FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

My name is Demise. I'm a small-town wolf living in Minnesota. It's the middle of winter up here, where the temperatures at noon are often below zero, and the wind-chill makes it dangerous to be outside for any length of time. Snow is falling in great quantities this season. Last year we didn't get nearly this much this early. It makes going from place to place rather difficult, especially when one doesn't have a car or driver's license. Bad accident, long story. Suffice it to say, if I can't hitch a ride with a friend, I walk wherever I need to go.

I call myself a wolf, but I'm actually of a half-breed. My father's family consists entirely of wolves, while my mother's are all foxes. But since I look more like my wolf heritage than my fox, I simply say wolf. I have gray fur with blonde hair that hangs down between my shoulder blades. I stand just under six feet in height, and it irks me that, since I've reached my fullest growth, I'll never be taller than my father, who is just over six feet. I live with my father, ever since I got fed up with my mother's 'mothering' and moved out. My room ('Cave' to my dad, 'Den' to me) is underground, with no natural light. If I don't turn on a light source of some kind, it's black as pitch and twice as hard to move through. My computer desk sits at the foot of my bed, since I don't have a chair to sit at while using it. Since my father and stepmother don't make enough money to pay for everything at once, every month we lose some sort of service that we use often, like cable or electricity. The gas was turned off in February, and my father can't pay to have it turned on again (over five hundred bucks is rather hard to swallow), so we heat the rooms we use the most with space heaters. It works fairly well, but it'd be nice to have the whole house warm. Food is somewhat scarce, but we get by. Luckily my stepmother is great when it comes to cooking, having been taught to cook for ten people, not four, so there's always leftovers.

My father has a volatile temper, and I've inherited it. If someone crosses me, I'm liable to explode at them. Thankfully, I've chilled over the last few years. I figured the cooling off and 'turn-the-other-cheek' attitude was a good idea after I nearly killed one of my friends when he gave me a cock shot with a heavy bag. I'd rather not elaborate. I've also inherited my mother's love of romance novels, romantic music, and romantic actions. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates kind of guy, and it shows in most of my writings. Of my eight siblings, I won't say much, since there is too much to say in a story like this. Suffice it to say I am in the exact middle of my siblings, and it sucks. My stepfather is a nice guy, sort of. He simply enjoys lecturing people as if they're stupid, when they do something wrong. He's a skunk, so my youngest brother is half fox, half skunk. And it shows.

Oh, before I forget. I have an overactive imagination. Seriously overactive. You'll see.

The stage is set. Now, on to the story.

"Brrrr," I complained aloud, "It's fuckin' cold outside."

"Watch your mouth," replied my father, Brian. "Oh, and by the way, NO SHIT SHERLOCK!" There was a slight heat to his voice. When he says stuff like that, there's always an angry heat to his voice, as if he's always angry but hides it well.

I gave him a dirty look and scratched my muzzle. He ignored me and went back to staring at the TV, our three dogs cuddled around him...At least until I started taking my shoes off. Then our chocolate lab, Cocoa, and our sheepdog (I have no idea what her breed is), Lexi, leapt off the couch and ran over to me, pushing at me and interfering as best they could with my untying job. I shooed them away and managed to get my shoes off before they came running back. I pet both of them in turn, though Lexi kept biting me when I tried to pet Cocoa. She's a flaming bitch when it comes to someone getting more attention than her. My stepmother was already at work, since it was after ten in the evening, so she wasn't there to take the edge off my father's anger. He was pissed off about something, as usual, but I had no idea what.

He coughed to clear his throat and I looked at him from the chair I sat on. "I, uh...I looked at the site history..." I kept my face completely neutral as he said this. I knew where this was going. We'd had this little conversation a few times in the past, but I'd gotten out of the habit of blushing every time he mentioned it.

"I'm going to tell you one more time," said my dad through clenched teeth. "Stay off the fucking porn sites or I'm gonna break your fuckin' fingers!"

