FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Ooh, yeah...can’t wait to let you go…”

Another one.

...huh.

You’d been trailing the mysterious figure for quite some time now, listening rapt to exclamations and assurances that made very little sense.

Also, a lot of odour. Enough to have dulled the interest of any sensible individual.

So, your continued interest had led you up a muddy moorland path framed with grasses almost as tall as you were, rife with the sounds of rustling and chirping insects. The pungent smell from before had been joined by another, arguably worse one that felt more localised and less...airy, and you zeroed in.

The skies were somewhat clouded and the moon shone every now and then through slivers of visible night.

Although you’d gotten this far, you didn’t exactly feel brash enough to just walk up to whoever you’d been following and strike a friendly conversation. They’d left their trail very clear and therefore likely wouldn’t care if they were found, which eased your concerns a little, but the fact that whoever--or, maybe, whatever had come this way had no apparent regard for companionship or safe-looking environments (and there were also those bloody stenches) kept them alive, so...the hastily devised plan you’d come up with on the way here had boiled down to taking in a few more of those odd sentences, coming to a conclusion over whatever had been prowling around here, and then getting out of this place with a mind clear of thoughts of tailing potential raving lunatics.

Your focus had mostly been in front of you at this, taking in plants that had clearly been shouldered aside and russet-brown strands of fur caught in the grass. This had acted as confirmation for you heading the ‘right’ way (the direct ignorance of your target of any inkling of volume control helped), and so you let your gaze travel downward, thereby only feeling mildly thrown when you noticed tracks showing up in the mud.

On an impulse, you rested your foot next to the closest deep-set print, registering moderately-sized claws on the otherwise human shape. On another impulse, you scuffed your nearest foot over the mark and continued following the disturbed trail.

With your focus lower down you pored over another circumstance that you couldn’t quite make sense of--both straddling the prints and bracing them on either side were moderately-sized furrows in the mud. Glancing back the way you’d come told you that they’d been alongside those tracks for a while.

A vague pulling sensation suddenly rose in your chest, and you remained where you were, watching the breeze blow over the path behind you. Pivoting slightly on your foot, you stared into the billowing grasses, not sure exactly what you were looking for. You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding and turned back to go forward.

At least a twig hadn’t snapped. That would’ve been too much.

The little mud path was still in sight.

As your adrenaline rush drew to a close, various minor maladies decided to come to light. With the icebreak sensation of a cramp in your midsection to boot--the cherry on top, la crème de la crème, all conspiring to bump up your annoyance one fine parameter. Yes, there was your light at the end of the tunnel--the chance to subject whoever had caught your eye (or ear, or nose, whatever) to the petulant rage that awaited, a due punishment for what was entirely your own fault.

Kneeling down behind a particularly large sprig of grass, you just let your senses bring you whatever they could: taking stock of both of those heavy smells, which seemed almost right next to you now, the growing lack of minibeast chatter as you’d neared the small clearing, the more vigorous rustling of leaves and grasses and dirt shifting every which way as the mysterious figure appeared to settle down, shadows drifting over the surrounding plants as they rested, the lack of any further commentary from them...

A minute or so...that’s all you’d take...and then...

“Heya! What’s a cutie like you doin’ in a place like this? Bit dangerous out here, don’tcha know?”

Well.

For all his lack of tact in covering his own trail, he’d cottoned on to you right quick. The silence should have been enough of a hint. But hints had been dropping since you’d stepped onto this trail, mostly in the vein of ‘don’t follow a cryptid off into a moor at night, you absolute twat’, and none had stuck.

“Come on! I know you’ve been following me. Honestly can’t blame you.”

If he’d known, then there likely wasn’t a point in staying sequestered.

Unless he’s bluffing, idiot, your brain told you, sensibility finally kicking to life now that you were right on top of the guy, but your feet were already carrying you past the plant cover and into each other’s line of sight.

“Are you a--”

“Tanuki? Hell yeah. Pretty sweet deal, huh? The stripes, the tail? The amazingly good looks?”

Crouching in a patch of flattened grass, the man regarded you coolly, subconsciously or otherwise showing off his glistening fangs, confidently held ears and the red and brown fur you’d already figured he had, growing thick around his neck, back and hands. Golden brown leaves and dirty yellow cuts of straw dotted his surprisingly well-maintained-looking hair. Lengths of cloth, deeper red in colour, sat with odd purpose around his neck. A tail, rounded in shape and patterned with more stripes, wagged lazily behind him and further beat down the surrounding grasses.

He was shifting his posture forward a little, too. Making what else he’d been gifted with evident.

Probably thought he was being slick and smart, too, the smug, sarky twit.

