FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sexual Disclaimer: This series contains M/M furry sexual content. Don't be bad like I was kiddies, and read this if your underage. Technical Disclaimer: Some of the technical mojo of this series may work theoretically given certain criteria, but in real life such occurrences are rare. Remember kiddies, Cracking is Bad. Plot Disclaimer: Warning: Contains Plot. This story series is a Parody of the excellent movie: 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'. Character Disclaimer: Zeke and Vikki are copyright Eldyran. Eden, Dev, and Vixy are copyright LittleVixen712. No touchy. Disclaimer Disclaimer: This Series contains a lot of disclaimers. Old Skool SNL Disclaimer: Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball (tm). Enjoy the Easter Eggs!

Eternal Corruption of the Spotless Mind,

Part I: Fragments of a Memory, Scattered Breadcrumbs

Zeke slid his paw over her blouse and squeezed one of the soft mounds of her endowment. Tender flesh gave under his paw tips, and left him aching for more. His tongue found its way inside her mouth where it slid and scraped like sandpaper against her own. Her eye teeth were sharp, more pointy than his own canines, and more then once they sent chills up his spine as they scraped against the tender inner flesh of his muzzle. Zeke's eyes were closed, but his flared nostrils picked up her scent, so unbearably close, and so unlike the other female he had been with. The pounding of his heart resounded in his ears, and only grew with exponential intensity with each breathless moment that passed. His other paw slid up her muscular thigh, gliding over the silky fur there. She spread her legs in invitation, and Zeke's quivering paw tips reached the apex of her thighs. He reached inside her panties and gripped her hard shaft, a sudden wave of arousal washed over Zeke, until the realization of his seemingly aberrant desire made his eyes shoot open ...

[Friday, 3pm]

... to the blurry ceiling of his bedroom at home. He blinked twice in confusion, and looked next to him to the phantom body that still held him. No one was there. The coyote could not shake the feeling that there should be someone there, but Zeke didn't know who that could even be. His head tingled; felt fuzzy. He sat up, held his throbbing temples, and as he massaged the sides of his head, he convinced himself that he had just experienced a very disturbing wet dream, but nothing more.

Zeke pushed the tangled mess of covers off of him, slid naked to the edge of his bed, and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. They weren't there. Zeke blinked groggily and looked around with his poor eyesight. A few moments later he found his glasses on the headboard above his head, and wondered why they weren't in the spot he usually put them before going to sleep. He slid them on, scratched the scruff of the back of his neck, and yawned, eyes searching for his PDA. It too, was missing. Strange.

He picked up his alarm clock and looked underneath it, but nothing. When his paw released its grip and set the clock back down, Zeke's breath caught in his throat. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. He was supposed to be in at 10 o'clock this morning at the office to update the BIOS on the new mainframes that were scheduled to be delivered later today.

"Shit."

Zeke crawled out of bed and wondered why he didn't set the alarm, as Wednesday's were always his busiest mornings. He went over to his dresser and looked for his cell phone. Not there. Zeke gritted his teeth and his yellow eyes flashed with anger back at him from the dresser mirror. Why in the hell was everything out of place? He padded still naked out to the kitchen, found the wall phone, and punched his work number with extreme impatience. His supervisor answered on the fifth ring.

"Hello, IT Department, Joseph speaking."

"Joe, this is Zeke, sorry about the no call this morning, I just woke up, I'll be in in half an hour tops." There was a moment of silence.

"Zeke ... I thought your doctor gave you this week off?" Zeke's eyes widened.

"What?"

"Yeah ... you turned in a doctors excuse yesterday. Dr. Pratt said you would be back next week."

"But I'm supposed to upgrade the firmware on the new Bell mainframes this morning ..."

"Zeke, you did it yesterday ..." Zeke paused.

"What day is this?"

"Friday. Look, I understand that you haven't been feeling well the last three days, so it's no sweat okay? I've got Paul here covering for you, so just take it easy. When you came in Thursday afternoon to do the hotfix you looked awful. Get some rest." Zeke looked at the receiver, dumbfounded.

"Look Zeke, I've got someone from Payroll here in fits that their account DB is all foobared, so I've got to get going. See you Monday." Zeke stared at the wall as the line clicked empty air. He shrugged and hung up the phone, then sat down in one of the wooden kitchen chairs by the dinner table. How could it be Friday? And who was Dr. Pratt?

