FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Alright, move it."

The butt of a man's gun shoved roughly into the back of a raccoon's back, and the figure staggered forwards, grumbling under his breath as he was forced to move along in a line with the other prisoners. They moved, single-file, down a narrow metal corridor that lead into a large metal room. The line was slow: they stopped after few seconds or so and then started moving again. At the front of the line, the next one to enter the room was forced to stop and be processed. Their picture was taken, they had to give their fingerprints, and then they were sent deeper into the facility.

Inevitably, it was the Raccoon's turn, and he stepped into the room, turning to face the men with an expression of disgust. The figure was no taller than 4 foot, dressed in a tight, blue and orange jumpsuit. They regarded him coldly, before the man leant over, flicking through the papers in front of him. Rocket tried to make his way out of the handcuffs, but it was futile: they were state-of-the-art, high tech cuffs that completely enclosed a criminal's hands, and couldn't be unlocked without a keycard that was authorised.

"Name?"

"Your mom's asshole."

"I don't have that on the list." The man barely registered the insult. He'd heard it many times before. He flicked through the sheets again and finally squinted.

"89P13. Rocket," He finally understood and sighed through a nostrils, a smile spreading across his face. "No saviour of the Galaxy anymore, huh?"

Rocket snarled under his breath and remained silent, feeling a pang of guilt in his gut. It was true, partly. He and Groot had spent some time away from the other Guardians, leaving Quill to continue his ridiculous love affair with Gamora. Rocket had gotten in a little too deep selling illegal guns to various planets, and he had been inevitably caught. Groot had been hiding when he'd been taken, and was probably still on the planet. It would be fine: He had a tracker so that Quill could pick him up if things went wrong. Now, Rocket was in the one place he didn't want to be: The Kiln.

He had been here before, and the Nova Corps will weren't happy with the damage he had left it in when he and others had broken out many years ago. He had gotten into the control unit with the help of Quill, Gamora, Drax, and his trusty friend. They had broken through the roof after turning off the gravity in the main control block and piloted the drones to give them a little boost. Inadvertedly, they had also helped many other convicts escape, some of whom were mass murderers or otherwise. The Nova Corps were more than happy to throw him in here after catching him committing a crime, likely so he could get his just deserts and see their new prison for himself.

Rocket's picture was taken by a holographic camera, and then he was leading off towards the room beyond. Other prisoners were still in front of him, and he could see them being strip searched by the guards to make sure they didn't have any illegal weapons on them, as well as collecting all their possessions up. The line moved slower until, finally, Rocket was standing in front of them. His eyes snapped down to the plastic tray in front of him, and he glared up at the guards in front of him. He couldn't really do a whole lot to them: they had him in handcuffs, after all.

The man behind him patted him down all over, from his chest and stomach, towards his hips and legs. Rocket knew he'd inevitably feel the hard implement around the Raccoon's crotch area, and a small smirk played across Rocket's face. The guard had faltered, looking a little anxious, and momentarily disgusted.

"I'm just very happy to see you." Rocket joked, but none of the guards smiled. After a few moments of hesitation, Rocket felt the man pull down the zipper on the back of the Raccoon's jumpsuit, and reach inside it, his gloved hand working it's way around the his front. The guards in front of them had to watch as his hand descended towards Rocket's crotch and fiddled around to try and find whatever it was that was in there. He eventually grabbed onto something and pulled back his head, withdrawing it completely to reveal a small, high-tech pistol.

"So what, you gonna take me to dinner now?" Rocket made another joke, but they ignored him once again. The guard pulled his zipped back up and he was shoved along in the line, moving towards the next room. Rocket had to hand it to them: this time, they were meticulous.

This one was definitely a little more vicious than the last. When Rocket entered the room, a man grasped him by the arm and dragged him towards the middle of the room. He noticed that there hadn't been a single human in the guards troop yet: all of them had been various species throughout the galaxy. It was likely done to promote diversity, but the Nova Corps were humans themselves, so it was definitely odd.

"Strip." The man demanded, and at first, Rocket hesitated, glaring with his sharp eyes. When he didn't immediately comply, the gun the alien was holding was raised, pointing directly at him. They were not messing around.

