FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

You settle on the couch, and it wraps around you, snuggling every contour of your body. It makes tiny adjustments to angle and firmness, until it feels like you're not actually laying on anything, just floating. Part of that may be assisted by the click and hum of electronics warming up behind you, the sudden nauseating sensation of movement without moving. Your vision goes black as the device activates.

Virtual reality is as safe as watching a film, these days, and you know that the danger is purely for show, but the sensation of feeling your body move, seeing through eyes that aren't yours, is disorienting at first. Your body-- at least, the one you're inside of now-- is shorter than you're used to. The mirror hanging on one wall of the little shack is enough to tell you a few things.

You're a rabbit: perked ears, powerful legs, and a runner's build. Female, and the sensation of anatomy that isn't yours is strangest there between your legs. You're pretty pleased with the cream-white belly fur and deep brown everywhere else, the pink nose and blunt muzzle. A glance behind confirms that teardrop tail is as perky to see as it is to feel.

You get dressed, lightweight clothes, a loincloth, a top of wrapped linen strips, just enough to contain and cover smallish breasts. The garb, matched with the rustic shack you're in, feels like the edge of civilization somewhere or somewhen, and the sounds match, all natural, small animals, birds and insects.

Which all go silent at once, in one direction.

You're not used to being able to differentiate sound so clearly, but your host is, and quite able to process what that silence means. Which is all the motivation needed for you to abandon the shack, and start running away from the silence.

That silence means something is moving through the forest, something big enough and scary enough to make the small animals quiet, to send the birds into the air. Deer and elk don't cause that fuss, but predators do, and from the swath of silence, it's not a tiny one either.

The clearing your shack is in, is wide enough for a decent view in all directions, and you pause as you reach the tree line, looking back at the far edge, trying to catch a glimpse of what's coming. Whatever it is, it's large, and you can see the glowing green of its eyes before you get any good sense of shape. A lean body, an angular muzzle, sharp ears. Canine, maybe a fox, but far too large to be one.

Black as ink, too, and that's all you pause to see before bolting into the woods, dodging between trees and bounding over underbrush. Appearances hold true, you look like a runner, an athlete, and you move like one, too. But your movement through the forest silences the other animals in your wake, and leaves you unable to properly track the pursuing predator by sound.

The beast is fast on four legs, and the next time you catch a glimpse it's hot on your tail, closing fast from behind on your left. You dodge, turning fast by springing off of a tree trunk, changing direction as it careens past you, pounce denied. Enough time in re-orienting to get ahead, to lose it in the dense green. But you know it hasn't lost you.

You can feel exertion, can feel the wind in your face and the air filling your lungs as you run, run as fast as your legs will take you. You're no amateur at broken field running, and it shows as you bound over deadfalls and slip between trees. But your pursuer is just as fast, just as skilled, and it has the advantage of pursuit. It only has to catch you once, but you, you have to lose it, have to evade it, have to somehow make it miss you.

Miss you?

You stop for a moment, going still. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, but you can also hear movement, can hear the beast approaching. It's to your left and whatever plan you might have come up with disintegrates as you hear it also to your right. There are two.

You turn and bolt back the way you came, hoping to lose them in the broken track, hoping they find your trail and get confused about which way you went, but it's a vain hope, a faint glimmer that you can't imagine will amount to much. You run, then stop and listen, trying to place if you're getting away or losing ground, but the sounds aren't easy to decipher, and you can't hold still for long. Wherever you run, they seem to be pacing you, not getting close enough to see, but staying close enough to hear. Sometimes you only hear one, and those moments are full of hope. If you lost one, you might be able to lose two.

But the second always reappears the next time you stop, almost like one is following and the other is trying to circle around, to guess where you're going to be next. A guess that seems correct, as you round a tree and one of them is there, right in front of you, while the other comes from behind, crashing through brush and snapping branches under paw.

You throw your body left, dodging away from the creatures, the huge, ink black paws scarcely missing your feet as you scramble up from all fours and bolt as fast as you can, lungs burning from effort and exertion, from an hour or more of near constant movement.

They don't seem tired at all.

You're not sure how, but you make it back to your hut, your little shelter in the clearing. And you're spent, stumbling over a root and crashing on your face in the dirt. You can taste blood, feel the ache of over-worked muscles and bruising tumbles, hear huge paws starting to circle around you. Not too close yet, they want to make sure you're down before they pounce, before they come in for the kill.

You scramble to your feet, fighting fatigue and bruises from the fall, and they widen their circle, moving in perfect unison. It's hard to keep them both in view, they're precisely across from each other, with you in between, circling in a slowly closing spiral. But they're letting you edge closer to the shack, though they're closing distance to you quicker than you're making progress toward it.

You don't make it.

You're trying too hard to keep an eye on the beasts, and miss a hole in the ground. It's not much, a few inches deep, but enough to make you stumble, and when you do, it pounces. A giant paw lands in your back and pins you to the ground as you struggle, and you feel a huff of hot breath on the back of your neck. Then teeth grabbing you there, lifting you as your body goes limp. You're confused at first, but it's quickly evident that your host has a scruffing instinct or reflex, and those teeth and grip on the back of your neck have you helpless.

