FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Rhys glanced askance, taking a final, slow draw from his pipe before tapping out the remnants into the nearby tray. The smoke drifted up in a lazy channel as he exhaled, a smooth grey bank joining the eddies and curls already hanging in thick striations near the ceiling.

"Eh," the dazed rat next to him grunted, fingers trailing aimlessly through the wolf's chestfur, "Yew, uh, wan' ter invrest-uh...instev...'ave a look at one o' them side rooms?" The rodent waved vaguely in the direction of one of the many vibrant silk curtains hanging about the chamber, a pleasantly smashed grin on his face.

"Tell ye wot," Rhys drawled, "I've a piss t'take, an' when I'm through I might take ye up on tha'." He cast the rat a sidelong smirk, carefully winding a vibrant strip of scarlet silk around his opium pipe before storing it away. His companion slumped onto the divan, inhaling deeply from his own pipe. "'Urry back," the rat muttered, coils of smoke twisting from the corners of his muzzle as his glazed eyes wandered over the wolf's body.

"Only f'r yew, love," Rhys smirked, leaning over to nip sharply at the rat's collarbone, eliciting a surprised, pleasured grunt. The rat - Jack - was his sometimes-associate: Sometimes Rhys wandered the streets looking for company after hours, and sometimes Jack was selling.

The room was large and dark; richly-appointed drapes and carpets were interspersed with various lounges and chairs, all highly-decorated and most occupied with all manner of individuals lazing about with their pipes, or sleeping, or else exploring one another's bodies. The only light came from guttering orange flames set in braziers that flanked each of the exits. Truth be told, it was one of Rhys' favourite haunts.

He extricated himself from the rat's embrace, buttoning his trousers as he sidled past the divan to skirt the room's perimeter. That was why he loved coming here, largely, he reflected. You didn't hide, because there was no need for it. You didn't restrain yourself, because there was no illusion of propriety in this place; the fetters of society above didn't extend into this den.

Course, he thought as he drew a heavy brocade curtain aside and stepped into the room beyond, there were also the days when you walked in to find your supplier with a hot young muzzle wrapped around his dick.

Young men were all over Xiang - three of them. The den master reclined in an almost aristocratic fashion upon his violet divan, half-lidded eyes seeming completely devoid of interest in the three strapping hounds currently servicing him. The wiry tiger's golden robe lay open, exposing the bare body beneath. The first of the canines knelt behind the back of the divan, arms draping over to caress the tiger's chest, lovingly tweaking and twisting the dark nipples as he nuzzled at the crook of Xiang's shoulder. The second sat cross-legged at the end of the divan, bathing the master's footpaws in sweetly-fragranced water.

The third - and what so caught Rhys' attention - was straddled over the divan at Xiang's calves, prostrate along the length of the tiger's lower body. The hound's tail flagged high above a rounded, perfectly-shaped rump that begged Rhys to be taken; the canine's mouth, however, was occupied with the master's thick maleness, along which he bobbed obediently, suckling and licking with practised skill, cheeks slightly concave with effort.

"You seek what of me, Connelly?" The voice was light and melodious, rich and lilting, the lyrical equivalent of the heady, exotic spices and incense that blanketed the chamber, overpowering his senses.

The wolf almost jumped. He'd been so preoccupied staring at that (perfect, delicious, fuckable) ass right in his line of sight that he hadn't noticed the tiger speak. Now Xiang was regarding him with that unnerving, half-lidded gaze, and Rhys' thoughts had fled him.

"Er, right," he muttered, shaking his head slightly to clear it. "Wanted t'buy another fix." His eyes kept drifting down to the canine sucking at Xiang's cock. "Won't be in f'r another few days." Slurp. Lick. Saliva coated the throbbing red length in a glistening sheen, and the kid wasn't breaking a sweat. "Need it though, y'understan'." Gods, forget the fix. Rhys half-wondered if he could buy this sucking machine from Xiang for a few hours.

"Of course, Mister Connelly. You are a favoured customer, are you not?" Xiang's words drew Rhys' focus back up, and the tiger had the beginnings of a faint smile upon his Eastern features. "And you bring me so many more favoured customers..." He clicked his fingers, and a burly drake stepped forth from the shifting shadows of the chamber, black, oiled scales gleaming in the lamplight. Rhys couldn't help but flinch.