"Alright, jeez." Rocket grunted, raising his wrists. "I'm gonna need these off."

The alien was quiet for a moment, shuffling slightly in his stance. It was then that Rocket realised it: the man was new. Most of them likely were. He wasn't surprised: after his jailbreak, some of them were probably fired, and they had to be replaced. However, people wanting to work guard duty at a prison were not in abundance. After a minute or so or silence, the alien finally lowered the gun and he stepped forwards, using a keycard he had clipped to his belt to un-do the handcuffs. He swiped the card over the surface of an electronic lock, and there was a quiet click, and they came undone.

In that moment, Rocket could have tried to escape, but he was a cunning Raccoon. He knew that he if tried to run, the guardsmen would follow him. Without a weapon, he was screwed. The previous room had quite a few, but they also had veteran guards working the counter, so his chances of disarming them and getting to the weaponry was slim. He realised he was going to have his bide his time, but he was anxious about doing so.

Quietly, he reached around to his back and unzipped the jumpsuit, pulling the zipped all the way down to the small of his back. He tugged his arms through the sleeves and let the suit fall around his waist. He shifted awkwardly and stepped out of leg holes, standing fully in the nude. He could see the alien in front of him deliberately averting his gaze from Rocket's package, and the Raccoon couldn't help but smirk.

The smile was wiped off his face fairly quickly as he was guided, naked, towards a metal grating on the far side of the wall, where a nozzle attached to a large hose sat opposite. He knew better than anyone what this meant, and he stood there, shielding his face.

In an instant, a blast of disinfecting, orange liquid blasted into him, and he was momentarily knocked off his feet from the force. He was being rolled and thrown around by what was, essentially, a glorified fire hose running on overdrive. They blasted him for a solid two minutes before they finally stopped, chuckling amongst themselves at the small Raccoon who lay in a heap on the floor, panting tiredly. They gave him a few seconds, before someone stepped over and dragged him to his feet.

Noticing he was a little exhausted, they helped him into his clothes as awkwardly as they could, tugging the shirt over him and guiding his hands into the holes. About half-way through the dressing, Rocket caught himself and batted them away, tugging his pants and adjusting the clothes. He had gathered his breath now; he'd be fine. They clasped the handcuffs back over him.

From there, he stepped into a large, massive chamber. A number of levels of circular platform lay before him, indicating different floors that seemed to rise without stopping. In the centre was a long, central pillar, with what looked to be an elevator in the middle. A number of prisoners stood in there with a couple of guards, and they were brought down to the bottom-most level, which seems to be a large recreational area. 'Recreational' was perhaps too strong a word: it was effectively just a few benches and places to sit in a dull grey colour. The prisoners mostly stood around and talked.

"Take him down to Gen Pop 1." One guard grunted to another, and he was grabbed by the arm, dragged off to the left. He noticed silently that most of the prisoners were going off to the right instead, whereas only he and a couple of others were heading in this direction. For a moment, it concerned him.

"When I heard you were comin', I was surprised," The man spoke from behind his helmet, and Rocket glared up at him, wondering what on Earth he was planning. "Didn't think you'd get arrested now that you're a 'Saviour of the Galaxy', but hey, whatever."

"Am I meant to know you?" Rocket grunted with an uncaring indifference.

"Well, you see..." He carried on. "You got a lot of us in shit when you broke out of here last time. Nova Corps were on our ass. We delivered, scraped ourselves off the bottom of the barrel...but when we heard you were coming here for a time, we got thinkin'..."

Rocket wavered a little as the man dragged him down into a quiet, dimly lit corridor, taking him deeper and deeper into the older parts of The Kiln that had been left untouched and barely damaged in the wake of Rocket's previous escape. He had a bad feeling brewing in his gut: he was feisty, but without Groot here to let him a hand, he knew this was going to be difficult.

The man lead him around a corner into an old boiler room. The boiler had since been scraped out, and the marks where it had been dragged out of the room were evident on the floor. The pipes above them still remained, lining the walls and making their way out of the ceiling. Mist seeped in through grates underneath their feet, leading to a foreboding atmosphere. Rocket got the distinct impression that this was not 'Gen Pop 1'.

