FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Route 529. 30 miles of dirt. A narrow, unsealed road that barely accommodates two cars passing next to each other, sandwiched between the boundless expanse of a native forest. Unknown to tourists, the subject of ghost stories between locals, and—for the more pragmatic—a good shortcut.

Pragmatic—a reassuring word to make you feel better about your decision to transverse this unlit dirt trail in the middle of the night. The high beams of your pickup truck paint the road ahead white and cast twisted silhouettes from overhanging branches of the tree line. The only other source of illumination is the full moon, set in the centre of the black sky. Its position is quite telling of the time: 12:46 am. At least, the time according to your pickup's ghoulish green LED display. You can't quite recall whether you adjusted it for daylight savings.

While the desire to arrive home as soon as possible had spurred on a questionable decision to risk your life driving on an unsealed, pitch-black road, you were making record time. A trip that would ordinarily take two hours would be cut to one. And better still, you have this straight stretch of road all to yourself.

Or, at least, so you thought. Until, in the faint distance, two shimmering lights meet your eyes. You slow and tilt your pickup to the right, riding dangerously close to the tree line. Whoever is on the other side of the road appears to do the same.

In fact, whoever they are seems to have slowed to a snail's pace. Caution on a road like this is understandable, but they don't look to be moving an inch.

You soon understand why. As you pass the vehicle, you turn your head to look out your side window. They aren't moving. The car is empty. Its headlights are on, but no one is at the wheel or even standing around the vehicle.

Anxiety wells up within. It's an ominous sight for sure, especially in the dead of night, in the middle of nowhere. A part of you wants to keep driving, perhaps through convincing yourself that it's nothing of importance—just an abandoned car. Though you know an abandoned vehicle, even on this road, wouldn't go unnoticed for long. Nor would its headlights stay on. Unless, of course, it was hastily abandoned in the middle of the night. This night.

You shiver. As much as you don't want to stop, whoever owns that car might need help. You pull off as far to the side as you safely can, turn on your hazards, and, with a trembling hand, open the door and step out.

A not-so-pragmatic decision.

The cold immediately nips at you—an unpleasant contrast to the lukewarm interior of your pickup. You fumble for your phone and turn on its flashlight before facing back down the road you came from. The car is about 200 feet away. You take off towards it in a light jog.

Despite the chill, the air is still. Even the trees are silent. All you can hear as you make your way down the road are your footsteps and the faint ticking of your pickup's hazard lights flashing on and off. Your phone's light barely lights more than 10 feet ahead of you, but the headlights of the distant car act as a beacon for you in the dark.

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach it. The vehicle's front half rests close to a thick tree stump, but there's no damage to the car's front. You walk around to the driver's side window—or the sharp, uneven glass edges of what remains of it—and shine your phone's torch in. Your heart drops as you see the destruction within. There are jagged claw marks all over the dashboard, and parts of the leather seats appear to be ripped off in huge chunks. Your stomach churns as you still see the metallic gleam of a keychain hanging out from under the ignition. The back of the vehicle hasn't fared much better. The headrest of the furthest seat appears to be torn off and now lies on top of a vast, open fissure on the seat cushion.

No signs of life. You twist your phone, half-expecting to see the glint of bright red blood, but you find nothing. You lurch yourself away and make for the trunk. To your surprise, it hasn't been closed entirely. You jerk it up and meet an even stranger sight. The trunk is filled with balls of yarn, string, and even bird feathers in a rainbow of various colours, neatly organised from darkest to brightest shades. On the right side lies a bundle of seemingly ordinary twigs and sticks, but on closer inspection, you note them to be delicately straightened and smoothed. There are also two half-finished dream catchers; a spiderweb of thin string—interspersed with multicoloured beads—connected within a ring of oak-coloured thread.

While your head is in the trunk, you hear a faint jingle and a click. You jump out and realise that the surrounding forest has gone dark; the car's front headlights are off. You slam down the trunk and start walking backwards and sway your phone in your ever-tightening grip, but the light from it catches nothing.