After a few minutes he gave up trying to figure out what was going on. His head did feel funny, so maybe he had been sick for a while and simply forgot. He got up and stretched, tongue extended from his muzzle, and the sounds of vertebrae popping reverberated in the almost empty kitchen. After he grabbed a soda from the fridge, he strolled into his den in all his naked glory. His slightly pudgy belly swung from side to side a bit, while he scratched the spot right above his bushy tail.

The first thing to greet him in the den was a poster on the far wall of a bikini clad female wolf sitting in a seductive pose in front of a waterfall. The backsplash ran down her in rivets, soaking the white and black fur in those spots, which only emphasized the suggestive look in her bright amber eyes. The poster was autographed at the bottom as "Elle MacPherson, SISI-88". Normally, on any given morning, this alone would be enough to cause the tip of his member to peek out from its protective sheath, but for some reason, Zeke shifted a bit, awkward under her intense scrutiny. Zeke felt her gaze turn accusatory for no apparent reason, and he went back into the bedroom to put on a bathrobe before he came back to sit down at his cluster of three computers.

Zeke rubbed his muzzle and slid a CD-R into the tray of the half built mini-tower in front of him. With a few mouse clicks, his terrabytes of MP3's began to randomly shuffle through his Dolby Pro Logic II speaker setup. As he set his media player to burn a new mix he created last night, well, a few nights ago, he took a sip of his cola and sat it down next to his PDA and cell phone. At least he now knew where they had ran off to. Just as Zeke was about to check his email, when he noticed a yellow flag on his task bar. He recognized the flag on the CRT screen as a script he had set up to warn him about suspicious spending on his checking and credit accounts.

A few mouse clicks later a report of his spending over the past few days scrolled past the screen. Zeke rubbed his chin and squinted. For being sick, he sure shopped online a lot. Granted most of the sites were places he normally visited, like Rain Forest Media, Suntoast, and Ultimate Best Buy's in Electronics, but he didn't usually spend over nine thousand dollars in a single day, let alone an entire week. He looked at some of the computer parts he supposedly ordered from a few of the recent sponsored Pricewatch sites. He would never order a 1 GB Radeon PCI-E GPU, not for nine hundred dollars anyway. The type of DDR RAM he ordered wasn't even the type his server took anyway. Most of the spending spree took place on Thursday, but Zeke noticed that he withdrew over a hundred dollars from an ATM at some establishment called "The Collision Down Under" late Wednesday night. It sounded suspiciously like a bar, and Zeke never been to a bar in his entire life. Something was definitely up. More than just misplaced PDA's and cellular phones.

Zeke pulled up the website for his bank just to verify the two statements matched. Zeke didn't even consider calling the bank officials and asking them to probe the purchases. He didn't want them to scrutinize and investigate where even a quarter of his own deposits came from. Besides, he would get answers a lot faster if he did things himself. He looked up at the web address, saw the https:// tag, and snorted.

"Secure my ass."

Zeke turned a bit in his swivel chair to the massive full tower next to the desk and flipped a switch on his router, then turned back to the mini-tower. With a crack of knuckles he pulled up the most recent IP transaction logs and sent them over to his sever before he logged off the website. He turned back to the server, flipped on the LCD panel, and logged on to a pirate ISP connection. His paw tips danced across the keyboard, a symphony of keystrokes melded harmoniously with the newer generation heavy metal music that blared out of his speakers.

Zeke took deliberate care to mask his internal IP, and to bounce his external IP along some offshore servers somewhere on the Pacific rim before accessing his bank's mainframe somewhere in Chicago. A few minutes passed by as Zeke broke down the master server's digital security and sidestepped its firewalls and proxies enough to log in as an anonymous user. With a direct connection, Zeke executed some utility scripts that wouldn't trigger too much attention, and was soon greeted with a screen full of patch numbers. As the numbers on the screen danced off his face and muzzle, his large, black tipped ears twitched with remuneration. His yellow eyes squinted, deep in thought, deciding the best course of action with consideration to the many numerous security holes in the mainframe's OS alone.

