FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The kzinti picks you up with a conspicuous lack of effort. He's not showing off. Surrounded by other Ziggurat guardsmen, some of them bigger and stronger than he is, there'd be no point. It's just that to an eight foot tall, six hundred pound feline alien you aren't much of a burden.

You don't have high hopes for what is going to happen next. The fact that Yellowstripe the kzin won you in a brief game of dice and that the various gamblers were all casting covetous looks at your tied-up form doesn't bode well. The feral gryphon running his tongue along his beak as he eyed you was pretty much the icing on his cake. They weren't gambling to see who got to throw you in a cell.

Yellowstripe pads down the hall, humming to himself. Or maybe he's purring. His voice is so deep it could be either. You tug at the leather straps holding your wrists behind your back. No good. Your ankles are just as firmly bound. The little raccoon lady who tied you up knew what she was doing.

She was a tempting target. Only four feet tall and very friendly. Best of all she's a Ziggurat employee, so if - when - you killed her she'd just reform in a few days. It's a victimless crime.

You didn't realize you said that out loud. The closer of Yellowstripe's naked pink ears swivels to take it in. They are membranous things like part of a pink Chinese parasol, or maybe a bat wing. It has a pattern of dots and commas tattooed on it. It's still an ear despite its appearance and Yellowstripe chuckles.

"You aren't the first to think that," he growls. "You also aren't the first to think Hazel is a good target. The last one ended up in her stomach. If she weren't trying to lose a few pounds you'd be in there right now."

You snort. "Right. Four foot tall raccoon is going to swallow me." It's a moment of levity, anyway. It's balanced out by the fact that six hundred pounds of highly carnivorous kzin has you under his arm like a bag of flour.

The kzin chuckles again. He doesn't bother to answer. You've arrived at a long hall full of doors, each with a number. One of the residential wings here on the bottom floor of the Ziggurat. This one's for guests. Your own room is right around the corner.

Yellowstripe is mostly orange-furred, with the butter-yellow striping that gives him his name on shoulder and hip. A mask of the same color fur surrounds his eyes, almost the same shape as the bandit's mask of the laughing raccoon lady who landed you in this situation. The kzin has furry four-toed feet and a naked pink tail. Rat-cats, some people call them. Just not within earshot of the kzinti.

He touches a button next to the door. His hands are like black leather gloves the size of catcher's mitts. The claws haven't slid out of their sheaths but you see the slits where they'll appear if he needs them. Given the size of his hands you don't like the thought of encountering them at all. They must be like bony meathooks.

"Yes?" A purring voice comes from the grill above the button. A woman's voice, and not a human's. Not a kzin's either. It's much too contralto for that and you've heard kzinti women don't talk. Supposedly they aren't much more than animals.

"It's Yellowstripe," rumbles your captor. "Remember what we talked about earlier? The bet?"

The door slides open to reveal a cat-woman of a species you haven't seen before. Barely five feet tall, with a slender build and three-fingered hands. She has a mane of darker fur much thicker than Yellowstripe's shaggy almost-Mohawk and a tail with a tuft at the end. Altogether like a slender alien lioness, really.

She's wearing a long-sleeved smock sort of thing that looks like a uniform. A raised black cloth collar stands up from the red synthetic fabric and a gold band, likely some sort of rank insignia, is on each wrist. You recognize the Starfleet uniform even before you see the symbol on her chest.

The Ziggurat is unique in that travelers from many universes come and go. In your brief time here you've seen half a dozen designs of Starfleet uniforms. Some universes have a different insignia for each ship and others have one chest insignia for the whole Starfleet. She has the most common insignia so either she's from the Enterprise or one of the "universal insignia" universes.

"Lieutenant," you say in your most formal tones. "I request asylum aboard your ship. I've been unjustly accused -"

She starts laughing. That's a bad sign. Yellowstripe is laughing, too. Also bad. When the two get it out of their system the cat-woman touches your nose with one padded finger. She has slits that hide retracted claws too.

