FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In the bathroom I fiddle with the black tie in the mirror, admiring my soft pale fur in the florescence of the vanity mirror lights, smoothing out the patches that stick up in tufts between my long vulpine ears. Looking up and down my lithe frame, I take in my full outfit for the first time. All black skintight boxer briefs with pinstripes, and an eagle motif spread out across my pert butt. Fuzzy pink and white slippers extend half way up my calves, accentuating my light fur.

The theme of the party is simply "costume" so I have donned the sluttiest outfit I could think of before rushing out the door, "playboy bunny". My hope is that the stylish boxer briefs would add an air of class to the ensemble but it simply serves to show of my plump bulging sheath to all who's eyes may wander south. That includes the family of my friend Izzy. Her mother tuts something under her breath when I exit the bathroom after a last check over my outfit in the vanity mirror.

It had been my intention to help set up the party rooms, get banners pinned up, the bar stocked and such things. However this had all been finished before I arrived, exactly one hour before the first guests are expected to arrive. So I spent as long as I could, getting changed into my party-wear. Finding myself then standing in the middle of the games room, appreciating the large space. It's filled with all sorts of musical instruments, floor cushions, and a window box that I think must be absolutely perfect for reading on, on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Quick glances over the rest of the room lead me to locate the bar, neatly tucked away in the corner. Liquors and spirits of all varieties lined the walls behind the counter, with glasses hanging up from the top shelf for the would-be bartender to grab with ease.

The party is a BYOB affair. Bring your own booze. But by the looks of the bar, it seems plenty stocked for one crazy night of drinks and sloppy teenage dancing, especially as every guest would later bring enough supplies to get themselves and at least one other fully intoxicated. After all, this was to be a BIG send-off to one of the German exchange students, Sarah, we'd come to think upon fondly. Nearly half the entire student body in our year is to attend.

This means that there is a near limitless supply for which an eager fox could wet his whiskers. And, so he does. Placing a long straw into each of the one and a half litre bottles of Smirnoff vodka, one for each paw, I am hitting the night with a hard start! It's safe to say, that when I go to greet the first arrival of the night, I am already drunk. An uninhibited-to-begin-with intoxicated fox. This is when the fun begins.

Kissing every newcomer on the cheek, or giving a tight bro hug. Thrusting whatever awful alcoholic mixture I had grabbed in my excitement to welcome newcomers, new prey.

Now, sometimes when I drink, I hold onto a piece of myself that's a little malevolent. That darker persona outlasts the soft friendly fox on the surface. He'll manipulate social encounters as best he can, usually with some success, for a drunk. His ulterior motive for this night was predetermined through months of pining after a boy. Kieran, he's a small, dark mouse, a close friend, and a cute straight boy, a boy that I wanted. This party presents the opportunity to take advantage.

After an hour or so of greetings and pleasantries, the buzz of the crowd is reaching a decent level, with loud music blaring out the giant speakers in all the rooms. Most of the new arrivals are catching up by downing shots, and slamming back beer chasers.

I'm stumbling through the thrashing mob of bodies moving to the beat of the party anthems. As I head towards the small cubby bathroom down the hallway, I knock into my best friend Gemma. She's stood holding up her glassy-eyed boyfriend, in line for the toilet. I barge into the line with them, and humbly offer a wobbly support for her boyfriend James. We comment on the liveliness of the party, and admire the various costumes on the what-has-now-become dance floor.

Our turn for the bathroom comes up, as a bashful ferret girl exits the washroom and scurries off into the drone of the crowd. Gemma's eyes glint with mischief, and she tells James to head on in, before turning to myself and instructing me to do the same thing. I oblige, with a blush.

The door shuts with a clack of the latch, and James's trousers open with the sound of his zipper. Alcohol leaden paws of the big striped tiger James reach to reveal his heavy cock from his boxers. It's thick, and I get a wave of its musky scent.

James is known in our high school for being one of the most successful athletes. He's broken many of the school records for throwing discus, high jump and other physically demanding sports. He's black belt in karate. And, he's stacked for regular time at the gym. His body is gorgeous and masculine, and his fat tigerhood reflects that perfectly.

I can't stop myself from staring as he strokes it, the head flaring as the tight hood of his foreskin is peeled back, as he prepares to relieve himself into the toilet.

To stop himself from toppling for the beer in his gut, he steadies himself against the wall facing him. A picture of a rough and rugged man. solid, mountainous. I am aware of my small stature, and the difference in size makes me sheaf stir. As does the sight of the stream leaving his thickness, splashing clumsily into the bowl below, splattering the edges of the toilet seat. The sound of it makes his maleness sound weighty and virile.

James in his stupor notices my amazement at the private showing, and lets out a single deep huff of amusement.

"You like what you see?" I nod in agreement. "Well, get yours out, don't you need to piss too?"

