FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Bring in the prisoner," I said with a flat, empty tone. His file floated in front of me on an unseen projection, pixel upon pixel framing the record; 'Fredrickson East, aged thirty-four, male, standing accused for suspect of high treason'. Not your average inmate, but he never caused any trouble. Probably because he knew the system well enough to know that it was better to cooperate or feel the frightening blow of the baton upside the head.

Two doors on the far side of the room slid open with a metallic clunk, pistons hissing within the floor and ceiling as they drew apart either side. Two guards - a leopard and wolf - dressed smartly up in standard gear and armour, held clasping rods in their paws as they entered, stumbling along with them a third person. These rods had nooses on the end, shining an intense bright purple that fizzed with raw energy, and were tightened rather cruelly around the wrists of Fredrickson, unmistakable with his sanded-down horns. It was quite rightly, too, as the man was a monster. He could have easily snapped the necks of both guards with either paw and then have hurled me across the room until some important part of me gave out. He was a breeding bull, by all accounts; his uniform had been torn to accommodate the girth of his muscles, and a dark glow lingered behind his eyes. I knew him from the news. 'East Beast' was his nickname, dubbed to him by both the force and the media, and he sure lived up to. He always led the front line in city riots, was always the one to stand up and accept yet another medal off the President. He was a hero.

Was.

Now here he was, tamed and bound like a common feral, and brought to me upon a platter, so to speak. I'd been offered the chance to interrogate him, to find out vital information that the force needed to retrieve. Fredrickson had stolen it. I had to find out where he'd hidden it. Grinding his hooves along the floor, the bull was brought nearer to me, and he drew up to his full height. He towered over me - over everything really - and he looked intensely menacing. God knows how people decided to go up against him out on the streets. Through the septum of his nose was a piercing, a solid ring of metal that had been wielded firmly shut. Normally he'd have had that removed, but according to the record he'd become violent and outraged whenever someone attempted to cut it off. For the safety of the surgical staff he'd kept it. It was the only remaining vestige of his former pride. A bull's ring was iconic in our culture, much like the bucked teeth of a rabbit was to him, or how I prided myself in my mane. At a modest age of twenty-seven, I was one of the youngest and most brilliant psychotracist the force had. I was the pride of my pride, and sadly for my brother, the apple of my family's eyes.

Fredrickson had a deep chestnut brown mixed with milks of white that streaked in patches across him. Without his horns he posed no immediate threat to me, so I coolly looked up at him and gazed back into those dark green eyes,

"Place him into the station." The guards did as I requested, and only then did I see the large bull attempt true resistance. He bucked and heaved at the nooses, his fists clenched and blood breaching from where his nails dug far too hard into the skin. His muscles were contorted, veins popping and bulging out across the surface of the flesh as he truly gave it all his effort. His face was demonic, however, and I nervously swallowed as the guards handled the situation. With a swish twist of their handles, the rods emitted a loud humming which turned the rope of the nooses a blinding green. Fredrickson howled, roaring at the top of his lungs as electricity surged through his body in what I assumed to be indescribable pain. He lasted a full three seconds on full charge before his body fell slump. I watched to see his chest breathe, reassuring myself that a powerhouse such as himself could take the beating. At least this way he'd be less resistant to a trace.

The guards secured him into the station: it was an oddly shaped chair that leant back at an angle, somewhat like a recliner. His hooves were bolted down to the base, tested to assure their strength before the guards then fixed his paws into the braces set on the arm rests. Then his head was strapped down, the neck set with its restraint and then the sides placed between the clamps. It didn't look anything near comfortable, but I'd been in one myself once, and after a while you grow accustomed to the position.

"You can leave now, thank you," I dismissed the guards courteously, nodding my thanks as they left, and they each gave me an informal salute as they casually walked out of my work space. With a resolute click, the doors locked themselves, the soft lights coming up from below the floor switching from a dull green to a sharp red. I was now trapped in the room with an enraged bull. Wonderful.

I strode around to my console, situated just behind his head and overlooking him, down towards his hooves, and I tapped at the screen to bring the station online. His record faded, and replaced itself with the monitor that was necessary for my work. I pulled off the white coat they made me wear whenever I was working, deeming myself alone and capable of relaxing a little, and I threw it over the back of my chair. As I brought the systems up to speed, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Fredrickson was testing the bindings keeping him pinned down.