You suddenly see a pair of floating, cyan lights from the opposite end of the abandoned car. A colour that would be calming, save for the fact that they just appeared from nowhere. They seem to hover in mid-air—perfectly still—and do nothing to illuminate the surroundings.

Until they start to sway. You freeze in place, unable to piece together what you're seeing. But then you hear it—a schlik. Your first thought is that it sounds like a knife spreading butter over charred toast. Perhaps that's what it could have been if you were 30 miles away, safe at home. The more likely source soon comes to you—something sharp and smooth slicing against the rough metal of the abandoned vehicle. And then a loud thud. You see the trunk of the vehicle bounce as if something heavy upset its balance. The cyan dots raise and tower over you. As you take two panicked steps backwards, their owner takes two small steps forward into a shaft of moonlight breaking through the canopy of the overhanging branches.

All is silent as you gaze upon the faded white fur of the creature now perched atop of the vehicle, glowing in the dim light. It's huge. Possibly 8 feet by itself, but it looks to be more than double your size standing on top of the car. Its hips and torso are wide, but its limbs are unnaturally slender and stretched. The monster's terrifying claws—each half a foot long—sheen in the faint light. And instead of a head, all you can see is a bleached-white skull. While you first think it to be a deer skull, its antlers suggest otherwise; they are intricate and symmetrical, and yet unearthly. The twisted wood-coloured spikes twirl at painful angles, with random sections jutting out like the blades of a miniature ice pick. You're unable to see the top of its thorns, which fall outside the ray of light and into the shade of the forest, making it seem as if the tips are sliced off.

It remains perfectly still, its face featureless and unmoving. The only evidence that this thing has life at all is the striking blue lights set in the eye holes of its skull—faintly shimmering, and aiming at you.

Until it suddenly jerks its bony head back. The creature's top half disappears into the dark of the shade, leaving only the intense cyan lights. An otherworldly sound of unrestrained horror bellows forth. The trees rustle and sway in response to its cry, as if called to arms by the creature. You slap your hands against your ears to block out as much of the deafening terror as possible.

As the sound turns to an echo—leaving a high-pitched ringing in your ears—you run backwards. The creature's head—skull and antlers—suddenly reappears in the light as it drops onto all fours. You turn and run for your life. As you hear the banging of metal from behind, you jerk your head to look, only for you to witness the terrifying sight of it leaping off the trunk of the car—towards you with claws outstretched.

You look away and keep running. You squeeze your phone with so much force that your hand begins to ache. Your vision shakes as you heave your body forward with more strength than you've ever used before in your life. The blinking orange of your pickup's hazard lights heralds your only salvation. The sound of the outside world mutes; your urgent gasps of air and the thumping of your heart are the only things you can hear now.

As you slide along the dusty exterior of your pickup, your lower chest strikes the side-view mirror, breaking your sprint. The plastic mirror breaks off and bounces off into the dark with the sound of shattering glass. You hobble backwards in pain, desperately reaching for the driver's side door as you hear the whishing of movement nearby. You almost pull off the handle as you jerk it back before flinging yourself inside and yanking it shut with a booming thud.

Before you can get to a sitting position, the black of night outside your windshield is replaced by white. Two white mounds. It takes you a few seconds of confusion to realise what you're staring at:

The creature's butt.

Its plump cheeks are smooshed against your windshield, flattening the silky white strands of fur covering them. And they are enormous, like two full moons obscuring your vision. You stare in a mix of bewilderment and intrigue, causing you to briefly forget the terrifying visage of the creature that was leaping after you. Before you have time to snap back to reality, its ass leaves your windshield. The lack of pressure returns its rump to a smooth, round shape, but only for a moment. In the next, it bucks its ass back into the glass with a concerning amount of force. Its butt squashes against your windshield once more. But again, only for a moment. It repeats the motion, smacking its butt into your window over and over again. You can't tell whether it's taunting you or trying to break through.

