FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The water tower hadn’t been opened in decades. Maeres counted on that as she reached up and opened up the master valve. With a hiss of air, then a gurgling of the old rusty pipes a gushing flow descended from the old reservoir and smashed into the wolf’s body.

Her black fur seemed to untangle as the – at first – rust coloured water seeped through her tight red dress and pooled in the desert sand around her feet. Little rivers and lakes formed, flowing outward from her improvised shower.

Soon enough as she brushed back her raven hair, the large anthro was finally blasted with clear water as she washed the dust and sand out of her fur and dress. Reaching back, Maeres undid the zipper running down between her shoulder blades and slipped out of the dress that fitted over the curves of her body like a wet glove. It dripped where she hung it over the horizontal support bar running between the water tower’s struts.

Massaging her fingers through the fur on her large, soft breasts, Maeres turned her head to see a figure approach.

Warwick was tall for a human boy his age. Tall enough to pass as someone much older than he actually was. And clad in dust-coloured fatigues, a plate carrier adorned with ammo-carrying pouches over his torso and a rifle dangling by his side, he looked much older than he actually was. Then again, in this world and line of work you grew up fast anyway.

Walking up beside her, Warwick held out his hands and cupped some of the water that missed the wolfess’ body and splashed it over his face, scrubbing away the dirt from that afternoon’s activities as best he could. It was a futile attempt though, as more of the dirt sat in his cropped black hair and clung to his fatigues.

Maeres giggled.

“What?” Warwick asked innocently before the naked femme towering over him bent forward and pressed her lips onto his, her broad powerful tongue slipping into the human’s mouth to fight for dominance.

With two handfuls of his fatigues in her hands, the giantess pulled Warwick clothes, tac-gear, rifle and all into her makeshift shower and pressed his face easily between her sodden breasts. Warwick might have been very tall, but he still only came up to Maeres’ armpit. Most people did. She was unusual that way. But it made her no less attractive.

Just sexy in an oddly intimidating way.

Taking her cue, Warwick automatically locked his lips around the wolf’s nipple, drawing a sigh from Maeres. She bit her bottom lip hard, one hand encouragingly holding the back of his head while the other moved down his front, past the mag-pouches on his abdomen and under the belt buckle to the front of his trousers. The zipper came down as he suckled and licked feverishly despite the cramp the motions left in his tongue; the way he felt her breath quicken and body tremble just right fuelled his ministrations through his own discomfort.

A moment later he felt her hand close around his growing erection and pull it over the elastic of his shorts. With the pesky clothing out of the way, Maeres pulled his shaft out under the sun-heated water flowing over them both, forming pools of washed out dust and blood around their feet.

With a powerful shove, she threw Warwick’s back into the nearest support leg for the water tower and pinned him in place. When with her hand still firmly holding his cock in place, she turned around and lifted her bushy tail high enough to grab it in her free hand and pull it over her shoulder. When she did she bet forward ever so slightly, just enough to spread her soft buttocks and reveal a tight star.

Maeres didn’t waste any more time. Even without her high heels she was at the perfect height, and stepping back she received him. His erection was pushed down ever so slightly to line up until she felt the blunt tip pressing gently against her wet tail-hole where her fingers had been massaging and cleaning just moments ago. The slit of pink flesh swelling to form a small break in her dark fur between her thighs drooled with excitement. The corners of her mouth were turned up as her eyes fell shut and she focused on the falling water massaging her chest, splashing her sensitive nipples, and the pressure of the cock pressing into her rear.

Reflexively her muscles eased, eager to receive him. She felt his hips buck lightly as if trying to thrust into her and Maeres squeezed her hand, warning him to be a good boy and wait.

“Patience, little boy,” Maeres cooed in a soft tone that didn’t suit her. It was a tone she only ever adopted when they were doing things like this.

She suddenly pushed back on him. Warwick held his breath as Maeres felt her ring of muscle stretch open further than it normally would for any of the bodily functions it was normally used for. Her mouth fell open into a silent moan and she clenched her eyes a little harder. And then with a slippery little pop, his cock slid up into her ass, grinding deeper and deeper…

Maeres let out the moan she’d been holding in since he started suckling her breast. It escaped through her teeth where she bit her lip, the top one this time as the sliding up and into her ass seemed to go on forever. She thought he was probing deep into her stomach, filling her intestines with his hot, throbbing member until she felt his hips press up against her soft bottom, squishing the cheeks in a subtle, pleasant way.

His hands ran over her hips to appreciate their gorgeous curvature as she slid her hand up over her belly and began massaging her right breast. Her index finger and thumb trapped the dark coloured nipple between them, squeezing and twisting just a little to get the electric sparks of pain and pleasure shooting through her senses, joining with the lightning bolts of pleasure jumping about in her loins.

She clenched a little, massaging the human cock inside her as she pulled forward a little, then slid back to hilt Warwick inside her, his girth massaging her insides just right. In return her insides would ripple in a way that sucked him in, even as she rocked forward to pull him out.

She worked like that for a good while. Forward and back, forward and back. All the time she was dripping with water and arousal from between her legs. He could tell each time she came the way her hips would buck and her legs would tremble like she was struggling to stay standing.