"I'm on shore leave," she purrs. "And we don't have a treaty with the Ziggurat." She looks up at Yellowstripe, three feet taller than she is. "Doubting Thomas here doesn't believe I can do what I said I can do. That's where you come in."

You don't like the sound of that at all. It sounds all too much like Yellowstripe's boast that his raccoon girlfriend could swallow you whole even though you're twice her size. The caitian - you recognize her species now, a Starfleet member race from a planet called Cait - isn't that much bigger than the raccoon but you don't like her smile one bit. If she can manage you at least you won't be in a kzinti stomach but from the point of view of someone being digested one intestinal tract is much like another.

"Put him on the bed," she purrs, and Yellowstripe plops you down with your head toward her. You don't get much of a chance to look around, just enough to see that it's a lot like your room. A wardrobe, a table, a bed big enough for a couple of people, and a sudden close up view of the purring caitian's pussy.

"See," she says as she pulls up her smock. No panties, natch. She has fur everywhere, even here, but she's humanoid where it counts. Her padded fingers spread the fur to reveal soft damp pinkness. "I spent some time on a very odd world, and got some very odd abilities as a result. Now, I bet you think it's just plain impossible for a woman's sex to eat a man whole..."

"Now, wait a minute!"

She doesn't. One knee comes up onto the bed, then the other, the the furry snatch looms overhead. The soft mound comes down, there is a wet squelch and everything goes dark.

Slippery flesh slides past your face as she sits on you. It should be impossible, or at least intensely painful. She stretches her sex over your face and even from inside her you hear the purr. Your head is a bulge in her abdomen, wrapped in caitian pussy.

Then it gets worse. She arches, yowls, and some sort of internal musculature goes to work. A great contraction runs through the walls of her sex, like a woman giving birth but backwards. The boneless predatory maw of her snatch sucks your neck in and wet, slick pussy glides over your forehead and cheeks as she begins her meal.

Suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible, though your shoulders are wider than her hips, and you begin to squirm and kick on the bed. It slows her down. It doesn't stop her. With the patience of a practiced hunter she follows your movements, rocking from side to side on her knees to keep you from slipping back out, until for a moment your struggle stops. For just a moment you are in such a position that you can't pull away from her and in that moment she squats down atop you, pushing your shoulders into the warm slimy folds of her sex.

A vast bulge makes its way up her belly from below as the caitian's sex swallows you whole. Your head was one thing. That was just like giving birth in reverse. This, this should be outright impossible. Doesn't she have any bones at all?

None that stop her from sucking you in. Her pelt stretches and slides over you, wet smooth flesh continues to glide past your eyes. She's stretched so thinly a faint pink glow makes it through her flesh. You see the multitude of veins, the soft pink folds. Your face pops into an only marginally looser chamber that must be her womb, just in time for the alien almost-lioness to yowl, arch, and shudder.

Her orgasm sends another contraction rolling up through her sex and despite your increasingly desperate struggles you are sucked in past the elbows. If your hands were free you could stop her. All you'd have to do is grab one of her legs to stop the warm slippery sex from eating you whole.

An idea occurs. Even though your ankles are bound your legs are partly free and you manage to get one of her legs between your knees and clamp down with all your might. Your desperate grip stops the slide and you lie half swallowed, her unnaturally elastic pussy wrapped around your chest and your head so far into her body cavity her heartbeat drums through your head. Her whole slender body is swollen and you're only halfway into her.

Now you have another problem. The fleshy folds pressing in from all sides only trap a little bit of air and you gasp it in, trying to focus on holding your knee-grip. If you weaken, let go, she'll suck the rest of you and in and you'll suffocate.

Correction, suffocate and be digested. The walls of her womb are coated with a thick layer of slime and this isn't the harmless slippery goo that lubricated you for easy ingestion. This stings wherever it touches. The caitian's unnatural ability to eat a man with her sex extends to digesting her meal, too.