After playing a few rounds of Tetris on his vintage Game Boy to clear is mind, Zeke booted up the third computer, with no direct access to even his own network, and pulled off a encrypted binary he had in his library of goodies to a CD-R. He slid it into the CD tray into his server, made a few quick modifications to the code, and with a simple click of the mouse, sent the script on its buccaneering errant. Zeke got up, stretched and yawned again, and then went to take a shower. It would take a few minutes for the script to run its course anyway.

Inside the shower stall, Zeke lathered up his small frame, making sure to scour every inch of his dark auburn and white speckled fur with black tips. His paw began to scrub his sheath, and Zeke found his eyes close from the unexpected pleasure. Soon moans escaped his lips as his scrubs turned into slow deliberate strokes, the pink tip his erection peeking out under the titillating spray of the shower head. The rough pads of his paw drew down on the tip, and the mix of sensations between tender flesh and rough skin coaxed his member out slowly, inch by antagonizing inch. Soon one paw caressed the entire length of his engorged pink shaft, while the other tugged gently at his twitching furry sacks underneath.

Zeke held himself up against the shower wall in front of him, panting deeply with eyes closed, as his other paw banged away at his meat with reckless abandon. His arousal grew, intensified, as the base of his knot emerged from its sheath, covered in soapy, warm water. Zeke's paw pounded it relentlessly, squeezing the throbbing, engorged flesh on each down stroke. His carnal thoughts kept coming back to his dream this morning, and while he kept telling himself it was just a dream, a part of him drew upon that disputed yearning. Something gathered it up deep inside, and used it to push him over the edge, balls and shaft twitching once, twice. His climax erupted with a loud groan, and Zeke sprayed his thick load against the shower wall.

As Zeke shuddered with the dying ebbs of his orgasm, he chided himself for the deviant thoughts that had turned him on so much. He dried himself off and nuked a few hot pockets in the kitchen before returning to his server, his bathrobe partially open. Zeke rubbed his growling tummy as he ate the fatty, rich food, and checked the progress on his executable chain. Zeke wiped a greasy paw on his bathrobe before downing the last of the soda with a grin. This was entirely too easy.

The script he injected into the server was muti-tiered, and attacked its firmware as well as its OS kernel. Stage one of the attack created a denial of service in the Remote Call Procedure, prompting a spontaneous and unavoidable reboot of the server. Stage two of the attack was aimed at a unusual glitch in the mainframe's outdated Phoenix BIOS and its Wake on LAN feature. When a certain flawed line of code was executed in that string, it corrupted the entire BIOS, which in turn made the BIOS self flash to the latest update available in the root directory to correct the checksum error. The one, coincidently, that Zeke placed himself. A particular line in the updated BIOS code Zeke wrote recorded the first fifty character inputs from the keyboard, the milliseconds between each input, and then dumped the data to a encrypted file. After a small amount of time had expired, the mainframe innocuously transmitted the character string to his own server and the errant line of BIOS code erased itself on the next reboot.

Sure enough, the Admin who came in to reboot the server during his shower was gracious enough to type in all his passwords to get the machine up and running again. Instant Key to the Iron Fortress.

Zeke smiled, but futzed around with mixing music tracks for an hour before he logged back on to his bank's master server and granted himself temporary power user access to the department that kept track of all transaction numbers and the money transfers associated with them. He pulled up his own account number, and sure enough, most of the routing numbers he paid to on Thursday were to the same account. In other words, he paid nine grand to a single account, even though his statement claimed several separate legit businesses. A few more keystrokes later, and he found that account number tied to a business called Persistence of Memory Incorporated.

Zeke grinned despite himself. Whoever this cracker was he had a thing for Dali Surrealism. Zeke was familiar with the painting in question, the one with the melting clocks in the desert wasteland. His grin disappeared when he saw the address tied to the business account number. Not only was it local, it was even legit, and no self respecting cracker this good would be caught dead with a physical trace. That only left the other option: that this was indeed a legitimate business.

After a exhaustive search, Zeke failed to locate a public web site for the company, but did manage to trace down what appeared to be the IP address for its local server. Zeke tried his usual bag of tricks to gain access to the server, but was stopped cold at each turn. Zeke scratched his ear in surprise when a fox icon flashed on his screen, which indicated that someone had instigated a trace on his own connection. Zeke muttered out a curse of disbelief as the trace blew through his dummy proxies with lightning speed. Even the NSA elite wasn't this good.

