FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"See, sir, there's nobody here," the Labrador said, waving a hand around the room.

The fire was still crackling softly in the floor-to-ceiling fireplace; the high-backed chairs with small tables, one of which had a glass of brandy resting upon it, were empty; and the shelves that covered the walls displayed no intruders but instead several levels of books each.

"You must have heard some scofflaw on the street outside, is all," comforted the other guard, a bulky otter. "Police probably chased him down."

Standing in the doorway, shorter than either of them and looking irritated by their words, a Dachshund scowled. "I know the difference between some miscreant on the street and one trying to fiddle his way into my study, you dolts." He strode over to the balcony doors and pointed at a handle. "See here? This handle is marginally out of place! I can recognize the difference between it being level and it being slightly higher than level."

Humoring him, the Labrador keyed the lock and went outside, watching the soft rain come down. He looked over the edges both above and below, but saw nothing out of order. Shrugging, he went back in.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but there isn't a thing out there," he told his employer. "Nobody up or down, and since there isn't any way to move to either side or forward, being that the next window is a hundred feet across the street and all, it doesn't look that any tried to come in through there. They'd have left a trace and some, sir."

The otter, who had gone over to the chairs, held up the brandy. "Awfully low, isn't it?"

His temper flaring, the Dachshund reeled from the canine to him. "Dullard! A glass every few nights won't twist my perceptions! Someone tried to break in here!" Behind him, the Labrador shook his head, signaling the otter to not react in kind. "Anyway, you must search the upper and lower floors if I'm to get any rest tonight. I won't sleep at all with the feeling of a prowler about."

As he stormed from the room, the guards followed, with the aquatic male whispering, "You said your brother can get us into some work over in the Merchant District, guarding wine and whatnot? Let's do that instead; I'm tired of this nonsense, and the old bag can get burgled for once."

The Labrador nodded, shutting the study doors behind him and locking them.

A few moments passed, and then one of the bookshelves silently swung forward, revealing a hidden room. Out stepped a figure clad almost entirely in black (boots, gloves, long coat, hood, and gloves, with his shirt and pants a dark gray). Moving the disguised door back into place, and then popping the lock for the balcony.

Chuckling softly at his good fortune that the furious art dealer kept a secret from his guards that had now been his undoing, he slipped over the balcony and into the night.

**********************************************************************************

Upon his return to his apartment, nestled safely in the upper floor of an abandoned warehouse along the river at the docks, Black Hand let out a long-held breath.

He removed the scroll of papers he'd stolen from the Dachshund and set it on the table before disrobing, eager to get a bath and a night's rest; he'd dropped the art dealer's secrets off on his way home, and these were copies he'd made in the event that he wanted to steal a few things from the little patsy for some easy gold.

Finally free of his raiment, he rubbed his spotted body, working out some of the aches of his mission. The cheetah, six feet tall and with a sleek, well-defined form, bore three linked descending circles on the outside of his right upper arm. It was a little faded but otherwise clearly visible, and therefore he kept it concealed from the world at every turn. In this part of the world, it would be very costly indeed were anyone to sight it and grasp its meaning. The only other marring to his otherwise flawless figure was a series of cross-laced scars on his right breast.

He sighed again, feeling more tension exit his being, and began drawing a bath. Not a minute had passed before there was a soft, distinct tapping at his window. Frowning, he went and let the messenger bird inside, removing the scroll from where it was tightly slung around its chest and sending the creature away again. That particular bird was only used by his employer, Lord Stone Fang, and the large tiger had yet to fail in giving him good work and pay; he would not have the bird wait and send back a refusal of service.

Black unfurled the small scroll and put it under the magnifying lens on his desk, scanning the short contract. He couldn't say that he was surprised by the type of work needed, as he had performed a good many thefts of humiliating secrets, but he was a bit jolted by the name of the target.

Gale Rider, eh? he thought to himself. Easily his biggest mark of all time: the dragon had a massive store of wealth, it was said, and certainly his socio-political influence was a force to be reckoned with. Taking him down a few pegs would be one of his greatest accomplishments.

Without realizing it, his hand had drifted over his chest, softly brushing against the scars. The sensation snapped him out of his thoughts, and he got up from the table, moving with a steely purpose. From a locked chest across the room he pulled out and rifled through a thick stack of papers, each with dozens of names, a great many of them crossed off.

Finally locating the right one, he scanned down it...and his eyes narrowed. Upon the page were a large collection of names, only a few spared from being crossed off, and a few notes compiled from his research (namely theft of information and the occasional interrogation). One such note was now causing him particular focus: a rumor of an Oryx accepting payment from a dragon.

