FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The town of Knightsbridge had grown in the last few generations, from a central trading point for the surrounding farms to a main rest- and transaction-point for merchants in the area. It held its position, next to the shallow, clear waters of the Knoptakan, which ran down from the kingdom of the mountain bears to the feline capital. Following the reinstatement of the feline monarchy, Knightsbridge had flourished, with an increasing number of skilled tradespeople and merchants making it their home year-round. This had the unwelcome side-effect of tempting various ruffians and thieves into the streets, but this was quickly rectified by the recruitment of a skilled town guard by the council.

In the years since the troubles, the feline patriarchy had become stronger than ever. Women were dismissed from positions of authority, and returned to a level of subjugation which many had only ever heard of in history classes. Available womenfolk were obliged to meet the desires of any man by whom they were desired. Partially as a result of this, and partially as a result of an historical stigma attached to it, homosexuality became taboo. 'Tail-raisers,' as they were known, were outcast, often violently, from cities around the kingdom. Laws were introduced, making it illegal to associate with one branded, (literally), a tail-raiser, and the practice itself punishable by imprisonment or death, (at the judge's discretion. Many men were put to death with only a gecko's breath of trial).

It was for this reason that Rusvan Fletcher, Captain of the Knightsbridge town guard, was concerned. He trudged with great purpose along the cobbled streets, underneath the gas street-lamps which were the town council's latest incentive, towards his private apartments. One large paw rested on the pommel of his sword, ready, it seemed, for attackers to spring from any of the alleys he passed. His readiness was justified, in the present environment, though he had no inclination to fight if he were taken; the captors would, more than likely, be his comrades and men-at-arms.

What was I thinking? he growled to himself as he walked. Another move like that could get me skinned. I have to resist those urges, and keep up this wretched appearance. He spat, in uncharacteristic frustration, into the gutter, then turned into a darker street. Doorways came off of it on either side, most with lamps unlit, and tall, narrow windows overlooked the cobbles. These apartments were mostly occupied by the upper classes: the merchants who stored their families in the relatively safe town; the money-lenders, who made a killing in that social climate; and the town council members, who sometimes acted with less than strict integrity. Rusvan passed through these streets, heading for the outskirts of the town, where he owned a small cottage; his own place, perfectly equipped for the solitude he craved.

Back at the Scaled Rodent, the cause of Rusvan's concerns had retreated up the stairs to his own room, leaving the common room of the inn silent. The evidence of their interactions was plain on the countertop. Joss had looked, in vain, for a cleaning cloth which he could discretely ferret away. His nose wrinkled in slight disgust as he looked at the mess of maleness on the bar, but he finally sighed and dismissed it as looking like any other common spillage.

Little was he to know that there was one in the common room who had first-hand knowledge of the origins of that particular mess. She stood, peeking nervously around the edge of the kitchen door to make sure that the fennec's tail retreated swiftly up the stairs to his lodgings. The kitchen and common room were still mostly lit, and the little brown mouse found it hard to believe that she had not been noticed. She nervously wrung her delicate paws, fussing and muttering to herself.

"Oh dear, oh dear me," Rosy, for that was her name, murmured, as she looked down at her apron and picked at a stray thread. "What do I do? Who do I tell? The council will sure-... Oh, not the captain," she whispered, one paw rising to her mouth. Every person in Knightsbridge knew the punishment for what she had just seen; a foreigner might get lucky and merely be run out of town. But one of their own, as public a figure as Captain Fletcher, would be imprisoned, or worse! And it didn't look like it was that sinful...

Rosy was a gentle sort. She wasn't the most beautiful young woman, and knew that she hadn't a chance to spend a night with the Captain, though his reputation that suggested many of her peers had. Moral as any, and not having any political aspirations, she believed whole-heartedly in the righteousness of the law; or, had up until the point of seeing the captain and the visiting fox 'interacting'.

Something had changed inside of her. She had felt the stirring between her legs when, choking back the surprise, she had made to come out of the kitchen and had caught sight of the kneeling fennec on the bar-top. In a daze, Rosy moved out of the kitchen doorway and began gathering plates, cutlery and tankards, ferrying them from tables to the deep iron trough which served as their sink. Her father, Horace, the publican, had cultivated in her a sense of 'healthy disgust' for the tail-raisers, dehumanising them and leading her to believe that they were somehow less personable, more feral, than other folk. But she had seen, with her own eyes, the care and worry in Captain Fletcher's eyes as he looked at the fox who had discomfited her. And certainly the fennec had had, if not manners, at least some sense of wit about him.