"My name is Doctor Alan Hunter." I said firmly, not looking up from my tasks, "And I think you'll find that getting out of that chair is improbable." I was met with silence, before he spoke up with a low, bass voice,

"Improbable?" He questioned with a sneering smirk in his tone. I needn't see his face to know how it looked. In my line of work I'd grown quite used to learning their faces.

"Only way out is if I get what I want," I stated matter-of-factly, shrugging my shoulders though I knew he couldn't see me. It was basic one-o-one of psychotracing, always offer the victim one last chance to give us what we want. I seldom worked.

"Fuck off."

"I thought as much..." I mumbled quietly to myself, and I tapped several more buttons to bring the station to be lit up in the eerie lilac glow I loved so much. All was primed. I could begin to procedure any time I liked.

"You know they'll kill me once they have what they want." My ears perked. Another conspiracy-theory nut-job? I would have suspected better from the former city guard, the role model to many.

"No they won't..." I reassured him, lacing my voice with care, "Yes, you're going to be in prison the rest of your life and it's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows, but they won't kill you..."

"They will." His voice was solid. Unwavering. "They always do."

I decided not to engage him in anymore of this child's play. I knew what the government did, and how they dealt with prisoners. They were taken off-world to a detention camp on our moon. There they'd mine for minerals as free labour and live out the rest of their lives... Nobody was ever executed. Not even him, not for his crimes against the planet.

"Are you aware of what I'm about to do?" I said blandly, running through the same spiel I'd told the other men and women before him. He grunted his response, clearly disinterested with what I had to say. He probably knew already. This was his job as much as it was mine. "I'll begin then. You'll feel a slight sickening feeling that will last for a few seconds, but it will pass. Please try not to vomit."

I pressed the button that readied the tracer probes. They spun about and positioned themselves at various points around his bared head, and they hummed with a sinister note. They were crystalline in appearance, and whilst clear and foggy white when not in use they shone with a bright green glow during the procedure. Fredrickson groaned, a retch coughing up his throat. He dealt with it admirably, I must admit, though I did put that down to his high tolerance to most things. He gagged and spluttered some more, fidgeting in the chair as he groans gradually got worse. I didn't back down. It was the most unpleasant part of the procedure, sure, but doesn't every surgeon have to make that first incision? Taking a scalpel and cutting open perfect flesh; this is the same instance. We all have to take that first plunge.

Slowly the sickness must have abated as he let himself relax back into the chair, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to that god's body of his. The tracer had now been set, and it was a successful first try. Not many had that luxury. Often it took three or four attempts to locate the right memory. I scoured through the digital coding on the computer. Brain impulses and signals came through as biological electricity, which was then refined and digitised into coding that psychotracists like me could decipher. Computers could never distinguish where a memory was - it all looked like a jumbled mess to them, and they couldn't interact organically or spontaneously as much as another fur could with the victim.

"Now, on the eve of the Equinox, what did you take from the President's residence?"

"Nothing." He snapped curtly. The word 'disk' formed from the coding. I had my first clue...

"Where is the disk?" I asked, beginning the interrogation. Fredrickson didn't answer. There was nothing on the screen, just drifting strings of text and numbers, even symbols I barely recognised. "Where is the disk, Fredrickson?"

"Just call me Fred." The change of subject; typical evasion tactics...

"Would you prefer that?" Clearly the direct approach wasn't working. It was a routine method though, so I had to fulfil it. Usually average prisoners would have a blip or two when asked bluntly what we wanted to know. It gave the game away pretty fast, and made my job a whole lot easier.

"Yes." Though his tones were clipped, the coding on the screen told a different tale. I could sense that he was angry. Several curse words began to pull themselves from scrambled chaos. 'Bastard' and 'faggot' were select choices, accompanied with 'cunt' and then several more. I smiled out of forced habit. It always amused me how plain a person's mind could be laid when they're being traced.

"I guess you could call me Alan then," I said, leaning in closer to the screen. The words 'fuck off' formed, and I smiled again.

"How about answer me this, then..." I bartered, "Why did you take the disk?" He shifted in his chair,

"I've already given my answer to the force."

"You've not told me." He growled threateningly, despite his current predicament,

"Don't play games with me."

