FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"I can't believe you didn't at least ask his species," Jesse grumbles, following me into the warm, dimly lit pub, the smell of clove cigarettes thick in the air. About half the barstools are empty, but I look around for a more private table.

"I wasn't aware that species mattered to you," I say, motioning toward a booth in the back.

"It doesn't, but I like to have some idea of what I'm getting into. Or rather, what'll be getting into me." I let him slip into the booth first, putting him next to the window, and I sit down beside him, my gaze roaming around the room.

"You don't know that he's going to want to fuck you," I say after a minute.

"I'm an 'escort', remember? What else is there for me to do?"

"That's why we're having this meeting," I say. "To find out. Rich people tend to be eccentric. That means they can afford to be weird as fuck." I fall silent as a handsome badger approaches the table. Could this be Clyde? I almost ask, but after hearing him talk about cops, I want to be cautious. Good thing, too.

"Evening, guys," the badger says. "What can I get you?"

"Beer," I say. "Whatever's on tap is fine."

"And for you?" he asks Jesse.

"Strawberry daiquiri, please."

"All right, I'll be right back," he says and I watch him walk away, his short gray tail flirting back and forth through the fly in the back of his jeans. Jesse nudges me with his elbow.

"You should ask him out," he whispers.

"What?"

"I saw you looking at his tail," he says with a cheeky grin. "Maybe if you get some, you'll quit trying to hump me in your sleep."

"Maybe you should stay on the sofa tonight," I reply with a matching smile. Suddenly, his grin vanishes and he nudges me again, giving his head a slight nod. I look up, expecting to see the badger coming back with our drinks, but am instead surprised to find a horse in a suit approaching our table, a glass of scotch in his hand.

"I'm Clyde," he says, his voice deep and rumbling, and I swallow hard.

"Carson," I say without thinking. "I'm J- Violet's...manager."

He arches an eyebrow at my slip, then sets his glass down on the empty side of the table. "Come on," he says. "Both of you."

I glance at Jesse, unsure, but we get up from the booth, and I realize just how tall the stallion is. He towers over us, seven feet if he's an inch, his short, sleek coat as black as night and his mane cut short and neat, a trace of silver in his forelock even though he can't be forty yet.

The badger comes over with our drinks, a frown on his handsome face. "We'll be right back," I tell him, hoping that I'm right. Jesse and I follow Clyde to the back of the pub, where he pushes open the door to the restroom and leads us inside. We stand beside the sinks while he checks the stalls, making sure they're empty before turning to us.

"Lift up your shirts," he says.

My ears go flat. "I thought we were just here to talk business," I say, shifting in front of Jesse. I hope he has the good sense to make a run for it if things turn nasty. The stallion leans back against the toilet stall partition and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Either you've really never done this before, or you're the dumbest cops I've ever seen," he says. "Lift up your shirts to prove you're not wearing wires."

"Oh," I say. I glance back at Jesse and we reluctantly untuck out shirts and lift them up. "What about you?" I say. "How do we know you're not a cop?"

"Now you're thinking," he says, and unbuttons his suit jacket, then his crisp, white dress shirt, exposing his broad, muscular chest. He must work out. "Satisfied?"

"Yeah, okay," I say and we all put our clothes back on. "Now what?"

"Now, we go have a drink," he says. We return to the table and he slips into the booth, carefully tucking his long legs and large hooves in beside Jesse's big back feet. "So," he says, taking a sip of his scotch, "how did you two decide to go into this line of work?"

"It was my mother's idea," I say, not sure why we're making idle chit-chat. He gives me a stern look over the rim of his glass before setting it down on the table.

"You'd best watch that smart mouth," he says. "There are a lot of whores in this city, many of them cheaper than yours. Being rude is a quick way to lose a client, and you'd be surprised how fast word gets around. You don't have to answer truthfully, but at least be polite."

"Sorry," I say. "I'm a little nervous." When I get nervous, I turn into a smart-ass. I clear my throat and try again. "Violet found himself in need of a new manager, and I decided to give it a shot."

"And did you do that to his face?"

I glance over at Jesse, who colors beneath his fur and absently reaches up to run a paw back over his whiskers, as though it would help to hide the fading bruises and scabbed cuts. "No. It was his former manager, and why he needed a new one."

"And what about you, Violet? Do you like being an escort?"

Jesse hesitates, then gives a small shrug. "I guess. It's better than what I was doing."

Clyde nods and takes another slow, thoughtful sip of his scotch, his dark brown eyes shifting back and forth between Jesse and me. Uneasy, I catch myself tapping my claws against the side of my glass. I force my paws to be still, taking a quick drink of my beer to try and calm my nerves. We can't afford to fuck this up.

"All right, let's talk business," the stallion says finally and I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I'd like to hire Violet for three hours." I think my eyes bug out of my head. That's six thousand dollars! "Your website said that bondage is extra. How much extra?"

I falter. Jesse and I hadn't discussed that.

"What kind of bondage?" Jesse asks before I can say anything.

"Soft restraints at the wrists and ankles, no gag, no blindfold, no uncomfortable positions. Simple immobilization."

I can see Jesse worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he lifts his glass and takes a drink of his daiquiri. He swallows, sets the glass down, and licks his lips. "I'll do that for three," he says finally. Three thousand? Is he crazy?

Clyde just nods, like it's no big deal. "I have one more condition: I want you clean, but unprepared. No lube, no stretching, no plugs, and no sex before our session."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I start to say, but Jesse gives me a sharp jab with his elbow before I can get the words out.

"It'll cost another thousand," Jesse says. I bite my tongue. It's his tailhole, but fuck - taking a draft horse unprepared? Just the thought makes me hurt.

"Sounds like we have a deal," Clyde says. "How soon are you available?"

"I'll have to check Violet's schedule and get back to you," I say, earning myself another sharp jab in the ribs. I'm really getting tired of that.

"I'm free tonight," Jesse says. "How's eight o'clock?"

"Eight is fine," Clyde says, reaching into an inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a hotel keycard. He slides it across the table to Jesse. "The Imperial, room 704." He shifts his gaze to me. "You're welcome to come with him. A lot of managers do to ensure the safety of their employee, especially when dealing with a new client."

"All right," I say. "Thanks for the advice."

He throws back the last mouthful of scotch and sets the glass on the table with a thump. "Thanks for the drink."

My fur bristles at his presumption - he invited us here, he should be buying the drinks - but I just force a smile. "Any time," I say as he carefully slides out of the booth.

He looks down at me, his lips quirking in a smirk. "You're a fast learner," he says. "See you at eight."

I watch him walk away, his long, black tail brushing the backs of his legs, and then I turn to Jesse. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Me? What's the matter with you? You almost cost us the job."

"I'm not sure we should have taken it," I say.

"Why not? It's ten thousand dollars."

"And he's a draft horse who doesn't want you to use lube. I'm not sure it's worth it."

"Of course it's worth it," he says. "For ten thousand dollars, I'd have let him chew my leg off."

"Oh, well maybe we should put that on the website," I snarl. He gives me a dirty look.

The badger bartender comes back around to our table, a towel tossed over one shoulder, and picks up the empty glass. "Can I get you fellas anything else?"

"Just the check," I say, picking up my almost untouched beer and taking a drink. It's warm.

"Oh, your friend in the suit already got it," the badger says. He smiles at us. "Have a nice night." I can't help but watch him walk away again.

"See," Jesse says. "Clyde is a good guy. You need to have a little more faith in people." That's not reassuring, coming from the guy that Terrance called too trusting. I guess we'll find out which of us is right. Honestly, I hope it's Jesse.