Finally she felt him swell inside her, and Maeres was almost sure she could hear the seed in his balls churning, preparing for release. Her teeth gritted as she moved back and forth faster now, almost aching to feel him release inside her.

And release he did a moment later. Maeres dropped back hard one last time, hilting the cock deep inside her when suddenly she felt a jet of his steaming cum explode from the head and shoot deep into her belly. More spurts followed, some strong, then a few weaker drops that pooled around his shaft.

Even though they were done, Maeres wouldn’t let her partner pull out. Her muscles were still sucking at his member as if she was trying to milk him for more of what he had already expended into her.

Finally she slid forward and released him. And when his flaccid and sensitive member popped from her tight hole, a small stream of bubbling, thick cum dribbled out of her, dribbling down her buttocks and along her inner thigh. Maeres made a show of catching it with her finger, wiping it up then sucking the tasty salty treat into her mouth with a mischievous grin on her lips.

It was only then that they both realised they weren’t being pelted with water anymore. The water tower was empty, and figuring she was dirtier now than when she had started, Maeres decided to go all in and jumped on Warwick again…

Forty minutes earlier…

The howl of the Lexus LFA’s engine subsided for a moment, the RPM dial dropping sharply as Maeres stomped in the clutch and slid the gearstick into position six. The RPM readout spiked again as she stomped back on the accelerator, throwing the sportscar down the road at two-hundred kilometres an hour.

The arid desert of the wildlands blurred past them, dunes of sand was all there was to be seen if you looked carefully enough. The stuff even swept partially over the single cracked asphalt road cutting through the deader than dead landscape.

The car, lowered so close to the deck you’d almost expect sparks to start flying, wasn’t alone. Pushing their highly customised engines to their limits, three bulkier, far heavier looking vehicles held position behind the sleek Lexus.

It was impossible to tell what the pursuit vehicles were before the raiders had gotten their hands on them. They had rigged extra wheels alongside the existing, probably for better traction in the sand. Spikes and blades were welded all over the doors and any other flat surface they could find to give the cars a fiercer appearance. And then their engines, Maeres couldn’t tell what the raiders had done to the engines on a glance, but whatever they had done made the engines bigger and more powerful that they should have been. In fact the lead vehicle, some sort of pickup truck with enormous wheels and even bigger spikes welded to the hub-caps, had an engine so big the raiders had cut a hole in the bonnet. But even so, the engine was so immense it blocked the windscreen view completely so the driving raider, a young punk with a pair of goggles protecting his eyes had to lean out the window just to see where he was going.

The raiders were equally souped up. A mixture of humans and anthros, they were on the verge of turning feral. Bare chested and sporting more tattoos and piercings than actual skin and fur, the raiders were howling and practically jumping out of their vehicles, eager to catch up to the Lexus and jump aboard. They were swinging rustic looking AK-47 assault rifles, clubs made of rebar and concrete with coils of razor-wire and a few were even brandishing bandoliers of glowing MANA syringes.

As if to harshly contrast the eye sores and their putrid raider crew, the Lexus LFA and her driver were suitably attractive. The grey sportscar had long sleek, sweeping curves and a low profile. Seated behind the wheel, the tall and curvy wolfess wore a bright red cocktail dress that fitted to the alluring contours of her body. Her feet balanced on the tall, narrow heels of her shoes as her toes bobbed between the pedals to keep the speeding vehicle in control. It was like she had originally intended to go to a high society party but ended up being chased across the wildlands by raiders instead.

One of the raider cars pulled up to the driver side and a series of AKs let out firecracker pops. Bullets smashed into the road beside the Lexus and Maeres instinctively swerved away and put her accelerator foot right down to the floor. The sudden shift in direction made the empty bullet-casings under her feet jingle and slide to one side, before rolling back into position as she swerved back again.

But as she overtook the gaining raider vehicle a spray of gunfire slammed into the side of the Lexus. Bullets smashed through the sleek bodywork and flattened against the armoured inserts just below, leaving little twisted craters running from the side of the nose, right across the driver side door and across the rear. Maeres was pretty sure she heard a tail light shatter followed by the hiss of a tyre losing air, blocking the puncture then automatically re-inflating.

Cursing she looked into her wing mirror to check the distance between her and the raiders, only to find the mirror was gone.

“Oh for…” she took her eyes off the road and looked at the human in the passenger seat. “Shoot those motherfuckers, would you?”

Sitting beside her, Warwick pulled a magazine from his tac-vest and smacked it into his rifle. The Tier One AR-15 was very different from the battered and abused assault rifles the raiders were using. Warwick’s weapon was well maintained, cleaned and locked tight. It was essentially simplicity itself. Rear to front the rifle consisted of a telescoping stock, grip, magazine and a long 13.5” barrel enclosed with a ribbed handguard that extended right to the end of the muzzle shroud. The sights were folded down, providing a clear field of view through the device fitted on top. It was a box with a clear lens projecting a crosshair in Warwick’s field of view, and the faded letters printing “EOTECH” across the side.

Sliding rifle first out the window, Warwick sat on the door with his boots braced against his seat. Twisting around he caught the front grip of his rifle, aimed and fired into the vehicle racing to catch up. Several raiders hung out the windows of the muscle car like Warwick did, trying to get a comfortable angle. Some even tried to fire one-handed, sending rounds sailing high over Warwick’s FAST-helmet.