"I'm not playing a game, I'm doing my job," I quipped back calmly, "You have to answer my questions. If you've already given an answer, then what's the harm in repeating it to me?"

There was a prolonged, pregnant silence; one that helped me a great deal. The coding on his head shrank as he attempt to retreat into his inner thoughts to think. It didn't stop me though from zooming in with him. The words 'risk' and 'chance' came up, and then a fragmented sentence that something along the lines of 'what's the harm it could do?' He sighed, and the coding came back into focus,

"The information on the disk is highly important, and if it went unexposed would do serious harm to the people of this planet."

"Why? What could be that bad?" He pursed his lips, thinking. A few curses floated back on the screen, but he was also beginning to consider telling me what he wanted me to know,

"It's new legislation that the President's been talking about with the head of the force. If it's passed, nobody is safe. We'd enter into a dictatorship... People would be slaughtered on the streets!"

Was he just being a fanatic? Had he gone off the deep end and entered a world where his conspiracies were coming true? Or was this all genuine... I had always regarded myself as being very ethical, and whilst the business of tracing was frowned upon it had its merits and had saved lives. I'd already stopped three terrorist attacks in my time, so the end justified the means. But this... If what he said was true, then finding out where the disk was spelt disaster. However, if I was just getting sucked up into a wild conspiracy, I'd end up looking a fool. It'd be an embarrassment! I'd lose my job, my reputation... Heck, I'd even get charged with treason myself!

Shaking my head, I thought best not to dwell too much on it now. I had to at least get the job done. Once I found out the information I could then see about what the next course of action should be.

"Alright... So you took it upon yourself to..." I pondered over my next words carefully. Saying the wrong thing could ruin the whole trace, "... to do another good deed for the people? Did you work alone, or did others know about your plan?"

He hesitated, and it lit up warning lights inside my head. Like a bright blaring claxon that rang out, alerting me to the mistake. He hesitated. So there were others.

"No." The answer rang true enough. His thoughts would have shown if he had been lying. So what then? What could possibly be flawed in the grand scheme?

"But someone's aware something is up...?" He didn't answer, and I watched the coding. Something was hidden, pressed deep within his mind that refused to unlock. I had to prise apart the tumblers to his mind, push back the levers ever so gently and reveal what he had worth keeping away from my prying eyes. I tapped a few more buttons, increasing the intensity of the trace. He'd feel nothing; I was already inside. All he was aware of was the fact that I could see deeper than any mortal should. "Fred, I really do suggest you answer my questions. You don't want me to resort to forceful measures."

"Torture me all you like, I won't talk," His voice was snarling, teeth glinting with a malicious shimmer. His fists were clenched once again, dried blood now welling up with a fresh flush. There was something there. I could see it. A memory, a snippet of a recurring image, something that seemed to be important; but his resistance kept me away. The coding would thresh and mould itself about the memory, hardening it in a cocoon of impenetrable free will - time for the last resort. I breathed out a laugh, shaking my head slightly,

"No, not torture Fred..." My paws moved across the smooth glass of the console, swiping up the dials, "Since you're being unhelpful, I'm going to have to induce you into a temporary artificial coma."

"What!" Fred roared, thrashing at the chair, the thing rattling with a violent force, " NO!"

I activated the mental blockades, syphoning off his impulses and restricting their passage. It was like chasing rabbits down their warrens, pushing them deeper and deeper until they were trapped within the dead ends of their vital systems. Proud of my handiwork, and began to push and manipulate the coding with my digits. Fred's mind became an interactive world for me to toy with, and I pulled away the threads and wiped clean the hidden memory. It took some exertion - he had wound himself up pretty tightly about - but with his relaxed grip he eventually slipped and let go.

I zoomed in; the screen grew larger to encompass the vision. The scene panned about, some kind of lower end district, and it brought itself in close to view Fred. I scoped out the environment, switching from the default first person view to a third one. I was now an unseen observer, like God, watching down upon Fred's inner most thoughts normally restricted to the world.