It finally comes to a halt, with its ass poised mere inches away from the windshield. Those terrifying claws suddenly come into view and slide along its back, reaching behind itself. The claws are followed by its bony, fur-covered hands, which come to rest on its rump. Its claws and fingers press in against the fur, causing small imprints to form on that otherwise perfectly full butt. It slowly spreads its cheeks apart, giving you an eyeful of its dark hole.

And it holds that position. You can only gawk in utter confusion at the monster's tight asshole. This seems to be more than just a tease. It feels almost like a sexual invitation. A sudden clench of its hole—as if winking at you—seems to confirm that interpretation.

That is, until it speaks. It can speak.

“There's no escape… Just come out…" Its voice sends chills through you. Soft and delicate, like an autumn leaf. Yet the tone is hollow and with no change in inflection, like a single, dull note from an instrument played without end—neither welcoming nor reassuring.

The sudden fear from the tone of its voice snaps you back to the reality of the situation. You scrape your car keys against the underside of the dashboard in a desperate race to find the ignition. Not once removing your eyes from the rump being presented to you, as if you fear that the second you look away, it would somehow disappear and then reappear within your truck.

You finally find it; the lack of resistance accompanied by the telltale sound of metal meeting metal is more beautiful than a church choir. You twist the key with enough force to snap in half.

The engine purrs to life.

And then it stutters and dies.

No, fuck no! Again! You twist the key again—another churn of a metallic machine growling awake before wheezing into nothingness.

You keep trying, but the results don't change. As if to save you from your fruitless endeavour, that chilling voice penetrates your ears once more.

“Looking… for this?"

Its hands let go of its cheeks, which spring shut to conceal their prize. One hand moves to the roof of your car before returning with a white object. Camouflaging itself against its even-whiter claws and further obscured by the orange glare from your pickup's hazard lights. You hold your phone's light up to your windshield.

A spark plug.

Your heart falls to your stomach. This… this thing disabled your vehicle? How in the world did it do that!? You were running ahead of it the entire time!

With agonising sluggishness, it lowers the spark plug to the top of your pickup's hood, resting it against the windshield. As it lets go, it scrapes its now-free claws against your windshield as it brings its hands back to its rear. The sound of the glass being raked is almost unbearable, similar to fingernails running down a chalkboard. But to make matters worse, it leaves obvious white gashes along the glass pane. Your breath falters as you realise just how easy it would be for this thing to destroy the windshield entirely. As for why it hadn't already, you can't say. All you can do is assume the worse—it wants to toy with you before going in for the kill.

The monster's claws soon lift from the glass and return to its left cheek. It grips into the fur and flesh to spread one side of its ass open, giving you a half-view of its winking hole.

“All you need is this thing, right? Well, it's right there…" As if to emphasise its location, its hands grip tighter and spread its left cheek that little bit further before letting go, snapping its cheek shut once again with a soft plap. With a smooth growl, it says, “Come out and get it…"

Never has fat ass looked so terrifying.

It hunches its back to the left and lowers its upper body. The left side of its skull-head comes into view. The crimson dot in its empty eye socket locks onto you, forcing another wave of shivers through you.

“We're not dangerous… We just want to enjoy you…" Its red eye shimmers as it speaks.

Red eye…?

We…?

You don't have enough time to complete the realisation before you hear a sharp 'tapping' from behind—the tinkling of glass. You twist your head to look at the back of your cabin. There, through the sliding rear window, a pair of glowing cyan dots greet you. Eyes set within another skull-head. Peering into you.

As if it were waiting for you to finally notice it, it opens its bony maw to reveal a very real tongue. Thin, long and exceptionally acrobatic. In a wave, it rolls out of its mouth before splatting against your rear window. It laps at it in gentle strokes, coating the glass in a layer of ropy drool that oozes down in thick ripples that saturate the bottom half.