Warwick on the other hand aimed then swatted them in the face at a hundred metres. He worked left to right, nailing the raiders hanging out the windows and sending them tumbling out onto the road.

“How’s the view!?” Maeres called.

“Looking better!” Warwick called back as he nailed another one of the gunners and sent him tumbling into the asphalt like a rag-doll.

Maeres smirked to herself, looking across and at Warwick’s crotch where he braced himself so he wouldn’t fall out of the car entirely. “Gotta say, the view down here is pretty good too!”

Rounds swishing much closer drew Warwick’s attention and he swivelled to look straight back. Racing up on his side was the second raider escort vehicle. The pickup was keeping its distance with the crew on the flat bed only taking inaccurate pot-shots. The vehicle racing up on him had a raider with a rocket launcher hanging out the side.

“Incoming!” Warwick screamed, scrambling and sliding back into the Lexus.

The RPG let out a deafening boom at the same time and a rocket went sailing across the bonnet of the sportscar. It hit the sand to the side of the road and exploded into a geyser of sand that rattled against the windscreen as a curtain caught on the wind crossed their path.

Dumping his AR-15 between his feet, Warwick whipped his sidearm out of the holster on his belt. The Glock 17 was an all-black pistol that was grooved and moulded to fit into the contours of his hand. The break in the matte black finish were the bright yellow breech and the other barrel visible through slits cut into the forward sections of the slide.

He twisted the weapon out of his right hand, into his left and tilted the sights in front of his good eyes. He fired from this tight looking position, but his rounds went exactly where he wanted to go, a rain of brass petals spinning over his shoulder and into the back seat. Bullets slammed into the pursuing vehicle’s bonnet and crawled closer to the wheel with each shot until finally a double tap met the spinning rubber.

The tyre blew out with a bang and a cloud of vapour and dust. The raider vehicle swerved hard and the driver overcompensated, turning sharply off the road and ploughing through an old telegraph pole. The wood exploded into splinters before the car hit a dune of sand and was thrown into the air, spinning through a vortex of sand and debris before slamming to a halt in the next dune.

Tossing the pistol onto the dashboard, Warwick righted his assault rifle and reloaded. The magazine fell into the footwell, clattering off the inner door panel before landing among several other spent mags and a carpet of brass.

The moment he had readied up the human slid out the window again, just like before. Twisting around he slid the rifle into fully-automatic fire and unloaded everything he had into the bonnet of the other vehicle. It wasn’t easy the way it swayed and dodged and it took two magazines.

Each time he reloaded, Warwick made sure to flick his rifle sideways, ejecting the empty magazine into the road and not across Maeres’ Lexus. Poor thing was still cursing and babbling about the bullet holes running down the side, last thing Warwick wanted was to be the cause of any more dings and scratches.

Finally on the last magazine on the quick release magazines affixed to the side of his tac-vest he got somewhere. His rounds must have ruptured something because the raider car’s engine started spitting smoke and flames. Bright blue fire flashed over the windscreen for a moment.

And then a second later something exploded. Follow up blasts rippled down along the underside of the vehicle and finally the fuel tank seemed to go up, lifting the rear end of the car up and over, the vehicle shearing off add-ons and spikes as it landed on its roof and slid to a painful looking halt.

Warwick let out a cry of laughter, sliding back down into his seat. “Escorts down! Let’s take out that…”

“Oh, shit! Hang on!”

Warwick was sucked sideways against the inside of the door as the car slid hard to one side. Looking up just in time he saw the lead raider vehicle, the pickup truck with the raider warboss on board, rush by them. The exhaust pipes were modified to run up the side of the pickup’s cabin and usually spat black smoke into the air. As the pickup passed them out, the exhaust was belching a mixture of alchemical fires, indicating they’d mixed something into their fuel to gain some extra speed.

The pickup swerved at them, slamming the spinning spikes on the wheels into Warwick’s door, scraping and twisting the Lexus’ body out of shape until Maeres broke free with a hard tug on the wheel. She slammed on the brakes and let the truck pass before sliding in behind the vehicle.

But while they had escaped ramming with spikes, they encountered a whole new set of dangers. Primarily the raider crew on the back.

The raider mage with the bandoliers of glowing syringes forming an X across his chest held up one of the MANA injectors and jammed it right into his arm, right between the circle of scabs indicating it wasn’t the first time he’d used magic.

The ‘dirty’ MANA took effect immediately, as opposed to ‘clean’ MANA which had much lighter effects and took some time to charge. Fire burst from the skin where the mage injected himself. It burned through his veins up and down the arm, charring his skin and forming watery blistered in areas the fire did not peel away the flesh and muscle. But as quick as the flesh burned away it seemed to grow back again, forming an endless cycle of agonising burning and healing.

At the same time a fireball materialised in the raider’s hand. Small at first, it grew and grew until finally it was large enough or him to throw it across the Lexus’ windscreen. The fire splashed and licked around the sides of the car, melting some of the bodywork and causing it to warp. Warwick saw some of the rubber seals that held the windscreen in place fizzle out of existence as bubbled formed on the plastic dashboard.