There was no description for the second beast, and more immediate concerns had for years delayed Black's hunting of further details, but now his interest in the rumor was rekindled. There were not many dragons in the world, being one of a few species that reproduced in a surprisingly limited quantity. While there were normally spread across the lands too far for him to investigate, he now had a prime opportunity to rifle through the personal files of a dragon, and learn whether or not an Oryx had ever been in his employ. They seldom were seen farther south than Gullet, and matching up the timeline would eliminate many false positives. He had a chance!

"A chance," he rasped, hope flickering within him again.

He returned the papers and resealed the chest, and then took his bath and went to bed, but the fire in his mind did not die down.

*********************************************************************************

"Aaah, aaaahhhh!"

The mail boy, a sleek gray-and-white cat of only 18, propped his head back against the alley wall. It was early morning, and Black had pulled him off his route and was currently plying him for information. Since the lad was young, cute, and certainly rather innocent, Black had decided the best interrogation method for him was the most rewarding kind.

"Please..." whimpered the two-tone feline. "More..."

Black pulled himself off the youth's small, throbbing cock, making sure to have it exit his mouth with a wet pop. Not wearing his usual garb, the cheetah resembled a commoner, albeit one who walked with an air of danger. Looking up with eyes full of dominant male lust, a needy phallus in front of him, that air became predatory.

"You know the price," the larger cat teased. "It feels good, but it'll feel amazing once you hit your peak. Of course, if you don't tell me secrets..."

"No, I'll talk, I'll talk!" the younger male pleaded. "I'll tell you anything!"

Black grinned toothily. "Much better. I'm interested in Lord Gale Rider. I want the names of any who work for him, especially guards."

The postal service, especially the younger members, were perfect for this, going just about everywhere and delivering to almost everyone. They heard and saw enough to get a foot in the door and give any spy or assassin a way in.

Panting, trying to fight back his surging lust, the mailboy said, "There's a military fellow, a big rhino. I think his name is Hammer Crash. I've heard that he visits the city's top brothel, but I don't know his schedule." He took a moment to bite back the urge to masturbate, his eyes watering with barely-restrained lust. "Please...I need it...!"

"Oh, very well," the older feline yielded, and once more took the lad's aching cock into his maw.

The lewd sounds of pleasure filled the alley again. Black's tongue expertly caressed the kitten's meat. His head bobbed to and from quickly, and before long the lad grabbed the older cat's head, crushing his crotch into Black's face. A modest sampling of cat cum spurted into the spy's mouth, only a few shots before the boy crumpled to the alley floor, Black pulling himself off the cock again in the process.

"You've been very helpful, son," he complimented. "Stay here a bit and rest up, you'll be fine."

He turned to leave, but the boy cried out, clutching onto his hand and halting him.

"Marry me!" he begged.

Black stared at him, bewildered.

"I'm old enough," the mail boy argued. "I do housework all the time, and I know plenty of people around the city, I can get a good job to pay for a place! At least engage me! I'll be worth it, I promise!"

Barely able to keep from rolling his eyes, Black fixed the lad with a hard expression. "You clearly don't understand the gravity of marriage, young one. You don't want to ask for my hand, or any for that matter, especially as you aren't very old."

But the boy wasn't paying much attention to his advice, his mind addled from what seemed to have been his first real cumming. He was confusing lust and love.

Black withheld a sigh as he cupped his hand under the boy's cheek, guiding him back up and into a powerful kiss. As the young male widened his eyes and mouth, eager, no, desperate for more, Black's free hand slipped down. His fingers started expertly working the lad's sheath again, the almost-flaccid cock shooting back to full hardness swiftly.

The boy moaned weakly into his mouth, shuddering with pleasure. His spent cock was barely able to dribble more pre and ached. But he couldn't resist the ecstasy as Black worked his magic, the cheetah's deft fingers coaxing the member along swiftly.

With a muffled cry, the boy came, stiffening against the alley wall and letting out a small offering into the palm of the larger feline. He then sank back down, eyelids dropping and head following, overtaking by exhaustion.

Snorting softly, Black left him there; he'd been awoken by a random citizen in due order, chastised for letting his urges overcome his sense of duty, but he'd be fine.

It was time to pay Hammer Crash a visit.

****************************************************************************

The House of Pearl was the best brothel in Fasrah. It was a ring-shaped building, five stories tall, its edifice ornately carved and soft golden light spilling from its many windows. The ground doors were all gated and guarded, all of the security staff burly and of the more fearsome species: wolves, bears, crocodiles, and panthers.