She found herself trembling as she brought the last of the dirty plates into the kitchen. The tears, of confusion and anger, welled up in her eyes and Rosy stifled a cry, running out of the kitchen and into the unpaved courtyard which was bordered by the inn's small east wing, the kitchen, and one wall of their stables. She lent against the stone wall behind her, then slowly slid down it, her skirts billowing out around her legs and bunching up underneath her as she sat down heavily. Covering her face with her paws, her breath came in jerks and gulps, and she sniffed helplessly. What do I do_?_

The thought picked and niggled at her all through the night, and she barely slept a wink. She wriggled uncomfortably on her bed, rumpling the sheets and working the straw-filled mattress into a series of awkward lumps that did not help her to sleep. By the time the rooster crowed, and the beginnings of dawn peeked over the rooftops and into the small loft that served as her room, she was almost crying, just from the lack of rest. All she had to look forward to that day was another series of smelly and lewd customers, many of whom were not averse to letting their paws wander. It was exactly the opposite of what she needed.

And it did not help that she could not remove the image of the two males from her mind. She had turned it over and over, and was growing accustomed to it, even... liking it? Rosy let out a quiet whimper at the realisation, even as she felt again the unwelcome wetness between her thighs that confirmed it. That rude fox's muzzle around the captain's length; the dagger spreading the fox's tailhole; the motions replayed themselves in her head, nudging her paw downwards, over the gentle hill of her belly.

She squeezed her mouth closed, large front teeth overlapping her bottom lip as she gritted the back molars shut. The paw slid over the soft fur of her thighs, hasty in its motions, aware as she was of the arriving dawn and the awakening of her father that would come with it. Rosy fought the urge to make a sound as her fingertips pressed along the hooded shaft of her clitoris, then moved down so that the first joints in her fingers were pressed either side of the tingling bundle of nerves.

The orgasm came quickly, which surprised her. She felt it building as she barely moved her paw, working the moistened skin over the firm bulb that reddened as she stroked. Her other paw lightly brushed over one breast under the thin cotton of her night shift before shifting down, two fingers parting her slick inner lips and pushing into her. A light moan was the only outward indicator of her peak, though she felt the tell-tale rupture in her clitoris and the firm squeezing around her fingers that came in rhythmic waves.

Being an early riser, Joss arrived in the common room in search of a good, warm bath before the mouse had recovered enough to smooth on her clothing over her night shift and venture downstairs. He sat, in a pair of well-tailored black trousers and a green silk shirt, most unfit for traveling, and slightly too expensive for the surroundings. His look was one of impatience and near-disdain, and he glared at Rosy as she entered from the kitchen before recovering his charming facade.

"My dear, might I bother you for some warm water for the bath?"

"Oh!" she said, startled as he spoke, mere moments after she had entered the the room. "Of course. Did father not show you through our bathing facilities? We're famous kingdom-wide, sir."

"Evidently he did not. Might you be so kind? I am quite grimy from yesterday's journey." If he had paid her the slightest bit of attention, he might have noticed the hot blush that coloured Rosy's inner ears.

"Surely, sir," she murmured quietly, "Just follow me."

She hadn't told an untruth; the bathing facilities at the Scaled Rodent were top notch. They were located at the end of a corridor on the bottom floor of the East wing, in a large space that seemed to defy the proportions of the building. Rosy hid a smile as the fennec trailed in after her, looking genuinely impressed. "Yes, this will do nicely," he muttered to himself as she trotted over to a teak cabinet, pulling out a pair of clean blue towels and placing them on a bench against the wall.

"The taps are here," she said, pointing to them, set into the wall above a deep trough, seemingly carved out of a single piece of stone and sunk into the floor. "There are steps, as you can see, but it does take a while to fill up, sir. Run it cooler than you like it, 'cause the earth keeps the heat pretty well. Oh, and there's soap in the cabinet if'n you want it." Rosy nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly trying to think of anything she'd missed.

"I'm sure I will manage," the fox said tartly, and she sprang out of the thought, nodded quickly, and scurried out of the bathhouse.