It also speaks. However, its tone couldn't be more different from the one mooning your windshield. Its voice is jubilant, yet trembles between various high pitches, like the cling of wind chimes striking each other.

“You're pretty cute!" It talks with no discernible movement from its jaw and with its dark-purple tongue still preoccupied with obscuring your rear window in slobber. And yet, it can still project its words with perfect clarity. “You should step out so we can see you better!"

Quivering, you slowly turn your head back to the dashboard. You need to reconfirm that there are, in fact, two of them. And there are. The red-eyed creature is still there, spreading its asshole once again. Only half its skull-head is visible from the top of your windshield, revealing just enough to allow its crimson eye to maintain its hungry glare at you. “You'll end up out here with us soon enough... May as well make it easier for all of us." Its left cheek snaps shut as it lazily raises its arm to gesture towards your driver's side door. “Open the door… Let us in…"

Nope. No fucking way.

You faintly hear something scratching against glass before a shrill voice from behind says, “Hey! He left this window open!" You forget to breathe as you twist your whole body to look. The monster at the sliding rear window is still eyeing you longingly. You think it hasn't moved until you notice it in the process of shimmying a razor-sharp claw into the edge of the window. A terrifying realisation takes hold: the physical lock on the window isn't clipped. You leap towards it, but the glove box turns that leap into a desperate crawl to the back seats—a frantic and far-too-slow crawl. The creature's dagger shakes the sliding window open an inch before you can reach for the lock. And a second later, it flings it wide open.

It's a tiny rear window. Not big enough for you to climb through, let alone these long-limbed monsters. But whatever momentary relief that thought gives you is slashed short. Its arm slides into the cabin; its hands come towards you with its claws angled towards your head. The terror of seeing those flesh-rending knives approach gives you a burst of adrenaline to launch off the glove box. You shoot under the encroaching hand and into the right corner of the back seats. The claws also spring into action, as if excited to see their prey try to run. You have enough time to roll onto your back—the best defensive posture you can muster—to see the claws swipe and pierce into the leather headrest of the rear right seat. A foot away from you. With its claws still deep within the fabric, it drags them back towards the rear window, grinding through the head of the seat and leaving a trail of eviscerated stuffing behind it.

The arm hangs idly at the window for a moment—seemingly disappointed by the fact that its claws remain an unstained, pearly-white—before withdrawing. You don't know what it has planned next, but you don't want to wait to find out. You shuffle over towards the window, hoping to close it before the arm reaches in again. But as you stretch out to it, a screeching growl causes you to jerk your hand back.

Seconds later, the creature's skull squeezes into the open window. Into your cabin. You leap away, slamming your back against the corner once more. It manages to fit its jaws and eye holes in before the horns on its head stop its advance. The jaws of its skull open and shut rapidly, sounding out a hollow crack of bone against bone with each snap. Like biting into a piece of meat—or silently laughing at you. Its single, visible blue dot remains transfixed on you the entire time.

“Can't believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book!" The machinations of its jaws slow to a stop, coming to a rest half-open. Its dark-purple tongue slides out and flails at the air.

You already know what it's referring to. But you still can't believe it. “T-trick?" you ask, your teeth chattering.

“Stopping for an abandoned car! In the dead of night! In the middle of nowhere!" Its tone ramps up in pitch after each sentence, eventually reaching a feverishly high clinging noise. Its voice now bellows in anticipation as it says, “You should be more careful! There could be wendigos around, you know!?"

It was an actual ambush. A trap you thought only a human would be capable of executing. But a cunning cryptid duo? Presumably, Red-Eyes hid in the forest to wait for you to exit before tearing parts from your pickup. And Blue-Eyes' role was to chase you back into your now-worthless tin box. A tomb on wheels with no means of escape.

“Hey, come closer! Let me kiss you! I won't bite!" Blue-Eyes' tongue darts back into its maw before the jaw bones snap shut with a sickening crunch. They then slowly open to allow the creature's tongue to wiggle freely once more.

