FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The flickering of the dull orange streetlight lent an eerie glow to the filthy street. Sheets of newspaper blew in the warm, stale wind, steam drifted up from the manholes, and the air was muggy and thick with sweat and despair. Nothing green was in sight. The buildings on this city street were tall, imposing, gray and cold, but crumbling; ancient rulers of a decaying slum. Many wore boarded-up windows as badges of their violent history; some were decorated with graffiti warpaint. Only one living thing stirred on this street. One living thing, and he was not staying.

The black panther--or, more accurately, black leopard--turned from a blindingly dark alley into the street. The streetlight gave an orange cast to his leonine features--he had a strong jaw, set brow, and a powerful bearing offset by his striking green eyes. There was something in his movements that suggested he was an alpha male, a strong, confident creature with nothing to prove to anyone. He wore a simple black trenchcoat and black boots designed specifically for Furrs, and under the trenchcoat, it was anybody's guess what he wore. His hair was black, too, slicked back and ponytailed, except for a few loose strands in front that hung down to his cheekbones, framing his angular predator's face. The creature, all in all, appeared not cruel but dangerous nonetheless, used to living on the edge and having to fend for himself.

For now, the Furr looked warily around the alley, not wasting time with inspecting every nook and cranny but rather throwing a cursory glance and sniff left and right. He was obviously not quite at ease, as was evidenced by his claws having slid halfway from their paw sheaths. He began to move then, striding forward through the empty night like the predator he was, the power of his muscles well apparent even under the trenchcoat. Anyone standing near him would have been impressed and awed at his appearance, and at his stature--he was broad-shouldered, athletically muscular, and well over six feet tall.

And, hidden under the black trenchcoat, long black-feathered wings were carefully folded against his back.

The black feline slid through the darkness and moved quickly in the direction he needed. When he reached a corner, he turned left with only a quick glance right, making sure he was in no danger. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he stopped in the light of another streetlamp, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from a pocket.

Harlem Hooters

2124 Tarron Ave

*Red light in upper window

He blinked and looked up and around him. None of these windows had red lights, so... Wait.

He squinted, bringing one large paw up to shade his eyes. There. The bulb was out, but the curtains were open enough to see that the red light was supposed to be a beacon.

With no further hesitation, the black winged panther slipped up the stairs and inside.

The interior of the building was completely out of place in the slum. It was well-furnished, stately, clean. Red velvet adorned the walls, trimmed in gold, and the carpet was a plush shining white. It was not just any brothel. The winged cat looked around, then approached an empty desk. Before he could tap the bell, however, an attractive middle-aged woman emerged from behind a curtain, smiling coldly. She was human, plump but shapely, pretty but too harsh-looking for his tastes... He looked her over mildly, she looked him over with open distrust, and finally she spoke.

"I am Madame Cavat. I assume you have an appointment?" she asked, in a tone which suggested she KNEW that no scum like this could be granted an appointment, much less be expected to keep it!

"Yes, ma'am," the big feline purred, voice smooth as the velvet curtains and twice as sensual. She blinked, and he continued. "Xavier Jefferson. I had an appointment for eleven?" The woman blinked again, stupidly, then nodded and shuffled around to peer under her desk. She hauled out a thick binder and handed it to him. "Sit over there," she instructed, pointing at a group of red-cushioned chairs sitting to the left of the entrance and before the desk. "Go through the book," she continued, bustling through some papers under the desk, "and tell me if any of the females you see interest you. They have simple profiles there--what they're good at and so forth. We have a few here, but most are nothing available for purchase. You might get lucky--who knows. In any case, if you see a fem you really take a fancy to, just note down her ID number. Here," the woman added, handing him a clipboard with attached pen, stuffed with papers. "The official paperwork is here. We can arrange a visit, what we call a test drive, and if you approve you can rent or buy. Your choice. And," she added, looking him over, "if all this looking gets you hot, then feel free to pay an extra two hundred for a good time with any of the femms we have here. Good hunting." With this, the woman wandered off again, parting the curtain and leaving Xavier to his thoughts.

