FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Rebecca felt the sweat on her hands as they held each other in the front hoodie pocket. The pitbull paced in her place in line, taking a calming breath as she peeked over to the front counter. There she stood, her punk rock goddess, taking orders with a smile that curled Rebecca's lips. It had been two weeks since the vole appeared at StarHucks, and since then she couldn't get the green-haired punk out of her head. From her beautiful indigo eyes, her cute little pink nose, and the piercings throughout the ear on her shaven half, the beanpole rocker haunted the dog's dreams.

She coughed, clearing her drying throat as she went over her plan. This would be the third time they talked. Sure, their conversations had been brief, given that other people were waiting behind her, and Amelia, as her name tag said, had a job to do. But they were pleasant and she was sure Amelia looked forward to them. They were the highlight of Rebecca's day, but she hoped, no, needed to go further. Just a request to hang out, that's all. With the remake of the classic 80's horror film 'Carnivore,' it seemed like the perfect excuse to go.

Running a finger through her red hair, she gulped as the line moved up. What if she said something stupid? What if Amelia found her too forward? She shook her head, letting her clipped ears wiggle and her hair flow freely. Rebecca knew that if she didn't ask today, she'd never ask. She'd been too chickenshit to take that step forward cost her potential romances before. And now, with a literally punk rock goddess close by, she had to step up. As her dad said, she needed to grow some balls and do it. She exhaled, as much as she got the meaning behind the expression, she still hated it.

Amelia took notice of her as one more person stood between them. She smiled. Rebecca held back her giddiness at the vole's smile. Just to be acknowledged by her made the nub where her tail had been docked wag rapidly. One benefit of her docking was that she didn't give away her excitement so easily, like most other dogs. Though she was jealous of other dogs with tails, they seemed so cute with ribbons or special jewelry, fake or not.

"Good Morning, Becca," Amelia said, her voice dancing through the dog's ears as she stepped up to the counter, "Same as usual, Hazelnut Latte with two espresso shots?"

She nodded, paying more attention to the vole's smile than her actual order. Rebecca couldn't help but wonder what Amelia's smile would look like if she stared up from the ground, with spiked leather combat boots pressing against her face.

"Great," she pulled out a sharpie, the same kind the pitbull imagined she'd use to write across the thin parts of her fur. Mocking her with words like slut, or phrases like 'free use' with arrows pointing towards her privates. She bit her tongue behind closed lips, letting the pain pull her out of her fantasies before Amelia turned away to get onto the order.

"H-hey," she reached out, grabbing a stirring stick at the last second to look less forceful, "I know you're on the clock right now, but I don't think I'd get to ask you when you got off. Do you like horror movies?"

Aside from Amelia's blink, she stared back blank into Rebecca's brown eyes. The pitbull gulped, had she been too forward? She had. She shouldn't have tried asking a barista at the counter. Who did that?

"They're ok. Haven't seen any in a while though. Why do you ask?"

The nub of her tail wagged as she smiled, "Well, the remake of 'Carnivore' is in theaters, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to see it. With me, I mean."

The vole smiled, but a cough behind Rebecca wiped it away. The pitbull's hand balled into a fist in her coat pocket, suppressing the urge to turn around and deck whoever stood after her in line that dared interrupt her attempt at a date. She held back, being a pacifist had its downsides but she stuck to it even if it meant it ruined her chances.

Swallowing her disappointment, she put her cash on the counter and slumped into the corner. She knew Amelia would take the change as a tip, as she'd asked her to accept that whenever she bought coffee. Not that the pitbull could really afford it, but she found the punk rock goddess deserved it. Slumping into the padded cushion into the corner, she sighed and pulled out her phone. Not the latest model, or last years, but good enough for her to check the internet for movie reviews.

'A Terrifying Experience with twists that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Truly a-' she brushed past the professional reviews, eyeing in on the crowd talks to see if this was the kind of movie where she could get away with hugging a 'friend' she brought with her. If she got that chance, but Rebecca was nothing if not hopeful.

