FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

When Maxwell received an invitation to attend the Anthropomorphic Royalty Society Evening ball (aka the A.R.S.E. ball) on the far-fetched Hawaiian island of Maui, he was hesitant at first. After he'd finished booking a flight and packing light luggage, he wondered why on earth this strange pseudo-MENSA affiliation of higher-class archetypes wished for, even requested, his presence. He never associated with these kinds of furs before in his life. If they only knew what his idea of a fun night out had been beforehand, they'd probably re-consider their decision.

Nevertheless, Maxwell heeded the invitation and within roughly five in-flight hours, he arrived at a tropical paradise in the center of the great, vast Pacific on an early Friday morning. This weekend should be a real doozy. Maxwell jerked in his seat in coach as the 747 touched down upon the flat blacktop runway of Kahului Airport. He'd just munch on their pupus, sip back a few mai-tais, maybe dance the hula and then be on his way just as fast as he arrived, remaining strictly under the radar. If only things were always that easy for him, though. If only!

Later that night, Max flashed his ID to the door-guard bouncer at the event - a large twin-hexagonal-shaped blue tent erected roughly three hundred feet inland from the coastal edge of Maui's Paipu Beach. The broad-shouldered usher, a big cat of some kind (maybe a leopard or cougar), nodded and invited Max in, issuing him a name badge that said: Hi! My Name Is: MAxwhELLe

Ah... fucking geniuses.

As Max entered the large tent-shrouded collective gathering, he realized they'd most likely invited the wrong damn shep-coon. He recognized nobody and nobody happened to glance upon him with any recollection of who he was either. Perfect! Now I should go and--

Then Max glanced upon one particularly outlandish creature, one with merle patterns on his limbs and in possession of a rather peacocking huge crown. The crown itself had nine sharp prongs, each glinting brightly with pink jewels. Inside the gold trim lay a red leather-bound padding. That crown, Max realized, wasn't one that could simply be purchased from a costume shop. That baby was hand-tailored, which meant one thing only. $KA-CHING!$

If only he could woo the thing's owner... then he'd be in the bank and this whole fiasco would really be worth it in the long run. Another advantage Max had on his side was that this unique anthro was by himself, nestled in a far corner of the tent's interior. He appeared to be fixing his name-badge as well, from the looks of his fluid movements and his repetitive hunched-over actions. The crown rested crookedly upon his head.

Maxwell approached the anthro with a steady, easy-going stride. He didn't want to cause any kind of disturbance or invade any forms of privacy. He already felt like an intruder, the last thing he wanted was to beef it up something fierce with the guests of royalty in this high-level gathering. That just wouldn't happen if he could help it. He'd come all this damn way in response to a botched invitation, so he figured why not make the very most of it. A young brazen mongoose server passed by with a plate of Poi and crackers. Max reached for a quick bite, courage fuel, and approached the oddly-cute ball attendee, money-bags reflected in his one good eye.

The crown-toting fur's name badge said: Hi! My Name Is: Roder- Paimon! ; the name Roderick had been written, then crossed out and replaced with a scribbly, half-assed Paimon in replacement. Oh good, looks like I'm not the only name the dumbasses got totally wrong. Max breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to tap this... whatever it was... on his shoulder. This "Paimon" character with a truly unique fur pattern and ideal blue streaks in his hair. Maxwell had never seen anything like him before. A childhood memory screamed Iziban Hound, but he couldn't guarantee the accuracy of those shallow waters. The individual dog-thing of distinctive royal ties turned on a dime and regarded Maxwell with a distasteful glance - at first.

"Wow! Nice eyepatch, chum. What'd you do, surf in bad coral-infested waters?"

"Uhm, no... actually I... hey, they got your name wrong too, I see?"

He looked down and scoffed aloud. "A damn shame, isn't it? Can't these fools ever get anything right?! I tell you, sometimes I wish these bastards could get skull-fucked and knotted by overgrown feral wolves for their insolence! But that's only wishful thinking. Say, that really isn't your name, is it? Mr.... Maxwellhee?" He asked while re-adjusting his name badge.

"He-he, um... no. Its Maxwell. Or Max, for short. Nice to meet you, Roderick."

"Its Paimon, damn it! That's pronounced 'Pay-Men', you dolt. See how I crossed this name tag out? Don't you forget it either! I have the power to make or break insubordinates, may I remind you."