It carries you through the woods, deeper and deeper along narrow game trails, and you can see everything, eyes wide as you struggle weakly against that grip at your neck. If you could get loose, you know the path back, know which turns to take, but it never gives you the chance. It doesn't let go until you reach a cave, cold stone floor and darkness the only adornments. It tosses you to the ground, and your scramble to rise and run is interrupted by that huge paw, this time planted on your stomach, holding you down as it growls. And then it changes, melting like a shadow, one foot still planted on your stomach as it shifts from four legs to two, from massive and feral to something anthropomorphic. Still ink black fur, still foxlike, still glaring with cold green eyes.

Still strong, when it leans over and grabs you by the throat it need only one hand to lift you to your feet, holding just tight enough to keep you from any meaningful struggles. Your feet barely touch the floor as it pushes you back, slamming you into the rough stone wall behind you. Impact knocks the air from your lungs and he-- you're suddenly very aware that it's male-- shifts his grip to a shoulder, leans in with jaws apart and--

It's not a bite, no attempt to kill, but a kiss, and your host feels it with intense, blazing heat. The shift from fear to arousal is as sudden as it is powerful, and you wonder why you couldn't feel that before. You can certainly feel it now, the heat between your hips and a shortness of breath that certainly isn't just from exertion. You feel hands, and your already meager clothes are torn away with almost contemptuous ease. You can hear the beaded decorations skittering off into the dark, leaving you bare. A hot, hot touch draws your eyes down.

One part of him isn't black at all, but red and unnaturally hot, not painful and scalding, but quite close to it. He's hotter than you expected, in more ways than one. There's still a spark of fear when he lifts you from the wall, turns you in the air and tosses you away.

You aren't expecting the other ink black hands to grab you from the air, for one arm to close over both of yours and the other to wrap around your middle, pinning your back to his front. Teeth at the back of your neck, and teeth at the front, the two massive predators sinking teeth in, sharing something akin to a savage kiss. With your throat in the way, though they seem unconcerned with the interference. Their dicks aren't getting any softer, and the way they're rubbing against you, fore and aft, is making you keenly aware that they might not be doing this just for your own benefit. You're uncertain whether they even care that you're there, certainly not whether you're actively involved.

The one in front of you lets go of your throat, and while his partner-- or twin?-- continues to growl, the one speaks.

"She wanted this." The voice is thunderous, rumbling inside your head and out. "She moved into the clearing and thought we wouldn't care." The animal behind you keeps rutting, rubbing his cock against your ass. And as the other speaks, you feel the echo of memories, and the truth behind the accusations that follow.

"She did want this, or she wouldn't have waited until our patrols were ending to taunt us. We knew, when she bent over in her garden, tail up and ass bare, waiting for us to notice. We saw when she decided to sunbathe naked, offering herself to us. How could we decline such a gift?" Every accusation is accompanied by a feeling of guilty pleasure and certainty. What they say is true, and your intentions were as transparent as glass. And you feel some certainty that this outcome was, while not exactly what you had pictured, exactly what you wanted. The shudders of pleasure while the thing behind you rubs it's cock against you, under your tail, and those teeth stay dug in at your neck. You can't see behind you, but you can feel, that big paw settling over your belly, claws dug in just enough to hurt a little bit.

"We debated whether to accept your offer. Briefly, there was no real dissent. But you were counting on that, weren't you? You knew what we would want, and how to present it in such a way to ensure we would take. And you want to be taken. So we will take you."

The finality of that last statement is not accidental, the thing behind you wraps a hand around each thigh, pulling them up and apart. It's a pretty good grip, and your attempt to struggle is met with a growl from behind. The front fox smirks, and takes each wrist, pushes it behind your back, and ties it securely to the other. Another cord wraps around your muzzle, but it's more for show than for silence. He doesn't tie it tightly, and when you start to struggle again, he laughs.

"You were such able prey for us, little rabbit. Let us treat you the same." The words are simple enough, and drip with promise, not flowery promises of light and romance, but more guttural things. Things like "you're going to walk funny in the morning" and "might as well write off that outfit, it's going to be a total loss" intimated in barked laughter and groping, powerful hands.

The foreplay ends, suddenly, with a growl from the fox behind, who clearly isn't having as much fun teasing as his partner. The hand that was on your stomach grabs a thigh, pulls it wide, while the other lines him up, settling tapered tip at your entrance. For a brief moment he's just there, barely pressing in, supporting your weight with his own strength. But that ends and he starts to lower you. One hand keeping you lined up, careful to move only straight down. You're grateful for it, a bad angle wouldn't be pleasant for either of you, and if you're honest, you've been aching for the teasing to end, and the best cure for that is some hair-- or other bits-- of the dog.

You glance down, and it's really the first time you've gotten an up close comparison view of one of the shapeshifters and yourself. The difference is pretty sharp, and the view of creamy fur leading to thick red shaft and the black fur beyond is almost artistic. Almost, if it weren't accompanied by wet noises and pulses of intense pleasure, shot under with strain and a little pain, as you stretch to try and accommodate the monster between your legs. And it's going to be a hell of a stretch, even the shaft itself is challenging, and past that is the knot. You can see it pretty easily, though it's only a moderate swell at the base of his cock right now. Your sight wavers a little, as one thrust or another sets off an orgasm, sets you shuddering and clenching and moaning pleasure.