Seventy-five years ago, the United States government had, in an attempt to create supersoldiers for their empirical designs, began crossing the genes of human and animal. Some results had been beautiful, gentle creatures, others powerful and cruel. All had immediately won some rights, being too non-human--inhuman, as Xavier liked to think--to indiscriminately kill for territory that was not theirs. They had spread worldwide; the scientists had done a good job. The Furrs, as they were called, mixed the basic form, intelligence, and speech abilities of humans with the outward appearance and minor physiological adjustments of the particular animal they were working with. Sometimes tweaks were added, for example Xavier's black wings. All in all, the Furrs were just another race of human, living among them--fully accepted by some, hated by others. There were anti-Furr movements and pro-Furr movements both in human society; so far they could not vote or hold office, but they could own property and had equal rights, for the most part. The only issue cropped up when a few laboratories, less scrupulous than others, bred Furrs for profit. Bull Furrs could make wonderful physical slaves, rabbit Furrs good prostitutes, eagle Furrs excellent transportation as they pulled light gliding craft through the sky. The Furrs were sold, and could be bought or sold from then on as property. They wore collars of different colors to mark their rank of slavery. The only way they could earn their freedom was by saving enough money from their pittance pay to buy it. Enslaved Furrs were due a small income, despite their slave status, and usually ten years was enough to free a hardworking, hard scrimping Furr from his hell.

The Harlem Hooters brothel dealt both in prostitution and in slavery. Though there were laws for the welfare of slaves, nonetheless it was a bad thing to be sold as a sex slave. After all, rape was not only accepted but expected in many cases.

Xavier blinked himself out of his thoughts. No, he was not a rapist. He was merely lonely. No femm, human or Furr, would stay with him once they learned what he truly was. And so he was going to buy a companion.

It was as simple as that.

He opened the book in front of him, paw shaking a bit. The three-ring binder was full of printed pages, each with one or more large full-color photos and printed descriptions. Some had things pasted in or blacked out, and scraps of paper remained where pages had been torn away. Intrigued from the first, determined to take his time, Xavier began to read.

First: Dahlia, young cream and white Rabbit, twenty-six, round and cuddly-looking, with far-off blue eyes. Specialty? Oral. Bisexual.

Second: Tiffany, young skunkette, twenty-two, again curvy. Her black-and-white fur was set off nicely by a red kercheif she wore over her collar for the photo. Specialty: liked it rough.

Xavier didn't know how much of a specialty that was, but what the hell. Next...

Wendy, a hippo furr of all things. Too heavy.

Ruby, a gorgeous red fox, with golden-red eyes glinting with... well, he didn't know with what, but he didn't trust whatever it was. Next!

Barbie. Huh. A zebra, and a curvy one, a bit older--thirty-two. Maternal-looking, specialty was 'wonderful housewife-type'.

And so on and on the list went, with Raccoon, Squirrel, and even Puma Furrs. A She-wolf, a phenominally beautiful Clouded Leopard, and...

Veronica.

Veronica, young white tigress. She had no markings whatsoever, simply pure white, soft and thick fur. Her eyes were a brilliant green, like his, sparkling emerald in her flawless white coat. Her full description went thus: Veronica is a twenty-four-year-old White Tigress, tough and fiery. She is not for the faint of heart, nor for overly dominant males who may be forced to fight her. She is intelligent, cautious, and quick. Her specialties include a quick wit and athletic body.

Oh. Xavier stared for a long moment at the photo. So she wasn't exactly cooperative. Well, he only wanted to meet some femms to start, not marry them straight off, after all. He had the option to reject any number of them before a purchase was finally made. And the tigress... he let his eyes wander over her. She looked athletic, yes; strong, but fast, agile. Toned.

Xavier stood so abruptly that he nearly knocked the book from his grasp. Then he remembered the paperwork and sat back down. Name, age, address, contact info. Fine. Now: six numbers of interesting females, in order of preference. He put the tigress first: #108. Next he put a slender she-wolf with shy golden eyes. Thirdly came a vixen, then a beautiful tabby cat Furr, fifth a sleek-looking Puma, and lastly another vixen. Foxes were popular with brothels and sex-slave dealers, and for good reason; they made good fucks, plain and simple. Xavier knew it, though he had no personal experience. He was choosing mostly on what he could see of their personalities--from their eyes. And from their overall appearances.

When he was done, Xavier went to the counter, boots sinking in the plush carpet, and tapped the bell politely. Madame Cavat appeared a moment later, smiling thinly. She took his paperwork, peered at it, then looked at him suspiciously for a long, long moment. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Everyone wants the white tigress. They don't like her when they meet her. She's aggressive, difficult, stubborn, and has tried to escape more times than I can count. She probably isn't a working choice, Mr. Jefferson, but I'll be glad to let you meet her, and take her if you want. Though you'd be the first to succeed," she added wryly.

