelle. You can usually pick them out pretty easy - a little drunk, dressed a little too well, and tail swinging like they're actually enjoying dancing. It takes little convincing usually, just a few seconds of dancing nearby. Catch his eye. Look slutty. Strut your way over to the beat. Don't say a word, just rest an arm up on his shoulder and undress him with your eyes. He's so yours. Have your way with him.

It sounds rather cruel, when you think about it. Especially around September, all the little froshies come out, first time away from their parents, finally stepping paws out of the closet, and they're putty in your hands. I swirl my cup, bartender needs to learn how to stir, dammit. I'll need another few before things settle down enough for me to do my thing. My gaze crosses the crowd. Nothing interesting. The bar, nothi- where'd he come from?

Tight jeans. Polo without the collar popped. Short hair, but well-cut. Chatting it up with the bartender, leaning with elbows on the bar. Mixed drink. Well hello there. His long, red tail swings back and forth to the music. This one might just be worth the trouble. Let's see what he does next.

You probably think I feel like a perv watching him through the crowd of people at the bar. I don't. There's something beautiful about stalking your prey. Watching them with wanting eyes, memorizing every movement, thinking about what every single inch of their body will feel like pressed up against yours in the middle of the floor. Just imagining the feeling of his hips grinding into yours, his arms wrapping tentatively around you...

He caught me staring. I need another drink. Where's the bartender when you need her? He's turning back towards the floor, walking away. He's talking to a vixen. They're laughing. He's dancing. He's right where I can see him. Maybe... The bartender breaks my concentration. Well, yes, little miss flirt, I would like another. I slide my money across the bar. The drink comes to my muzzle, I sip, but my mind is elsewhere. My eyes drift back to him. Those hips, those strong arms, that cute face...

I take a few steps, easing toward the crowded floor, sizing up my prey one last time before I go in for the kill. All that can be calculated has been, the numbers have all been run. Plans are in effect. Now it all comes down to the skill of the predator. I slink through the crowd - step after step, finding the path of least resistance. The sea of popped collars and cleavage separates, and he appears, only a pounce away. I step up, glancing sideways at his female companion. No jealousy in her eyes - he's single. My fingers brush up against his chest as he abruptly stops dancing. He leans in to whisper his name in my ear. I shush him with a single finger to his muzzle.

I turn around and press my back against his chest, my ass against his hips. His hands naturally find their way to my hips. I work him as good as anyone has ever worked a fox, if I may brag. He's enjoying himself. We move our bodies in rhythm to the beat.

The song ends, as it always does, destroying all my fun. I turn around and look him in the eyes. I can see that he's been enjoying himself. I grab him by the hand and walk him off the floor, barely listening as he says he'll be right back to the vixen. She and I both know it's a lie. I lead him to a quieter little nook of the club, he leans in to tell me his name again. I push my muzzle to his before the word can leave. That's not part of my game. He seems to understand. He and I are making out before we even leave the club. This is going to be a fun night. I drag him outside, find a cab, and we're off.

My apartment's dark as I pull the key from the lock. I'm on autopilot. It's all fumbling and zippers and buttons as we reach the bedroom. Fingers caress my tailbase. He knows where this is going. I moan softly into a kiss. Before he can even say a word, I'm on my knees. He knows this is just foreplay, but he sure doesn't act like it. His soft paws grab onto my ears, guiding me with every thrust his hips make into my muzzle. This one is a catch.

He finally finishes shedding the last remains of his clothing as I lay back onto the bed, spreading my legs, making it all too obvious where I want him. His paws come to rest on either side of my chest as I feel him slide into me. The brief moment of discomfort fades as he leans there on top of me, his white-furred chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. He pulls back, and begins his rhythm.

I'm lost in the waves of pleasure. I hold him to me, gripping his fur in my paws. I'm only half-conscious of the noises I must be making. Every sense is filled with fox. His panting, his paws gripping my shoulders, his hot breath, his big blue eyes looking down at me, his amazing musk filling my nose. I drink it all in. At this moment, there is no better place in the world than under this fox.

I'm so far gone that I only realize he's about to tie with me when I feel his knot pressing up against me. I wrap my legs around him. I want every inch of him inside me. I feel the pressure - it's been a while since I've been tied. I groan as my paws dig at his back. Fuck...

And then it's inside me. The warmth spreads throughout me as I feel his body tense up above me. I reach down to myself, and paw furiously, on the edge of release. I close my eyes and...

My chestfur is warm and wet. The fox atop me has collapsed down onto his elbows, panting heavily. I close my eyes. His panting slows, and I feel him moving, rearranging my legs, finding a way to lay down beside me as he rolls me onto my side.

I still can't catch my breath. I'm gone.