The dragon raised a clawed fist, impassively silent, and stared at Rhys. The russet wolf stared right back until the muscled guard grunted and flexed his digits open, dangling a small, bulging leather pouch from two talons. Rhys, taking the hint, accepted the pouch without a word and tucked it into his pocket. "Thankee, sir," he grunted, glancing from the dragon to Xiang.

The tiger arched his neck in response, muscles stretching his chest taut beneath the paws that expertly tweaked and squeezed at his nipples, and smiled thinly. "But of course, Mister Connelly," the tiger purred. "I am always agreeable to an intelligent bargain." One striped paw moved languidly from its resting place on the divan's arm, long fingers curling in the fur at the back of the slurping canine's head before forcing him down on the tiger's length, a lewd schlurp preceding the canine receiving a throatful of engorged tiger cock, the muscles of his neck working convulsively about the thick shaft. Xiang regarded the boy with a narrowed gaze for a moment before glancing up at Rhys through heavy lashes, as though just registering his presence.

"You require something else, hm?"

Rhys blinked, staring at this display with no small measure of approval. The boy hadn't so much as gagged. His ears perked up, drawing his vision away from the tiger's crotch and back to his eyes.

"Er...these lads...y'know..."

"Do I offer their services?" The tiger's smile had shifted from disinterest to mild amusement.

Rhys merely nodded.

Xiang's free paw came up in a nonchalant gesture, accompanied by a mellifluous chuckle - something that Rhys had not heard before, not from the Eastern cat. "As I said, I am always agreeable to an intelligent bargain." He pondered Rhys's well-built form for a moment before pronouncing, "You may have this one, to your satisfaction."

"Thankee, sir," Rhys managed to grind out in a flat, respectful tone - though inside he could hardly believe his luck. "'Ow much? I 'ave a few more- "

"You must take his place for the duration," Xiang purred, cutting him off.

Rhys looked as though he'd been physically struck. "Er, wot? I don't...er, that's not f'r me..."

The dragon stepped forward again at a motion from Xiang, this time bearing a large, ornate pipe. Fashioned of polished mahogany inlaid with chased gold, Rhys barely had time to register the thing, let alone examine its beauty, before it was in his mouth and his nose was clamped shut. Faced with little other choice, the wolf inhaled deeply; the tip of the pipe glowed with sudden heat, crackling, and sharp, musky smoke flooded into his lungs.

This particular brand of opium was unlike anything he'd previously experienced - it was smooth going down, and smoother still when he exhaled after the dragon stepped away, smoke curling about his maw and scenting his fur. He paused for a moment, and opened his mouth to speak. Then the harpsichord began playing in his head, and he could only let out a low giggle. "Wot the fuck was that?"

"Mine," the tiger quipped from the divan. His grip on the young man's head relaxed, and the dog slowly drew back, finally coming free of the tiger's cock with a lascivious, satisfied slurp, a thick strand of precum trailing from the fat tip to his mouth before he licked it away, eyes cast down.

"'S hot in here," Rhys muttered, flushing. Fire burned in his veins, beneath his skin, through every steel fiber of his muscles, and all he could do was stand on the spot. The music had swelled to an aria, swirling around inside his skull, and the world spun with it, in perfect tempo. Strong, scaled hands removed his coat, and he fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. His fingers were less than deft - he should be able to do this, why couldn't he - and then the shirt was off, lifted over his head by those same reptilian claws.

Xiang raised an eyebrow at the dog crouched across his lap, who rose complacently. The young canine sauntered over to Rhys, hips swaying, and offered a smile that promised a hundred different sorts of pleasure. The wolf returned a cockeyed grin of his own as his toy unbuttoned the trousers that had grown too tight, too warm in the past moments. The thick fabric slid down his legs, electric to his sensitized skin, revealing a proud, raging erection that bobbed against his stomach, the focal point of the searing heat that coursed through his body and fueled the mad harmonics in his brain.

The dog wrapped a slender arm about his waist, helping him to step out of the trousers, and leaned up to murmur in his ear, "Pour votre plaisir, monsieur, et vôtre seulement."

