FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The door is shut, and I am alone. The third floor window is ajar, and the latch and the mesh are all that are between me and a breezy world feebly trying to make its way to bed. My smoking room is filled with the hum of dying electrical elements. I lift the glass segment of a device asleep on the shelf: a tiny oil lamp, which receives a flame on its short, blackened wick and bathes my mattress and stacks of pillows in a tall, flickering glow when I replace the dome-shaped chimney.

I stare at it a while, entranced: It reaches high, up through the glass before, having its fill of fuel, it calms, and it selectively illuminates the colours of the image next to it. The image is of a great cat, a beast whose black coat shines amber in the lamplight, and whose back tilts sultrily to the viewer, tail flicked for the moment to one side to showcase his body. His golden eyes are like reflections of the flame and stare right back into mine.

This animal has sprung from my memories and dreams. Nowhere would I ever confess but on paper to stretching myself over my quilts and blankets with nothing to wear, watching this picture on my bedside, stroking my own chest as though it were his. All great cats are wild, and wild beasts have no need for names: They are called by sounds, and the sound that calls my lover is the soft bubbling of something heated, a substance vaporized, in the funneled tepor of an oil lamp. He is my opium.

There is the pipe: thirty inches of wood scented with each dream I've experienced; a decorative silver saddle that lines the hole through which the bowl, like a knot or a knob, is placed. The bowl has a little collar, a ring around which I gingerly loop a long, thin strip of damp cloth, soaked under running water to bridge the gap between the saddle and the inserted bowl. The opium is speared on the end of a little needle, like a straightened claw: just a softened fleck, the colour of a cat's eye, which is carefully turned to and fro in the heat of the light until it's a glimmering dewdrop. I imagine it reflecting his face, the rippling of its surface caused not by the column of hot air from a flame but by his breath.

I roll the drop along the surface of the bowl, near the minute hole in the middle of it. I press and form it, over and over, until it is a smooth little cone, a tiny nodule, hardening as I go. I run my glistening work of art once more over the lamp, for one second or two, the bowl along with it like a mated pair before at last I thrust the needle and its sticky prize into the bowl. A sweet-scented ring wells up around the point of penetration and I give the needle a few quick turns, letting it break free of its opium seed and my finally prepared pipe.

My mouth slightly agape, I let out all of my held breath in a huge sigh, emptying my lungs completely before pressing the end of the pipe to my lips. The other end of the bamboo pipe at a distance, lovingly cradling the drug-laden bowl, I carry it over the tepid lamp chimney, and I breathe. I inhale deep and long, my eyes gradually slipping shut as the ring of opium simmers, releasing soft lines of vapour that immediately travel up into the orifice it is centered around. Over my tongue the vapour travels, tasting of dry earth and exotic places and sex. I let it fill my lungs, inflate them until nothing but ash is left of the ring and I can exhale, two luxurious columns of steam billowing from my nostrils. Lips still to the woody mouthpiece, wet with my saliva, I smile.

I repeat this ritual, again and again, pipe after pipe, caressing the end, gathering its warmth, until my eyelids content themselves with closing for the night.

Time passes, with silence, and darkness. I can only wait, losing myself in my thoughts, and finding other things instead. I am counting breaths, one by one; heartbeats, two by two...and then he is there. My opium. He approaches from the clouds of smoke that wreath me. His footsteps are as soft and anticipatory as my first inhalation. The heat of the lamp is his warm body and soft fur; the warm wind, his blood-scented breath. I stroke the pipe; I pet back his ears, and softly I kiss his muzzle. His purr matches my slowed heartbeat: out but not in, like the gentlest growl that washes repeatedly over me like a tide.

As he lays himself down alongside me like a fellow smoker I pet his ribs. Obligingly, he rolls, showing me his heavy breast, so I run my fingers through it, his black fur forming fluid shapes between them, until they reach his lowest belly. He stretches his hind legs languidly; the pad of one foot presses playfully against my bare hip. I watch it for a moment, that foot: His long, curved claws flex on the end of four toes but never quite reach my skin. And I see his face, and his thin, broad tongue flicker out and up to his nose. I lick the underside before it retreats. Recoiling slightly, he gives me a look that can only be given by a baffled cat, so with a chuckle, I pet his flank as recompense.

To my purest delight he forgives my forwardness and swivels further onto his back, nearly off the mattress and out of existence, but I can see him fully now. For a few moments I just admire him: his beautiful form, his sleek black hue made gold in the lamplight, matching his irises just peeking out around deep round pupils. I notice his belly rising with each breath; I notice his ribs girdling his powerful muscles, and I notice my favourite one, between his hindquarters, the smallest point of pink protruding from his furry sheath. Once more I am unable to prevent myself: I brush a finger over that sheath, and for one brief instant his long, barbed length reveals itself in its full glory to glisten in the dim light, before, by the will of his baculum, it slips back. I cannot hide the thrill on my lips, though only aroused curiosity can be seen in the face and form of my beloved.

I adjust, lean over him, my nose just over his heavy, plush sack that hangs heavily just behind his swaying tail. He watches me; his purr intensifies. I can smell his musk, the cleanliness of the cat and the sweetness of his scent, secreted in his seed and urine and the narcotic vapour that is all that is between his body and mine. Softly, tentatively, I part my jaws to run my tongue just above, just between them, working forth and back and eyeing him as he wriggles and I reach the apex of his sheath: a salty and slightly damp opening through which once more the beautiful cone of his penis shows itself to me. Careful of the tender orbs just behind, I take the base between my fingertips -- I feel the little bone within; he presses his foot against my chest in anticipation -- and take his length into my mouth.

