FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Here we have my first series, which follows an innocent Kyle as wild adventures with the mysterious Belgian Malinois, Mason, reveal his deeply kinky nature! The following 'episodes' will have a wide range of kinks, from pup play to watersports and much more, meaning there should be something for almost everyone here (in this chapter, things get a bit more hardcore).

~Scandal

<><>

The ceiling fan, spinning hypnotically on a squeaky axle, made the Doberman's mind drift. For the past week he'd maintained vigilance: keeping a close eye on social media, on his classmate's reactions- trying to read everyone's mind. Nothing; turns out Mason was a dog true to his word.

Mason.

The oddest guy Kyle knew, though admittedly his scope was rather narrow. Should he say sorry? His heart told him yes, his head disagreed: a lifetime of hard-wiring was getting in the way. He finally concluded that yes, Mason was gay... had even listened to him jack off, but still needed to be thanked for keeping a lid on things.

Kyle got up from the bed and flopped into his deskchair, quickly opening up his browser. After typing in a few search requests (and meeting just as many dead ends), he finally landed on a black-boarded site. Fet-fession was what it was called, and there his full name was written, Mason Baxter, in deep red below a picture of-

Mason Baxter, with a harness and a mask of some sort... naked.

Without even realizing it Kyle bit his lip and began to scroll down the page, reading the sinful bio as he went. After a moment or two Kyle's forensic was broken as he became aware of his knot, swelling guiltlessly down below. He suppressed his erection with his thighs and backed out of the page, looking up at the ceiling with an exasperated groan.

What is wrong with me?

Cracking his back he went to work plinking in the full name of his dirty acquaintance, this Belgian Malinois, on all of the major sites. Nothing convincing, which meant that the only way he would be able to reliably get in touch with Mason was through Fet-fession. Of course it was the only way.

Sometimes, Kyle's life felt like nothing more than a storybook.

---

Username 'Kyle Doberman' is unavailable. Here are some recommendations.

• Kyle Cocksucker

• Doberman Dicker

• Scandalous Doberman

The username application was insane. For the past half an hour Kyle had tried imputing normal names, and at each attempt, a popup similar to the one he'd just received would be recommended. Wondering for the umpteenth time why he was going so far out of his way to make an account Kyle resigned to the inevitable and selected Scandalous Doberman. A new screen popped up. It asked about relationship status, sexual orientation, and hookup options: single; straight; not looking. Quickly he'd cleared the preliminary forum and was ready to PM Mason when a final page popped up. Likes/Dislikes. Kyle attempted to click ok and leave the page empty when a prompt appeared requesting he picked at least one _like_for 'compatibility management'. A master list of all the kinks in the database opened in front of him.

So, he'd check off some random kinks and be done with it.

He began to scroll down the list and felt as if the slight vale of normality the world projected was being stripped away. Bukkake, what's that? Out of pure curiosity he clicked on the offered example and was redirected to a side box. A video began to play.

A female Cat, dressed in silky clothing that hung loosely off her body sat alone in a sparsely decorated room. She purred quietly to herself, cleaning her paws seductively like her feral ancestors might have. A knock on the door and a burly Doberman walked in. Kyle raised an eyebrow and shifted his position on his seat. Two more Doberman who must have been related somehow--as all three had very similar markings--followed in behind. The cat looked up from her perch and rose. If she was a good actor she might have actually convinced Kyle that she was afraid, but she wasn't, so all he did was chuckle as she backed away and tripped on the edge of the bed, losing her cloths in the process

"Je pensais que les chats étaient censés atterrir à quatre pattes." The frontman spoke in a calm voice, and Kyle thought about Mason.

The frontman fell on top of the cat, pinning her slender arms to the bed and licking her cheek sloppily. He grinded his well-endowed cock across her abdomen and showed teeth.

"Ne résistez pas."

She struggled against his hold and he tipped his chin at his left and right hand.

"Kato, Pierre, venez ici." His two brothers came over.

One, Kato, rested his knees within the crook of her arms so that his large sack hung above her petite muzzle. The other pinned her legs with his paws, his head resting just above her vagina and below the frontman's tailhole.