Past the gates were halls decorated with sculptures, paintings, and half-open doors, each one an invitation. The floors were polished stone, so shiny reflections of high quality could be made out, and the ceilings had small (but beautiful) chandeliers hanging from them. Divans were generously placed should customers want to...relax with the staff right there in the hallways. The House generated a lot of revenue for the city, its many whores raking in huge profits with the wondrous holes.

The central courtyard was where the wealthier patrons dined, short hedges, pillars, and erotic sculptures all about. For a price, slaves could even be made to decorate the area, placed on pedestals or hung up, to be used at one's leisure; it was said the House's founder, Lady Xenola, liked to have her slaves hung over the table, dripping their fluids into the food to accentuate the flavor.

It was late evening when Black Hand dropped by. His usual attire looked a bit worn and arguably suspicious, but there were clients from every walk of life that visited the House of Pearl, so the guards wouldn't do much more than scowl at him; so long as he didn't give himself away, he'd go about unmolested.

Once inside, he moved away from some of the other customers and their whores. He didn't know the layout of the entire building, no, but he had pilfered secrets from a few of its patrons from time to time, so he had a very clear idea of where to go.

He knew about Major Hammer Crash. He was a large, intimidating rhinoceros, an officer of the Army's Heavy Infantry Division. He had an impressive track record and a reputation for being the driving force behind swift, critical victories, crushing bandit gangs, rebel camps, and more, his assaults ruthless and overwhelming. He favored power attacks to deliver a decisive and devastating blow to the enemy right away, assuring success from the onset.

That made it easy to locate him: he was in a private room on the third floor, giving a thorough fucking to a human femboy. Black Hand had sneaked into the ventilation system: at the current time of year, it wasn't used at all, and was roomy enough that he could crawl around without much trouble. The view was from close to the ceiling and across the room, but he could clearly see both rhino and human.

The boy was oiled up, his fair complexion gleaming in the lamplight. His thick, flowing black hair, neatly cut to end at the shoulders, was splayed out on the bed, gleaming like obsidian. The boy was gasping and moaning, clutching at the sheets.

Hammer had positioned himself on his knees, the boy's abused ass bouncing up and down upon his impressive cock. The officer grunted as he thrust into the femboy, his nine-inch rod piercing his bowels, its girth stretching not only the youth's back door but also his gut: a small bulge pushed out from his belly each time the Major buried himself within the boy's ass.

The rhinoceros in question was an impressive specimen: tall, broad-shouldered, bald, with large, sculpted muscles over every inch of his body, easily weighing 200 pounds. Perhaps for decorative effect, or to represent his beliefs or family or some other thing, he had tattoos of pitch black on his upper back. They were a carefully-crafted series of curved slashes, intersecting with each other to form a strange "crown of thorns" design. With the sweat trickling down the commander's back, the body art practically glowed.

The sight of it made Black want to retch. Beneath his clothes, his scars itched, the memory of receiving them crawling into his mind.

He crushed the recollection before it could fully manifest. Absolutely not would he revisit that time, forcing it back to the farthest corners of his mind.

As he put his attention back to the rutting pair, Hammer was picking up the pace, sliding in and out of his companion at faster and faster speeds. The femboy was wailing, crying out in pain and pleasure as his asshole was roughed-up more and more. He came, squealing as thin jets of cum arced into the air and came splattering down upon her face, chest, and belly. With such a small pair of balls, he didn't produce much cum.

Hammer Crash's plowing didn't allow the femboy to soften, his cute little cock remaining hard for the next couple of moments before the Major climaxed. Smashing the youth's hips to his own, holding them in place with his iron grip, the rhino opened his floodgates. A torrent of hot cream surged into the boy's bowels, the recipient crying out weakly before sinking into the covers, too exhausted to do anything more. Hammer grunted, the sound rumbling through the chamber, deep and guttural, his balls emptying into the tight rectum.

After a couple moments, he lifted the boy off his prick and callously dropped him to the bed, lying on his side with a thick trail of seed oozing from his ass. Getting off the bed, Hammer Crash moved to a small nightstand, grabbing a cloth and toweling himself dry.

"Better than the last brat," he complimented gruffly. "We'll see who gets the bonus coin, you or the slut I'll be fucking below in a few minutes."

Black's eyes narrowed, his face twisting into a scowl. Hammer was moving downstairs? That was bad: Black had a working knowledge of the House, but the lower levels, if that was indeed where the next dicking was, were a spot he was unfamiliar with. He'd need to grab one of the staff or patrons for more info; losing Hammer Crash meant risking the job...and his personal quest.