I neglected to point out the times I'd gone through the history and seen the dirty sites he'd gone on. That wouldn't be diplomatic or smart. He wouldn't really break my fingers, but he could ban me from using the internet on his computer, since my personal computer, which I mostly use for writing my yiff stories, is unable to use the cable internet. I don't know why, but that's the way it is. I simply nodded my head and said nothing. Inside, I was smiling. I don't count yiffstar as a porn site. More like a story archive. Therefore, I wasn't lying. I stripped off my outdoor gear and hung it up, then looped through the house and went down the stairs to the basement. My stepsister's room is right beside mine, but unlike mine her room has no door, since my dad had to put up a wall to actually give her some privacy. I stepped inside my pitch-black room and shut the door, shivering. It was cold in my room, though nowhere nearly as cold as the other rooms in the house, since I always keep my door shut (it keeps the cat out and the heat in). I took two steps from the door and switched my heater on, full blast. I took a few more steps, smacked the power button on my computer, climbed up onto my bed, smacked the play button on my CD player, and collapsed onto my back with a frustrated growl.

"Why can't I get a job?!" I said loudly, though my words were drowned out by "Attack" (System of a Down). That's right, dear reader, I like System of a Down. I'm also unemployed, though not for a lack of trying. My father's money woes hurt my heart. He had to declare bankruptcy a few months ago, and I wanted to get a job to help support the family. I laid there for a few minutes, then sat up again, my computer having finished booting up. I logged in and waited another two minutes while the useless popup windows loaded, along with the normal error message that basically says I deleted something without uninstalling it. I closed out of the windows and message, and then opened up Microsoft Word. From there, I opened a work in progress titled "Phade and Natalie". I pulled on each of my fingers until they popped, then began typing.

Three paragraphs later, I was out of steam. That's a problem I have when doing a story. I'll get a fire under me to write until my hands cramp, but oftentimes I lose my train of thought for no reason and cannot pick it up again without help. I tried my standard tactic for regaining my train of thought: roleplaying.

I got off my bed and stood in the middle of my room. I took a deep breath and pictured Phade. I pictured his body and superimposed it over myself and I became Phade. I started speaking his lines, moving his moves, thought his thoughts. But it was no use. I couldn't get the train back. I mimicked every aspect of Phade, but the words wouldn't come. Frustrated further, I saved the story and shut my computer down.

In the middle of "Vicinity of Obscenity", I decided masturbation might help me cool off. It always helped before. But I didn't want to turn my computer on again just to look at porn, so I did something I enjoy doing above all other things: I imagined. I imagined my favorite imaginary lover in all her furry glory. I didn't imagine her often, since I wanted to keep the feelings she stirred in me fresh. She appeared in my mind like a simple nude picture and I reached under my computer desk for a special implement and readied myself for a little sock rock.

Did I mention I have an overactive imagination? It's true. Sometimes my imagination takes on a life of its own.

"Hello, Demise," whispered a voice beside me, and I felt a hand on my cock. I muffled a moan as my dream girl came into view. She was beautiful in her blackness, her fur the color of darkness and her eyes the color of freshly spilled blood. Her fluffy fox tail swished side to side as she leaned over into my lap. I smiled down at her. It isn't often that my imaginings take such a form, but when they do, I'm happy to see them. My erect member showed just how happy I was. She giggled lightly, her voice completely at odds with the menacing look of her body. "Aren't you gonna say hello?" she asked.

I turned to face her. My arms went under hers and I lifted her face to mine. I pressed my muzzle to hers in a lustful kiss. I held it as long as I could, then drew back with a deep breath. "Hello, Connie," I whispered. I pulled her into my lap, momentarily forgetting about my erection and simply held her, taking in her scent.

Connie, short for Conindura, is a Digimon. I came up with her long ago when I was still writing for the DHZ using the handle Tripteromon. She is a Shadow Renamon, a creature of darkness. When I wrote the Rebirth series, I had two Shadow Renamon I considered using, a male and a female. I chose to use a male figure for a big brother feel, and he became Rakuviel. But Connie was not forgotten. She stayed hidden away in my mind as I continued to flesh her out in thought.

