FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Dotcom656

Kit couldn't even wait for the sound of the engine to fade out of the driveway. As soon as the front door closed behind them – lovely couple, quite lucky for him to find in his quick search – he let out a deep, shuddering sigh, looked down at the sizeable, male, and importantly, intact dog wagging his tail in front of him, and then tore his shirt off with one paw and began working at his pants fly with the other.

It had been hell working himself into these pants this morning, the tiger's canine spade swollen out to what felt like the size of two clenched fists pressed against one another. And indeed it had taken both paws to mash the plump, succulent, greasy wet flesh down into the folds of his pants, with not one but two hand towels from his own kitchen in between to prevent any excess leakage of juices.

Fucking… God damn… he thought, nearly tripping over himself, kicking one leg off and then the other. Already the dog was trying to hop up on top of him, forepaws braced against his waist, hips thrusting… thick, wet feral shaft slipping across his leg, full heavy balls bumping and bouncing against him. Kit could easily pick up his own musk already, hot and rich and full, and just that was enough to make his knees tremble. I knew it was gonna be… intense… but not quite this fucking intense, I…

And to think there was still about two-thirds of the bottle left back home. Fertility pills, aimed to increase the respective hormone production and bodily response to the heat cycle, encouraging the chance of pregnancy… with a small note at the bottom, noticed by Kit only after he realized he had taken three times the recommended dose, including interspecies. But by that point the heat had already started to get to him, one leg hooked over the arm of his desk chair and the other hanging down, one paw shuffling through the various nearby neighborhood apps and sites he had signed for, the other sloppily, noisily slurping up to the wrist inside of his swollen sex, almost reaching that itch but never quite satisfying it.

So his search had begun, quick and frantic, keys soon sticking together with the ropes of thick, sticky arousal matting down his fur. Dogsitter had been his first query, then dog sitter; then pet watching, and so on and so forth, combing through possibilities, looking at pictures, enjoying some of them more than others, until finally he settled on the perfect one.

A panther-coyote couple about a fifteen minute drive away, heading out to visit family for the weekend… and needing someone to watch their pit bull while they were gone. There was one note in the request stating that he was intact and thus a bit rowdy, but extensive training and behavioral courses kept him sweet and gentle – until, that was, the scent of a bestial, overpowering heat came within fifty feet.

“I'm so sorry," the panther had said, struggling to yank the dog's leash back. “He's normally not like this. We'll pay you extra when we come back for your trouble. Promise. Down, boy. Down…"

“No, no…" Kit had responded, dropping to his knees to receive the pit bull's eager attention across his face, while himself staring straight between those strong, muscular hind legs at the impressive equipment the feral carried, “no trouble. No trouble at all…"

And now he couldn't even remember the dog's name. All that mattered was that Kit knew what he wanted, and so too did this feral – and it was the exact same thing. The tiger tossed his arousal-soaked pants and underwear to the side, goddamn I can't even stand with my legs straight since it's so fucking swollen, turned to the dog, felt his heart pounding in his throat… and then again shuddered and nearly fell over when that blunted muzzle scooped right up into supple, slick black flesh, nose digging deep within hypersensitive folds, broad flat tongue slurping across velvety inner walls.

Again and again the feral lapped away inside of him, half of his snout buried within sloppy folds, tongue dragging around, flopping as though he were slurping at a bowl of water. Kit couldn't help it: the tiger gasped, moaned, grabbed the dog's head, pulled him in closer, and then rode his muzzle down to the ground, where the pit bull drew back, shook himself off – flinging thick, sticky globs of that same arousal out across the walls – and then stood back, appraising his prey for a moment.

Kit knew there was no way he would be able to roll over onto all fours like this, his legs trembling, arms tingling. Instead, chest heaving in urgent panting, he slid his footpaws out from underneath himself, spread his legs, hoisted his lower body up into the air, immediately felt the jiggle, sag, and pull of the sheer weight of his spade, pulling down, hot wet flesh nearly draping across his tailhole-

-until the pit bull leapt on top of him, humid dog breath puffing out across his muzzle, and immediately began thrusting vaguely in the direction of the tiger's sex. He propped himself up on one elbow and reached with the other paw, shifting his body… found the greasy, humid heat of the feral's arousal, ran his fingerpads across him, angled him down… and shuddered again as that full length plunged directly inside of him, his walls sleeving deliciously snug around the beast.