By the time the orgy had started, Kyle was already sticky with his own spilt pre. Not bothering to pause the video he hastily tore off his pants and began to stroke himself through his underwear, making lewd squelching noises as the pre-laden garment mashed against his rapidly hardening doghood. His paws became sticky from the activity and he brought a shaky digit up to his muzzle to lather it in his own fluids. A strand of translucent pre dripped down his nose pad. He licked his lips, moaned as he tasted himself, as he smelled himself... just like a common dog might. Engrossed, he turned his hungry gaze back to the stream and leaned back.

Action everywhere.

Kato pinched the frontman's nipple with one paw, making the receiver hiss and buck into the cats sullied belly fur. With his other paw he stroked at himself, grunting like Kyle at each jack. Already his pre was dribbling down his smooth testicles and onto her sensitive nose; she would smell him and only him for days after.

Kyle picked up the pace, leaning in until his muzzle was only inches away from the computer screen. He wanted to be there to fucking her senseless... the frontman's position seemed most appealing of the four. Somewhere below his dick twitched, his paw jerked, and precum spilled around his knuckles, mussing up the carpet (even more) beneath the deskchair.

Pierre's role was far more submissive, but he surly wasn't involved in any less of the action. In fact, he was, second only to the cat, the one who was most involved. His muzzle was buried in her snatch, and his tongue flicked in and out of her clenched tailhole, slowly breaking down it's resistance to the intrusive organ. It was a filthy act, and yet Kyle found himself entertaining it. He wondered passively what it would be like to clean another dog's tailhole--caught himself mid computation--and desperately switched his focus to the frontman.

The frontman was stroking himself, too, his muscular buttocks resting against Pierre's crown, forcing the bottom Doberman to splay his ears least they be crushed by the bulk. This top dog, whose name still had not been revealed, cupped the cat's perky breast in one paw and shamelessly attacked his engorged cock with the other, spurting the distance between her bellybutton and neck sometimes; lathering her in his feral spunk. She was a cum-rag to him, that was all, and it seemed she had fallen into her rightful place, too.

She panted and mewled, sure, but her blush and the telltale swish of her prehensile tail told any spectators that she was enjoying it (against her better judgement, the clip would make its viewer believe). But most of all it was how wet her cunt was, leaving a scent of her own on Pierre's muzzle.

When stage three began, Kyle was already set to blow his load. He edged, hesitated intentionally, and stopped stroking for a second or two to cool off. This was good shit. He went to manipulate his paw like a fleshlight but found himself instead tightening his grip at the base of his knot again, now nearly the girth of a clementine. The veins that ran all along this filthy part of him were redder then his cock; crimson against ruby. He stunk of course. He was aroused, and everyone knew how raunchy an aroused dog smelt.

The cat had three dogs on her, the smell in the air was potent to the point of overwhelming- she took it well, her nose twitching to engage the scent. The frontman was the first to change the pace. He slid out of his paw, forcing Pierre out of the way as he moved his body down and dragging his balls over the cat's slit on the way. They ended up by her twitching tail. He then brought both her legs up and resting the tip of his spurting member at the entrance to her tailhole.

"Vous auriez dû écouter..." He growled, thrusting carelessly into her.

She yelped but stayed firm, even moving her anus so that it aligned better with the frontman's dangerously hard meat. He gave her a sharp-toothed, Mason-esque grin and suddenly Kyle was in her position. It was so degrading that he didn't know if he could take it, but take it he must. The three of them were ready to finish themselves off, and he needed to impress.

For a second time the frontman forced himself into Kyle's anus, wagging his tongue out in reverence at how tight his bitch was- splattering the pinned Doberman's with spittle. The pain was searing, just as Kyle had imagined, but the pleasure when that bony member struck something deep within him was wholly unexpected. His fantasy intensified. Pierre moved around, freeing up Kyle's legs to kneel by his chest. He began to furiously stroke at himself, the tip of his light-red dick flicking which way and the other. Kato stayed where he was, but lowered himself so his musky balls were pushed right up against Kyle's sodden muzzle, matching his brother Pierre's tempo exactly. While the two of them were generally un-invasive (and very messy), the frontman's pace-matching was an entirely different story, primarily because he was jackhammering Kyle's tailhole and not his paw.