On the far side of the room stood a variety of people, primarily inmates, and a few guards. He recognised them immediately: the prisoners were some of the most notorious villains that Rocket and the Guardians had put away in their time-- the one's that lived, anyway. The tallest of them all was Crell, a towering shark-like man with rows of pointy teeth, his bluish grey hide littered with tattoos, his muscles almost bulging out of his tight shirt. Next to him stood the lesser of two evils, a purple-skinned humanoid man with pointy ears known simply as 'Butcher', who had been known to murder people in the hundreds, perhaps even the thousands. Rocket distinctly noticed the rounded scar on his temple from when Rocket had tried to shoot him and narrowly missed.

The rest were almost not worth mentioned, but seemed important now more than ever. He knew what this was: a set-up. They planned to kill him. If they wanted to do that, he wasn't going down without a fight. He was pulled along towards the group, his hands still locked into handcuffs, making him unable to use them.

"Well, well, well," Crell spoke with a loud, brash tone that screamed of intimidation. "Look who it is: de' scrawny Roden' mascot for the Gaurdians o' the Galaxy. Ya must be feelin' like yer getting yer comeuppance bein' in here, huh?"

"Wow, learning the big words, huh? But, Eh. Just feels like a vacation, really." Rocket spoke nonchalantly, with an air of indifference that he knew got on Crell's nerves. He could see a vein bulging in the Sharkman's temple, and that make the Raccoon grin.

"Yer gon' be wiping that shit-eatin' grin off yer face soon, when we're through wiv' ya." He snarled, and those near to him moved a little closer. They were planning something, that was obvious.

"I'd like see you try." Rocket muttered darkly. He tensed his muscles, waiting for impact. He heard the scuffle of boots behind him, and he acted.

He ducked just in time to dodge the butt of the gun that would have otherwise smashed into the back of his head, and the man let out a small grunt of surprise as the Raccoon ducked around him. He clambered up the man's back in a few quick leaps, using the claws on his feet to keep the pressure on, until he reached the man's neck. He lifted his bound arms up, hooking them around his neck and tugging tight. The man flailed wildly and staggered backwards, pushing his back against one of the metal pipes. Rocket grunted from the impact and felt a stinging sensation run up his spine. That hurt.

However, it was beginning to look as if his efforts were paying off. Slowly, the man's flailing was beginning to weaken as Rocket choked him out, hoping he'd pass out relatively soon. Unfortunately for the small Raccoon, the others was twigging onto what he was doing. Crell gestured to his accomplice, and Butcher stepped over, quickly crossing the distance between him and the Raccoon. Rocket tried to guide the man into barging into the humanoid, but it was futile. The man shot out a fist, and it connected sharply with the end of Rocket's nose. He was momentarily dazed enough for the purple-skinned humanoid to ease him off of the guard, who gasps for air and coughed violently, hunching over.

"Bring him to me." Crell demanded. Upon his command, Butcher flung the Raccoon across the room, and the rodent tumbled around until he landed in a head in front of the Shark, taking in a sharp gulp of breath. He tried to struggle against the cuffs that held his hands firmly locked inside, but he knew it was futile. These were special handcuffs, designed to seal away their hands completely to stop them from doing anything. He couldn't break out of them, even if he wanted to.

"Keep your eyes on your target. That's what you said before, right?" Crell snickered, and he reached down, grabbing Rocket's head and twisting it so he was forced to look directly at the Shark's crotch. It didn't take a genius to spot the obvious outline of the man's erection, and he gulped nervously. Crell didn't keep him waiting, tugging down the front of his pants to reveal the cock to the Raccoon.

Rocket was forced to stare at 10 inches of cock, thick and pulsing, and clearly humanoid. The Sharkman peeled the foreskin back to reveal the head and he chuckled, cupping the Raccoon's chin with his free hand. Rocket tried to crane away from him with a small grunt, knowing what was going to happen. Crell knew that he was aware, as well.