“Your car is getting fucked up,” he deadpanned helpfully.

“I noticed!” Maeres shouted irritably.

Grabbing his sidearm from the dashboard, Warwick slammed a fresh magazine into the Glock and clicked it into the holster before meeting Maeres’ curious glance.

“I’ll be right back.”

He slid out the window just like before, only this time without his rifle he went the full way. Planting his foot on the door, Warwick slid over the windscreen and crouched on the bonnet, right behind the pickup truck.

The raider mage was charging his next fireball when Warwick leapt forward, clearing the space between the sportscar and the back of the truck with ease. His hand caught the raised back end of the bed and he planted his feet on the tow hook, hanging right under the mage’s nose with his right hand free to move.

His pistol cleared the holster and fired a single shot from hip height.

The single bullet zipped up under the raider’s chin and exploded out the top of his head, killing him instantly. His gun was back in its holster and Warwick was clambering aboard by the time the mage hit the deck.

“Hiya, fellas!” Warwick quipped, landing in a low crouch just as the remaining three raiders drew blades for what was essentially going to be a knife-fight in a phone booth. There was no space in the back of the pickup to manoeuvre, no room to dodge and if your footwork wasn’t just right a loss of balance or a miss-step would result in a short drop and a very sudden stop with the asphalt speeding by below.

Warwick was fast though. Deadly fast; almost supernaturally fast. He was on the raiders before their knives had properly cleared the sheaths.

He punched the younger raider in the back of the line in the chest, knocking him back while kicking out knees on the other two. He whirled like a deadly dervish of fists and elbows, catching lefty in the face with hardened forehead section of his FAST-helmet then sweeping his knuckles across righty’s jaw. He controlled the knife hand of the anthro coyote raider, kicking the other in the kidneys, forcing the wolf to the ground. He broke an arm across his knee and with a flourish took over the knife, digging it deep into the chest of the floored raider.

Drawing his pistol he put two bullets in the face of the wolf with the knife in his chest, then turned the gun on the coyote and fired six shots into his gut.

The young human raider he’d knocked back in his initial attack came back, knife raised high as Warwick threw the coyote aside. His free hand darting up, he caught the human’s wrist and slammed the hot barrel of his pistol into the raider’s face. Holstering it as quickly as he’d struck out with the gun, Warwick rolled his shoulder under the raider’s arm and threw him across his back and into the deck with a deafening clang. The blade twisted free and fell overboard as he then worked his arm around the young raider’s neck and pulled, forcing him to gape for air like a beached fish.

Warwick pulled a grenade from his gear at the same time. His thumb flicked off the top and he pressed the arm-button. It beeped as he forced the device into the raider’s open mouth.

“I don’t normally say this,” Warwick said with his hand over the raider’s mouth. “But don’t swallow!”

Picking the raider up by the back of his trousers, Warwick ran him face first through the cabin rear window, showering the driver and the band’s warboss with grains of glass. Now with the ‘grenade-head’ lodged in place, Warwick turned and leapt off the side of the pickup.

He cleared the asphalt between the truck and the Lexus before landing on the sportscar’s bonnet; plastic and metal buckled and bent absorbing the impact as the bottom of the front bumper sparked and scraped over the road before he slid up against the windscreen.

At the same time the raider’s head exploded.

The detonation was a muffled little thump followed by a splat as a glaze of crimson mess coated all the windows. The raider pickup immediately swayed then swerved hard off the road. The moment it left the asphalt the clumsy and heavy tires sank into the wildlands sand and the front bumper caught, slamming the vehicle to a halt and throwing sand up into the oversized engine. There was a grinding noise of the clutch and other moving parts before the engine stalled out completely and the raider party was off the road permanently.

Maeres in the meantime slowed the Lexus down and brought them around. Halting next to where the pickup truck at grounded itself, Warwick was able to slide off the bonnet and he watched the vehicle carefully, one hand checking his pistol was still in place.

The click of heels drew his gaze to Maeres who had exited the sportscar and walked over. She may have been a towering giantess who cast a long shadow over him almost ominously, but she moved like a weightless pixie, her hips swaying lightly as she walked sure-footed no matter how impractical her footwear.

“So, who takes it from here?” Warwick asked with a nod to the pickup truck.

Maeres just smiled and held out his AR-15 for him.

Warwick sighed. “Do I have to do all the work around here?”

“I drove,” Maeres argued.

Taking his weapon, he racked the rifle just in case – ejecting a live round into the sand – and marched into the burning desert sands towards where the truck sat half buried. There was a stirring inside the cabin, and seeing it Warwick slid the fire selector on his weapon into full-automatic.

Reaching up, Warwick tanked the passenger side door open, and stumbling out of the cabin, covered in blood, skull fragment sticking out of his skin and completely dazed was the raider warboss. The decorative breathing apparatus that was connected to nothing hissed as he looked up. Slowly the raider pulled the mask away, revealing it wasn’t apparatus of any kind after all, just a very stylized ball-gag. Though it was nothing to ridicule the man for, it suited his get up of leather pants, spiked boots and a ridiculously high Mohawk.