The wolf could have cried for joy at the beauty of the words - they rang in his head, resounded with a part of him that he hadn't known existed. Dumbly, stunned, immobile before such wonders within and without, he felt himself walking, being led across the floor, even as the world bled and dissolved into vibrant, shifting colours. An insistent grip, a pressure at his shoulder, forced him to crouch, half-laying on the floor, propped against something sinfully soft and plush, broken by warm, furred limbs lying across it.

A melange of orange and black skated across his field of vision, and there was suddenly a paw ruffling affectionately at the back of his head. He leaned into the touch, a contented growl rumbling through his chest in tandem to the beating music filling his consciousness. The friend - for who else could be so caring, so wonderful, as to pet him, of all people? - guided his head forward and down, and he suddenly bumped his nose against something hot and slick and smelling utterly irresistible. A spicy, intoxicating aroma filled his senses, borne upward on the intangible waves of heat emanating from the thing before him, and he instinctively opened his muzzle, taking it into his mouth.

The tiger purred at the wolf that lay practically supine before him, guiding him slowly along the length of his maleness. The corners of his mouth turned up into a thin smile once more, and his elegant, arched eyebrows lifted.

Rhys, tasting and licking and loving that treasure that was in his mouth - that his friend had led him to - that he couldn't get enough of - was in heaven. Then, abruptly, he was beyond, out among the spheres that sang to him as a warm, eager muzzle closed around his needy, dripping cock. Smoother, wetter, warmer than anything he'd ever known, something was licking and suckling at his length as though their life depended on it, and just when it seemed that they had gone away, his cock would be sheathed in that hot, wet place again. He moaned around his own mouthful, tongue lapping and sliding along the smooth, hot flesh, along the raspy barbs beneath the thick, dripping head; then the paw guided him back down, and he would begin again.

It was beautiful, it was unmatched; his hips moved, rocking, thrusting mindlessly into the amazing, skilled muzzle beneath him, even as he bobbed up and down on the length in his muzzle. More, he needed more, and so with a low moan around the thick column of flesh he leaned forward, tilting his head, and abruptly buried his nose in the crotchfur of his friend, taking the long, slick length further into his throat.

A sudden melodic moan sounded from somewhere above, and his friend's paw squeezed, rubbing, scratching, encouraging. Eager to please his companion, Rhys redoubled his efforts, needy slurps and swallows escaping his frantically-working throat as he struggled to please this cock before him, even as his own felt as though it would explode from the tight, licking muzzle that his length had made its home. Strong arms encircled his chest, scaled digits caressing his chiseled pectorals, sliding down over his six-pack, tangling in his fur, rubbing at his thighs.

Rhys was going to die from being pleasured to death, he was sure of it, but he didn't care. All he could do was lick and suck and taste and smell and moan at the hard, throbbing cock that filled his muzzle and throat, all while doing his very best to facefuck the poor dog senseless.

The hot, needy shaft in his mouth jumped, and he leaned forward eagerly, burying his nose once more in that musky, exotic fur. Hot, thick seed erupted in a torrent, and he gulped frantically, throat working to swallow the delicious treat - he was parched, he was starved, he needed it more than life itself, and to let any escape would be a tragedy. Again and again the thick shaft in his gullet pulsed, thick spunk filling his muzzle, trickling out of the corners of his frantically gulping, sucking maw. He thrust wildly, hilting himself as the tight, wonderful mouth beneath him accepted his engorged knot, and came.

He went blind for a moment, and the harpsichord in his mind finally ceased, drowned out by the guzzling, harsh growl that ripped through his chest. Again and and again he came, flooding the poor dog's mouth. He could feel his own seed, hot, sticky, overflowing, running down the base of his length, dripping along his full sack, trickling away, but he didn't care.

He had died and gone to heaven.

A sharp pinch at the base of his length caused him to gasp, and he drew back at last off of the softening cock that he had just nursed, gazing blindly up at the face of his friend. A low, delighted purr met his ears, the only sign of approval.

Rhys Connelly smiled broadly, staring at things only he could see, and succumbed at last, falling back into the brawny, scaled arms that held him as he passed out.