Each thrust bounced the helpless Doberman into Kato, who's testicles would then grind into his cheek or chin until Kyle was nearly dragged back as the frontman pulled out his length, knot and all. This feverish tempo went on for a moment or two, continued until it became evident that the frontman's two brothers were having a hard time keeping a reign on themselves. Their rapidly whitening precursor-to-cum had dribbled all over Kyle's body, painting his chest and his face in their disgusting fluids. With a grunt the frontman rammed his entire length in and held it there. Kyle felt his innards filling up, his tailhole jammed shut by the knot of a bigger, more dominant dog. He came, Pierre and Kato came, and the frontman kept cumming. Kyle realized he couldn't even smell himself anymore....

And suddenly he was back in his chair, covered in his own cum and pre, dripping sweat. The female cat was back where she started, much more messier then Kyle, of course, but happier too. The Doberman felt that creeping sense of concern once more, and even though it was far less intense than the night in the bathroom, it still made him hesitate, and question, and wonder...

He shook his head, checked off Bukkake almost guiltlessly, clicked confirm, and then closed his screen. The message could wait. He had to figure out what the fuck was going on with him.

---

... And you wanted to meet at the bowling alley?"

Mid-afternoon and three days after his escapade into Fet-fession, Kyle found himself catching a bus and traveling down sun-baked streets to a small bowling alley off of Pike.

A nonchalant shrug. "I like my balls."

Kyle remained unimpressed. He rested a paw at his hip and pondered leaving for home before his bus-transfer ticket expired. He had questions, however.

"Ever since I met you I've been..." Kyle's short fur did little to cover his blush.

After pulling himself together and cleaning up, Kyle had finally sent the PM to Mason over on Fet-fession. His first message simply sought to confirm that this Mason Baxter was his Mason, and in Mason's reply, he was invited to a local bowling alley before he could respond with his thanks. The invitation seemed harmless enough; Kyle was even a regional champion back in his high school years but hadn't bowled since. It would be fun to get back on the floor and see if he still had it in him. Additionally, Kyle deduced that there was no way Mason could make a move on him in somewhere public, so he accepted the bowling proposal, and here he was.

"I didn't do anything."

"I know but why? Why were you even at that party? You even mentioned to me that it wasn't your thing."

"And you agreed that it wasn't yours, either, so why were you there?" Mason countered.

"I was with a friend."

"He convinced you to come out, did he?"

"You still haven't told me why you were at Foxtrot's party, Mason."

"Foxtrot's my brother," the Malinois finally admitted.

"He's a fox."

"Half-brother, if you want the extended title."

"But you don't live with him anymore?" Kyle pressed.

"You wanna open up a lane? I should warn ya, I'm pretty good at bowling."

The Doberman couldn't help but raise a brow as Mason changed the subject, but a confident half-toothed grin and the notion of vengeance in the form of skilled bowling suddenly made him indifferent to the matter.

"Sure. Ten or five pin?"

"Huh?"

This was going to be easy.

---

Having added their names to the system governing their lane, bowling sneakers squeaking, Mason was first up. He walked over to the tray and pulled a fuchsia ball from the landing, rolled, and knocked down six of the ten pins available. Kyle noted the posture of the Malinois was off a bit, and wondered if he'd be any better. When Mason turned back to grab his second ball he shot an exhilarated grin that Kyle couldn't help but return.

The second roll cleaned the rest of the pins up, and a slash for 'spare' appeared on the screen above the lane. The Belgian turned back to Kyle.

"I'll give you a deal. At the end of each round, depending on who receives the most points, we get to ask the other a question. It can be whatever we want it to be, and the other must reply to it truthfully."

"So, truth or dare without the dare and dependent on bowling, not beer-bottles?"

"Something like that."

Kyle entertained the idea in his head for a moment. "Sure, I'll play. Though I'm warning you-" the Doberman rose from his seat and walked to the entrance of the lane "I'm not half-bad at bowling myself."

He brought his paws down to the balls loaded on the landing and felt them over. A neon-green one stood out. He picked it up, straightened his posture, made his steps, and rolled. The large ball went careening down the exact center and struck all pins down. A strike! As Kyle rose and turned back to the baffled dog, he swore he heard Mason choke on his tongue.

"What do you know that I don't?" he exclaimed.