Incidentally, were tanuki and their ilk supposed to look so deadbeat?

You took a step backwards. And almost fell over.

“The fu--what was that?”

“Heh-heh, sorry.”

Another scuff of your foot, through what did not feel like mud. “...Alright.”

Concocting away among your half-buzzed braincells had been a theory, one you’d shunted aside as of now to keep your eyes on the ‘prize’. Such a sensible course of action regarding what you now knew as a matter more supernatural. Indifferent as he appeared, he was still of the yokai. Suspicion towards difference. Had this ever turned out tidy?

And the path had been so clear. And the fact that the smell, the noises were so similar seemed...kind of...

“Hey, what’s the rush?”

Interesting, how swiftly fear was turning to impatience. Barely any words had been exchanged. But, under the fur and claws and sense of backing power, the case was clear-cut and cold-cut. He’d caught your eye and knew this.

Watching you turn this over in your head, the cause of these feelings perked up, his smile appearing to get more crooked, if that were possible.

“So!” he said, forcing you into attentiveness against your will, “want to ask me any questions? Hopefully along the lines of ‘how did you end up in this good-looking bod?’ and ‘surely this is a man who’ll treat me right’--the answer being yes, of course. Or maybe you’d rather cut to the chase? I’m down for that. As I’m also down to fu--”

“Just one,” you interjected, feeling somewhat breathless. “What did you mean, earlier? By ‘letting whoever go’?”

“Heh, yeah. That. Just returning to nature what she gave to me, for starters.”

The temptation to probe further was swiftly quashed by a little more...empirical proof to what he’d implied. Empirical proof that had been a distant presence in your mind since stepping onto his trail, yet never enough of an indicator to compell a little logical thought.

A very pungent...grossly pungent array of empirical proof.

Wafting straight to your unprepared nostrils.

The scruffy tanuki-man snickered as he watched you put two and two together.

“Okay,” you got out. “I think I’m going to go now. Thanks.” Girding yourself, you tore your gaze away from him and, for lack of a more favourable focus, let your gaze travel up to the sky once more.

“Still pretty nice out here. Even if you’ve been around before, yeah?”

Words rode up less easily. The next few came through pursed lips. “And, yeah. You’ve been around here, all right. Listen, I’m sorry for...uh, whatever, but, yeah. I do feel very accomplished tonight. Thank you...you.”

Some steaming and warm, others hard and cold. An intricate little system of warning beacons...not that there were any creatures out there that could hold their own against yokai. Maybe that was exactly why he was doing this. Posturing, fair play.

The feeling of having undertaken an entirely pointless endeavour was prevalent, and yet you had technically stayed true to your earlier promise to yourself: the need for answers was indeed quelled, and you had filled in gaps that you didn’t want filled.

An overarching sense of vague satisfaction, less-vague disappointment and really-really-not-vague irritation slowly pervaded your mind and body. The laughter of the dirty-looking man next to you faded out, to be replaced by the welcoming sounds of the night. Blades of grass bending and shifting in the wind, sights that had surrounded you for several minutes now, were the most fascinating sights you’d ever seen. You felt more relaxed than you’d ever been.

So when an almost bone-shattering force struck you from behind, a harsh and strong weight slamming you to the earth, you weren’t given to much in the way of fighting back.

Voices echoing around and above you dragged your consciousness out of the almost calming mental muck.

“--like you don’t even care! What, were you going to just spill your life story right then and there?”

“Oh, come on, Choromatsu, we were gettin’ on just fine--”

“YOU HEARD THE QUESTIONS THEY WERE ASKING?!”

The ear-splitting volume cut through you like a knife, driving you back into the smooth surface that surrounded you. Instinct took the helm and you felt your body take you towards the darkness, the safety, the calm in this...whatever that held you right now.

“Only one question. And who’s to know, out here?”

Whipping across your restricted field of vision every now and again was a hand, a giant one--the thought struck you that the owner’s other massive hand was wrapped around you currently. Between the wild gesticulations and accusatory pointing this hand wrapped and twitched and tapped around the one that held you, giving the impression that this person had a constant spur to act, to drive, to control.

...person may not have been the apt choice of phrase, per se, while your senses and clarity returned to you, they painted a picture in your head of bleached-looking claws and shale-grey scales. Brief glimpses of their free hand gave a rather reptilian appearance, small frills adorning the backs of their hands and membranous webbing stretching between each digit. Magenta in colour, the fleshy folds were thick enough that the moonlight only unshrouded said colour at the very edges. Trying to crane your head higher, to catch a glimpse of the face of whoever held you--Choromatsu?--proved fruitless.