"'Ah sight t' behold, isn' it? There's 'ah reason why 'ah get all the pussy. But today, 'ah feel like havin' a rat." He squeezed his thumb and forefinger deftly against Rocket's jaw, forcing his mouth open with a little bit of difficulty. Rocket tried to resist him, but he was unable to do so. Sure, he was smart, cunning, and good at planning, but that didn't meant he was physically strong. His strength was in agility, not in brute force, which Crell conversely excelled at. The tip of the fat cock pressed itself on the tip of Rocket's tongue, and the Raccoon's head was forced down onto the Sharkman's cock.

It was way too thick for Rocket to take into his mouth with any ease, and he had to force his jaw open considerably far just to take a few inches. He knew that if he bit down, as much as it were tempting, he'd likely be dead. Even in a horrible situation like this, his mind was still on self-preservation: if he could get them to just do what they wanted and leave, then he might be able to find a way to escape afterwards. Inch by inch, the cock forced itself into his mouth and probed against the back of his throat, the wet strands of pre-cum oozing onto the back of his tongue. The tip roughly kissed the back of Rocket's throat as Crell groaned, grasping the Raccoon by the back of his head.

"Ya know, when 'ah was fightin' yer before, I didn' once think yer'd be a good lay, yet here yer are." Crell taunted him, and smirked when Rocket shot him a angry glare from his knelt position. He pulled Rocket's head further down on his member, and the Raccoon's eyes bulged as the cock forced it's way down his throat, stretching the sensitive flesh. Rocket resisted the urge to gag, thumping the metal end of the handcuffs against the Shark's leg. It was too much for him to take, but Crell didn't care. The cock sunk further and further down his throat as the Shark groaned quietly.

"Such 'ah tight throat..." He muttered in delight, grinning down at Rocket's face, seeing his wide eyes and the tears that instinctively came to the surface. The Shark pulled back and thrust forwards again, penetrating the throat for a second time, shoving the Raccoon's head right up against his body. He started in on a steady rhythm, sliding his hips back and forth, his cock gliding along the Raccoon's tongue.

Rocket felt as if he were going to die. He was unable to breathe, and the cock stretching his throat made his entire neck sting. He struggled against Crell, who only seemed to enjoy the Raccoon struggling against him. If anything, it turned him on even more.

"'Ey, Crell, don't kill 'im. We all want a turn." Butcher snarled his annoyance, and Rocket's ears perked at the words. He now vaguely understood what he had been brought here for: a fate worse than death, a humiliation beyond anything else. He bashed the handcuffs against Crell's leg as hard as he could, hoping that he might either injure the Sharkman, or break the cuffs themselves.

"Alright, fine, fine." Crell sounded irritated as he pulled back, letting his cock slide from the Raccoon's mouth, coated in a thin layer of spittle. Rocket took a large gulp of air and coughed violently, covering his mouth with his arm. He took in large gasps of air, and barely had time to remove before he felt a hand on the back of his shirt. He was yanked back rather violently, and found himself on his back, the wind taking out of his lungs.

He breathed heavily, gasping for air as he looked between his legs. It looked as if he'd been thrown across the room once more, and Butcher was making his way towards him, a wide, wicked grin spread across his face. Rocket tried to scrabble back, glancing around for any sort of tool he could use to fight back, but he had little time to think. The alien grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him closer, his hands moving up Rocket's body, touching along his hips, his fingers roughly digging into his flesh. His digits tucked around the waistband of the loose orange pants, and he began to pull them down. Rocket was powerless to fight against him, considering his hands were bound inside a metal case. Butcher whipped off Rocket's pants with ease, revealing the small, humanoid package hiding amongst the Raccoon's fur.

"Christ, his dick is tiny. Not like he's gon' use it anyway." Butcher smirked, getting to his feet and dragging Rocket across the room by his ankle as the Raccoon thrashed and fought against him, shouting out expletives and threats with every passing second. Despite his bravado and his wish for them to die, his mouth quickly clamped shut when he found himself at the feet of the Sharkman yet again.