"I thought it was my turn to ask a question."

"Go on, then." Mason seemed a bit bitter that he'd been beaten at his own game.

"What the hell were you wearing in your profile picture for Fet-fession?"

A snorted chuckle. "It's called a pup hood and a harness."

"What? Why do you wear it?"

"That's two questions, doggy. Last time I checked that went against the rules."

"Don't call me doggy." Kyle replied back indignantly.

"Why are you so sensitive to that kind of stuff?"

"Last time I checked, that went against the rules."

"Touché. Alright, tough Dobie, let's see how long this luck of yours will last."

Mason got up and picked another ball from the tray. Straightened himself, tossed, and repeating Kyle's success, struck a strike. Perhaps, Kyle though, perhaps I might actually have a challenge. They traded spots; Kyle rolled and knocked down all but one pin, the one on the far left. He groaned and heard Mason chuckle over the generic techno beats echoing throughout the bowling room.

"Guess it's my turn to ask a question, huh?"

"Just let me finish the roll." Kyle snapped.

Breathing in, and on the exhale tossing the ball, he saw it speed at the other pin and knock it over with a sharp crack.

Feeling defeated, Kyle trudged back to the bench and looked at Mason, anticipating a sensitive question.

"You mentioned early that since you've met me something's been going on. What is it?"

Kyle's chest clenched and as his paws became clammy he knew Mason could pick up on his discomfort.

"Fine, you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Thanks...."

"But I still get to ask a question: what's your favorite color?"

"That's lame."

"Well, you didn't answer my first one so you get a cop-out."

"Fair enough."

"I like red... and yellow. I really like yellow."

"Why?"

"I don't know, this might sound stupid or whatever but it reminds me of Dancer."

"Dancer?"

"He was the family dog."

"Is he still around?

"You're asking too many questions, Mason. That's not how the game goes." Kyle allowed a teasing twang to enter his voice.

"You're clever."

"And you're up. Take your best shot."

Mason rolled, struck four pins. Rolled again, struck another four. The final roll found the playing field cleared and he went back to Kyle with a shrug.

Kyle was up now, and all he had to do was get a spare. Five pins down, then three pins down and two remained.

"What happens if we tie?" Kyle asked over his shoulder, lining up the ball with the remaining pins.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there." The Doberman noted a faint smile toying at the corners of Mason's muzzle, and wondered passively why he had elicited such a response.

Huffing, Kyle rolled the bowling ball. It wavered unevenly and before it had even struck the pins, he knew he'd messed up. When the lane settled, one pin remained.

"Dammit." Kyle mumbled under his breath, and splayed his ears as he heard Mason whooping behind him.

---

"So, what's your next question?"

Kyle had walked the walk of shame as he trudged back over to the bench where they'd been sitting. Instead of rising, however, Mason remained where he was, forcing the two of them to sit side-by side.

"Oh, it's innocent enough. Don't worry. You mentioned that my bro's party wasn't your cup of tea, so what is?"

"Huh?" The question had taken Kyle off guard.

"You heard me. Where do you like to chill?"

"Bars are pretty nice. I don't like fancy restaurants--not only because they're too expensive--but because I hate stuck up people--" and then, as an afterthought "--they seems to flock to those sorts of establishments; ruins the experience for me, to be honest."

"Bars, huh? The Crooked Crook is pretty good if you don't mind an Irish pub."

"Ya, I've heard about that place. Aft said they've got good burgers and beer."

"You wanna go? I've still got to whip your ass, so after our game, of course. By then we'll probably be hungry."

"We'll just have to see about that. But, ah, I don't know man. My transfer..."

"Your transfer ticket's already expired, Kyle. I'll even drive you home so you won't have to deal with late night bus schedules."

When Kyle cast him a distrustful glance, Mason rolled his eyes.

"To the nearest intersection, to the nearest neighborhood... I don't care. Last time I checked you were the one stalking me."

Kyle caved: "Fine, fine. We'll head out after the game,"

He really was curious about the Crooked Crook's burgers, after all.

"Now let's get off our tails and finish this. I don't want to play your truth-game anymore, Mason."

"Fine by me, I already got what I wanted outta you."

Kyle chuckled and settled in as Mason rose.