Zeke threw the dead man switch on his router, cutting the connection, and then turned his power strip off, killing his entire network. Zeke breathed a sigh of relief. That had been entirely too close, and he waited an hour before rebooting his LAN. In the meanwhile he got dressed and packed some things in a backpack, preparing to do a little old fashioned footwork.

[Friday, 5pm]

As Zeke sat down on the near empty metro bus, he swore someone was watching him. He pulled out a beat up copy of "Neuromancer" and pretended not to notice. After a few minutes he looked up nonchalantly and noticed a male white tiger sitting on the other side of the isle who had just turned his big golden eyes away from him. Zeke shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, but turned back to his favorite author, Gibson and tried to ignored the stranger. After a few blocks passed by, the slender tiger dressed in trendy designer silk shirt and black slacks slid closer to him. Zeke gave him a sideways glance, growing nervous.

"Excuse me, do you always ride this route?"

"No ..." Zeke replied, pushing his glasses up on his muzzle, "This is the first time I've been on here."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"It's just that ..." began the white tiger, throwing out a rather disarming smile, "I could swear we've met before. I know that sounds strange but ..." Zeke considered the male tiger for a moment and a sense of deja vu washed through him. He didn't know any tigers, but he assumed that maybe he saw him in the business complex that housed his office at one point.

"You know ... now that you mention it, do you ever go down to the Manchester complex, on the south side of the city? Cause you do look familiar ..."

"Afraid not, I work on this side of town."

"Oh." There was a brief silence, then the tiger blushed, ducking his head.

"You might have seen my twin sister around though, she's a dancer."

"I don't go to ballet's."

"Um ... She's an ... erotic dancer." Zeke blinked for a moment, and noticed they both were now blushing. He looked away.

"I'm ... afraid I don't go to that sort of thing," Zeke said meekly, turning back to the tiger with a smirk. In truth he wanted to, as he had never seen a real live female naked, but was too shy to go to such a establishment alone. The tiger looked puzzled by the coyote's comment, but seemed curious somehow. Zeke felt the bus pull over to a corner and stop. The tiger smiled again, and got up.

"Well this is my stop, but if you want to drop by her act sometime, feel free to, cause I'm pretty sure she would think your kind of cute." As the tiger made his way down the center isle to the front of the bus, the coyote frowned a bit, not sure if he liked what the white tiger was implying.

"Sure ... I might sometime ..." Zeke lied to the tiger, never expecting to see the fur again in his life.

"She works at a place called 'The Collision Down Under' ..." the tiger said with a grin before stepping off the bus to the curb, and moments later he was lost in the sea of people leaving work for the weekend. Zeke blinked as the bus took off, and wondered if it was just coincidence, or if he had seen the twin sister's act before and noticed the striking similarity between the two siblings. For the first time, but most decidedly not the last, Zeke began to question just what happened in the previous 48 hours.

[Friday, 7pm]

Zeke paid the street vendor for his hotdog and walked over to a park bench, setting down his backpack on the sun bleached wood. He sat and fumbled for his PDA out of his backpack while taking a large bite of the coney, the sunset playing off his glasses. The office number for Persistence of Memory Incorporated turned out to be some temp agency, so since that part of the footwork had gone bust, Zeke decided to stop by his favorite park during his lunch hours and decide his next move. Logically speaking, the only lead he had left to go on was that he was at some bar Wednesday night. He opened up his PDA and took another bite of his hot dog, gushing mustard into one of the T-shirts he picked off the Jinx online catalog. He cursed at his clumsiness, and after wiped of the stain, dialed up his home server on his PDA's cellular connection. Within minutes he had the address of 'The Collision Down Under', and was taping into a GPS satellite to figure out the best way to ...

He stopped when he realized his PDA already had the GPS coordinates for the establishment in question. He blinked a couple times and put down his food. He did a recent search request on his PDA and found out that he had broken into the city's DMV and checked on a license plate number late Wednesday night. The plates belonged to a guy named Jason, and that he had been involved in three moving violations, one vehicular accident, and drove a really nice Corvette. Zeke had no idea why he would crack the DMV for something so trivial, but he was going to find out. He pulled out a nice change of clothes out of his backpack and changed his glasses to something more trendy that tinted when the dying rays of the setting sun hit them. He just wished he knew where his favorite MIT baseball cap had disappeared to ...