Kit's head rolled to the side with a breathy moan as the dog immediately shifted into breeding him, thrusting fast and hard, full balls smacking against the rim of his spade, sucking in with the liquid moisture there, pulling free. Every nerve in his body told him that this was exactly what he needed, and more: the dog pounded away at him, scooting closer in between thrusts, forelegs gripping the tiger's waist, pulling him against him – so that when he did finish, knot swelling out, loosely tying Kit's spade, he just as quickly slipped free again, though the powerful squirts of fresh, feral seed continued to dump inside of him. Muscles clenched and churned, feeling the load, welcoming it in… and even after the dog stepped free, tongue lolling out, Kit plunged his fingers back into himself to scoop any leakage back where it belonged, something inside of him tingling sweetly.

An entire… weekend, he thought, watching the way the pit bull's hard cock bounced and twitched with those spare little squirts. That should be… enough time…

_ _

Peegus

The serval swallowed again, drool dripping from her parted lips, half-lidded eyes trying to roll up and back, long tail folded up across her lower back beneath the smallish yet insistent weight atop her. The Umbreon certainly didn't feel small, at least not where it mattered most: forelegs clamped about her midsection, rounded muzzle squeezing against her side where she had yanked her Trainer's outfit up, he had to hoist one hindleg across her backside and plant the other against the ground to keep his leverage, but it was still more than enough for him to thrust forward, again and again, urgency puffing out through her fur in quick, fervent breaths, the Pokémon's sack swinging down against her with his movements.

“That's a… good boy… Nighty…" Mo panted, straining to look back at him around her shoulder. Carmine eyes flashed partially open and flicked over towards her, then scrunched shut again beneath his ongoing effort; the feral lifted his head, repositioned himself, and lifted up to brace his forepaws against the serval's shoulders, shoving her more firmly down into the grass while he continued to thrust deep. “Keep on… going, I… ah…"

She closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, stretched an arm out into the warmth of the sunlight coming down from overhead. Finally the preliminary training of her first team had finished; finally she had gone through all of the required courses at the Trainer's school; finally she had heard enough from friends and family to have a good idea of what to do and where to go….

…and finally she had found the time and, more importantly, the space, to show the star of her team the appreciation that she thought he deserved. As soon as the town had left her sight, as soon as the smells and sounds of the first route had swelled around her and consumed her senses, the urgency, the curiosity that had built up inside of her over these past several weeks seemed to come to a desperate point, and then there was simply nothing else she could do.

Her paws had been shaky as she had unhooked Nightlight's Luxury Ball from her belt, and her heart had pounded when she released him. He had looked up at her with those bright eyes and sharp expression, familiarity and affection spreading, and squared his stance so that he could look up at her more fully… and then tilted his head when she dropped to her knees, and looked at her in curious surprise when she slid one paw along his side to roll him over and the other along his belly – and then had tilted his head back and let his eyes flutter shut when she finally, finally touched him for the first time.

The thick, plump weight of his sheath, like supple silken velvet simmering with a humid interior heat, and then full, heavy balls beneath, surprisingly dense, quite hefty… hidden behind a patch of tall grass off the trail, Mo quickly discovered that, to her surprise, she could only fit one of those balls between her lips, the serval's small nose pressed up against the root of the Pokémon's swelling, twitching sheath. The fire inside of her burned a little bit brighter each time she looked up past the mound of dark fur and now twitching, glistening red flesh at his similarly red eyes, the Umbreon looking down at his Trainer with new awe and appreciation.

I've thought about this, she had wanted to tell him, so many times, for so long… and she had drawn up off of him, slid down again to run her nose along the base of his shaft, and let her lips and then tongue follow, coaxing him out further, coating her muzzle in the greasy slickness of his arousal. I've wanted to cross this bridge and share this with you, to feel this pleasure, you and I… but with her tongue dragging along the contoured underside of his canine shaft, his eyes locked to hers, she felt fairly well that he knew.