'My mate needed a crowbar to get me off,'

'My claws dug into the seat. I think the theater might sue me.'

She smiled, then frowned. If only someone didn't show up behind her and ruin her chances. Rebecca grit her teeth. Moving out of New York was already hard enough. Sure, she didn't have many connections to people, but she could have walked through the streets without any worry about being lost. Now, in some town in nowhere Michigan, she felt more alone than her highschool graduation.

"Rebecca!"

Her ears perked at her name. Rebecca put her phone away as she headed to the drop off counter. Her coffee was waiting for her, but as she took it she noticed something else written on the side under her name. A smile curled across her lips, suppressing the urge to jump up and down like a giddy school girl as she read the message.

'Sure, text me what time and I'll check my schedule.'

The pitbull entered the numbers into her phone as soon as possible. She burned her tongue a little as she took a sip, but it didn't deter her mood. If anything, she just added the pain to her imagination. She'd never seen the vole smoke, but she wouldn't be against letting Amelia use her mouth as an ashtray.

She giggled. Maybe if this all worked out, she could ask for some spit in her coffee next time?

***

"You're late, baby girl," Rebecca's dad teased as the warm air of the gym fogged her glasses while she pushed open the front doors to their gym. Well, her dad's gym, but she put enough hours into helping him set up when they moved here that it might as well be both of theirs. The name was Brawling Boxers, after all, plural.

"Sorry dad," she said, wiping the fox from her glasses as she strode on in, "Just wanted to see more of this town a bit before I started."

He tapped his watch, "Two hours to too much time just looking about, kiddo. I may not have you on instructor duty till later, but I need you prepping for your next fight. A day wasted-"

"Is a free shot, yeah I know." She sighed, brushing past the blue-furred terrier, "Do we have any newbies? Or regulars for that matter?"

The older pitbull shrugged his wide shoulders, "Got a few already on the treads. You should stop expecting people to come in early. We ain't gonna be busy while everyone's working."

His sense didn't fill her with confidence. Not that he was wrong, though given that it was the weekend there were a lot more people free to go to the gym. She had hope, it was all she could bring to the table that she had control over. At first, she didn't see it as anything more than a dumb idea. Gyms open and close down all the time, and her dad had the business sense of a rock when it came to anything he couldn't solve with his fists. He was a fighter, one that couldn't get back into the ring for reasons he couldn't explain.

She wasn't a fighter. Despite how much her dad said otherwise and how many strikes she threw. Rebecca sighed as she made her way to the lockers, pulling off her baggy hoodie and sweatpants as she did so, revealing the lean and boyish body her dad helped sculpt with session after session of training.

The pitbull hated the ring. The tension before each strike, the feedback through her arm when it collided with someone, the bruises across her body afterward, all of it frustrated her. New York City was too expensive to be poor in, and her dad only had connections for fighters. So, to her displeasure and his satisfaction, she took up his old mantle and entered the ring. They lied about her age of course, not that the places they fought were very upstanding.

But this place, it was supposed to be her ticket out. Maybe they grabbed too big of a loan. She shook her head, looking into the mirror as she placed her glasses into her locker and tied her hair into a ponytail. In its reflection, she stood as a lean but strong terrier, with compact muscles throughout her body ready to spring at the sound of the bell. Rebecca also saw that the locker room was empty.

A small smile pursed her lips as she reached past her underwear. The image of Amelia already forming in the corner of her eye as a finger reached her clit. Surely she could have a little relief before she got to training? Rebecca took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the world melt around her as she imagined a different kind of training in her daily routine. One where she didn't have the stress of her father on her shoulders.

A collar hugged her neck. Amelia stepped into view from behind, tall leather and high heeled boots clicked against the floor. A black leather harness hugged her tight while letting her breasts pop out while a black latex thong covered her crotch. Rebecca began to pant as she watched her Mistress's half-shaven green hair whip around as the vole turned her head, carrying a mocking smile that made the terrier's knees wobble.