"She's... she's here?" Xavier asked in disbelief, as if such a beautiful creature could not possibly be living in a Harlem slum. No, she would have been bought by now.

"Well, yes. As I've said, she's difficult," the Madame added, eyeing him as if she wanted to also tack on "or are you just not listening to me?"

"I'd like to meet her," growled Xavier in his professional voice--the commanding, authoritative voice with the low rumble. Madame Cavat blinked at him, nodded, and took his paperwork. She gave each sheet a cursory glance, making sure all fields were filled in, then thrust a final paper over the counter at him along with a pen.

"Release of Liability Waiver. She's considered a Dangerous Slave, and we aren't responsible if she tears your... if she harms you in any way," she stated, correcting herself just in time. Smiling grimly, feeling a strange anticipation building, Xavier signed the sheet and pushed it back over the counter. The Madame studied it for an overly long time, checked his ID, and led him through the curtains. He followed her down a long, well-lit corridor, and to the second-to-last door on the right. The door was padded, like all the others, with red silk. Madame Cravat led him in, and showed him around quickly.

"The couches, the bed. The minibar. You have three hours. Your deposit bought that. If you move to second choice, you get one hour with her, and the same with your third, fourth, fifth and sixth choices, unless you pay for more time. Keep her shackles, or if you feel confident enough to untie her--don't, but if you were to--don't let her near the little champagne bottles in the minibar. Past experience--trust me." With that, the woman turned and wandered off to retrieve his prospective purchase.

He took this time to study the room. There were two white couches, decorated with red pillows--one heart-shaped--and a red throw blanket, velour by the look of it. The bed was a big King, comfy and soft, covered in two big comforters and padded with pillows on two sides, as it was situated in a corner. There was a mirror on the ceiling above the bed. A box in the corner--the obligatory toybox--would contain still-packaged sextoys that worked like the drinks and snacks in the minibar--you use, you buy. Xavier ignored this. He had not come here for sex, but for a female companion, one who would be his long-term friend and mate, and who would be unable to leave him out of fear of his past. He didn't want to scare any femm, but at least a slave couldn't turn tail and run after he'd fallen for her. Xavier took a mini-champagne from the minibar, along with two glasses, and filled them, sitting on one of the white couches, waiting.

Then the door opened.

Veronica.

The lovely white tigress, only eight inches shorter than he, slipped in, shackled with steel and collared with a thick golden band. Behind her stood two panting Bull Furrs, looking none too happy. They eyed Xavier with dull disapproval, as if he were another in a long line of foolish males who'd made them needlessly drag this bitch from her den.

The tigress stood just inside the door, tail down, ears flat, glaring at him. He nodded to the bulls, who shrugged and shut the door, but not before he noticed also that they were both drenched in sweat. She must be a fighter, he thought with a mental nod.

Xavier looked down at his boots, then into his bubbling champagne. He watched the tigress from the corner of his eye; she was extremely tense, quite agitated, ready to fight. He could smell it, too, like a musty cloud; her hormones screamed of fear and resentment, the terror of a caged animal, the horror of a woman facing rape.

Xavier's head snapped up at last. The tigress, fur glimmering white, was simply gorgeous. Her eyes were as emerald as her photo showed; her muscles taut and toned, her body perfectly proportioned and fit. Her breasts, bare, were large but not too large, still perky, healthy, with small pink nipples jutting from the fur. He did not look at her crotch.

"Come," he said in his softest voice, though he could not keep his natural seductive tone from intruding. "Sit with me, have some champagne." The tigress laid back her ears, narrowed her eyes, and wrinkled back her lips, exposing gums and long white fangs, and hissed furiously. Her white whiskers flicked back along her face. Xavier noted all this with approval; she was young, healthy, vibrant. She did not deserve to be here.

"I said champagne. I'm not here to hurt you. It's just a drink, that's all. I just want to talk." When this just earned him a low, threatening growl, he sighed. "Look," he said softly, "I am not here to take you, or even to touch you sexually. I am going to take off your shackles in a moment, but I'd like to know you aren't going to attack me first. I tell you, I am NOT going to take your body. I am not." He watched her reaction, trying to be as vehement as he could, trying to let his honesty show through. She relaxed a bit, though not much, and finally, reluctantly, slipped toward him, slinking a bit and watching him very closely. He did not stir, only sipped his drink and watched her approach.

