FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Nothing really happened that day until she started whisking.

That morning, Charlene had received a text from her husband, the usual, "Have a good time at work. Oh, and there's a surprise for you today! ;)" The gazelle got the same message once every other week or so, and she had the (inevitably naughty) surprise figured out in a few hours.

Her husband was a hypnotist by trade. An erotic hypnotist. (He was also a stag, something her mother had been very keen on: "By the saints," she had said, "I don't care what he does for a living, just let him have hooves!") Charlene herself, it turned out, was a natural hypnotic subject, so easily suggestible that her husband could, and often did, trance her straight through movies, chores, and meals to (inevitably naughty) effect. The gazelle woke up after trance without any memory of the little words he had whispered into her mind.

As a result, he would, on certain days, trance her straight through breakfast without her knowledge, and she would receive a text as she got to work informing her of a surprise waiting for her inside her own head. One day, she was made to feel as though she were being lightly tickled whenever anyone around her said the word "meeting." One day, she was overcome by an urge to run to the nearest bathroom stall and masturbate during her mid-morning break. One day, each time the phone rang, her mind conjured a very persistent image of her husband. A very persistent and very naked image of her husband. Nothing ever got between her and her work, but the naughty shenanigans during the day often led to a fun evening in bed with her stag.

On that day, though, the hours crept by without any sign of what the implanted suggestion was. She felt nervous by late morning and down-right randy by mid-afternoon: with no concrete idea of what he had done, her imagination dreamed up plenty of kinky possibilities. Her husband still had all the imagination and libido of a teenager, so not only was her husband a hypnotist, not only was he an erotic hypnotist, but he was very, very, very good at being an erotic hypnotist. She was worried she might have to shower the instant she got home to wash the scent of arousal off herself, but at that point, she decided, she might as well tease him back.

A more disconcerting thought was that he may have implanted a suggestion to make her do something odd and then further made sure that she would never recognize her own odd action. She might have been quacking like a duck whenever she got a drink of water and never realized it. But no, she could not remember anyone looking at her weird.

When work was finally over, she edged the speed limit the entire way home and found her stag sitting in the living room, enjoying a beer and the daily cross-word. He looked perfectly innocent. Charlene wanted to avoid just asking him what he had done with her: that would have been cheating. But by that point, she wondered if he had actually done anything to her at all that morning or if the text had just been to get her worked up and horny.

He said nothing about the matter and just completed his cross-word, finished his beer, and got up to start cleaning the house. The gazelle huff and went to cook dinner herself. The gazelle had always found cooking relaxing, a distraction from her day's anxieties; she lost herself in the precise chopping of vegetables and had almost forgotten all about the text from that morning. She dumped the vegetables into the pan to sizzle and started making the sauce.

Then she started to whisk.

All of a sudden a sensation buzzed away deep between her legs. She dropped the whisk in shock (and was so focused on the sensation she had felt that she completely missed her husband's sudden grin). The feelings had focused along her clit, a short, quick whirling motion, but so swift and teasing that at first she mistook it for a vibe.

Charlene shot her husband a look, but by this point he was innocently dusting once more, whistling a little ditty as he worked. She discreetly set the whisk aside and made a dash for the bathroom to check that she had not, in fact, been made to go around all day with a vibe hidden against her clit. She found none, thankfully. She did not want to think of how she would have reacted to such a strong buzzing sensation going off in the middle of the day. The sensation would have likely brought her to her knees no matter where she was.

As the gazelle stepped back out, she caught sight of her husband's rakish grin around the edge of his antlers. He may have been playing at innocence, but at this point he was not playing very hard. She went back to cooking and set the whisk into the pan once more.

There it was again! That same quick swirling motion that dragged over her clit and made her knees shake and almost buckle. It felt like flashes of pleasure popping in her nerves, random and disorganized. Her hand froze in its whisking, and the sensation disappeared from her clit. She started whisking and it returned.

She looked to her husband who was by now leaning over the edge of the kitchen counter, watching her. His swollen package was clearly outlined against the fabric of his pants. "Have you figured it out yet?" he asked.

"Not quite," she said and set the whisk down. If she was lucky, the sauce didn't need anything more to be done with it. She picked up a spatula and started to turn the simmering vegetables over.

Another sensation hit her. This time feeling so much like a finger being drawn achingly slowly over her labia. She had to cup her sex and bite her lip to hold back the moans that threatened to burst forth.

Charlene thought she understood. She turned the vegetables a bit quicker, and the finger sped up across her lips: she slowed, and the finger slowed. Then she set the spatula away, and the sensation at her sex stopped. With a questioning glare at her husband, she took the pasta and dumped it into the nearby pot of boiling water. As she poked at the noodles with a wooden spoon to separate them, a new sensation took hold, that of a tongue diving into her sex, swishing about within her warm folds.

"Cooking," she said.

"What about it?"

"I'm feeling the sensations when I cook."

He chuckled and moved in behind her, one hand cradling a breast while the other snuck below the edge of her belt-line and teased against the dampness threatening to soak through her clothes. "Fun idea?"

"Oh yeah," she said, shuddering, plunging the spoon into the noodles over and over again just to feel that tongue worming its way into ever deeper spots within herself. The faster she whipped the spoon through the water, the deeper and more eagerly the tongue slid into her own sex, and soon she was panting from raw desire, resting her weight against her stag's strong arms.

"Shall I take over cooking from here so you can cool off?" He asked.

"Oh no." She spun and pushed him away suddenly, pointing to the pantry. "I think this calls for a second course!"