You steal a sideways glance at the gory remains of your seat's headrest. You might pass on that kiss.

Click.

The sound of a door opening.

You look towards the front of the pickup, terrified and confused. Everything looks closed. For a few seconds. And then, through the tiny space between the headrest and the seat, you see the driver's side door slowly swing outwards.

You didn't lock it!?

“You left the door unlocked as well!? How kind of you!" Blue-Eyes confirms your worst fears as its jaws snap open and shut in a silent, mocking laugh. Its voice is piercing, causing your attention to be split between it and the ever-widening space between the pickup door and the all-devouring dark outside. Blue-Eyes' cyan 'pupil'—still trained on you—becomes hazy and shimmers intensely. “Guess we won't need to break any windows this time!" It snaps its jaws shut once more before its head slides back out of the window and out of view. You hear one last taunt from it, somewhere outside. “See you soon!"

You're left to hyperventilate in the cabin. Alone.

But not for long.

At the driver's side door, white fur comes into view, illuminated grimy orange in time with the flashing of hazard lights. You see the bleached white of its skull-head for a second as it bends down before only its antlers are visible—a crown of twisted thorns. A moment later, its lanky hand slams down and clenches onto the right side of the driver's seat—the side closest to you. Its claws flex as if they're about to rip the fabric from the seat in chunks.

Its head slowly lifts and comes into view through the gap between the headrest and the seat. Its eye—a single, crimson circle—never wavers from leering at you. The monster stays there for what feels like minutes in excruciating silence, as if examining you one last time. And then it pulls its long body deeper into your pickup.

Its head disappears temporarily, though its antlers always remain visible as they scrape against the roof. The tip of its bony maw emerges from behind the edge of the driver's seat, inching towards you. The red light comes into view again, still as fierce as before and still locked on to you. Its other hand reaches for the glove box.

You need to get out. The thought that you wouldn't fare much better running through an isolated forest in the middle of the night didn't form in your mind. The fact that there was another monster waiting outside didn't either. All you can think about is getting away from your encroaching demise.

You roll back onto your stomach, pull up the door lock, grab the handle, jerk it up, and thrust forward. The door jolts open. For a few feet. But then it smacks against something solid. Before you can slam it forward once more, a sudden weight presses against the door, forcing your arms to curl backwards as it slams shut. Still staring at the handle, you grab it again and try to push once more. The door immediately meets resistance and barely moves an inch before smashing shut.

In your confusion, you glance up at the window to see what's blocking it. A pair of cyan dots loom down at you. Blue-Eyes' lower jaw hangs open, as if frozen in a malevolent cackle. “What's wrong!? I thought you didn't want to come out!?"

You can only utter a terrified whimper in response. As your voice fades, you're left to listen to the sounds of claws scraping against the other side of the passenger door in an impatient and wild frenzy. You meekly roll onto your back to face the more imminent threat. You wish you didn't. There is nothing you can do. You merely subject yourself to the petrifying visual of Red-Eyes' massive claws planted on the back of the glove box, using it to push itself closer towards you.

Its head is now in the back half of your pickup. Its cavernous maw gapes open, allowing you to gaze into the black abyss within. Ivory claws stretch out towards you.

“Help!" you scream.

Upon hearing your plea, the monster stops its advance. Its red eyes become hazy, and its jaws dislocate with a crunching of bone grinding against bone.

Any hope that it might consider mercy is swiftly slashed to shreds. You only receive a soundless laugh. It merely finds it humorous that your last resort was screaming for help when there are only two creatures that could ever hear you. And they won't be helping you.

“No one is coming to save you… This is OUR territory…"

And with that promise, Red-Eyes relocates its jaws with a vicious bite before continuing to drag more of itself into the rear part of the cabin. Second by second, it shortens the distance between you and its ravenous maw. You kick back at the ground, trying to push yourself further away. But the metal corner refuses to give way for you. You are already as far as you will ever get.