The run down area was alive with a commotion of busy street life. It was market day, and organised chaos ran through the enclosure. Voices shouted and hollered at the top of their lungs, selling beads and meat and clothes and books... Children darted and weaved between the shambled stalls, rickety wooden things erected out of a few poles, some crates and a heavy tarpaulin thrown over them to blot out the midday suns. People were shaking paws upon deals and talking loudly as though they too were caught within the ruckus. In amongst the throbbing crowd came Fred, a giant to these mortals, and he strode with great purpose and speed through the path that cleared for him. Wherever he went followed a hushed murmur, words thrown this way and that. Since the whole scene was depicted from the constructs of his memory, I could only hear what Fred heard and from his perspective - the only downside to a trace - but I heard many exaggerated rumours, if not a few odd names and hisses of disdain. Guards were not the most favourable of furs on the streets, and for good reason too.

Fred came to a door wedged between a rather suspicious looking shop selling herbs and spices and another that had crystal merchandise adorning every inch; it was a beaten up looking thing, and was even partially worn away, where chips of wood had broken off leaving jagged gaps as though the door were cobbled together out of driftwood. The bull reached up and banged loudly in a pattern on the door - I memorised the pattern, two big knocks, followed by three consecutive raps after a two second pause. There was a scuffling from inside and it got louder as something scampered its way to the door. A bold blue eye pressed itself up to a slit in the door where the wood had disappeared, peering out onto the street to witness the bull shiftily looking from side to side. The eye's pupil dilated and widened overall in shock, darting briskly away back into the shadows. With a heavy clank a bolt was thrown open and the door swung out onto the street. A blur of yellow attached itself to Fred, arms wrapping as best they could around his broad stomach, and the head burrowing itself into the thick chest fur. Fred laid a large paw softly against this random fur's back, stroking gently through the mane that trailed down the neck. He pushed his nose into the locks of fur, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla oils that he associated with this person. They were hard to come by. Whoever this fur was they certainly had connections. Fred continued to hold this person with the utmost tenderness that marvelled me to have come from someone known for being a brute. They remained like that for a considerable time, merely content to hold one another before - again with remarkable affection - Fred prised them off and brushed their mane out of their eyes, tilting their chin upwards. The light shone back across the market place and finally illuminated the face of this mystery fur as I prepared the facial recognition diagnostic. But I didn't need it. My jaw dropped as I looked right back at a younger version of myself.

That was my brother. That was Peter.

I could only watch, stuck between a mode of mortification, terror, and sickness as well as curiosity, seeing the bull lean down, his lips tenderly taking those of Peter's and softly with a love I could not describe began to kiss him. My little brother responded with a reserved hunger, holding himself back for the sake of the moment though the strain could be seen to bear across his neck and shoulders. You could see that Fred remained in charge throughout the seconds, holding the lion with embracing arms and pressing firmly upon the small of Peter's back to keep him close, their bodies rubbing within the shadows that they dwelt in. I knew I was right to be suspicious when he kept vanishing from the academy every so often, at abrupt times and for no reason at all only to return hours later. This was where he must've been; hooking up with the iconic hero of the people, and a testament to the government's power. That's when I noticed it though. Fred had the disk in his back pocket. I had located the target. Now all I needed to do was track its movements and we'd be going for gold. But there was another problem... Fred had a bulge. My eyes tracked to it from his pert backside. It neatly tightened out the pants he wore with very little sense of modesty, and he was grinding it along Peter's inner thigh, causing the lion to blush in the cute way I'd always seen him do as a kid. Shit...

I froze the scene. The memory was paused with just a tap to the station. I had to think.

What should I do? I had a job to do, and this was important evidence and could be devastating if I ignored it. But it was my brother, my baby brother Peter... I couldn't watch. It was wrong. If I was right in my assumptions and they were about to do what I think they were going to do, then I couldn't ethically intrude. Though I'd done far worse - it's what made me the best. I went places where nobody dared go. I would skip ahead were it possible, but Fred had bound up this memory so tightly that I was forced to wait through it just as he had done as it had happened chronologically. In a way, it acted as a decent deterrent for any psychotracists such as myself. Most would shy away from something so revealing or uncomforting. But I was not going to be outwitted by the 'East Beast'. If watching my brother fuck with some bull, then I might as well... It could've been worse, by all accounts.

I sighed, bashing the console with a scrunched up paw. Damn my job, and damn Fred.

I pressed 'play'.