Above and behind her now, the Umbreon lifted up, huffed out, and moved his head to the other side of her body, bearing down on top of her a little more urgently. At first Mo had been able to feel the wet warmth of her saliva dripping down his sack, smacking against her sex and upper thigh with each thrust, but now instead his fur stuck against her with each thrust, holding in place for just a fraction of a second from the juice of her own arousal as well as the constant, repeated little jets of his pre. Hot and warm, squirting up inside of her, filling her up, pouring back out whenever she clenched or squeezed. Still Nighty's musk coated her lips and nose, rushing back in with each inhalation: deep and cool, it felt so similar to his regular scent, worked into familiarity from so many nights with him curled up alongside her pillow, yet sharper, edged in its own way, with a certain tingle at the back of her throat and between her loins.

It had been hard to pull herself away from bobbing along his shaft, his arousal swelling between her lips, pressing down at her tongue, poking the back of her throat, but a different, stronger desire and need had been burning inside of the serval. Heart still pounding, all caution, hesitation, or nervousness tossed to the wind, it had been so easy to turn around and lift her tail, to reach back with both paws and spread herself for him. And again Nighty had felt her intent and desire and mirrored this, and after a few introductory, exploratory licks had hopped up, thrust forward, found his mark…

…and now grunted, huffed, whined out – and buried himself deep inside of her, the wet, slick folds of his sheath sucking up against her, his length pushing further than before and then twitching, pulsing, throbbing. Mo gasped, groaned, and reflexively clenched around him, every muscle tightening, her legs scooting together: the Umbreon pushed deep, held there, and tugged back inside of her, the pressure of their union suddenly feeling so much stronger, his knot swelling out just within. Hot and full, tight, powerful, tense, Mo clenched again, felt it roll into another, and another – and then shook and juddered as her own peak pounded through her, spraying out across the already soaked, matted grass underneath them.

Panting, groaning, entire lower body tingling, Mo lifted herself up a little bit, and then felt the tension go out of her arms and dropped back down to the ground. On top of her Nightlight yipped softly, squirmed – she moaned – and lapped at a spot at the back of her neck, the furthest she could reach.

“Good boy…" she repeated, and reached out for his discarded ball. His knot felt about the same size… “You'll get… some extra poffins once we get to a stopping point today… and then how about we see about some more – one-on-one training…?"

The Umbreon rumbled, lapped at her again, and shifted, full knot tugging. Both of them, Mo knew, were more than ready for the adventure to come.

Lomidepuzlo

Rachel drew in a breath without moving back, the reindeer's nose buried within the mat of thick, soft pubic hair, greasy with sweat and arousal and the damp humidity of her own breath. Each inhalation revitalized the scent of fox tickling across the back of her throat and stirring in her lungs; she swallowed, flat tongue pressed forward against and slightly inside slick, wet flesh, then sighed out, felt the heat reverberate all around her buried snout, and inhaled again, this time digging herself a little bit deeper.

Already she had learned that there was always more to grab, one arm reaching way back around the vixen, fingers spread and squishing into plump, soft heft of overhanging folds, the pads of her palms tingling with more of that sweat from both the exertion and the contact. Rachel swallowed again, pulled back just far enough to swirl her tongue over her lips – with more of Robin's puff of hair tickling at her nose – and then wriggled her way right back in, leading first with her nose to find the hidden lips and nub, then tilting up to resume with her lips and tongue…

…and above her the fox groaned and leaned back against the wall, thick legs twitching, tail lashing, one arm coming up to push the hair back across her head, only for it to fall forward along her muzzle again. Blue eyes flashed down through round glasses; Robin gave a tired smile, then licked her lips, shivered, spread her legs further, lifted up against the reindeer's muzzle.

So Rachel got right back to work, now looping her other arm up beneath the fox's leg, tugging her closer. Again and again she drew her tongue across, pressing just enough so that it would fold up into the spaces between, warm and wet and slick. With slick hair and soft fur tickling at her lips, the reindeer tilted her head, closed her eyes, and suckled softly, lips pursed along Robin's clit; she had to push forward to really find it, soft flesh and pubic hair rolling across her nose, but buried there she was wrapped within warmth and scent and pleasure.