"Hold 'im down." Crell demanded, and his subordinates obliged without hesitation. The guardsman who were on his side came forwards, and one them swiped a keycard over Rocket's handcuffs. There was a quiet beeping, and then a low hiss as his hands came free from the metal and slid out of the housing. He tried to lash out and attack, now that his hands were free, but the Guards grabbed his wrists and pushed them to the floor, holding him down. Creel slowly got onto his knees, smirking as he wedged his hands under Rocket's knees, spreading him apart. His eyes flicked down to admire the perky, unused behind hidden away between the Raccoon's flat cheeks.

"Don't you fuckin'..." Rocket was beginning to panic now, struggling against those who were holding him down. His breathing grew more and more heavy and more panicked as he watched Crell's hips move closer to his own, guiding his thick, pulsing member between the Raccoon's legs. The head of his member probed against the tight, taut entrance and he grunted in frustration. He swilled his mouth and spat down onto his own cock, smearing the spittle around his dick to lube it up a little more, before he applied a little more force. His cock pressed firmly against the tight entrance and he thrust forwards, forcing his way inside.

The searing pain was unbearable. Rocket let out a cry of pain and one of the guards quickly clasped a hand over his mouth to stop him from screaming too loud. The Raccoon's behind was stretched to it's limited as the thick member spread him open, sinking deeper and deeper into him with each passing second. Rocket weakly struggled, arching his back and letting out muffled cries of agony, his toes curling as his entire body tensed. Crell grunted his approval at just how tight the Raccoon was.

"Fuckin' tight..." He muttered in delight, shoving his cock deeper and deeper into Rocket's behind. The 4 foot tall Raccoon dreaded what damage the member might do to his insides, but in that moment, his mind was blank, clouded with the excruciating agony that racked his system. Crell was about halfway in him now, and he began to pull back, sliding his throbbing member from Rocket's behind until the edge of his glans was touching up against the Raccoon's stretched, red ring. Then, he thrust forwards again, accompanying it with a small groan of pleasure. Rocket arched his back in surprise and let out another cry, but it fell on deaf ears.

Slowly, Crell began in one a steady rhythm. The pain was still horrible and nauseating, but it was slowly getting better over time. With each powerful thrust, Rocket felt his stretched ring growing a little number over time, which definitely made the pain a little more bearable. His insides, however, were screaming out for it to stop: his muscles spasmed and clenched like a vice with each thrust, and the thick member prodded firmly up against his prostate, sending a sickening spike of pleasure amidst the pain that made Rocket feel even more disgusted.

"Damn, if 'ah'd known yer were a better lay than chicks, 'ah woulda fucked you long ago." Crell marvelled. He could wedge the entirety of his cock into Rocket's behind by now, and he leant forwards to plant his hands on the floor, balancing himself as he moved into his thrusts, pounding into the stretched, used behind, his balls slapping off of Rocket's flesh. Crell grunted with every other thrust, drooling out of the side of his mouth. His eyes rolled up as his thrusts grew faster and faster. Rocket could tell he was getting closer.

Crell's thrusts grew irregular and rough, sparking the tears in Rocket's eyes to trickle freely down the side of his face, even if he didn't want them to. He huffed and panted with the man clasped firmly over his mouth, stopping his screams from carrying themselves beyond the back room they were in. Standing at the side was Butcher and a few of the lackeys, idly stroking themselves as they watched the Raccoon be abused by their 'boss'.

Crell suddenly slowed and a sigh escaped his lips, and Rocket realised he had just climaxed. Thick ropes of cum spurted into the Raccoon's behind, and Rocket felt a definitive warmth spreading throughout his stomach and loins and made him feel nauseous. He squirmed and tried to move, feeling the tip of the member pushing up against his stomach, giving him a peculiar bulge. Crell sighed in delight and leant over him, the spasming muscles around his cock only helping his convulsions, each thick pulse ejecting a gooey rope of cum into their personal cum dump.

Eventually, he pulled back. His member slipped, half-limp, from Rocket's behind, leaving the small rodent gaping and dripping with cum. Rocket panted weakly, struggling against the guards, but it felt as if he'd lost his strength. He was barely above to fight back after such a vigorous pounding. The guards seemed to realise this, because they let go of his hands, and he barely moved an inch.