You know it gets bigger. A lot bigger.

The sheer size difference is alarming, and made more clear as the one in front makes up his mind, and lays his own shaft against the side of your muzzle with a thud, emphasizing the difference in sizes there, too. You're quite sure that he won't fit. Maybe half of that length might fit in your muzzle, and the girth of it makes that seem like a pretty stiff challenge, even to get half. He's eager to find out, and his partner seems content to slow his needy stuffing to grind as you're pushed in new directions.

The cord around your muzzle is tugged off, and he doesn't bother to ask for compliance, just takes the top of your muzzle in one hand, your chin in the other, opens your maw wide, and stuffs the tip inside. It's not as tight a fit as you'd been expecting, but that's only the tapered tip, and as he pushes more in, slowly, you start to realize how impossible taking the whole thing is going to be. Down below you're built to accommodate something bigger, and can do so with enthusiasm as another orgasm shakes through you. Mouths and throats are a lot less elastic.

Fortunately it seems like he recognizes the difficulty, though it doesn't mean he won't try, and you find yourself choking and struggling as he tries to wedge his tip into your throat. There's no way it's going to fit, but he tries anyway, shoving and pushing as you cough and sputter and gasp for breath. Finally he gives in, and growls displeasure, letting go and letting you drag in unhindered breaths as his partner goes back to fucking you with all the enthusiasm of a pent-up dog.

The renewed vigor is enough to distract you from whatever the other fox is up to for now, as you're buried under a flood of sensations ranging from 'oh god that's tight' to incoherent pulses and waves of pleasure to breathless ecstasy. He's managed to get all of him inside you but the knot, and is busily hammering that into place, pushing and wedging it against your entrance with single-minded dedication to purpose. He's going to get it in, that part's not up for debate, it's just a matter of how long it's going to take, and how much fore it's going to take.

But that means you're not being bounced quite so enthusiastically, since this is all grinding and pressure, at the moment, and that leaves you free to notice the other fox again, finally. He's been waiting. Standing in front of you, just stroking himself, thick shaft in one hand and the other idle, until he sees that you've noticed. The free hand darts out, grabs your jaw, and pulls down and forward, planting the tip in your maw again. He can't properly fuck you face, but he's going to get off with it anyway, is the message.

Distraction again, your sudden preoccupation with what's in your mouth pulls attention away from the battering at your cunt, and that's the moment that you squeal in a mix of pain and pleasure as the knot finally wedges inside and sticks, tying you to the fox as he bucks and hammers at you, claws out, holding your thighs as he works his hips in shuddering bucks, unloading into you in hot, hot jets and spurts. You've lost count of orgasms, if you were even trying to keep track. It's hard to focus, to keep track, and the beast inside you isn't inclined to stop, still thrusting and working his hips. You can hear the wet noises of sex joined by splattering on the cavern floor under you as the volume of cum inside you, mixed with his efforts, drips out of you despite the seal of that knot.

You realize that, in your preoccupation with the fox fucking you that you've started to suck on the cock in your mouth absently, joining the stroking hand in pleasuring him, and he's adjusted speed and stroke to match your sucking. It's different, you can see the knot swelling up lose like this, can feel how tight the skin of his dick gets as it inflates. He has both hands on it now, one stroking and the other handling his knot, grabbing it, squeezing it, pulling and pushing to get his release. And when it comes it's as energetic as the other fox. Thick, not-quite-scalding hot, jets and spurts into your mouth, onto your tongue, and as you cough at the sudden splatter at the back of your throat, his aim gets a lot less steady, with strings of cum splattering your face, ears, cheek, throat, tits, the wall behind you, more into your mouth as he corrects his aim, just letting go.

There's a lot of it, and the puddle below you is joined by another that drips off your chin, attempts at swallowing not getting you very far. You can't open one eye, the only thing you can smell is lust and cum, and still the beast behind you is pounding you, orgasms mounting as he unloads another round of fox cum inside you, leaving you feeling swollen as more of it leaks onto the ground.

You can't properly track the time involved, but you know that you're wiped out on euphoria, completely out of energy, and filthy with cum by the time the foxes are done with you, and the next clear memory you have is a when they deliver you to your hut, somewhere in the haze. You're aware, at least, that the mirror is here again, and you're turning and posing, showing off clawmarks and cum, the sodden mess of your thighs and face and chest. You slump into the bed, and almost as soon as you do, you're asleep.

The simulation ceases, and you're left with the momentary disorientation that always follows as your brain reconnects to your actual body, no longer a passenger in someone else's memories, but you are quite certain you're never going to forget those, even if they weren't yours to start with. There's still some visual input coming through, a credit screen with names and roles, the innumerable technicians and graphic artists and designers that made the work of three enthusiastic actors into something more.

Just like a film. Just... more so.

You wonder if there's a sequel to this one.