Robin shivered, legs squeezing around her head, then relaxed again. “Oh…" she moaned, that same paw now coming to play across a hanging breast, “Rachel, you're… that's…"

“Mhmm," the reindeer rumbled in response. She slipped that hand away from beneath Robin's thigh and worked it between her own legs instead, fingers dancing across the equally slick, soft folds of her own sex, arousal simmering the further she went. “Mmh…" And bit by bit she worked faster and harder, pushing her lips to Robin's, sucking and slurping and swirling around, making sure to move her chin as well so that the fox would feel the movement.

Already she could tell her efforts were rewarded: above her Robin squirmed, wriggled, writhed; she panted, moaned, gritted her teeth and grunted, then relaxed again, and sure enough Rachel felt the gathering wetness of growing arousal pool around her tongue and drip from her lips, coating the fur of her chin. She folded her tongue out across the fox, deliberately burying herself within warm, wet hair, breath puffing as Rachel, too, continued at herself, first two fingers circling, teasing, plunging, then a third coming in as well, slipping to the first knuckle, the second…

Above her the fox grunted and tightened again, folds of muscle clenching along her buried tongue. Rachel knew that feeling: she gripped at Robin's rump with her other hand, fingers wrapping in underneath the vulpine's tail, and dug as deep and as hard as she could. Slick wetness coated her lips, dripped into her mouth, smeared across her nose even as those wiry hairs tickled in as well; Rachel swallowed, then did so again, and pressed forward, and suckled at Robin's clit-

-and then jerked back as the fox bucked against her, both paws holding her head in place for a second, the peak of her arousal spraying only partially within the reindeer's mouth. Robin moaned out as she came, hips jerking again, and again, each with a quick, forceful squirt; Rachel drew back and kept her mouth open and eyes shut, welcoming the slick heat across her, coming forward to close the distance as it died down… and then just as quickly wrenched her eyes open again, as she realized it wasn't stopping. Wet warmth continued to pour out into and fill her maw, and when she opened her eyes and looked up she saw Robin leaning back against the wall, exhaustion and pleasure decorating her muzzle, with just a touch of familiar relief as well.

“Oh, gosh…" the fox purred, and wriggled a little bit. The strength of the stream dribbling out of her and straight into Rachel's closed maw increased. “Sorry, I've been… needing this, and it was… already coming, so I… hah…"

Gradually her cheeks swelled out with the volume, hot, rich… a little salty, a little musty. Rachel's ears flicked with the realization, and rather than swallow down the fox's unexpected mark, she just let it dribble out of the corners of her mouth, the heat trickling along her chin and shoulders. Still she licked as Robin continued emptying her bladder, teasing the tip around the source, letting it splash and spray within her maw – and still Rachel continued on herself as well, now pushing, now squeezing… now burying those three fingers to the base again as, with another tight clench of muscles, her own stream spurted out across her palm and pooled there, to join the fox's where it gathered between her legs.

Rachel drew back a bit, flicked her tongue across Robin again, felt her stream spray and split against her mouth, then leaned into it again, letting the warmth soak her pelt. The fox shifted, reached down to spread herself, gave a little side to side wiggle… and gradually let it dwindle down to a slow dribble, and then finish entirely.

“Sorry," she panted, though her face showed no hint of truth to this. “I should've told you I… had to go…"

“No, that's…" Rachel leaned back and lifted her hips, deliberately spritzing the fox's footpaws and tail with her own. “That's fine. Just maybe a bit of warning, though…"

“For next time?"

“For next time."

Thewonderingcanine

Monty adjusted how he sat on the couch, elbow pressing into the cushioned arm where he cupped the bowl of popcorn. He had left Smack up to season it for him, knowing that the tiny foxwolf enjoyed the challenge and the process – so long as Monty was the one to fetch all the seasonings for him, since even with a stepstool there was no way he could reach. He would often get embarrassed if watched, though, so Monty had made a show of setting everything up for him and then stepping out into the living room, to pick the movie and set it up for their little date night, and then come back some ten minutes later to find the thumb-high canid standing as proud as ever, next to the painstakingly seasoned and dressed bowl.