“I mean, following some admittedly smokin’ hot guy out here like this...they brought this on themselves, yeah?”

“That doesn’t give you the excuse to be so...ARGH!”

Worming your way upward a little, you pushed past the cold press of scales and webbing and took better stock of what was going on. Your head ached to high heaven and your senses, despite giving a logical enough report of what was currently occurring, felt changed...off-set, in a way, as if out of sync with what they were registering.

Creeping in with this observation was the realisation that your lungs needed air. Badly. Your breathing seemed off-rhythm. Speeding up didn’t help, and your skin was crawling, and, oh, you were naked, and a lot was creeping up on you at once...

What…? How...

How big those hands were, how loud those voices were and how unwelcome your own body felt helped you not realise, but comprehend that he’d shrank you, somehow. Fear already held you in a stronger grip, so no more latched onto your brain. Wondering if this were all some surreal dream, and wondering, as a corollary, what said dream said about your psyche as a whole, you groggily reached out to the smooth-scaled palm surrounding you. Letting your hand slide along the cold surface, you felt another feeling take root inside you. You shifted where you sat.

Feeling a tad more acclimatised, you tuned back into the still-thunderous ‘conversation’.

“Is that blood?!”

Oh, fancy that. One point to me, I guess.

“Hey, don’t worry, that’s not mine--”

“That just raises FURTHER questions! We could have been in the shit, right then and there. Because of YOU.”

“But we’re not, are we? I’m not.”

“...”

“Because you were lookin’ out for me. Keep being sweet.”

The guy who’d tackled you and now held you firm in his grip had lapsed into silence. Humming to himself, the tanuki-chimaera who had gotten you all into this mess sidled up to him, rubbing a black-backed hand into his shoulder.

And then he made a playful swipe at what seemed like your captor’s head, the resulting unexpected metallic clang sent a fresh spark of fear through you, Choromatsu let out a snarl and plenty started not to register again.

Stretching, yawning and cracking his back, the half-tanuki sauntered over to the parting of grass that you--and evidently, Choromatsu--had come through. He shook himself half-heartedly, brushing off some stray cuts of grass that had stuck to his sweaty haunches. Then he belched.

And with that, he continued on his merry way, swaggering off through the tall grasses, fur billowing in the wind, tail waving, leaf garb shining in the faint moonlight, humongous slate-grey scrotum plowing a great trench through the dry soil.

Silence threaded back through the air, bathing the land in some respite.

Respite which was then broken by a low, raging hiss.

In no way could this be mistaken--this was no absent sigh to shake off the silence, this was a hiss, eerily crocodilian, rich and violent.

Sitting, silent, in the curve of a giant hand, you wondered. Trying not to catch yourself on the protruding edges of scales, you pushed yourself upward, craning your neck to try and see him. Your voice found you again.

“I’m sorr--”

Your attempt to apologise, for whatever needed apology (the sentiment should have been appreciated, anyway), was cut short.

Audibly gritting his teeth, Choromatsu began to tighten his hold on you.

A shocked gasp died in your throat. There was no room to struggle. Eyes bulging, you stared desperately in the general direction of his face, wanting to get out one word, just one word. But not one would come, and your neck only felt more clogged.

Drool hung uninhibited from your slackened jaw. Dark spots riddled your vision.

Collapsing, your back hitting a solid surface, a thin streak of breath escaped your lungs...and the pressure staved.

Somehow, you knew not to move as the fingers of one hand lifted off of you, nor when his other hand tilted slightly to let your body fall against his palm. As your head met the bony plain, you bit back a whimper.

Now that you were alone with him, that other feeling knocking about inside you perked up again. Cheek pressed into the warming surface of the giant’s palm, you were suddenly very conscious of your own breathing. Imperceptibly as possible, you stretched out a little more.

Inhaling and exhaling as minutely as you could, you slowly regained a lid on circulation, figuring that your earlier ‘faint’ against him had been mistaken in his eyes and subsequently weighing the benefits and disadvantages of this.

Breath rattling through punished lungs, the temperature and general excitement of the situation got out of hand, and a sudden wave of shivering (from the warmth and cold?) threatened to give you away. Sucking on first one dried lip and then the other, you tried to win back some feeling. The joints of curled fingers shifted and cracked. Your eyes had been screwed shut formerly, but now you let one slide open to assess the surrounding goings-on. Through all of these in-the-moment decisions and observations, you hadn’t been successful uncovering the what, much less the why. What little you’d gleaned from the speech of either of these men turned up zilch.

Watching Choromatsu huff quietly to himself, feeling a distant rock of movement as he shifted from one foot to the other, clawed fingers twitching and re-settling around you, you felt the answer come to you anyhow.