Squirming out of the vent, he replaced the cover and slipped along the corridor. Down the way, another femboy was on the floor on his knees. He wore wrist, ankle, thigh, and arm cuffs, heavy D-rings in four spots around each leather band. His modest member was erect, a small dribble of pre-cum leaking out in defiance of the steel cockring he wore at the base of his genitals. As Black came up to him, he mumbled around the bit gag in his mouth, the leash clipped to his posture collar threatening to slide off his shoulder.

Crouching down, the cheetah spoke in a soft voice. "I need to get to whichever room downstairs Major Hammer Crash, the rhino, is heading to. Think you can help me?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, which prompted Black to loosen his gag. "I was his bitch last month, master," the boy told him, shivering a bit from the cockring's effect. "He typically reserves a room down in the dungeons, where he and a bunch of other clients gangbang a boy. If you want, you can pretend to be my master, and I can lead you to your destination."

"What of the person who put you here? Won't you be punished?" More importantly, Black thought, wouldn't he be exposed and his mission shuttered?

The boy blushed as he answered. "Well, you see, master...if I'm caught disobeying my dom, I get punished, and I like being punished."

The feline snorted at the pain-slut but took the leash and gave a tug. The slave began walking on all fours, leading the master spy down the hall. As they did so, Hammer Crash exited the room and stalked past them, his heavy footfalls echoing as he disappeared down the stairs. Black didn't like letting his target out of his sight, but he had little choice in the matter.

Onward the femboy led him, down the flights of stairs, by the patrons and slaves/whores and the occasional guard, lower and lower. At one point, a client had stopped them, asking Black where he'd seen him before, because something about the way he used his slave seemed strikingly familiar.

"I just know I've seen that sort of deft mastery before," the canine said. "Walking him like a common beast. I just cannot recall where."

"Perhaps you saw me walking my house slaves around my foyer while you counted my stacks of money," Black smoothly retorted.

It took everything he had not to put a knife or claw through the rich bastard's throat. He had never liked the aristocracy and their general ilk, here or anywhere he'd been. While he couldn't kill the idiot, he could at least give a scathing rebuttal.

Or it would have been, had the canine not been greatly amused by the rejoinder.

"Good one, good one!" he laughed, clapping Black on the shoulder. "Yes, sir, you have a sharp wit! I bow my head to you!"

Black managed a nod and then moved on, glad to get away from the dolt.

They reached the dungeons, the guards allowing Black and the slave boy to pass uninterrupted. After that, it was fairly easy to find Hammer Crash: while there were no vents to sneak around within, whispers of sound still escaped under the doors, and Black picked up the Major's voice in little time.

Unclipping the leash, the spy gestured for the human to get lost, and the boy quietly ran off. Putting his ear to the door's bottom, he listed in, ignoring the sounds of sex to focus on the conversation.

"So when do we do the big meet-up?" a male's voice whined.

"In three days," Hammer growled. "How many times do I have to tell you? Colonel Yunga must have had a bout of stupidity, picking you as liaison for the Scout Division."

Black's eyes narrowed. The Scout Division was largely made up of smaller, more agile species, such as squirrels, lizards, and monkeys. Yunga Iron Hoof was a renowned commander, a water buffalo who presided over a garrison on the coast two days' journey south of Fasrah.

Another male in the room guffawed. "Dumb scaly. You just watch, it'll be us Special Forces who get the real work done and get the glory, we'll--oh yeah, you like licking my knot, don't you, slut?"

"Special Forces" and "knot" meant he was a wolf, as the majority of the SF drew lupines into their ranks. They were naturally loyal to a cause and tended to carry out orders regardless of the danger, fearsome warriors.

Just what was going on?

"Just make sure you don't go leaking any word to someone who doesn't already know," a fourth male warned. "If word about what's coming starts getting around, then we'll all end up with our heads on the chopping block, and not even our benefactor will be able to escape the axe."

"Yeah, yeah," the Scout snapped back. "Just make sure you uphold your own end, orca."

Orca? But that would mean the Navy was involved in this conspiracy.

Just what in blazes are they planning? Black wondered. A coup? Annexing a neighboring settlement? The Buigover Hegemony was establishing small villages close to Imgrad's borders; could a war be brewing?

He'd been wasting time: the furs in the room cried out their orgasms, and he heard the gleeful gasps and moans of the slave they were fucking as he received the fruits of labor, a liberal coating of seed on his body (and likely a good load up his rear). Feet shuffled across stone as the dominant males

Black pulled away from the door, quickly darting away; he couldn't afford to be caught now. While the guards at the dungeon entrance glanced at him, they did nothing as he strode out and up the stairs, nor was he given any attention as he left the House of Pearl.

His mind was focused entirely upon getting back to his apartment and sending word to Lord Stone Fang immediately.

Something was very, very wrong with this mission.

.

To be continued...!