I bet you have a question now. It's probably this one: Where the hell did I come up with the name Conindura? In a previous story (unreleased), one of the female characters wielded a pair of daggers, named Conindura and Aylindura. In the story, the word 'dura' means sister, Aylin means acid, and Conin means poison. They are the Dura Sisters, Conindura, the poison sister, and Aylindura, the acid sister. Conindura is a fitting name for such a creature as Connie. She poisons my mind and soul, and I let her, because she is mine.

I stroked her belly softly, making her murr in pleasure, even as I lean down to nip at her scruff. The best part about having a lover from one's own imagination is that he or she shares your kinks, and biting is one of mine. She likes being bitten. And each noise she makes as I bite her makes her body vibrate, stimulating my member, while her tail slowly wagged back and forth, stimulating me further. I raised one hand up to fondle her breasts through the thick tuft of fur on her chest. Doing so always makes me feel like I'm playing hide-and-seek, her breasts hiding and my lecherous hand seeking. My other hand, my dominant right hand, moved down between her legs to stroke at her sex gingerly. She likes being treated roughly, and any other night I would've done just that. However, the night before I'd gone to a friend's house and played Soul Calibur Legends on his Wii for four hours. Needless to say, my wrist burned like hellfire, so I had to take it slow.

Her pubic fur was already matted from the juices running freely from her vagina, and I could insert fingers rather easily. I slid three fingers into her pussy, while my thumb lightly toyed with her clit and my pinkie pressed into her anus. She gasped as my slightly modified shocker stimulated her far more than merely finger-fucking her would. She writhed in my lap as I held her, continuing my ministrations before she nearly screamed for me to stop.

Just as the song changed to "She's Like Heroine", she yanked my hands off and out of her body, turned her body around so she was face to face with me, and thrust herself down on my pulsing shaft. I let out a long breath as her cunt muscles rippled and moved along my imbedded cock. I'm a quiet lover; I make very little noise during sex (which is good, since my parents' room is right above mine). I thrust into her as she thrust down upon me. She threw back her head and moaned loudly, and I didn't even try to stifle her. I simply continued thrusting into her, my hands coming up to her chest and grasping her barely-a-handful breasts tightly, my retractable claws springing out and digging into her flesh, not drawing blood but close to it (another fetish we shared: scratching). She leaned her head back down and bit me on my neck, holding on tightly. I bit her neck and continued thrusting as we continued down the path to orgasm. My knot smashed into her lower lips with every thrust, trying to enter her. I knew she wanted the knot; she always took the knot whenever we coupled. No matter which hole or appendage I was fucking, she had to have my knot in it. My tail was wagging a mile a minute as my tongue lolled out of my mouth as I continued to thrust against her as hard as I could. With a final, powerful thrust, my knot was through and lodged as deep as it could reach within her. She yipped loudly several times as she came, her cunt clamping down on my cock and sucking my seed from it, which it was happy to give. Every pulse made me pant with exhaustion.

It was getting late in the night and I needed sleep. I released her neck and lapped at her chin groggily.

"Sleep," she whispered, nipping my lower lip gently. "I'll always be here for you."

"Thanks," I whispered back.

I closed my eyes and stretched, laying back on the bed with a pleasured sigh. Connie followed, laying on my chest. I pulled my blanket over the both of us and closed my eyes.

There was a loud tromping sound as of some rampaging beast charging. My eyes shot open just as my dad burst through my door, his lips drawn back to show his teeth, his deep voice growling.

"Turn your fucking music down, goddamnit!" he yelled, before turning around and slamming my door shut. I could hear him stomp back up the stairs.

It was rather odd, in my opinion. They'd never complained about my music before; I generally try to keep the volume well below obnoxious level. When I closed my eyes to rest, my imaginary lover had disappeared back into my head, yet my body was warm where she had lain. And there was no sock hanging on my flaccid penis, but there was also no seed to be found on my bed. So what happened to it? To my knowledge, it'd all gone into Connie, but Connie wasn't real. She was just a figment of my imagination...Wasn't she?