They'd moved inside now, kissing more passionately now with growing excitement. The shack itself was in a poor state. If anything, it was barely a husk of a building. A singular large room stacked high with poles used for the stalls and spare tarpaulins. Peter had assembled a makeshift bed out of tired blankets and cushions. He'd lit a few candles for lighting, though it added more to the ambience as shafts of sunlight stretched across the interior, falling through slats in the ceiling where the wooden boards had pushed free. Fred pushed himself with fervent need against Peter, their lips mashing now and panting heavily. Peter pulled himself away, and with keen haste they tore off their clothes. In seconds they were soon bare in the light, looking at each other with lust I had never quite seen before. I recorded where their clothes had fallen, making sure to mark where Fred's pants had been discarded. Sadly I doubt he'd have left them there, so for now I could ignore the rest of the memory.

The scene continued, and Fred had thrown himself at Peter this time, pinning the smaller lion against the wall. They were growling and biting playfully at each other, and whilst in my mind I told myself to look away, I found myself drawn to watching it. Unconsciously my paw wandered down to grope at the bulge forming in my own underwear as my brother gasped, getting pushed to his knees against the wall. It must've been musty, and the floor was covered in a film of dust and grime, but he didn't seem to care, or even notice. My eyes were fixed upon his features, noting their intense arousal and desire burning behind those otherwise innocent blue eyes. I saw Fred's member, a cock that made even me whimper at its size, as it neared Peter's tight looking mouth. My brother pursed his lips, such beautiful cock-sucking lips that were full and ready, parting them as the head began to tease for an audience.

My attention was rapt, my paw wandering past my waistband and inside, keeping my gaze fixed upon Peter. Fred pushed forward, introducing the plump, thick head that must've been the size of a plum alone, and began to slide it into that muzzle. He exhaled sharply with the sensation of having wet and living wrap itself around his dick without his control, and he braced his paws on the wall, leaning against it with his head looking down. He could watch the scene play itself out, see his meat slipping into the golden maw of Peter, each bulging inch of that pink flesh disappearing between full lips. My brother gagged once or twice, but he seemed an expert with Fred's manhood, and part of me began to wonder how long this had been going on for. Where had they even met?

Fred moved his member backwards and forwards, each time grinding that little bit deeper. He must have been nearly a foot long in length, and I carried on watching, mesmerised as Peter took it down with ease. Soon, the bull's rough fat balls were slapping against the small rounded chin of my brother, and his eyes became half lidded with bliss. I could see the mound pushing out his throat, working across that gullet of his, the gulps jumping up and down with each bob of his Adam's apple. Fred began to face fuck my brother, taking it slowly at first so that they both built up their pace. It was unhurried for a time, and Fred took all the time he needed to slide from tip to base down that throat. Peter seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself; his own member had slipped free of its sheath - looking very much like my own, though if not smaller by comparison - and now he stroked it absently with a free paw, the other going to tweak his nipple with a dirty moan. When Fred pulled fully out of that muzzle, I saw a line of spit link the very tip of the head to my brother's bottom lip. His tongue drooled out, mouth agape and begging to be filled again; the beefy bull just groaned, shoving his prick back into that wet passage. His thrusts increased with strength and speed. It was as though he was seeking to destroy the wall with each ram of his hips, and that my brother was merely a cushion between the two. But no matter how violent or aggressive I thought it was, Peter seemed to be quite capable of adapting. The small lion only held himself in that position, toying and teasing himself whilst he kept his mouth opened as wide as possible to take that monster into him.

I half expected them to finish like that, for them to go their separate ways, and whilst that would have been the best scenario, I found myself being disappointed with it. A deep, dark part of me wanted more. I didn't understand... What part of this was I enjoying, as clearly there was something that had gripped me. This was my own brother, for goodness sakes, and here I was watching him as an incestuous voyeur into a private moment of his that was of his own reckless deciding. I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I turned back to the screen.

They didn't end there, of course. Instead, just as Fred was working himself up into a sweat, huffing and growling as he held himself off, he pulled out from the hugging maw of my brother.

"On your paws and knees... now..." He huffed, his voice echoed from the trace, "I ain't in the mood for tender loving, baby. I need it hard."

