FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Louis takes a few deep breaths, staring at himself. How long had he taken to care for all that hair? An hour? Maybe longer? But there he was, with that same wild, curly black hair, a bit thinner than it was ten years ago but still so thick and curly, but not a single hair remained from beneath his eyebrows.

And he is red and sore.

And hungry.

He glances at his phone. There's no way that his mom will be home any time soon. So, he finds his boxer briefs and lifts them back up from the ground and back where they belong, ending their journey with a SNAP.

He yelps—all that shaving has him quite sensitive. But he must persevere. So, he squats down and pulls out the following package—socks. Nice and long and striped. He tears into him with freshly clipped nails, ripping apart the final barrier. He unravels the first of the sets, lifting it up and watching it unfold before him. His eyes sparkle at the bright colors, and she bites his lips, hopping onto the toilet. He lifts one leg, gasping. Even that little bit of movement has his razor-touched skin feeling it. But he puts the fabric to his toes and pulls it up, winching and watching as the sock goes up along his body, snapping it into place on his thigh.

He quickly does the same for the other one and hops up, staring at the mirror.

He places a hand on his chest, his other hand gripping the sink as he looks at the thigh-high-clad lad before him. Not the dull old scholar he had always made himself out to be, but a flirty-looking femboy, much like he had imagined himself in fantasies. He runs through his hair, pulling his glasses away and leaning in.

"Golly," he breathes, "I think I'm actually pulling this off," he gasps.

A hand moves off the sink and to his boxers, gripping the elastic. He takes a deep breath and pulls the elastic down just enough for his dick to pop out. There it is, clean-cut and poking up. He wraps his hand around it, squeezing it. "Oh wow… I… hmm… that's so different." He muses.

Soon, he's on his knees, legs going in either direction. He slides his hand up along his shaft, letting his thumb swirl around the head. "A… already?" he gasps. "Sh-should I?"

He glances at the gym bag, a hand moving up to his heart. It soon finds a way downward, off to the side, two fingers at his nipple, swirling around, stiffening the thing. "Oh gods," he gasps. Letting go of his dick, letting it bounce hard in front of him. He practically dives into his gym bag, rummaging through various items and new purchases, until he pulls out two things. The first is a clear bottle.

The second is a silicone onahole, packaged with all its marketing from the website: cubic shapes on the inside with a rubber swirling pattern. He rips open the box and removes the cocksleeve from its outer case.

The thing is bouncy and cold, springing around in his hold. He shakes it a few times, giggling a little at the thing.

"Oh, hell yeah…" he says, putting his thumb into the small opening at its base. "This is gonna be wild.”

The lubricant, meanwhile, is a simple order. Something about "heat" and "sensitivity" in the marketing, but he hadn't read much about it. He sits back, spreading his legs, leaning back. He pops the top of the lube and pours it, letting it anoint his cock as if this is some rite of passage.

So many years spent jerking off into toilet paper, so rough and course, being deathly afraid of the consequences of someone finding his stash, and now his cock twitches in anticipation of having the chance to actually start masturbating, truly masturbating, for the first time in his life.

He lowers the hole against his dick, pressing the moist head against the thing, but as he pushes his hips up, his cock slips away from it.

He shakes his head, flipping the tube and pouring some slick lubricant into it. He positions himself above it and pushes forward, holding his cock in one hand, his head pressed against the wall.

Soon, his dick slips through.

"Oh, fuck, it's cold," he gasps, but just a moment later, the silicon twists, wrapping around his cock.

"Oh… oh!" He groans, falling back onto his butt again. He curls his toes, so nice against the fabric of the socks, stretching and wriggling them, freeing them from the confines of his orthopedic footwear. He pushes his hips forward, his dick slipping up. He falls back, his head hitting the tiled floor, but he doesn't mind. He bridges, burying his heels against the ground, his toes spreading. Now, he takes two hands, grasping the hole firmly. He's pumping it so quickly, his eyes actually honest-to-god rolling back. His breath quickens, his voice getting higher and higher. All the while, the tube around his cock squelches and sucks, rolling around his features, letting him get deep into it, poking against the end of the thing.

"Fu-fuck," he asks, lifting his head, admiring himself from tit to dick. "I-is my cock that big? R-really?"

Years of training to be quick and to hide his excursions have done one thing for him and his masturbation habits, and it comes back to bite him. He groans, thrusting up one last time, holding on as dearly as he can, but it is of no use. He fires off, spurting into the fuckhole, shooting his pearly protein into it like so many tissues before, before he collapses, huffing, puffing, and cursing himself.

"Fuck.. I wanted… to last… longer."