"What are these?" her imaginary mistress teased, pinching Rebecca's nipples through her sports bra, while the terrier followed in the mirror, "Mosquito bites?" she laughed. Not the cheery giggle that warmed the dog's heart, but a cruel mockery that let shame flow down her spine while her nub wagged.

She wrapped her fingers around her neck, picturing her goddess gripping her throat tight as she looked up to the pathetic dog. Rebecca had always been rather tall growing up, something she pretended not to hate anymore. Amelia was the first dominant she pictured that she didn't feel silly when standing a few inches above her.

"Do you think your boyish body is worthy of my touch?" she whispered, hand reaching down to her buttcheeks and squeezing, "You barely have anything to hold. What use is a fighter's ass if I can't toy with it?"

"Sorry, Mistress," she whispered to herself and to her thought, "This slave is unworthy of your touch."

Her hand smacked against her ass, letting out a soft shriek from the pitbull as she let go of her neck and pulled her head back by her hair, "Oh, I know. You're a miserable little cunt who doesn't even know how to pretty herself," she jeered, "Just look at your reflection, look at that body you hide behind baggy clothes."

She did, chest puffed out like she'd seen in so many BDSM pictures online of submissive women as she looked at her blue fur. Rebecca never understood why they called it blue, it looked more grey to her. Greyish fur, too short to hide the lean frame of her body. How she wished she had the curves of those beautiful slaves online.

"You should be so lucky I let you worship me," Fake Amelia whispered as she pushed Rebecca to her knees. If anyone walked in now, her father would be ruined. This little dream where she could stay out of the ring, broken by a perverted girl furiously toying to her reflection. She'd laugh if it didn't ruin the fantasy. Rebecca knew people would call her some sort of narcissist, but she didn't love the person in the mirror. She loved the voice of Amelia telling her what she really felt, how she was undeserving of anything more than a whip, and how each touch from the vole should be treated as a blessing.

Maybe she was sick in the head. Rebecca didn't care as her breath fogged the mirror. Her goddess stood before her, spreading her lower lips and revealing that pierced clit the terrier imagined the vole had. The dog knew that some part of her didn't deserve this, but she pushed it aside as the fake Amelia's claws grasped her head and pulled her to the pussy. To be used, treated as nothing more than an object to make her betters' smile, it made her heart soar faster than anything else.

The real Amelia probably wasn't like this. The cute punky vole probably didn't know anything about S&M, and to be fair, Rebecca didn't know much else beyond porn. But as she reached closer and closer to climax, licking away at the pussy so present in her mind, Rebecca thought that maybe, just maybe, something like this could happen one day.

"Becca! Get out here already! I need you on the bag now!"

Rebecca stopped, her fantasy shattering the more her father's words echoed throughout the concrete walls of the building. She slammed her fist into her locker, not enough to dent it, but enough to keep her from screaming her rage at her father. Sighing, she got up, wiped her juices off with a towel, and got dressed in her black and blue workout shorts and top. The rest of her gloves and pads were already on the gym floor, and her eyesight wasn't bad enough that she needed sports goggles. Finishing with a black headband, she took one last look in the mirror before making her way onto the floor. One last look to put Rebecca, the pacifist and the horror nerd, to sleep, and let Becca, the fighter come out, for her dad.

A few more furs showed up as time went on. Two bunnies seemed to be focused on stretching together, though it seemed like they only brought one towel amongst each other, and the pink-headed rabbit seemed to always pass it over to the ginger-headed rabbit. Becca shrugged, some people just liked sharing she imagined.

After a few laps on the treadmill and her own weight lifting regimen, she headed to the ring and found her dad missing. Puzzled, she looked around the gym. Her dad kept saying that her technique needed work and always made sure he held the blocking bags to judge her. Checking the front desk, she found him talking with a stocky pig woman and a female bobcat, both carrying gym bags and dressed like bikers.

Becca growled. Back home, bikers or people dressing like them were more trouble than they were worth, usually causing her dad an extra cut or two in a bar fight that she had to stitch up as a kid. Another perk of moving out to Michigan, in her mind anyway, was never seeing those leather obsessed jackasses again.

Just another disappointment to add to the list.