Dutifully, Peter shuffled onto his knees on the blankets. He leant his weight forwards onto his paws, supported by the soft blankets that had been laid down. I could the slight shivers run down his slender frame with craved anticipation. The bull crept up behind him, squatting down on his hooves and reaching out with a large paw to brush and pull up that flicking tail. This was my first sight of my brother's pucker, a moist looking hole that squinted and squirmed with wanton lust. Fred ran his finger down the cleft of his ass, stroking from the tail-base all the way to my brother's balls with a testing touch. Peter whined, biting his lip as he wiggled his behind back into the bull's face. Fred snickered, growling with a low tone that showed his desire. He probed that sweet hole with his tongue a few times, digging in deep just to loosen him up before he pulled himself away. Peter was shuddering, barely containing himself as the tension carried in the musty air.

Then Fred came back up behind him, closer this time, and he ground his hardness between those bubbly cheeks. His manhood was sandwiched between the two round globes, and he moved back and forth across the crack and grated over that tender hole. Peter groaned with raw impatience that shone from within his lust. He wanted this just as badly as the bull did, and the torturing slowness at which they were getting to it was driving him insane, I could tell.

But Fred was nothing but merciful; he too was growing bored of the lion's pathetic shivers and insistent pleas. He drew himself back, lining his fat cock up with the slick hole before, with little remorse, he pushed inwards. I watched on, licking my lips, unbeknownst to me that I had freed my own member from my confines and was now masturbating myself at a leisurely pace. I stroked all eight inches as I watched that greedy hole swallow up the bludgeon of a cock. Peter was more than just an expert; he was the quintessential slut for this monster. There was barely any resistance as Fred pushed the whole foot inside, groaning when he hilted finally, those heavy balls bumping into Peter's pitiful ones. The lion gasped, whimpering as he felt himself fully impaled now on the cock he must have been taking for years, a familiar intruder to his ass. Fred on the other hand grunted, his fingers clawing at the flesh of on his hips as he pressed himself as deeply as he could. The bovine's crotch ground hard against the succulent ass of my brother. I swallowed anxiously, my fingers entangling with themselves as they rolled and drummed across my eager member. Oh fuck...

Fred let a paw snake its way up to Peter's head, ensnaring fingers reaching out to grab a handful of his mane. He whined, his head pulled backwards by the rigid grip of the bull's paw, but it went ignored The bull began to bounce his hips against that plump ass, small strokes at first that gradually built upon themselves with tempo, force, and depth. Peter's face was clenched and his teeth were gritting together. But he didn't resist. I could only conclude he enjoyed the rough brutality as his cock was harder than ever, and it dribbled a thin string of pre across then stained blankets. The bull's big balls would slam occasionally just hard enough against Peter's own that caused both of them to grunt in the sensation. It was an abrasive thing to watch, but I could think of how hot they both looked, and though I shouldn't be indulging myself in such a grim fantasy, I found myself wanting the same, to be part of it in some way.

Glancing down, Fred watched his meat now get sucked up into the thriving hole of his leonine lover, the rim engorged about his thickness and clinging to him on every withdrawal only to then press inwards as he was welcomed back once again. I wondered in my head how the internal sensations must have felt for Peter, of feeling that spear repeatedly pound at every crevice until the gut were smooth and heavenly to the touch, like silk. I imagined how it would feel to have that brutal head tapping and hitting against the prostate, causing each strand of sticky pre to jerk and spit out. The electricity coursing through his body, the furs standing on end, the dull throb of his head where his mane was pulled like a feral backwards... It must've been overwhelming, a true domination. For Fred, I could only think of what it must've felt to be encased by such a hot, greedy tube of flesh that wanted nothing more than to pleasure him in every way imaginable. It gobbled the length of his cock with need upon every thrust, and each time Fred would become a little faster. He'd push in a little harder. At one point he even change his stance slightly, moving one hoof forwards so that he stood with one leg beside Peter's hip whilst the other braced his weight. He could then really ram down his meaty manhood into that ravenous pucker, stretching it and working it over in all ways imaginable, now adding in a savage twist that sent Peter into the throes of pleasure.