How tiresome, Joss thought to himself as he undressed. He folded his clothing tidily on the bench, black-tipped tail flicking around his waist to conceal his lower regions though the only windows in the far wall were made of stained glass. The pipes made an unpleasant gurgling noise as he turned on the taps, but the water that flowed from them was clean and already steaming. He decided to sit in the bath while it filled, and so padded down the stairs into the ankle-deep water that rose quickly to the level of his waist.

There was a carved stone ledge on one wall of the bath, presumably for seating, and Joss settled himself down on this after turning off the water. He lay his head back on the stone and closed his eyes, the combination of the early hour and the warm water causing him to doze. The sounds of the water lapping against the walls of the bath were steady and regular, and caused him no disturbance. That is, until there was a large wave that almost washed over his nose, as if a large object had been dropped into the water.

"'hem."

"What in the Seven Blazes?!" Joss, rather awkwardly, sat bolt upright, staring at the new occupant of his bath, who looked back at him mildly.

"There's no need for profanity, Joss," said the person, a golden lion tamarin who appeared to be as naked as he was.

"Of course there is," replied the fennec with a snarl. "Who on earth are you, and what are you doing in my bath? And more to the point, how do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things. Nice trick you did down in Sinfael. Or it would have been, if you pulled it off."

"You're following me?"

"I'm was with the Guild. Now I have my own contacts within it. Anyhow. P'marion," he said, extending a spidery-fingered hand. Joss shook it gingerly, suspicion written all over his features.

"The Guild is following your movements. You haven't done too badly with evading them so far, but soon they'll be sending more than a tax-collector after you."

"Pfah, they won't get far-"

"No. You have to leave, now. Go upstairs, fetch your things. There'll be a horse tethered for you out the front. It has supplies. Don't head south and trust no one."

Joss looked taken aback at being ordered around by this person, but if it meant that his hide would be saved for another month or two, then so be it. He hauled himself up the stone steps out of the bath, and dried and dressed self-consciously. P'marion was watching him for any sign of hesitation. Shaking off the feeling of the tamarin's two brassy eyes following him, he left the room, heading for the stairs to his room.

Horace, the patron of the Scaled Rodent, was less than impressed. "Leaving so soon? You paid for three nights. Won't get a refund on that."

"I'm aware of that," hissed Joss. "Here." He tossed the room key down on the bar-top and, lugging his meagre rucksack on his shoulder, stalked out of the bar, glaring at one of the farmers who had come for his breakfast on the way past. "Glad he's gone, eh?" Horace offered to Rosy, who nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes, papa. Nasty piece of work, him." Little does he know...

It was obvious which horse that P'marion fellow had meant for him. It was a bay mare, taller at the shoulder than Joss was, and laden with a pair of canvas saddlebags that had seen better days. When he peeked inside, they were filled with supplies; preserved meats and fruits, bread, a few wheels of cheese, and, (he shuddered), various camping supplies including a rolled-up tent. Still, it would be significantly better than a night in a ditch, or in prison. The fennec peered at the horse suspiciously, but she seemed docile enough, and obviously of eastern stock; the breeding was clear in her lean legs and sharply-curved neck. "Built for running, eh?" he murmured to her as he ran an appreciative paw over her forequarters. "Well, we'll be doing a lot of that, girl. Don't you worry."

No one paid him much attention as he walked the horse through the streets, past bustling merchants and a pair of the dobermans who the council recruited from the capital for the town guard. She was too tall for him to ride without an ungainly struggle for the saddle, and so he would wait, making visits to a few stalls in the marketplace before strolling casually out of the city. He was heading in an easterly direction, though he had no clear destination in mind, merely a desire to keep himself as far from Knightsbridge and the capital as possible. Once he was a fair distance out of the town, Joss found a spare fence, and though it was a near thing, managed to seat himself adequately on the horse, and set off at a fair pace into destinations unknown.

Meanwhile, a disturbance had arisen in the marketplace. A small crowd had formed around a central space of open ground, where a squat, irate and elderly otter had pulled aside Captain Fletcher while he was on patrol. "You!" he screeched, pointing a webbed claw at the lion. "You... Look what you did to my daughter!" He pulled forward a young woman with a heavily rounded belly from the crowd, and she blushed and stared at Rusvan without meeting his eyes. "This man forced himself on my Elisa-Jane!"