“Who the hell are you people!?” the raider hissed breathlessly, suddenly realising he had led his party to ambush a foe he clearly was not equipped to handle.

Warwick humoured him, answering as he slowly crouched beside the raider. “I figure you probably don’t know what a deadflake is. Because if you did… well, then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

DeadFlakes

By SniperSpartan-977

One hour later…

Soaked and spent, but drying under the wildlands’ punishing sun at least, Warwick made himself presentable and did up his zipper.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” he asked, looking up at their handiwork from earlier.

Maeres smiled, wiping the last errant string of cum from the top of her muzzle and licking it from her finger like it was a lollipop. “Are you referring to me or him?”

Warwick glanced at his fellow deadflake and had to admit, blasting her face with cum after a long and vigorous handjob was a rather beautiful sight. But unfortunately he was referring to something much less lewd, and oddly, much more messy.

His eyes moved back up to the totem they had erected shortly before going for their sexy shower. They had driven long pole straight down into the sand and mounted a crossbar on the top to form a rough T-shape. And pinned to that crossbar with steel nails through the wrists and ankles hung the raider warboss. His head hung heavily, dangling over his chest as a mixture of blood and bile oozed from a bullet-hole in his gut.

As Maeres’ agile arms flexed behind her back to do up the zip on her still damp dress, Warwick produced a camera and took picture of their kill, proof to the client their job was done.

That was their job. That was what a deadflake was. They took on the jobs that needed to be done out in the wild, out in the dark feral places where city guards neither had jurisdiction or wanted jurisdiction. It wasn’t a safe job, but that only meant that it paid very well.

It wasn’t a glamorous job either. But Maeres and Warwick did their best.

Mission accomplished, one resting his rifle over a shoulder and the other carrying her shoes in one hand, the deadflakes walked back to the road where their bullet riddled sportscar waited to take them home.

The drive back to civilisation didn’t take very long. Warwick had his rifle stowed on the back seat with his tactical gear while he refilled empty magazines from the ammo box behind his seat. Maeres wore a set of shades, had the windows down and the system up, cruising with one arm out the window.

They were only two hours out and on the main road that cut a practically straight line through the wildlands. It was in fact the ‘only’ road left in the wildlands, and it ran for days in one direction until it met with the city of Barrack. On the other side of that road, the Warwick and Maeres side was their home, Ville.

The largest city, thus christened the capital of their world, Ville was an enormous expanse of civilisation forming two concentric circles. The outer circle, outer Ville, was surrounded by a sixty metre high concrete wall with only five double-walled access points protected by sentries and steel doors.

Riding up to the wildlands entrance to Ville, Maeres slowed down according to instructions printed on the signs standing on the side of the road before crawling by the steel doors hanging open to receive them. Only when those doors closed did one of the city guards, an armoured equine with a rifle in hand, walk up to the driver side and demand identification. Warwick and Maeres presented their citizen IDs and when the guard was satisfied, the inner doors were opened and the duo were on their way again.

You could never be too careful, especially where the wild outside the protective walls of the cities was concerned. Out there in the wild were raiders, demons, monster, ferals and on top of it all a lethal ecosystem that had evolved over the centuries to do three particular things.

Kill. Survive. Strive.

Within the walls of Ville, as it would be within the walls of any city in the world, was vastly different from the wild outside. The land in outer Ville was even, carefully sectioned along either side of the roads winding through the countryside, fenced and cared for. Fields were tilled, irrigated and sowed to grow crops and livestock that fed the mouths of all living in Ville, with excess being exported to sister cities across the world. Vice versa, the other cities would do the same with their produce and fabrications.

Small clustered of little brick houses formed miniature villages in outer Ville, little self-contained communities that supported each other to work and produce. The Lexus breezed by them, blurring along winding roads framed with little hedgerows and verges until the dome loomed into sight.

Inner Ville, better known as the dome, was a place reserved for the elite. It was the city proper, an area protected within an enormous dome protecting its inhabitants from the world’s harsh elements.

The panels of glass across the dome were hexagonal, each part framed with thick steel girders. The outer walls of the dome rose up sharply before leading into the gentle curve of the upper arches. And straight ahead was one of four entrances into the central circle.

Maeres slowed the car down and they passed through a checkpoint like the previous. The guards, three of them this time dressed in riot gear and much larger firearms, took a little longer to cross check their credentials, but eventually the deadflakes were allowed to pass.

Passing into inner Ville was like entering a whole new world entirely.

The harsh light of the unfiltered sun was shaded to a pleasant summer’s afternoon hue. The wind was reduced to a complete stillness. But on the other hand the noise rushed in to deafen them and the artificial lighting was near blinding.

Everywhere, across every building, skyscraper and overpass were neon signs advertising products to be consumed, clubs to be visited and acts to perform. Cars zoomed over the upper and lower roads and airborne vehicles formed neat lines that swayed and ran between the high rises. People adorned in the latest fashion trends walked along the sidewalks. Groups and lines waited to get into the big brand stores or to gain access to the clubs where the parties and pleasures never stopped.

It didn’t get more glamorous than inner Ville, the centre of the world rebuilt in the ruins of the previous.