Its claws soon reach you, coming to a rest near both sides of your head. Red-Eyes' skull is less than a foot away. All you can see now is the bleached white of bone, a faint, red gleam, a purple tongue, and a stygian maw that seems to stretch on into infinity.

You shut your eyes. You can't keep watching. This is it.

Something wet and sticky presses against your lips. The strange and unexpected sensation causes you to gasp. And when you do, the object slides into your mouth and against your tongue.

Your eyes shoot open. White bone is all you can see. The object slides out of your mouth and unfurls itself in front of your eyes. Your vision is unfocused, but you can still make out the dark-purple colour: its tongue. It wiggles in front of your eyes in a tease before it disappears from view and enters your mouth once more.

As you feel it gliding along your tongue, a bizarre realisation clicks: you're being French kissed by a skull-headed monster.

You reach your hands out to the skull obscuring your vision and try to push it away. It doesn't budge. But what does move is the creature's hands, which slide along the seat cushions and then underneath your back. It pulls you up—closer to its insatiable tongue. Its jaw tightens around you and its teeth poke into your cheeks, effectively grasping your head and holding it tight. Its smooth fur envelops your neck and arms, and its weight bears down on you.

Muffled sounds of surprise escape your throat as you try, and fail, to move your head and break the kiss. As if to put you at ease, Red-Eyes presses its tongue down against your own, pinning it in place and silencing you. “Relax… You will enjoy this…" Its voice comes from somewhere deep within that dark maw, but it doesn't need to use its tongue to articulate words. Said tongue is presently preoccupied with exploring the insides of your mouth—licking and lapping at every spot it can find.

You close your eyes again. Your heart is still hammering away, and while you remain a touch fearful, most of that fear evaporated near instantly upon hearing the word 'enjoy'. Enjoy. Whatever's happening is… surprisingly enjoyable. Much more enjoyable than what you thought would happen only moments prior. The wendigo's tongue presses deep within you, reaching parts of your mouth no human tongue could ever reach. Though it never pushes too far within. It remains gentle. Almost caring.

That thought is interrupted by another wet object slurping along your neck and running up to your ear—another tongue. Once more, you open your eyes in surprise. In the peripheral of your vision—in the small area not covered by bone—you can see the familiar cyan glow of the other wendigo's eyes. It somehow found room to squeeze into the cabin to join you and Red-Eyes. A loud yet soothing chime sounds upon seeing you react to its tongue, followed by its voice. “We caught you!"

“It's been too long since we've had a warm human… to enjoy…" The monotone voice of Red-Eyes washes over you. It suddenly seems warm. Comforting, even. And there's that word again—enjoy…

A spark. You raise your tongue and seek to return the kiss. As if sensing movement, Red-Eyes' own tongue becomes very animated. It slides along the top of yours before showcasing its exceptional flexibility by encircling itself around your tongue, tightening, and then squeezing it softly. The taste of gooseberry and vanilla suddenly covers every inch of your mouth.

A deep, powerful rumbling wells up from Red-Eyes—from where its throat ought to be. Despite how inhuman and feral it sounds, it's strangely calming. It reverberates not only through your tongue, but down to the tips of your fingers and toes, kneading at your entire form.

You close your eyes and enjoy the moment, frozen in place with these bizarre creatures. The only movement now is from the massaging of its tongue, now entwined with yours. Well, that and the occasional lap and soft nip at your cheek from Blue-Eyes. If the escalating intensity of Blue-Eyes' tongue strokes is anything to go by, it seems to be growing impatient at having to wait its turn.

“You've had him long enough!" it chimes, as his claw that, minutes ago, murdered your seat, comes to rest gently on your neck. “I want a taste!"

Blue-Eyes' pulls your head back, plucking you from the bony embrace of Red-Eyes' maw. Your tongue is freed temporarily, but Blue-Eyes wastes no time in pulling you into another kiss. Your awaiting lips happily greet its tongue, which quickly makes itself at home. Red-Eyes huffs against your ear in irritation before putting its tender tongue to work at tasting the other half of your face. It soon saturates your neck, cheek and ear in warm drool.