"No, daddy, he-..."

"Hush! Tell them! Tell them what he did!" The otter huffed and puffed, dragging his daughter around by the wrist and exhibiting her condition to the gathered masses. "You... are... scum!" he shrieked, and threw himself at the captain, who easily kept the balding maniac off of him.

"Look, sir, I'm sure this is all," Rusvan grunted, "All a big mistake. I would never do anything like that."

"Bull's brains! Old man, past his prime, sees a pretty peach like her, and won't take her refusal!" The otter spat at his feet, and the crowd shuffled, unsure with whom to side.

"It's a lie!" A high-pitched squeak echoed over the noise of the rumbling crowd, and a young mouse pushed herself to the front of the crowd.

"Oh yes? Prove it, girly!"

"Just ask Elisa-Jane, Mr. Reid. Ask her how often she's been fooling with the Attican boy in your hay-loft. And besides, Captain Fletcher would never do anything like that, I'm sure of it," Rosy said fiercely, glaring at the otter and at his daughter.

"And why not? My Elisa-Jane not good enough for him, is that what you're saying?"

"No, he... He... He wouldn't want to do anything like that, not with any girl!"

There was silence as Rosy blushed to the tips of her ears. The whisper ran through the crowd, as those who had heard passed the news back to those who hadn't. "He's a sodding tail-raiser," hissed the otter. A palpable sense of aversion came across the gathered, of a need to turn away, to retreat, and soon most had retreated to their own business. Rosy simply stood, her delicate paws clapped over her nose, and stared at the lion, tears pricking her eyes.

"You know what this means?" he rumbled at last. She nodded and sniffed wetly.

"But..." Her eyes brightened suddenly. "Run! Run away, to the east, to the frontier! Word won't make it to the council for hours, and the dobes haven't heard yet, look," she exclaimed, pointing at a cluster of the imported town guards, who were ignoring the excited gabblings of the street-folk. "Oh, do, Captain Fletcher, you have to... I'll help you," proclaimed the mouse, her mind made up. She grabbed him by the wrist, and though he moved reluctantly, he followed her all the same.

It was easy to load up the captain's belongings onto a cart. He lived simply, as the single, military-trained man is wont to do, and was attached only to those things which were not fleeting, and therefore easy to take with him. A trinket from a past sweet-heart; his armour, which he wore; a sword from his father, which he stuffed underneath the seat of the wagon. As Rosy packed what provisions she could find into the back of the cart, he sat glumly on a chair beside the door, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I could have handled him," Rusvan finally managed, as Rosy was preparing to hitch the captain's small mule to the cart. "You didn't have to interfere."

"It was bad enough that you could've lost your position anyway. And they needed proof. They wouldn't have taken your word, no matter how good it is." Rosy was brisk in her manner, business-like, though her haste was justified. The town was quiet in a way that often preceded rash action.

Nickering quietly to the mule, Rosy stepped up into the driver's seat of the wagon, and beckoned the captain to sit beside her. He looked at her curiously, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you."

"Miss, I-"

"Hush! I got you into this, and I sodding well am not going to stay to testify about your bed-partners so that they can lawfully come after you. Let them assume us eloped or something equally as quaint, I don't care. But I know now that there is more beyond this little town than I could dream of, and I don't wish to sit here long enough for them to come after us and keep me away from that, so for Irontongue's sake, sit down, Captain Fletcher!" There was a fire in the rodent's eyes that Rusvan hadn't noticed before, fueled by her frustration and fear and her oath on the god of exclamations and vulgarities. With a meekness that was out of character, up into the passenger seat of the cart he climbed.

In silence, breathing heavily through her nose, Rosy cracked the crop over the mule's rump, and it eased into a gentle trot. She urged it down the less-traveled lanes, then taking up a farming track a little ways out of town so as to stay off the main road. Little did they realise it, but they also were heading towards the east, and followed closely the line traveled by Joss. He had decided against the main roads after an unlucky encounter that afternoon, with a troop of wandering brigands who had heard of the bounty on his head. Luckily, a little bluffing and they were soon reassured that he was merely the second cousin, twice removed, of the fox for whom they were looking. Not to worry. In the east, everything will resolve itself.