He was going to eat you, whole and alive and aware, which you deserved, and no-one would know, and wandering around moors at night was stupid, very stupid, and now more than ever you wanted to move, get away, but this whole mess was going to play out until the end.

Ducking his head and exhaling forcefully, Choromatsu opened his mouth, the warm and biting current of his breath buffeting you where you lay. Only passing sensations were evident: the sight of saliva glittering in the pale moonlight; a slick, dark-grey tongue curling with deft precision around your frozen form and pulling you into his mouth with an oddly gentle tug.

This soothing press left you quite fast as the tip of his tongue released you partway, letting you fall onto the thicker base of muscle. His mouth closed.

The way he tasted you felt clinical, almost. He lacked the desire to indulge in your taste, seemingly only focused on moistening his snack for ease of swallowing. That tongue licked at you thoroughly where you attempted to remain inert. Irate sighing was more audible than ever, a constant background din behind the sloshing of saliva and lapping of his tongue.

A more absent lap left you rolled bodily against the solid bases of his teeth, the more rounded bases hinting at sharpened fangs that had escaped notice earlier: if the scales and claws hadn’t screamed predator, those teeth could let out a screech to shatter glass...

That feeling again. Wha--

There was so much warmth...

He was tasting you everywhere...

Inhibitions had left you one by one. If you were getting devoured anyway, there was little else to lose.

Losing all pretense, you pushed back into the slimy surface.

You wished you could close your ears to the alarmed yelp that echoed around you, chase after the once-meticulous tongue that now seemed to falter a little in such probing.

But the falter was thankfully, oh-so-mercifully brief.

Evidently, he’d come to the same conclusion. Out on the edges of the world, alone together. No more left to lose. Let us all go our merry way on this fair summer night.

The delicious rubbing of his tongue resumed, even more forceful than before, and you moaned, a slew of movement returning to you. Chest heaving with quickening breaths, you reclined feline, body rocking into a mushy cradle.

A slick mound of muscle had you completely cocooned. Heavy and wet came the pressure on already-shot nerves. You gritted your teeth, little blasts of air shrieking past them, helpless as your moist prison held firm, tightened, squeezed, crrrushed--and then relaxed.

Coughing, choking on deep, dank air, tasting him as he tasted you, a careful flick of that reptilian tongue worked you upward, away from the frenulum, and back up onto the slimy muscle proper. That tongue of his was oh-so-agile, twisting around your legs, gut, chest as no human tongue would or should, squeezing tight and wet.

The force of his own moan, resounding through that rippling throat, bit through quivering skin and flesh, raked and flayed harsher than any tooth.

Your hips felt alien to you, rutting into thick tongue-flesh without care as your brain was jackknived in turn.

The harried mumble in response around you sounded suspiciously like an admonishment, which was rich in the face of his own noises earlier, but this far down the line saw only one goal in sight for you.

Every inch of exposed skin (read: your whole body) was thoroughly slathered in drool by this point. Even the smallest of movements felt like swimming, and air felt like a gift.

Not much clued you in to your own paltry addition to the morass of moisture that had become your sanctum.

Slack against the floor, awash with bubbling froth, all you registered was yet another moment of weakness...a more tolerable one, however.

A more halted huff sounded around you, and the tongue hitched. You felt yourself pushed gently sideways and pressed up against the inside of his cheek. The surface hollowing out somewhat.

You whined and wriggled some more at the distant sounds of your fluids being squeezed down his throat.

You were next.

As you fell back onto the flat of his tongue, the slimy muscle bucking a little again in scarcely-concealed anticipation, not much had begun to register anymore. Lax against the moist flesh, you lost yourself in the noises that surrounded you, negligible to him but cacophonous to smaller ears. The sensation of moisture pooling everywhere, the continued blasts of air through his slack jaws, in, out, in, out--

Only for the source of light to be lost again as his mouth closed. You were repositioned, staring blearily into the darkness, patches of glistening fluid in your peripheral every now and then. More saliva welled up, basting your skin, slicking you down.

There was the feeling of tilting, pressing, sliding, more pressing. Then a wet, final gulp.

A new kind of pressure met you as you were squashed down through his throat, more forceful and haphazard. Writhing against the pressing assault, your own struggles felt beyond your control as well. Your shuddering, overstimulated body thrown beyond pain and pleasure. Pants and gasps filled your ears--your own, most likely, and your eyes rolled madly with precious little to focus on.

The journey felt infinite. The pressure felt immeasurable. And so the disorientation when you slid haltedly through the esophageal sphincter and down the short distance into his stomach was notable.