I stutter in surprise, "S-sure, okay. You don't mind?" There's a note of confidence behind my words, but it's lost in the initial hesitance.

"It's just a dick. Besides, you've seen mine. We can compare if you wanna?" He smirks down at me, his in his hands, thickening as he shakes off. He doesn't stop once he's finished peeing, lazily playing with his semi. I step up to the toilet, hindpaws spread apart on the floor mat, a giant of a tiger stood behind me, his cock still out, still being worked by large orange paws.

My own white furred paws go to pull my erection from my pants, it's a struggle and I blush as James's snorts behind me, content with my obeying him. I need to take a moment, to count down my hard on. It doesn't take too long, and in no time I'm adding my own hue of yellow to his. Colours mixing to make a pungent male odour that fills the bathroom, and my nose, and it turns me on even more.

James's languid efforts at fiddling himself are proven by his firm boner sticking out, proud as his black on orange stripes. I size him up at about seven and a half inches. I have a good eye for that sort of thing. It comes with seeing a lot of dick, and a curiosity for comparisons.

A few final strokes of his cock, and the large tiger stuffs it away. The noise of the party just outside the door must be sobering up his judgment. I'm needy to grab him, and shove every inch into my muzzle. But I refrain, instead struggling to fit myself back into my pinstriped boxer briefs. It being very obvious that I am aroused, as James points out. He opens to the door and we step out. The hunter in me alive, and hungry.

Gemma can only giggle to herself, entirely aware of what transpired in the small confines of the washroom. She waves a giddy goodbye and drags James upstairs, towards one of the empty bedrooms. She seems impassioned for her vicarious narcissism. They're going to fuck. I feel like an anthropomorphic little blue pill. I am an aphrodisiac. A fox after Aphrodite. Fuck, am I horny.

The pumping of Smirnoff in my veins, the pounding of bass, rubbing of wet fur and wet genitals, it drives me to find my mark. Kieran. He's towards the back of the house, our venue for the night. I can see high above raised arms, tall ears, and strobing lights. From my vantage point, I can also see who he's with, Katie. A petite ginger tabby is sitting in his lap. And shit. They're making out like they're trying to eat one another.

My boner brushes against the rumps of the people I pass, a few attentive furs lend a paw to give it a squeeze. I advance towards the conservatory at back, eyes locked on the two drunkards making out, with intent in my eyes. As I come right up to them, and drop sloppily into the seat beside them, they look up to grin foolishly. It's sort of adorable.

"You guys look like you're having fun. Nice costumes!" I gesture towards Kieran's suit, something a federal agent would wear, and to Katie's fairy outfit. They both give their thanks, and look me tip to tail. I notice Kieran's gaze fall upon my bulge and he blushes, looking away. Katie seems clueless. She seems to be sober, so it might be politeness on her behalf.

"I'm going to go get the girls, see if anybody needs a drink." Says Katie as she get's up to leave. She's aware I'm interested in Kieran. I smile at her for leaving us alone, and she winks in return.

With us alone, I put a hand on Kieran's leg and start some small talk. He says some off hand comment about what a great send off for Sarah this is, and that he's going to miss her when she's gone. I don't reply, and just hold his gaze. He blushes, fidgets at my touch. Little whiskers twitching, and his tail coils up into his lap. I can tell he's submitting.

Quickly, I move in an plant a soft, affectionate kiss on his short dark brown muzz. His ears lay flat, and a warmth spreads over his face. He seems conflicted. I enjoy seeing the race of emotion flash in him. I go in for a second, more passionate kiss. Opening my mouth to let my tongue invade his. He lets me in, not full though. A few moments of bliss, but it doesn't last. He catches himself and pulls away.

Disappointed, I make my excuses. The alcohol. The mood of the room. His cute bashfulness. He doesn't seem very bothered, but his interest has faded. He mustn't be as drunk as I'd hoped. Certainly not as far gone as I am. He leaves, to find Katie. I eye the bottle of vodka on the table beside the sofa. I take it, and neck it. The evening has now become drown-my-defeat and my boner in booze.

The remainder of the night included falling into people, knocking over drinks, inappropriate comments, and lots and lots of liquor. I would later be told that my boxer briefs found their way down a number of times, not that I would remember. The party concluded with my hallucinating on the floor, Izzy's mother screaming at me to get up and go home, though I lacked the physical capacity to. I slept on that window box that night. Various other drunkards about the floor of the games room.

The morning after was ugly. It was a Sunday, but it wasn't by any means lazy. I spent that day with the other fallen, helping to clean up the bomb site that had become of the house as penance for our bad behaviour. Izzy included. Many apologies were offered. My good name was reinstated. But I felt like death, and crashed into bed upon arriving home. The next day, I was still dry, headachey, and sore all over. I still can't drink vodka to this day.