"Guess it's mah turn." Butcher muttered, striding over. The purple-skinned humanoid had already stepped out of his pants and was standing relatively bottomless, his erect, humanoid member pulsing and twitching in delight at the sight of the gaped Raccoon. He got on his knees and Rocket weakly protested, trying to move across the floor with all the strength he could muster.

"Oh, no, you ain't goin' anywhere." Butcher grabbed Rocket by his ankle and dragged him closer, tucking a hand under his him and flipping him over onto his front. Rocket tried to scrabble onto his knees, but the sudden weight of the man on top of him forced him down. A hand went onto the back of his head and forced his face into the ground as the man's cock slid up against his rump, coating the underside of his member with cum.

Butcher quickly directed his member with a brief angling of his hips and a spare hand, and it took him barely a few seconds to force the head of his member inside Rocket's asshole. Compared to Crell, he was a little less thicker and a little less longer, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt still. The Raccoon let out a weak gasp as Butcher thrust down into him until their hips met, and he could feel the man's pulsing cock inside of him, twitching wildly as the Raccoon's muscles squeezed down.

"Hell, you're right! He is tight!" Butcher sounded like he was in awe, but Rocket guessed he was mocking him, trying to humiliate him. Rocket tried to struggle against him, but as soon as the alien started to thrust down into him, he lost all the strength in his body. Butcher was definitely a lot crueller than Crell: his thrusts were hard, pronounced, and vicious. His balls slapped down against the Raccoon's behind as his cock slid all the way out and thrust back in again, stretching the small Raccoon over and over.

"Oh fuck..." The alien muttered, sliding his hips back. His body trembled and he leant up off of the Raccoon's body, wrapping his hands around his hips and tugging the small rodent onto his cock, beginning to thrust with a little more earnest. He could feel his pleasure building and building, and he wanted to see it through. Rocket panted tiredly, forced onto his knees by the alien, his knees wobbling with physical exertion and exhaustion.

The thrusts grew harder and faster, making Rocket gently grunt, the stinging pain shooting up his spine and making his entire body tingle. Butcher's balls slapped wetly against Rocket's own, the cum dribbling down between them and dripping slightly onto the floor beneath them. The alien was clammy with sweat, his fingers digging into Rocket's flesh and grabbing at his flesh. As his thrusts grew more irregular, he supplemented it by tugging Rocket onto his cock, his member wildly throbbing and pulsing.

Then, suddenly, he climaxed, and his thick cum spurted from the end of his member, joining Crell's own inside Rocket's used behind. The Raccoon hissed through his teeth and hung his head, partly in shame and partly in exhaustion as Butcher groaned, tugging Rocket up against him, keeping himself inside to his fullest. His cock convulsed and his balls tucked up against his body as he completely emptied himself, before he rather quickly withdrew, discarding the used Raccoon on the floor like he was a piece of meat. Butcher's cock, coated in a mixture of fluids, hung limp from his body. He got to his feet and stepped back, and Crell smirked, licking his lips.

"We're gon' 'av some real fun with ya, rat," Crell remarked, before gesturing to the guards. "Clean 'im up and get him back to where he's meant ta' be. Don't want no Warden pokin' his nose where it don't belong."

They did as the man was told, and Rocket could only silently guess he had some dirt on them, or they just wanted to see the Raccoon suffer. He was hauled to his feet and dragged out of the room by his arms, barely able to keep up. They took him to the showers and roughly cleaned him up by blasting him with water, before they gave him a new set of pants and took him to his cell.

Thankfully, to avoid any incidents, everyone was given their own cell, and Rocket was tossed towards the back of his own private 'quarters', which consisted of a rigid metal bed, thin mattress, and toilet. He crawled his way across the cell onto his bed as the guards closed the see-through door that covered one entire wall of the cell, leading out into the circular walkways. He curled up in his bed, his mind flashing back to the previous events. He could still feel the cum leaking from his behind.

He needed to get out of here, and fast.