There was some minor wake-up call nearing the end of the process, during the trip from gullet to cardia: one flesh-mulching, bone-grinding pressure to another. Limbs all leaden, windpipe lodged with drool--most of which was his. At this point in time a feather could have blown you over. This had only been revealed notable a few seconds following.

With one last wet squeeze, you were in. Fetched up in a shuddering heap and soaked in all manner of fluids. Stuttering between wakefulness and dreaminess, you made half an effort to push yourself upright before giving in. The air was heavy with moisture. Kicking out a little with the leg that hadn’t been landed on, you coughed. Your mind was slightly skew-whiff, away with the fairies again.

Sight brought you no comfort, as pure darkness composed this gut. Reaching out only lead you to the undulating walls, rife with grooves and dampness. Choromatsu’s stomach felt oddly empty and you only ruminated on the reasoning behind this for so long--he’d starved himself before chasing you down. Whether this was a deliberate choice allowing him to digest you quicker, thereby absolving himself of a degree more guilt, or a problem beyond his control due to having to dash out after that tanuki-mix--a friend, a brother, you still didn’t know--during his careless wanderings, you were not sure.

The space shook with deep, rumbling growls.

The even higher temperature in here should have helped stave off those earlier chills. And yet the shivers only got stronger.

*GWWOORRRK*

*SHLLLPH*

A thicker deluge of fluids came down from above and from the sides; their slick, warm payload dripped over your shoulders to coil hungrily down your arms and chest, which set you rubbing at the sensation on instinct. Your hand came away wet, wetter than before. You couldn’t see what exactly was now soft and soggy on your palm, nor could you watch as the secreted pepsins began to eat their way through skin to staring muscle. As of now you could only remain there, trapped in the fleshy confines and succumbing, kneeling to merciful numbness or shock setting in.

This all seemed to be going down relatively quickly. That ache spreading so quickly from your head to your extremities...if those claws and those teeth and that tongue and those scales and above all that clanging noise were enough of an indicator towards some Spooky Shit™ at work. Unnatural skill and speed toward such a natural process.

Under the goo, more and more proteins fell prey. Those of your arm snuffed out one by one, deltoid and bicep giving an alarming and involuntary jerk under all that...meaty mush which had once been a shoulder, and a painful one at that. Then another. Which seemed to signal to your abdominal muscles to add their discomfort as well. So much was beginning to ache. Simple movements felt like so much of a great chore.

That skin was beginning to feel so very wet, and not just from errant drool or acid.

At least there was no way to witness the same happening to your legs, the gastric acids climbing inch by inch.

Shifting a touch within your fleshy prison, you let out another whine, which was soon followed by a cough as a gaseous stream of who-knows-what veered down your throat. You were only somewhat aware of your cheek resting against rugged stomach lining as your head swam for the umpteenth time. Your muscles were giving up on you.

Not even the slowly growing sting of stomach acids and enzymes in tow, secreting cloying from the pulsing walls and dripping every which way, did much to spur you on.

A gentle press from outside did, however, and you leaned up on quivering arms to seek out the feeling, disoriented. Choromatsu briskly patted his belly, frilled hand remaining there for a second, and then pulled away, leaving velvety mucosae as all that surrounded you again.

Said mucosae were churning away ever more vigorously, buffeting their contents with slurry and froth.

And as those walls contracted, there was a throb of energy through the fetid air, and out came most of that surplus oxygen, blasting up and away through his esophagus with such ease. The result rumbled all around you, although a little muted-sounding, as if one of those hands were now covering his mouth. A strange time for decency.

Just why, as well, were your thoughts with him, as of late? With at least four fleshy barriers between you and this maybe-lounge-lizard--if the ins and outs of whatsisname were any indication--and lungs drunk on humid, fetid air, and beyond that the outside world that seemed like such a distant memory.

The eternal growls and grumbles of his guts on top of that.

Culminating in the greatest distance of all--emotional distance. Horrid.

The world started to sway, a cradle that seemed to rock gently as he likely headed off home.

Wow, was there quite the smell in here.

Despite him being right there, you felt lonely. That feeling prior was likely some misguided desire for some form, any form of comfort, sexual or otherwise. There had been no real pity or affection within notice. He’d done this many times before, no doubt.

Whether he’d intended for you to still be alive at this point or not, you weren’t sure, but that didn’t seem important in the face of the final result.

And going out here didn’t seem so bad...not in someplace so...soft. And warm.

Head and loins still buzzing, hands absently rubbing at your legs, shuddering in the grip of fluids going places, you flopped back against the slimy, stinging layers of Choromatsu’s churning stomach and felt your consciousness slowly leave you.

Really, what did this say about your psyche as a whole?