Every time he did so, Monty of course made sure to ignore the missed sprinkles and extra decoration across the counter underneath: though he would never be able to fully understand, he could still kind of see how it would be difficult to season food while being barely taller than the jar itself. Often Smack would have to drape it over his shoulder and drag it backwards, and-

-a sudden noise from the screen made him jump and fling a half-handful of popcorn out across the couch. A small tingle in his mouth told him that Smack was laughing; Monty sighed, swallowed, and shifted again, dropping his jaw so that the tiny foxwolf held in there would be able to see the screen. He liked the damp warmth and the closeness, and it eliminated most of the issues of trying to do things with such a drastic difference in size, though he did have to be careful with his chewing and swallowing. Smack often kept up on that himself, though, and more often than not Monty would end up pausing or even turning the movie off so that he could focus more fully on his small partner held within his mouth, or rubbing up against the interior of his cheek, or riding along his tongue, or – another change in scene and the werewolf snapped his jaws shut again, then just as quickly opened them.

“Sorreh," was the best he could manage in apology without flattening the foxwolf against the roof of his mouth. Two taps against his lower lip let him know that Smack understood and forgave him, and as such, he reached for another handful, tossed it in, and went through the dexterous, unsure dance of moving everything around his partner.

Most of the time it wasn't that difficult, but making the change had certainly been an adjustment. All of this time and now it was his habit to drop his mouth open and look like a halfwit while watching TV or a movie, breathing through his mouth because Smack liked the warmth and the scent… and he had to catch himself when out in public sometimes, because naturally this was also the tiny foxwolf's preferred method of locomotion when out on the town. Monty had become quite deft at shoving him into the edge of his cheek and pretending he was a wad of gum; the couple had managed to shave quite a bit off of travel expenses doing this, and it also meant that they no longer had to worry about either finding a tailor willing to make clothes in the micro's size, or trying to find doll clothes that both fit him and were comfortable.

Sometimes he had to spit out a small hairball, but Monty considered it a small sacrifice to make.

He reached over again, dug around for the perfect handful with just the perfect blend of seasoning and butter – Smack liked the artificial movie-theater butter, but instead of getting the big bulk bottle which Monty preferred, they had had to start buying the tiny sample sizes for a noticeable markup – and sometimes ended up smearing himself head to toe in the gooey slime, knowing that his boyfriend also enjoyed the flavor and would just as soon clean him up himself rather than throw him into a bowl of soapy water again.

Even now Monty made sure to reserve a piece of the popcorn at the side of his mouth, waiting for the strange, distinctive feeling of tiny arms reaching to wrap around it and tug it free from the gentle grip of his fangs. The size difference also worked out since Monty's leftovers were always more than enough to feed Smack for at least the rest of the day, and most often for the rest of the week, with proper storage. Careful not to crunch down on that piece of popcorn, and especially not the warm, shifting lump nestled into his cheek right beside it, the werewolf reached for another handful, dropped them into his maw – making sure to sigh outwards as he did so, for Smack's sake – then tilted his head back down to focus in on the movie.

He could tell that another jump was coming up, and this time tried to prepare himself. He kept his chewing slow and tight, never parting his jaws enough to even pinch the foxwolf; he focused on a spot slightly above and to the left of the screen, so that whatever jumped out would come into his peripheral instead of frighten him front and center; and with the growing ambience, the rising tension, he took in a breath, held it, held it… and it still caught him by surprise, flinging him back against the couch, sending the popcorn bowl tumbling across his lap, making him jerk and gasp and swallow – and feel the lump of soggy popcorn pulse down his throat, pushing out against the sleek muscle from inside, dropping down further.

Monty took a moment to catch his breath, pounded his chest to work the wad down, then swallowed again just to be extra certain. He reached forward, swiped his soda off the edge of the table, took a few sips of that too, and then finally settled back down, casting his tongue around his mouth to find Smack. Around the lower fangs, then the upper; then inside both, and he paused, tilted his head, tried again. Then again.

And then he swallowed. Again.

SoraCasus

“No no, here – stand up… straighter, like… there you go."

Aeon clamped his paws behind his back, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact, but… Fyra knew what she was doing. The big hyena knelt in front of him with both of her paws adjusting the fit of his skirt, soft pleats ruffling across the base of his tail, along his bare thighs, and then of course folding back around his full arousal, hard cock standing up and out towards her muzzle, where he could feel each and every one of her breaths.

And naturally, as she continued to adjust, it seemed that she went out of her way to take slow, deep breaths, drawing in his warmth and his scent… and then to let those breaths back out so that they trickle across sensitive skin and flesh, rolling down through soft fur, tingling across his hanging sack, which had also been brushed across the back of her paw a few times.