The tip just pricks my velum with my head to his belly. There is no uncomfortable bobbing, no contact of teeth on his perfect flesh: instead, I languidly suckle, drawing lovingly on him as I would on a pipe of similar sweetness and fantasy. He twitches and stretches his hind legs right out to accommodate me and paws the back of my head, putting on pressure like he's already concerned I might stop. His organ throbs; I sooth it with my tongue, curling about it like a blanket, my own excited taste buds grooming the small, soft, rear-facing barbs that cover every inch of his member. Heady fluids drip freely from his pointed tip, which I greedily lick up to line my cheeks and throat. I can sense every muscle in his body stiffening, his rumbling breaths quickening as I relentlessly pleasure him.

I hum, and I swallow. My lover furrows, pressing himself at once deeper towards my throat with a compulsive snarl, his dangerous claws digging into the back of my head, holding me to his delicious crotch as his sack pulls an inch to my chin and his hot, thin semen washes into my mouth, spurt after spurt covering my tongue, even filling my cheeks with his feline flavour before I begin to let it fill my stomach instead, never daring to let a single drop of his seed marr his gorgeous pelt. It invigorates me with its saltiness of a diet of fresh meat, and I can't indulge in a sweet, floral aftertaste, as though the clear white cat semen seeping into my belly were truly milk of the poppy: intoxicating and addictive. I gladly gulp it down until at last he finishes with me and his claws draw harmlessly back away from my scalp, and I swear I feel a purr welling up in my throat.

I withdraw unhurriedly, letting his barbs prickle my lips and his seed collect beneath my tongue, where it will remain like a drug to gradually release its flavour and aphrodisia. Together, we clean his still-stiff cock with dainty licks; I kiss up his semen and saliva, and inhale his musky breath, until he gets to his feet to pace around my lazy vision, to work off the energy that pleasure has charged his limbs with. I follow him with my gaze: his rippling pelt, his swishing tail, twitching whiskers and sack dangling back and forth at his appealing buttocks.

He is not finished, however. He is stalking me like the predator he is, considering me as he might a meal, which I am compelled and ready to give him. Without hurry, and with him padding behind me, I raise my backside, shoulders still pressed firmly down. He's invisible to me now; I can only hear his footsteps, his rolling growls, the ruffle of his fur as he moves towards me. Hot, quick wind flows behind me and between my legs: he takes in my scent, and my position. One large front foot falls gingerly to my right, and then another to my left. His barrel chest bears down over me; he sniffs every inch of my back before the fur of his belly glides its way over it. He's surrounding me, taking me for his own; I his willing submissive while he weighs his muscular hips down on my own human spine.

Then I feel it again: as his whiskers jut above my head, his erection slides up along my crevice. Blindly, tentatively, he thrusts, sticking my rump and thighs, searching for a purchase, a second sheath for his perfect phallus. I rock a little on my haunches, preparing myself, as the wetness from his tip coats me--

It happens all at once and I bite back a cry from a twinge of pain and a cascade of relief as I am roughly penetrated, filled with his feline cock. He immediately sets to licking my neck, grooming away second thoughts that were never there in the first place: I love him. He is my drug. He takes me fully, sharp jerks of his hips fully pulling wonderful barbs along my inner walls, making me shudder and gasp until I am stifled as he drives himself once more straight to my core. He is my addiction.

Time ceases to exist. He pumps my body for what might be seconds or might be hours. He continually grooms me, adoring my back as he has his way with his human lover, whose insides are quickly becoming wet with his repeated thrusts, consistently leaking warm fluids to coat me and ease his eager passage, pounding harder and harder into me, his sack prickling my thighs, making me moan, until it's all I can do to hold back my climax, awaiting the beast who has claimed me.

It's the most euphoric agony, and just as I am about to surrender, with a powerful lunge he penetrates me to the hilt; I can feel his sheath being pulled back by my skin and he growls from the back of his throat in my ear. A hot, wet feeling shoots deep into me. Heavy doses of the great cat's sperm fills me from beneath, welling up and into my belly, kept inside me by his cock held fast by fleshy barbs stuck to my clenching walls -- clenching, as I too give in, my dam broken, fluids flowing out of me in one desperate burst accompanied by a cry of ecstasy to which he pays no heed but to lick my cheek until every modicum of his sperm is released into his mate.

A moment's warning is given -- he lifts his chin and his shoulders tense -- before he pulls straight out of me, eliciting another pathetic noise from some part of my nasal cavity when those flared barbs rake every bit of my inner flesh, as though to clean me from the inside out. I do my best to compose myself, dripping with his love and mine, while the satisfied cat sprawls himself out just alongside me, legs splayed in the air so I can smell the powerful sweet sex still sticking to his length. This time, I cannot join him in washing it off, and am grateful to him for not depriving me of the warm cat seed leaking down my thighs. I couldn't be happier to be his, and to know it by the fluids still sliding about in me as I finally flop down next to my lover.

My favourite organ of his slips back into its sheath -- he finishes his bath early to instead take a single lick over my dry lips, which I return: tongue to long, sharp teeth. His fur is warm and smells faintly of my sweat; I push my face into it, under his chin, and he topples. Wriggling, he settles in for a well-deserved rest, myself wrapped around him, half-buried in him, stroking his sleek-furred spine. The tail end of the pipe leads me softly into sleep, my fantasies of the night drifting back to whence they came, just out of reach. My last thoughts before oblivion takes me are of the wonderful creature to whom I now belong. Of my love in the lamplight. My sweet opium.