Maeres drove them onto a main road that carried them closer to the beanstalk, the largest and highest tower at the very centre of the dome. The closer you got to the beanstalk, the more expensive life got. Even the air smelled richer around that tower of glass and neon lighting.

“Good to be back to civilisation,” Maeres sighed, rolling up her window.

Looking out his side as they went down an exit ramp, Warwick spotted figures stalking the alleys and even boldly dragging their obscene acts into the street for all to see. There was a man snorting power out of a woman’s cleavage while another lady squatted down between them and bobbed her mouth up and down the cock sticking out of his open fly. There were two young women dressed for a party just in the mouth of an alley. One had pulled her skirt up over her hips and leaned heavily on a graffiti scrawled wall. One of her elegant legs was wrapped over the shoulder of her friend who was kneeling down and locking her mouth against the standing girl’s nether lips.

He chuckled as the sights seemed to go on. “Yeah. Home sweet home.”

Inner Ville was known for its lewd underbelly. But it was the most advanced city in the world after all. People travelled there from all over just to get away from the hell that was day to day life. So Ville suddenly started making most of its money on ‘pleasure tourism.’

It seemed to work well enough.

Pulling into a wide alley, Maeres manoeuvred the Lexus into a parking lot hidden from the main roads and paused in front of an unmarked garage door. As if sensing them, the door rolled open and they drove into a secret pirate cove of treasures.

White lights flashed on as the garage door shut behind them, spilling light over the warehouse filled with shiny things. Sportscars of all brands, shapes and sizes, all shiny and as pretty looking as the Lexus LFA were lined up along one side of the warehouse. To the other side were workshops, shelves all stacked with car parts categorised and sorted and a car lift along with many tools Warwick barely knew the uses for.

Maeres drove the Lexus onto a drainage grate next to a power hose assembly and they got out. She had a station for everything when it came to her business, which was the maintenance and restoration of fancy old-world cars. And when she started working as a deadflake she even set up an armoury in one corner.

That was where Warwick headed, rifle over one shoulder and tac-gear over the other while Maeres tutted and fussed over the holes riddling her favourite Lexus.

“Animals!” Maeres cursed. “Don’t those bastards have any respect?”

Warwick chortled, stepping into the armoury cage and setting down his gear. “They’re raiders, Mae. They were more concerned about killing me, tearing that car apart and adding you to their rape slaves.”

Pulling the magazine from his AR-15 and clearing the chamber, he set the rifle on the rack with the others. His ammunition used a common alchemical gunpowder that left no residue when it ignited, so he could leave cleaning his weapon for later, a task he usually reserved for pre-mission preparation. Though theoretically he could safely just take the weapon right off the rack and use it reliably too. A little maintenance never hurt though.

Hanging up his tac-vest, Warwick opened his locker next and changed into a regular set of clothes. Jeans, hoodie and t-shirt with a pair of sneakers. Nothing fashionable, but basic and functional at least.

Locking up the armoury as he left, Maeres was hosing the dust and grit off the Lexus to reveal it had actually been pearl white before. Warwick pointed to the crusty patches of fur on the wolfess’ face, neck and chest, the result of some of their messy fun under that water tower.

“Shouldn’t you be hosing yourself down first?” Warwick asked.

Maeres shot him a look that would have a celibate monk turn into a raging nymphomaniac. “Why don’t you hose me down instead?”

“Can’t.” Maeres moaned with disappointment as Warwick held up his camera for her. “I gotta get home. My parents are expecting me tonight.”

Sighing the wolf nodded and took the camera containing pictures of their deceased target. “Fine. I’ll call the boss, let her know the job is done. She’ll contact the client and forward our payment in the morning. You need a lift home?”

Warwick was already halfway to the door when he shouldered his backpack and waved. “Nah, I’ll take the train. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Maeres couldn’t get another word in before the door slammed shut and Warwick was gone. “Bye then,” she sighed with a sarcastic roll of her eyes before returning her attention to her car.

He liked Maeres a lot. Of all the people he could have ended up working with, Warwick was glad it was the wolfess. She was a gentle giant in most ways, and despite the danger of their job she somehow made it seem safe and fun.

Crossing the street and climbing the stairs to the elevated train platform, Warwick tried not to think of Maeres, putting himself in a home-time state of mind. His parents were a little protective and had no idea he was a deadflake. They thought he worked at an auto-repair shop. Warwick wasn’t sure what would be worse. If they found out his main source of income was danger-money, of if his partner was a woman.

The latter would be worse actually. His parents would insist he invite her home.

The train-ride home didn’t take long. His family lived a few kilometres out of the richer districts surrounding the beanstalk, where housing was said to be more reserved.

After fifteen minutes down the orange-line he reached the Aldrin district station and was one of about a dozen passengers to disembark. Most of those took the stairs to the ground level. Warwick opted to take the elevated walkway southbound.

He passed under a few large billboards with moving images advertising Club PROXY just a block away from the beanstalk. One of the images was a short vid of a triple breasted vixen, her red hair combed down over one half of her face and her V-cut jacket simply incapable of covering the pink nipple of the central breast beckoning the viewer to join her with a sultry ‘come-hither’ gesture.

