FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Sire?"

The word escaped Lars's lips before the mouse recognized who he was questioning.

"I'm not accustomed to repeating myself," the lion said, continuing his way to the throne. His voice rumbled low, somewhere between a purr and a growl, "I said come and bathe your king's paws." A smirk crawled across his muzzle; one which did little to ease the mouse's mind.

Lars remained on his hands and knees for several moments, his floor brush caught in mid-scrub. His eyes dropped to the wet stone beneath him, and his mind raced to figure out if this was some kind of game or trick. It was such an odd command. Though he had spent his life cleaning this castle from bottom to top, bathing royalty was quite a different matter. Still, he knew only one way to pass this test of his loyalty.

The throne creaked sharply as the lion dropped backwards onto its cushions. The sound echoed throughout the cavernous hall and quickly scrubbed away that line of thought. The mouse slumped his shoulders, burdened by a gaze he didn't have to see to know was upon him. Evidently out of time, he swallowed a dry mouth and reached for his pail.

"No," the king said, "Leave those. You were born with all the tools you need."

Lars looked up for a smile or tell that might give away the ruse but was met by a pair of yellow embers that seared against his face. He immediately averted his eyes, gulping again, and jerked his hands back from his brush and pail. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, leaving them where they lay. A feline rumble rolled from the throne as he moved closer, trembling with each step. Far sooner than he'd hoped, the mouse found himself standing before the lion.

"On your knees," the command came. Lars knew it would, but he didn't think his body could move without hearing it. He obeyed quickly, though, dropping down in front of his seated king. A large paw rose into his view, gradually taking up the mouse's entire field of vision. He gawked at the enormous expanse of pads and fur as it hovered mere inches from his face. In spite of the king's famously modest height, this single footpaw dwarfed the mouse's entire head. He felt his jaw hang open as he stared, breathing in the heady scent, but the great paw interrupted with an impatient wiggle. Almost instinctually, Lars recognized what he needed to do.

Reaching up, he cupped both hands under the lion's ankle and scooted closer to support the massive appendage. He leaned his head forward and tried not to hesitate as his pink tongue lolled out and dragged across the soft pad. Instantly, he was awarded with a deep, rumbling purr from the throne above.

"Mmm, there you are, peasant. Pay your respects to your king."

Loosing a gentle sigh through his nose, Lars closed his eyes and lapped again at the big cat's paw. He did it again, more eagerly this time. And again. His tongue slurped wetly as he licked faster and faster, mouth watering. Truly, the mouse did not find himself nearly as disgusted as he might have expected only moments ago. Once he had lapped away the grit and dust of the castle's stone floors, the fur and pads were relatively clean. Even without, the footpaw's flavor was earthly. Salty. Natural and masculine. He found himself whimpering for each taste between licks.

The sound of rustling cloth teased at his round ears. He continued his worship for as long as he could before popping his eyes open for a quick glance. What he saw pushed his heart into his throat and set his cheeks alight.

The royal robes had fallen (or perhaps been pushed) open, and the king lay all but nude as he reclined back in his throne. His fat member stood upright and throbbed mightily, looking every bit as long and hard as a jewel-capped scepter. Ruby rings glinted in torchlight as the feline stroked his shaft slowly from base to head and back again. Another purr emanated from the lion as he writhed on the soft cushion. Thankfully, his eyes remained squeezed tightly shut, and the mouse's voyeuristic peek went unnoticed.

Taking the moment, Lars stole a glance down at the huge paw and found that not even half of the pad he'd been lapping at was slick with his spittle. He gulped a mouthful of saliva as he felt his own shaft twitch and stiffen inside his trousers. He dove back into his work, redoubling the efforts with his tongue. He found himself thrilled by the sheer impossibility of the task and his majesty's obvious pleasure. With every pant of musky air, he slathered the paw before him with all he had to offer.

Minutes later, just as Lars was sure he'd coated that entire pad at least once, the lion bellowed out a deep groan. This time, the mouse gazed openly up at his monarch while diving his pink tongue between each squirming toe. As he watched, the feline's hand moved to the base of his shaft and held it perfectly upright. Another groan came, and a prominent bulge formed on the belly of the lion's cock, just above those swollen crown jewels. The already-fat urethra distended outward as the bulge gradually climbed the underside of that majestic, throbbing member. As it reached the tip, a bulbous glob of creamy fluid emerge upward. The jiggling blob clung to that swollen cockhead, thick enough to remind Lars of his grandmother's holiday pudding. He watched as it grew fatter and fatter, until it finally spilled over the crown and oozed back the way it came. The mouse sucked hungrily on a fuzzy pinky toe, his eyes fixed on the flow of heavy royal cream. Soon, it snaked through the cleft between his king's pulsating orbs and fell to the stone floor with a resounding _ shplop _.

groan

_ plop _

GROAN

splatter

plop

More of the rich batter welled up from the trembling like an agonizingly slow geyser. Lars felt his own release building and he squirmed needily while slurping on each toe in turn. Suddenly, though, a thunderous roar tore through the chamber forced him to lay his ears back. The mouse felt his eyes bulge as he watched a solid column of seed, broad as two fingers, erupt from the swollen cockhead. The liquidy rope arced high through the air and splattered back down on the big cat, drawing a milky-white line all the way from his face to his groin. Another jet spurted free just moments later, laying a second line through the golden fur. Jet after jet burst forth, each spray seeming somehow thicker than the last, until Lars lost count of them. Before long, though, the lion's entire upper body was coated and steaming. His plump member flagged and bent to the side, oozing the last of what it had to offer onto his semen-splattered thigh.

The mouse panted heavily, his mouth agape as he simply stared at the excessive outburst of fluid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noticed that his trousers had become very damp and that a hot fluid was running down his thigh. More importantly, though, he realized that he was no longer showering attention no the wonderful footpaw in his hands. He leaned his head forward to continue the bath, but stopped when he saw those twin embers staring at him from beneath the layer of white. This time, though, he felt no fire from the eyes. Cum clung thickly to the feline's eyelids, staying clear of his vision, and Lars shivered as a smirk formed on that drenched muzzle. "Come closer," the lion said, fat tendrils of seed hanging between his parted lips, "You have much more work to do."