Blue-Eyes brings its hand to rest at the back of your head, helping to support it. It rubs at your hair and occasionally runs a claw along your scalp, causing a wave of shivers to rock your entire body. That serves only to excite its tongue, which dances around your mouth as if pleased by your reaction.

Its other hand comes to rest at the collar of your shirt, with the side of its claws leaning against your neck. Another chime, as it says, “No need to keep hiding the rest of you from us!" Before you have time to understand its meaning, the sound of fabric slicing apart sounds out among the ambience of wet tongues slicking against you. You instinctively reach out to its furry arm to try and stop its claws from rending your clothes in half. Blue-Eyes' hand halts for a moment before it grasps your interfering hand and directs it to the top of its bony snout.

“Rub!"

You comply. You don't know whether it can feel what you're doing, but you begin to stroke its coarse head. Your hand works from the tip of its snout, over its eye holes, and to the top of its skull-head. You stop at the top and scrunch your hands at the space between its antlers, working your fingernails against the bone as if scratching the head of a large dog. Whatever you're doing seems to be doing… something. Like Red-Eyes, it too starts to growl in approval before returning its claws to your shirt. They resume severing your clothing from you, gliding along the seams like scissors through paper. Through your shirt. And then through your jeans…

Red-Eyes, seemingly jealous of the head scratches being received by its partner-in-crime, grabs hold of your free hand. It rolls its flexible tongue along your arm and hand—coating you in saliva—before bringing it to its scalp. You give it the same attention you're showering Blue-Eyes with, and the pair soon treats you to a symphony of primal growls and groans. Each wendigo projects its otherworldly sounds of approval at a slightly different tempo and pitch—Red-Eyes, deeper and more relaxed, and Blue-Eyes, with treble and intensity.

Red-Eyes ends his growls with a smooth whisper into your ear. “Good human…"

“You're ours now!" chimes Blue-Eyes as his tongue strikes the roof of your mouth. He glides his tongue backwards along it before sensually parting it from your lips. A thick trail of saliva connects you with its tongue for a moment before it breaks from its own weight. The wendigoag then pull away simultaneously, causing your fingers to slide off over their snouts and brush along their moist tongues.

You open your eyes and gaze at the pair pinning you to the back seat. They are both too large to fit in the tiny space available; their fur and bodies appear to blend together, though their different skulls, eyes and antlers allow for an easy point of distinction. Both their maws remain partly agape, as if projecting a pleased expression. The colour of their vibrant eyes mix and illuminate the otherwise dark interior of your pickup in a faint, purple glow.

In unnerving unison, they both tilt their head slightly, as if taking the opportunity provided by the stillness to examine you properly. Their eyes dart from your head, to your now-exposed chest, to your arms, and then to your waist—pausing each step along the way to take in your appearance.

You suddenly feel very vulnerable in the silence. The wendigoag appear to be in some kind of silent communion, perhaps discussing amongst themselves what to do with their catch. And they were spending a worrying amount of time deciding. For almost a minute, the only sound you hear is the slight patter of drool rolling off your drenched face and striking the seat. Without realising, you're holding your breath again. That sense of dread creeps back into you. For a moment. Before it's shattered by a single comment from Blue-Eyes.

“Nice dick, human!"

Both of their dots of light focus on your groin. You lift your head to follow their gaze. Your cock is standing at attention; it seems like the make-out session was more enjoyable than you realised.

You could swear that they both seem to be drooling more than usual as they eye it up. Viscous streams of saliva leak off the tips of their still-extended tongues and splatter onto your waist and thighs. While Blue-Eyes remains fixated on your cock, Red-Eyes' glowing pupils shoot to the opposite side of those empty holes to re-establish eye contact with you. It asks a simple question:

“Want to see ours…?"