FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This phantom sensation of paws, hands, pushing down the fox’s bare chest, running through the mane of fluff about his neck and shoulders, certainly wasn’t what he had expected when he had stepped up to prostrate himself before the shrine. He had noticed this place before hidden off a side trail within the local nature preserve, and each time he passed by, it captured his attention a little bit more – until tonight, without thinking about it, without even considering it, he found himself stepping forward towards the moss-covered steps, the old wood and fragmented beams, the candles that had long since burnt out.

Something had just continued to pull him forward, as though there had been… someone, some_thing,_ pushing at his back. Tri had no idea why he had taken his shirt off, or why he had then paused along the stairs to drop his pants as well. He had brought a backpack with him with water for his hike, and that sat by one of the trees near where the trail split – and then with each step as he had advanced, that sensation of otherness washing over him, of appraisal and expectation, had only strengthened along with these hands pushing across his pelt, pressing into his fur…

…squeezing along his arms, feeling the lines of sleek muscle underneath; pushing down to his paws, pressing his fingers apart, entwining with them; then deeper into his mane, finding the curve of his neck, squeezing there, running down along his back; and then the next thing he knew, one of those ghostly hands spread across his chest while the other turned, angled, and dropped down his smooth belly.

Tri’s tall ears flicked back, the fox unable to hide his surprise as well as his excitement, as the phantom forefinger and thumb looped around the base of his shaft, and the remaining fingers scooped down to massage his sack hanging down in the warmth of early summer. Despite the origin of the touch, those hands still felt warm, and he couldn’t help but tilt his head back and sigh with the slow, deliberate stroke up, rolling the sleek, supple foreskin forward, letting it bunch up and wrinkle over itself; the hand along his chest lifted up further, tilting his head up and back, while the one between his legs rolled the rim of his skin between what felt like a thumb and the side of the finger, pinching softly, tugging just enough for him to feel.

Then it pushed back down again, sliding the succulent skin first, drawing it back across his bare head – then slipped past further, tugging at the taut nerve of the frenulum underneath, sliding along gentle warmth, briefly burying in thick pubic fur… and then came back up again to repeat the movement. Then again, and again, each time a little easier as the fox felt himself stiffening with the burgeoning arousal, the pleasure igniting inside of him just like one of these candles at the foot of the shrine, flickering with a dim light steadily growing in intensity.

Before he fully knew what was happening, his mouth was open, his eyes were closed, and the other of these two ghostly hands was clutching his lower jaw like some wild animal, thumb wedged into the hinge so that he couldn’t bite. Not that he would want to: Tri’s tongue lolled out, brushed across fingers that weren’t there yet felt like they were, and he panted out a low, shivering sigh, his hips churning, thrusting in a way that he had never before felt. Still the other hand continued stroking at him, though the movements had started to feel a bit… different, in some way that the fox couldn’t fully place.

With some effort he managed to push through the growing pleasure, a second candle igniting along the shrine, his rear tickling, and looked down and between his legs where he had started to bend slowly forward. Where previously he had had smooth, sleek foreskin, supple and slick beneath the steady stroking of the hand, now thick, pillowy skin ringed with short, thick fur sleeved around the flesh of his shaft. Each stroke slid it back further and further, one of Tri’s legs kicking with the inimitable pleasure of the change, all of those nerves lengthening, concentrating, bunching together as the sheath took shape, as the shaft nestled inside swelled out, darkened, tapered to a point, sleek sensitivity of the head spreading back across the entire length, briefly retracting into the fox’s new sheath – and then sliding right back out with those ghostly fingers playing around the base, drawing the sheath back, now rubbing, tugging behind the base of his knot.

Still Tri leaned forward as though that other hand pressed in between his shoulders, when in reality it now rubbed his tongue, broad and flat and full, between its fingers. The fox continued panting, one forepaw planting against the stair above, the other going one step down; he shivered, stretched out his haunches, pressed down into the grasp nestled around his sheath and his sack and his knot and thrust, thrust again, and again, tail – or tails; a second one had joined the first, and as a third candle flickered to life, he felt another begin to take form and press its way out from the field fur made darker and thicker with those subtle yet smooth changes.

When next he swallowed he felt his tongue press up against the roof of his mouth, and spread out across fangs that were slightly larger, in a muzzle slightly longer. The fox stretched his body, hindquarters lifting up, forepaws pushing out before him, and then straightened up to his full height again there on all fours, head coming forward and down, ears pinning back, multiple tails – fwit, fwit, went the candles as they burst alight – hiking at the base. The ghostly hand at his muzzle stroked back along his mane, scratched over his spine, and then nestled beneath his tails, two fingers brushing in along the puckered rim of his tailhole, teasing the supple skin apart, nudging at the center, while the other continued stroking him, pawing him, squeezing behind his knot as it took shape, then pulled, tugged, yanked-

-and one of the feral kitsune’s hind legs lifted up off the ground when his peak washed over him, the thick, intense spurts of his load coaxed out by the rhythm of that stroking hand. His tongue dropped out of his mouth, his eyes wrenched shut, his ears pinned back, and he jerked as he painted the old steps of the shrine again, and again, and again for his reward, the rich, virile vulpine scent of his new power wafting up around him.

This shrine needed a guardian, and now it had one. Tri lifted his head, panting, and looked down at the silken wetness staining the steps; not only that, but it was to be a willing guardian, too.