Turning the corner, Warwick swiped his key over a door panel and the door slid open to let him access an elevator. It took him to the fourteenth floor corridor, which he crossed to the end and slid the same key he swiped into the lock on the door labelled ‘Grav.’

He turned the key and entered his home, the penthouse of his foster mothers, Winsum and Loosum Grav.

Foster care had placed Warwick with the women when he was a baby. They were a very well-to-do couple, with Winsum Grav working as a model for a renowned magazine and Loosum Grav holding a job as waitress at a fancy restaurant in the beanstalk.

Their decent income was evidenced by the four bedroom penthouse they lived in. Warwick’s own bedroom even had its own bathroom, just like his mothers. They had set up the third bedroom as a guest room, and the smallest box room had been converted into Winsum’s dressing room – as you can imagine a modelling career meant you built up quite a wardrobe.

The kitchen and living room formed the single central space at the heart of the penthouse, dressing room off to one side, primary master bedroom to the other behind the kitchen. The other rooms and bathroom were upstairs, and the outward facing wall to which the primary master bedroom was attached was a wall of glass with sliding doors leading onto the large balcony sporting a glass-bottom swimming pool.

What might really blow your mind is the statement that this penthouse was modest compared to some of the living spaces closer to the beanstalk.

Shutting the door behind him, Warwick was treated to the sight Loosum in the kitchen. It wasn’t a treat to see because she was cooking either – although Warwick had eaten a meal-ready-to-eat for breakfast and lunch so a nice home-cooked meal would certainly do wonders for the bowels.

It was simply a treat to see his mother. Then again, it was a treat to look at both of them, because they were both incredibly attractive anthros. Living in the world he did, Warwick had no shame in admitting it. Sex and admiration of the male and female form was commonly discussed – and even more commonly practiced – in Ville. He’d grown up with it in school and even more so after.

Loosum Grav was a tall giraffe. Not as tall as Maeres, though nobody could boast to be that tall, she had very different proportions to the giant wolfess’ model-like grace. Loosum had a little thicker waist, a little fat but delicious curves all the same. Her bust size was a size larger than Maeres even, and her wide birthing hips were extremely huggable. She had a soft motherly sort of attractiveness, but what really made her stand out, her most beautiful feature by far, was her neck. Most women would have nice hands, a great rear or tantalising breasts or legs. Some might even be drawn in by the eyes or mouth alone.

Loosum was unique because she had a lovely slender neck. Without that she’d just be another pretty face. With it she was a very special kind of beautiful.

Brushing some of her short red hair out of her eyes, Loosum’s face lit up at the sight of Warwick. “Wick, sweetie! I was beginning to grow worried. You’re late!”

“Hi mom. I know. Sorry. Train was running late,” he lied dropping his backpack on the floor and walking over to the kitchen’s breakfast bar where Loosum was chopping some vegetables. “Can I help with something?”

Loosum chuckled happily and patted Warwick on the head. “Such a good boy,” she cooed proudly. “But it’s fine. I can handle this. You’re probably tired after working all day.”

Warwick wanted to tell her she had no idea, but resisted the urge.

“Go take a load off, sweet-pea. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Moving back to the living room he did exactly that. Sitting back on the couch, Warwick kicked his feet up on the coffee table and switched on the television. He’d been there no longer than thirty seconds when the sound of cartoons drew in a predator… so to speak.

Winsum Grav was preceded by the sounds of her high heels clicking sharply on the wooden treads of the steps. She came down gracefully like a maid’s outfit wearing angel. At first Warwick though the vixen must have just gotten home from work and hadn’t changed out of her costume of the day yet.

There was no way she was actually cleaning in black heels, white stockings up to her knees and a black apron with pink frills so thin it became abundantly clear she wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath. Then Warwick noticed the feather duster and realised she was seriously cleaning in that outfit.

To say Winsum ‘filled the costume nicely’ was perhaps the wrong way of describing the woman. She was like her wife Loosum in many ways. The fox had a pretty face, lovely steel grey fur and long platinum blonde hair. She was significantly narrower than the giraffe, but not to the point that she didn’t have any curves anymore. What really set Winsum apart as a model were her legs.

Her long legs, especially in a scandalously short skirt, seemed to go on forever. They were the kind of slim, slender legs you wanted to see bent into obscure shapes as this alluringly tall woman squatted over you.

“Hi miss,” Warwick greeted as Winsum walked over with the grace reserved for a woman of her profession.

She greeted him back in a strict, almost angry tone. Not furious, but just terse enough for you to know you were in trouble and get you excited about it all the same. “Warwick Envoy Grav. What have I said about putting your feet on the table?”

She had a way of putting emphasis on all the right words that really beat her point home hard enough that Warwick was completely incapable of mustering up excuses or arguments. He only said, “Yes miss,” as he quickly removed his feet from the coffee table.

“And have you seen that bedroom of yours? It’s a mess!”

“Yes miss.”

“Do you think I enjoy cleaning it for you for hours on end while you just swagger in after your curfew and plonk yourself down in front of cartoons?”

“No miss.”

“No miss? No miss!? Your mother is slaving over a hot stove and I am cleaning up after your filth and all you can say for yourself is; no miss!?”