"Is that a fact? A thousand pardons. So what are you? Like, royalty or something?"

"Well DUH! Why do you think we're HERE, anyways? Can't you even see my crown?" Pai said, pointing unbelievably to his head and regarding Maxwell as the most ignorant fool to ever grace existence.

"Yeah, about that... I thought it was a fake at first, like a prop."

"A prop? Sort of like that... eye patch of yours? What's really behind there, anyways? I bet that's just a fake anyways. Hand it over!"

Paimon reached for the patch in a nefarious attempt to yank it free from Max's head. When Maxwell backed away, shaking his head horizontally and narrowly dodged Pai's reaching hand-paw, he instead managed to trip backwards and fall right on a burlap-sack bag of Feral Timesholistic powder. Where it came from and why it had to be placed exactly where it was is a cofounding mystery for all involved. Could it have been saved for a strange ritual later on in the night? Maybe a deterrent for outside intruders? Would sprinkling this strange substance on a feral creature transform them into an anthropomorphic shape? In any case, as Max fell right on the pouch, the bag popped open, scattering clouds of glittering dust that swirled around him like gnats to spoiled fruit.

In the space of roughly ten seconds, Maxwell Horacio Blackburnadeaux transformed from a six-foot-even shepherd/raccoon hybrid anthropomorphic into a two-and-a-half-foot-even shepherd/raccoon hybrid feral dog. He'd also lost his ability to speak since his larynx had been compromised. He could only issue a few grunts and whines for any form of communication - and body language. That would be his only form of contact for the next twelve hours or so. He decided to use this trait to his advantage in the best (if not the most inspired) possible way imaginable.

Paimon gazed upon this sudden shape-shifting with wide-open eyes and a jaw that hung loosely agape. He then reeled his head back in laughter and guffawed like a madman.

"Oh me oh my, has our intrepid Maxwell had a little accident? Hey doggy! Go fetch me a refreshment! Lay down! Heel! Hahaha!"

Maxwell growled at him. He glanced over with his single eye and saw his clothing in a clumped little pile right beside where the bag had sprung open. Now with the addition of thicker, coarser fur, Maxwell began to grow quite muggy. As he became more hot and bothered, his tolerance began to waver. He still found this creature to be exuberantly attractive, even from the ground up. As he admired him with a strangely sudden growing profound sexual longing, the hound of royalty simply laughed even harder.

"Boy, wait until we tell the others how THIS happened! I can't wait to see the look on their faces when they see that you've got into their powd-"

That's all he managed to say right before Max head-butted him down to his knees in a sudden rush of fury.

"Ow!" Paimon went down hard. His wrists clapped upon the thin tarp sheet of the tent. Maxwell grabbed a nearby strap of solid burlap pouch in his mouth and ran over to the royal fur, hoisting himself upon the Georgian White back and jerking his head to swing the strap around Pai's head. The strap pried Pai's mouth wide open. His lower jaw and tongue hung limply beneath his muzzle. He didn't have time enough to react quickly to the initial pushing-down fall. He'd simply been too amazed and dumbfounded that this freaking bastard shep-coon prick had forced him down into such a submissive position to begin with.

"Haugh darre yough, Machswell! Haugh darre yough! You'llgh hace deash hor ish acc!" Paimon struggled to say clearly but incapable of doing so thanks to the makeshift harness. How dare me, you say? I'll face death for this act, you say? Yup - as if I'd never faced death numerous times in the past already. Paimon shook the strap loose from his mouth. "You watch and see, puppy! I'll break you down and you'll never--" But before Paimon could finish this particular threat, he'd felt a strange throbbing warmth prodding at his backside. He glanced down unbelievingly to see that Maxwell had grown a rather sizeable erection and was now attempting to penetrate him.

"You pervert! Bastard pervert! Let me go, damn you! Let me g--" Max craned his head forward and tightened the strap of burlap sack, choking back any more words. He'd wondered why this Paimon - this 'Roderick' - didn't issue more of a struggle. If he really didn't want to be feral-fucked, he'd have pushed Max right off his back long ago. Evidently this must have been some kind of an absurd kinky sex-game to the Iziban hound. A controlling ploy on submissive dominance. The thought of it made Max harder still as the tip of his elongated baculum-knotted penis punctured the tight little fleshy ringlets of Pai's tailhole. Then he pumped his hips forward in a flashing series of humping motions and buried his cock into assured royalty. The feeling of sweet succulent insertion caused his heart to speed into nearly triple-time BPMs. The hound beneath him gasped excitedly, moaning and clenching his anal passages tighter upon contact.