Finally she was sitting beside him. He leaned forward, and with two quick snaps, her shackles were loosed. They slid to the carpet in a loud jangle. She kicked them lightly away, watching him still with a fearful caution. He handed her the other glass of champagne.

"I came here not to buy a sex slave, or to fuck a whore in a brothel," he declared, deciding to speak simply and plainly. Honesty would likely work best with this fearful Furr, rather than tact. He did not want her to think of him as having some ulterior motive.

"I came here," he continued, "because I want a long-term female companion. I'm lonely, and I have a past. I would never hurt you, assuming you turned out to be the one I took home. I've just been living alone a long time--"

"And you want a bitch to fuck, to do your housework," snarled the white tigress suddenly, body shaking and tail fluffing up.

"No," he replied quietly. "I do my own housework, and I've gone without sex long enough to know I can deal. No, what I want is a companion. I... Well, Veronica, to be honest I don't know what I want." The tigress suddenly blinked. Her ears came up. She relaxed visibly.

"You just used my name," she said softly.

"Yes," he replied, a bit confused. She shook her head.

"It's not important. It's just that... nobody does. In here, we are all "bitch" or "whore" or "slut." I'm just... Who are you?" she demanded suddenly.

"I am Xavier Jefferson," Xavier replied. The tigress nodded, and it became apparent that the champagne was affecting her strongly. She smiled shyly now, instead of being fearful. And so, with this awkward beginning forged, the winged panther began to push ahead. He started a conversation about slavery, asked her where she was from. A lab, she said, in upstate New York. They'd schooled her, exersized her, raised her for sex work, expecting one with her good looks and good education to sell for an extremely high price. But she was too wild, they said, too feral, and had been shipped from place to place ever since. Different brothels, yes, but all the same; men and Furrs groping at her with greasy hands, grabbing at her, trying to push themselves into her. She'd always fought, and unlike the others around her, she'd won. She didn't have to tell him; he understood... she was a virgin. Beyond that, she spoke of rape, corruption and cruelty in the business. He changed the subject soon enough, talked about genetic engineering. To his surprise, she knew a great deal of the process, and they had a long and detailed discussion of it, how it affected evoluion, whether it was an extension of evolution by virtue of its very existence. They spoke of the merits and flaws of each species becoming furry, both mental and physical. They spoke of the silliness of fashions. And when Madame Cavat knocked on the door to tell him his three hours were up, he asked for ten more minutes.

"Veronica," he said softly to the content, drunken white tigress, "You intrigue me. I don't want to leave you here; you are a kindred soul, and I need a companion. I want to take you home with me. Would you come?" The tigress blinked sleepily at him, then seemed a bit frightened. "I wouldn't ever hurt you; nothing I would ever do would be against your will." She nodded, then promptly passed out.

Xavier filled out the paperwork, paid the hefty price, and called a cab, carrying his new prize into the night.

Veronica woke in the jostling rear of a taxicab, in the darkness. She sighed and stirred slightly. This stranger, this amazingly handome, softspoken and gentle Furr with nothing but truth in his eyes, had just come and whisked her away. His coat, the long black trench, was wrapped around her tightly, keeping her warm, and despite the golden collar round her neck, she felt truly free for the first time in her life. Though that could be, she supposed, the champagne talking.

He was sensitive, he was gentle. He watched her, knew how she felt, and acted accordingly, really trying to soothe her just to put her at ease rather than make it easier to take her. He meant her no harm. She was an excellent judge of character; she'd seen too many who lied about their intentions to her, who waited in those rooms to assure her of their innocence as they approached with chains. This one was different. For a start he was honest--he'd said he wanted a companion, and a companion only, and did not truly know why. There was no elaborate lie crafted, no deception. Only honest truth. And for another thing... he was beautiful. Statuesque. He was tall, broad-shouldered, athletic; power rolled from his muscles. His face, graced by the long black ponytail, spoke of intelligence, of fierceness but of morals. Of decency. She didn't think she could love anyone, but she certainly didn't hate this one like she did all the others who'd come to buy her. They'd made her feel like a thing, like property. He made her feel like a female he'd found, one he wanted desperately to accept him.

And she believed it. She knew it to be the truth. With this small happiness in her heart, she drifted back to sleep, still drunk.

Glancing into the backseat, Xavier peered at the white tigress wrapped in his black coat. She was asleep, a smile on her face.

Who knows, he thought. Maybe this would work out in the end.

It was, of course, just the beginning.