FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

For the second time in just under a year, Maxwell the chipmunk found himself meeting up with a no-name director to shoot a piece of bestial smut. Royalties from Munk in the Swamp, his unintended maiden voyage into Pokesploitation porn with a large and queeny Swampert, had been substantial in a way Maxwell hadn't expected. They had also run out due to the fact that he (and his director) had been screwed by their publisher, and then the supermarket job Maxwell had managed to hold down for a little while went bust after a debacle in the middle of an aisle involving an alarmingly needful MILF bear and his supple young anus. Maxwell didn't regret that much.

Maxwell met with the director, whose more haggard appearance suggested he had seen better days, and then the chipmunk laid in the bed which had been made for him. Except instead of a sound stage in a warehouse, it was a corner of an apparently abandoned house's basement; and instead of a large, fluffy bed with a faux mahogany headboard and ass-shaped pillows to conduct bondage antics in, it was a trio of crummy mattresses stacked one on top of the other, and still the topmost one sagged considerably in its middle.

The chipmunk looked to his foxcoon director from the mattresses, trying not to think too hard about who or what might have died on them previously. "No bondage this time?" he dryly asked.

"Shit. Right. Sorry," the fox muttered, and he dug into the chest against the wall. It looked to Maxwell like it had once held firewood... or dead prostitutes, if his surroundings were anything to go by. When the foxcoon produced a pair of rusted handcuffs, the chipmunk's concerns that the basement was actually some kind of sex worker burial ground were not alleviated. He let the fox affix them (which took an awful lot of effort, and left flakes of rust in his short brown hair), and resisted pointing out that if he tugged hard enough, he could have probably broken them.

With the chain of the cuffs on his breast where it left more flakes of rust in his fur, Maxwell testily asked, "Well, where is my co-star?"

"Uh, the Swampert? She got, um, taken away from me. Some Pokemon rights group," the fox murmured, waving it off. He lit a cigarette and puffed needfully on it, then took a Pokeball from his pocket. He primed it and said, "This one should be a little better suited for you, anyway. She's kinda aggressive, though, so we're going for the rape-play angle again."

Before Maxwell could fit a word in edgewise, the fox threw the Pokeball. It ricocheted off the wall, hit the grubby floor and popped open, releasing Maxwell's co-star in a flash of purple brilliance. Presently he saw that the Pokemon in question was a Floatzel, an otter-like creature of streamlined physiology. Her expression turned coy the moment she saw Maxwell and she pounced onto the mattress, to which he gasped and writhed. The musk of the Pokemon hit him like a punch in the nose; she was nearly pungent with estrus.

The fox fumbled to get the camera on. Instead of a film camera, it was a Handycam on a tripod. "Dammit, slow down," he muttered, bringing the image into focus.

That the production was being troubled from the start was of little concern to Maxwell whom was being licked and snuffled by the otter. What was particularly strange to Maxwell was the fact that she wasn't inspecting his groin, as he had expected, but was instead performing this once-over on his face. He hated to admit that her licks were cute and even welcome.

Right around the same time the director got the camera into focus, the Floatzel had twisted around on Maxwell and was presently palming his cock in a webbed paw. The swell of her vulva was worrisomely close to his snout, her amazingly musky anus absently winking above it. The chipmunk found himself getting hard for what he considered the wrong reasons, because it wasn't her eager, playful touch which was making him hard, but the smell of her body. Something about her lutrine heat was pleasing to him in a hard-to-place way.

Whether or not it was intentional, the Pokemon dropped her hindquarters and mashed her pussy into the chipmunk's snout. She looked over her shoulder, whiskers twitching, then back at her co-star's swollen slab of meat which was of a surprisingly impressive size, with a full scrotum to match. She licked his circumcised flesh from the middle to the tip and swished her twin rudders above the chipmunk's head.

Maxwell couldn't help but grimace under the heady stink of the Floatzel's cunt. By all rights, the potent musk should have been off-putting and in a way it was, because he was revolted and indignant... but his body loved it. Pre oozed from his penis, running down his shaft and wetting her webbed paw.

Annoying Maxwell further was the fact that the fox came near with the camera, holding it by its strap and gazing through the eyepiece. He got a gonzo shot of the chipmunk's snout in the Pokemon's muff and softly urged, "Eat her out. Earn your paycheck."

The chipmunk huffed - this noise came easily to him - and started to lap, finding that with his nose poking into her pussy, his tongue easily swabbed the pink inside. Tasting her musk was inarguably worse than smelling it. The flavor sent shivers down his spine and made him feel ill, but he was compelled to slurp her more firmly. It was a vicious cycle of arousal. He restlessly wrung his bound paws.