All the while I was growing increasingly aroused, my boundaries fading and letting myself enjoy a sight I'd most likely never see again. I was near to exploding, but was saving myself. A part of me wanted to cum with Peter, to imagine myself in his place, to take the bull for my own and feel him consume me with his power. Their stamina was impressive - they were clearly used to longer sessions - but Fred was impatient. He rutted hard and speedily against Peter's ass, the strokes now becoming shorter in length, slamming home the last few inches of that monster. His nostrils were flaring, eyes wide and wild looking, sweat dripping along the contours of his chest and abs. He was primed, ready to blow and he was driving himself onwards to a mind blowing orgasm. He roared, stomping his hoof about three times before he smashed himself in as deep as he possibly could, the sheer power pushing Peter forwards, bearing down onto his chest so that his face was smothered into the blankets on the floor. I saw the cum erupt around that rim, spurting ribbons of thick white against Fred's thighs. He was snarling and huffing, just like I had seen him before, but this time he had a lopsided smile of contentedness. His calf batter splurged onto the floor in dripping ropes, pooling along the floor and around Peter's knees. The backs of his legs were slick and wet with the oozing jizz, and after several seconds of being filled his stomach began to bloat unnaturally, as though he'd eaten the largest meal ever of his life. Peter mewled, groping against the floor, his claws out and scratching into the boards. He left trails where his paws lingered, huffing and panting as, without a single touch, he blew his nuts across his belly. His load was pitiful, but all the same it added to the mess already growing by the second. A loud purring filled the room, and Peter's tongue rolled out to one side, his own look of bliss matching Fred's. I felt myself near, edged to the brink, only to then shoot across the console, my own seed splashing against the curved glass. I yowled, grunting and baring my fangs as I came to the sight of my brother getting creamed by his daddy bull. I sighed, catching my breath, casting a look over the two of them and the station in front of me that had sticky runs of cum trickling down them like rain upon a window. What the hell was wrong with me?

The bull shifted his weight, falling onto the blankets and pulling Peter with him. Lovingly, he licked along the lion's small ear, nibbling at the soft fur and they settled in the short few minutes of afterglow they could enjoy. Peter continued to purr absently, eyes closed, fur grimy with sweat, dirt and spooge, but he seemed to be at ease and relaxed. Fred looked nervous and unsettled though, now fidgeting just like he had done in the chair. Could this be it...?

"Baby... I need you to take something for me..." His voice was quiet, shaky even, "You have to promise to hide it until the time is right... Please..."

Peter looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion. He didn't say anything, and merely watched as Fred sighed, reaching over with his cock still lodged up my brother's ass, plucking out the disk.

"This... This could destroy the government, or it could put the people under a dictatorship... You have to keep it safe."

Peter took the disk gingerly, his eyes frightened and scared, but he gulped back the fear and nodded, giving Fred his silent agreement. The bull's expression softened, and he kissed Peter's forehead, trailing down until their lips met once more, sharing what would be their final kiss, a longing, sweet kiss...

The memory cut itself off there. I sat there gawping at the screen. I was in so much shit, my brother was an enemy of the planet; he was fucking with public enemy number one... Oh shit... Shit, shit, shit!

I wiped down the console, putting myself away and pacing back and forth frantically. I had to calm down, and I had to choose. I needed a plan. What should I do? Do I do my job, answer to my superiors, and complete the task, or do I save my brother? A small blip alerted me to an incoming call on the station; the prosecution was calling. I sat back at my console, sucking in several sharp breaths to soothe my frayed nerves. It seemed Fred believed he was telling the truth, that that disk could be the most dangerous thing on the face of the planet, and now Peter had it...

"Doctor Hunter?" The crisp voice cut through with a metallic resonance, a gruesome looking figure dressed in a moulding suit. "Has he broken yet?"

"I've scoured his mind, sir," I answered coolly, keeping the nervousness out of my voice, "But there's no trace of any criminal activity. I think you might have arrested the wrong culprit."

"Impossible. Check again." I gritted my teeth; just bear through it...

"I did, sir. There was nothing that came to my attention. I assure you, sir, I'm certain you've got the wrong man." There was a long, drawn out silence, and the sound of tapping fingers rapping against glass. I remained casual, begging myself not to let the mask slip.

"It would be good for public morale to have their hero redeem his title... Are you sure, Doctor Hunter? I would be very displeased if you were lying to me... The consequences would be quite dire, I assure you."

I nodded, the slightest of movements, and one I'm sure risked every single fragment of my life,

"I'm sure."