The crown lay askew beside Paimon's right leg as he raised his butt upward to gain a better, less obstructed delivery of thick throbbing shep-coon cock. His own dick began to grow hard at each brushing prod deeper into his insides, knot scraping wildly against the surface of his prostate, milking his testicles dry of all traces of sperm. The hellhound spread his legs wider and embraced each thrust, each pant, each muffled growl. Max licked the cusp of Pai's back and the exposed surface of his shoulders and nape while he in turn felt his own ballsack slapping freely against the surface of Pai's groin. After a good ten-minute round of solid feral humping, Max felt his scrotum tighten up and clench inward. He was getting close. The burlap strap came loose once more, allowing Pai to speak his mind aloud briefly in between Fuck Me! and Harder!: "Fuck your king, bitch! Fuck your king! YES!!! What's my name? Roderick? That's my name? NO!!! Its Paimon! Paimon! Fuck Roderick! Drill your Paimon harder! God, yes, harder! Aaah, ffffffuck!"

At the verge of climax, Maxwell hugged up against Paimon's back tighter than ever in a loving embrace and pumped the living breathing daylights out of him, never slowing down or hesitating for a second. A runaway piston drilling into an engine block with limited oiled lubrication. Maxwell was nearing the closing gap. He'd rounded the third base line and was heading down the home stretch. gasping and choking back the urge to scream aloud, Paimon whispered, "You... are a good boy, yes? Fucking your... authority... figures... that's -OH!- a good way... mmmm... ah, fuck yes... to get..... promoted... boy... ah!"

Maxwell held a firm grip on Paimon's hips and felt his own knot suddenly swelter.

"CUM FOR ME BITCH!" Pai screamed, slightly muffled. Unbelievably enough, nobody else in attendance heard a thing from these two - not a peep. Evidently they'd found themselves a truly VIP-secret cubby-hole corner of the tent. So while the high-end guests dined assertively on tropical hors d'oeuvres and sipped pineapple mimosas while admiring the tranquil serenity of Maui's finest exotic locale, Maxwell and Paimon engaged in sloppy intense zoo sex.

When they finally came, they came together as one. A like-minded sexually-driven entity. Pai's tail wrapped around Max's waist lovingly and his tongue remained stuck out from beneath the flaps and folds of feral-powder burlap sack as he ejaculated hands-free, eyes rolling back into his head in an erotic fashion, breathing deep and passionately, feeling every nuance and trickling of sweet shep-coon jizz churning from within. The entire world became a spiraling tunnel of various shades and hues of blue. All around them, a fish-eye lens had replaced their natural field of vision. The universe seemed to bend and contort in real-time before their very eyes as Max shot his warm sticky load deep into the recesses of Paimon's hindquarters, rope after salty-sweet rope, knot swelling up to a bulge roughly the size of a fist, baculum prodding against the cusp of Pai's internal surfaces, ringed tail wagging happily back and forth. His dreadlocks were dripping with sweat, though technically they shouldn't be - Maxwell supposed this was one particular trait the 'magic' powder hadn't exactly touched upon.

After they'd endured three more rounds of hardcore bestial buggery, the night came to a close and a beautifully bright orange ball of sunlight peeked over the western horizon of sheer paradise. The others had either passed out drunk atop one another or migrated out to the beach. Maxwell shape-shifted back into his natural anthropomorphic self after his knot had shrunk down enough to be pulled out from Paimon's sex-riddled cum-drenched ass. As Pai slumped over onto his right side and Max lay down beside him on his left, facing each other, Paimon caressed Maxwell's scruffy cheek with a single hand-paw and nodded.

"You may call me Roderick if you so desire, chum. Now fetch me my crown and let's be on our way. I've got lots more to do with you, methinks."

"Pompous to the very end, aren't you?"

"You have no fucking idea, pal." Pai said. He winked and smirked knowingly at Max. He intended to show the shep-coon his private quarters - so long as he could find a fresh batch of Feral Times first.