That was why he referred to his mothers differently, not just because calling them both ‘mom’ might get confusing. Loosum was more like a caring mother who looked after her son’s emotional needs and spoiled him from time to time, therefore she was called ‘mom.’

Warwick called Winsum ‘miss’ because she was like a teacher or, dare he think it, mistress most of the time.

Loosum was the gentle caring hand of parenting. Winsum was the ever necessary voice of discipline. On their own they were terrible. Together they were better.

Loosum quickly took the steaming vegetables off the stove while at the same time checking the meatloaf wasn’t burning in the oven, all at the same time with the mystical skill of multi-tasking only a mother could possess. Satisfied all was in order, a split second later she swooped in to the rescue.

“Oh, now Winnie,” Loosum cooed embracing her wife, but Winsum shrugged her off.

“Don’t you ‘Winnie’ me. The boy is home late. He does nothing around the house…”

Loosum sighed but still smiled, bringing her wife in for another hug. As she did, resting her chin on her soulmate’s shoulder the woman flashed Warwick a naughty wink so the human knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Winnie, you know that’s not true,” the giraffe said pushing the vixen back a little. “I know you had a difficult photo shoot this morning. Your all worked up and frustrated. I know how much you like wearing exotic lingerie, but taking your frustration out on Wick in this way is not healthy.”

Winsum pouted in a way only Loosum could make her as she felt her calves brush the seat of the couch.

“Now first take a breath.” The fox did so. “Now take a seat.” Her hand on her wife’s shoulder to guide her, Loosum made her sit.

Her knees bent and her gorgeous legs folded in an undeniably arousing way as she sat down. That’s when she felt it. She felt the glans of Warwick’s stiff erection probe between her labia and find the bead of sweet moisture within, before with a slippery sound she slipped into her with barely any resistance.

The vixen didn’t retreat or try to stand, instead drew a sharp breath and with her eyes pleasantly shut savoured the feeling of her wet, pent up walls being spread apart to make space for her foster son’s cock.

After Loosum’s wink, Warwick knew exactly what to do. Winsum had mood swings like these whenever she was horny enough to get frustrated. She didn’t masturbate, not on her own at least. So that meant when she got worked up she’d need someone to ‘help her out.’ when Loosum winked, Warwick knew he’d be the one to help and opened up his trousers.

The human firmly lodged in her quivering wet tunnel, Winsum leaned back against his chest with a contented sight. She was squeezing in a uniquely skilful way, her muscles rippling up and down Warwick’s erection, creating an almost milking sensation even though she wasn’t moving.

And as she was doing it the various nerves in her loins were firing in overdrive, electric sparks of pleasure ripping through her body with each rippling of her vaginal walls.

“Is that better, Winnie?” Loosum asked, flicking her long tongue across the base of Warwick’s cock.

Winsum nodded sharply, then gasped when the giraffe’s tongue lashed up and found a little pink pearl right above where her opening was stretched open.

“Oh, G-G-G… Loo… Loo, I’m…” the vixen chocked on a breath as her lower body began to tremble. The rippling of her internal muscles quickened and hardened, squeezing beads of precum out of Warwick. “I’m… cumming… Loo… CUMMING~!”

Her cry was somewhere between a moan of ecstasy and a shrill scream as her muscles all locked and a shower of her excitement squirted out between her lips and the cock, showering Warwick with a pleasant heat radiating from his mother’s body. As she came down from her high of pleasure, so did her moans, her voice lowering to a crackling of embers on a fire.

All at the same time, Loosum was there to excitedly lap up all of the liquid remains of her orgasm. But the motions flashed her tongue across Warwick’s balls and the base of his cocks, ending spurts of fire shooting through him. He clenched and obviously couldn’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it,” Winsum moaned, feeling him swell inside. “Cum inside. Do it. Cum for mommy.”

The words and the tone in which she said them alone spiked Warwick. One hand grabbed her narrow hip, the other a breast as if hanging on for dear life. His fingers felt Winsum’s hard nipples through the thin fabric of her costume.

A moment later the dam burst and torrent after torrent shot deem into Winsum’s womb. He rolled his hips, probing as deep as he physically could, unloading the last few spurts he had inside.

Loosum giggled as her wife lifted off their foster son’s cock with a wet slurp, pearly cum bubbling from her winking opening. She wasted no time licking up the excess that leaked from her partner, then eagerly took Warwick into her mouth, savouring the mixture of boy and girl cum that glazed his softening length.

Many happy memories flooded through Loosum’s mind as she suckled her son gently. He always had incredible stamina and she could feel him hardening between her lips already again. They’d been doing this since he was a young boy. Since he was old enough to ask what the strange moaning sounds coming out of his mothers’ bedroom were. They had shown him exactly what went on. At first the young boy was content to watch. Then when he was a teenager they noticed him touching himself and invited him into the bed for a closer look… and feel.

In Ville, a city of extreme decadence it wasn’t uncommon or unfashionable for any individual to look within the nest for a sexual partner. There were plenty of families out there just like them, many were friends with the Gravs. They’d even been so bold as to share partners from time to time. But that’s probably a story for another time.

Sniffing, Loosum suddenly noticed a burning smell, then feared the worst for her meatloaf. But it didn’t matter. The Grav family had worked up an appetite of an entirely different kind.