You grip her leg between yours with all your might and try not to think about what will happen if you lose the struggle. Maybe she'll tire and have to squirt you back out. Then all you have to worry about is an exhausted caitian...and her six hundred pound kzinti friend.

Don't think about it. You hold on, gasping for air, in the hopes she'll weaken first. You're bigger than she is and swallowing you with her sex would be a struggle even if you didn't put up a fight. She strains, sucking you in to the wrists, but then she has to rest and you manage to pull a few inches of yourself back out with your legs.

She relaxes, panting, and in the dim pinkness of her womb you grin triumphantly. You stopped her from eating you and pretty soon she'll be too tired to keep you from using the grip on her leg to pull yourself back out.

There's just one little problem. Or rather, two. That would be the huge leathery four-fingered hands that suddenly take a grip on your knees. Your eyes go wide in the wet pink womb as Yellowstripe casually forces your knees apart, breaking your grip on the caitian's leg.

No! "That's cheating!", you say as loudly as the few sips of air inside the womb allow. The caitian doesn't hear or doesn't listen. She regained enough strength during her brief rest to tense once more and you can only watch in horror as a ripple passes through the wet pink folds pressed against your face. You hear the slurp as her snatch consumes your hands and rump and just like that the fight is over.

You can't stop her now. Her stretched sex presses your thighs together and now she can clamp her strong furry legs on either side of yours, reversing the situation you had her in a moment ago. She tenses again, groans, and shudders, and your thighs slide nearly into her snatch. You're in her all the way to the knees now and though she's grotesquely swollen around her meal you're sure she can finish you off.

And she does. With a last shuddering effort she sucks in your ankles and the soft pink folds of labia bulge a last time as your feet are taken in. There is a pause, one last effort, and something that sounds too much like a gulp. You slither along the wet slick womb skin as her sex closes once more and just like that you're curled up inside her, unarmed, wrists and ankles bound. Helpless.

Nearly helpless. You try to straighten out from your fetal curl, to make her as uncomfortable as possible, maybe make her disgorge you before you asphyxiate and become just cat food. Now, though, you aren't a wriggling mass she has to awkwardly suck into her pussy. You're a vast bulge in her middle she grips with both hands and traps between her knees.

There's only an inch of flesh and fur between you and the outside world. That is all it will take. As you use up what little air you have you know she's won. More caustic slime is oozing into her womb from whatever unnatural source and it's only a matter of time before the slow burn of digestion gets you or you are forced to inhale it for lack of air.

Digesting a meal larger than herself will be a lot of work, you're sure. But that is what is going to happen. Too weak to fight, all you can do is wait for the end. The gurgling dark will take you soon.

You remember a thought you had earlier. From the perspective of one being digested, one intestinal tract is much like another. Even when it's a womb, it turns out. How your remains will exit her body is a question you won't be around to answer. Maybe her womb connects to her digestive tract somehow. All that matters is that despite your best efforts, here you are. Cat food.

She's relaxing now, not needing to hold you still inside her. All she needs now is time for nature to take its course. As she relaxes you feel her knees let go their grip on the bulge you make, and you hear it.

Lap, lap, lap. She tenses and purrs, yelps. Lap, lap. A raspy feline tongue is at work. It's not hard to figure out whose. You can feel the kzin's broad muzzle where it touches the bottom of the bulge you make. He's licking her out. She won the bet.

She tenses, yowls. The movement sends her womb into a spasm that squeezes out the few breaths of air she swallowed with you. Down below you her pussy belches, right in Yellowstripe's face. You can almost see him grin, imagine the droplets of juice on his whiskers and face-fur.

There is one tiny crumb of good news to go with all the bad. As you sink into the dark, knowing you are on a short trip through the caitian's guts, Yellowstripe takes his time. He is patient and thorough with his tongue. By the time he's done licking her out and his barbed alien cock slides in to join you, cruelly rasping your softening skin, you are so far gone you barely feel it.