Maxwell felt her weight shift. She was scooting downward, dragging her slick pussy along his face. Already her moisture had caked his chin, but now he could see that her anus was heading intransigently toward his nose. He whimpered, squirming pointlessly underneath her. This non-con roleplay stuff was going to make them both very rich, the foxcoon thought, filming eagerly with an erection in his jeans.

With an almost imperceptibly quiet, wet noise, Maxwell's nose exited the bottommost edge of the otter's snatch, ground the on the narrow and nearly pink run of what equated to her taint, and then sank helplessly into her puckered anus. If the smell of her pussy had been bad, the musk in her ass was unbearable. Maxwell grimaced. Tears welled behind his clenched eyelids not from pain or trauma, but as a natural reaction to the powerful smell. And yet his cock was painfully hard, swollen like those few times he'd used a cock ring, but he was wearing no such appliance. The Floatzel's awkward paddling and pawing was doing very little for him compared to the natural aphrodisiac of her musk.

Suddenly and sharply, as though it were an afterthought to do so, the Floatzel lifted her hind-end off of Maxwell's head. The chipmunk gasped in the relatively clean air of the basement, coughed, and then cried out in the culmination of all his indignity and confused revulsion. He was still softly weeping when the Pokemon - who didn't care at all about the chipmunk's mental state - twisted around with her enviably lanky body and pushed her hindquarters against the upwards-curving length of Maxwell's erection. With a little help from her prehensile rudders, she negotiated it into the humid split of her pussy; and from there, a lot of rough grinding did the rest of the job.

That the Floatzel was half of Maxwell's size didn't seem to be an obstacle for her, given how deftly she took the chipmunk's studly endowment. Though she had to gyrate and grind and wiggle to make it fit in a timely manner, she did all of this with ease and cried out with utter delight, the noise in sharp contrast to the dreariness of her surroundings. When her behind came to rest on the chipmunk's pelvis, she put her webbed, pre-stained paws on his breast and started to ride with no particular ceremony.

All of this the fox recorded eagerly, getting right close enough that the action was a confusing blur at times. The Pokemon's cunt was so small in relation to the chipmunk's member that her pussylips were stretched and flushed a shade of pink. Had she held still, one could have counted the throbs of her lips. Her rudders swished and whipped madly and musk-scented honey ran down Maxwell's length, stopping when it soaked into the dense fluff of his groin.

"Mmh, fuck," Maxwell whined. "Fuck, I don't like this..."

It was true, but it was also very hard to believe, and so the director passed it off as part of the rape play. How couldn't Maxwell be enjoying himself? He was hard like a diamond, wearing the Floatzel like a fucksleeve, and who wouldn't be loving that smell? If he could've trusted Maxwell to operate the camera, he would've been fucking her himself, but the chipmunk seemed like too much of a dumb prettyboy to actually manage it. The fox knew he'd just have to settle for the sloppy seconds after she was satisfied and bored.

From the Floatzel's panting mouth came some inarticulate, squeaking cry. She was about to cum, or maybe it was happening already; it was hard to tell because she was so snug to begin with. Maxwell grimaced, fearing his own reluctant orgasm was sure to follow if she made him just a little more hot and bothered. Had he not had his unpleasant but orgasmic experience with the Swampert as a precedent, he wouldn't have believed now that he was being raped.

Suddenly the Floatzel cried out again. Her bouncing and wiggling came to a stop. She slammed herself down on the chipmunk's fat slab of meat and clung to him with her all-fours. Body trembling and rudders lashing, she squirted powerfully and soaked her co-star's ballbag, managing to wet him enough that her juices ran all the way down his taint.

It was too much for Maxwell to bear. He was sickened and disappointed with himself, but he was cumming. He bit his lip and pulled his wrists apart, making the rusty links in the cuffs creak. He curled his toes and yowled through his clenched teeth and pursed lips, and he caught himself wracked by an undesired orgasm. Tears ran down his cheeks as he shot into the Floatzel, filling her small if not incompatible body with gooey chipmunk spunk. The visual report of his orgasm, the drool of semen escaping the Pokemon's pussy, was caught on camera by the fox.

Bringing the camera around for what must have seemed to the fox like a dramatic panning shot, he focused on Maxwell's teary, raped face, then turned it off. "That was great!" he gushed. "You really sold that whole rape angle. You might just be my best star. Wanna film the sequel while we're at it?"