His tail remained up and out, lifting the skirt at its waistband; there was just nothing he could do about that, since – Fyra nodded, satisfied, and moved to stand up, swiping her phone off the floor as she went – the toy lodged underneath had been set on a repeating loop while she had been assisting him. Now that she had her phone back in hand, though, Aeon watched the way her thumb flicked, dragged the guide across, down, and back up… and he had to brace his paws against his knees to remain upright.

Teeth gritted and lips curled back, ears trying to fold against his head, tail lashing, the vulpine huffed through flared nostrils, tightened on the base of the toy, tried to relax… tightened again as the cycle looped, then again, and again. Fyra had invited him over under the premise of having him try out some new outfits she had picked out at the mall, which should have struck him as strange considering how usually she just sent him to try everything on himself, but then as soon as he had arrived she had told him to strip down naked – which, to be fair, he had expected – and then get ready, and…

And he shivered, bit his lip, and rocked forward where he stood, again clenching around the toy. He supposed that this was the actual reason for her inviting him over, this strange, futuristic monstrosity of a vibrator, knuckled in sections where the last two-inch portion could actually wiggle and scoop and turn like the end of a finger. Fyra had found out for herself just how much this worked for Aeon, through several one-on-one sessions performed across the months the two had been seeing each other: just off the top of his head he could remember several with his legs draped down off the edge of the bed, and a few more holding them up over his chest while the hyena leaned in on top of him, middle two fingers pumping inside while her others pressed against his rump; then at least twice on the couch in the living room, and once in the passenger's seat of her car on the way back from one of those mall visits; and each time it became easier and easier.

“Aeon? You still with me?"

With effort he managed to open his eyes and look up at her again. He bit his lip again, swallowed, and nodded, knotting his paws in the hem of his skirt, fully aware that she was watching the way he twitched and throbbed and dribbled around the movements of the toy. Every time that finger swung forward and squeezed against him, the familiar heated pressure shivered up through his loins, and the electric tension redoubled, then dripped away… only to swell back inside of him again on the next cycle.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm…"

“Loving that?"

“It's-" Once again he gritted his teeth, this time unable to resist the pressure from inside forcing him to thrust out int the air, hard cock bouncing beneath his skirt, flinging off a sticky little strand of cloudy pre. The last time Fyra had had him over, she had pushed him onto all fours on the bed with a towel underneath and worked first two, then three, and then four fingers beneath his tail, seeing just how much she could squeeze out of him without ever actually touching his shaft. “-a little rough, but…"

“But you want it a bit… higher?"

Like an electric shock, like a physical impact, Aeon's tail hiked at the base, his lower back arched, his eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenched. For a moment longer there was nothing he could do other than ride through the sensation, hips lurching as though that would rock him along the toy's knobbed length. The weight of it jostled inside of him, nudging down against that good spot; he swallowed again, felt his claws prick through the sheer material of the skirt, spread his footpaws apart a little bit, and with his eyes wrenched shut could almost imagine that it was again Fyra's fingers hooked inside of him, rubbing and squeezing and pressing, coaxing him closer and closer, and-

“Come on, sweetie. Twirl around for me. Let me see that nice tail of yours."

He couldn't tell her no. Even as he started the move, paws gripping his skirt and holding it up, he could feel the hyena's true goal igniting inside of him; the swish and swirl of one footpaw to the side, then the other following, the swing of his tail, the slight bounce and sag of the toy's weight inside of him, and… and he couldn't quite finish the turn. Instead he just barely caught himself from falling to his knees, and bucked out into the air, his shoulders wrenching up towards his neck, his chest heaving with quick, sudden breaths – and Aeon grunted, again and again, as the forced pulses of his orgasm spurted out across the floor and the side of the nearby bed, his body clenching tight around the toy, sensation dialed up somehow even stronger than every other time this had happened.

Dizzy from more than just the spin, panting, shivering, he licked his lips, sighed, opened his eyes again… once more looked over at the hyena, who thankfully slid her thumb to turn the toy off.

“Good," Fyra rumbled, and rose from where she sat. “I think that one's good on you. We'll let you cool down a little bit, and the… we can try the next one."