FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for HunterCross | September 2020 | 4657 Words

"You're listening to KWLD, 96.8, playing your favorite classic rock! Coming up today on The Wild Beat, we're going to be talking about the small-town terror you never heard of." Hunter sighed softly as he slowed his car at the familiar stoplight. It was the last light on the main drag of the little downtown he always loved to drive through, the tinted blackout windows of the upscale restaurant, The Tracker's Table, on his left and the small wooden craft shop on the right. Hunter smiled as he mulled over the restaurant, their menu hanging in a covered glass case just outside the door. Hmm, sounds tasty. Maybe I should go there after a nature walk? he thought to himself as he tried to squint to see the menu. Something on the special about rustic loin chops with pan gravy and- brrrt! The sound of honking startled the poor cross fox, poofing out his gorgeous marbled brown, black, grey and orange coat as he stepped on the gas and drive off from the light he was sitting at. Impatient out of towners... he scowled softly as the radio chirped to him, "People from all over the state have accused Clearwater police of covering up disappearances or tourists in the Clearwater State Park. Today we'll be interviewing Rosa Stately, an ermine who says that her husband went missing under mysterious circumstances four months ago."

With a sigh, Hunter turned the radio off as he rolled through the intersection and out of town, rolling down the windows and letting himself sniff the late summer air. He was always a bit of a naturalist, someone who loved the outdoors a bit too much. But Hunter also had a secret he kept hidden from even his closest friends. The young cross fox was enraptured with primativism, the thought of living and running free like a feral fox through the forest, yipping and chasing rabbits to his heart's content. Of course, he couldn't live like that for real, but the smart little cross had found a way to indulge his fantasies.

Passing large pine trees, the downtown streets melted away to small homes, and finally rural forested land. He had to fight sticking his head out the window when he saw the familiar sign up the road, "Clearwater State Park, 1 mi." Pulling into his favorite retreat, trailhead was utterly sleepy on a Wednesday afternoon, with hardly anyone parked near the entry point to the main hiking trail. Locking up his car and having a quick stretch of his legs, the boy found himself wandering out down the path, the canopy of pine trees filling in overhead as he made his way a few miles into the woods. It would be a trek, but with nothing to weigh him down, the cute fox made good headway, hardly seeing signs of other hikers out in the forest.

As he hit the first babbling brook on the trail, Hunter gave one last look over his shoulder, making sure nobody was around to watch as he kicked his shoes off and hung them on the third limb of large pine tree, on the side facing away from the trail so they wouldn't get stolen. Carefully, the boy walked down the edge of the brook, discarding bits of clothing here and there in carefully curated spots, leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs he could see and collect on his way back to the trail. Socks stuffed into a tree knot, pants draped over a big rock, shirt left on a pile of pinecones and pine needles. And finally, his underwear, hanging from a tree branch like a flag birthing a new nation, swaying in the breeze.

It was a sort of rebirth as the cross fox stepped naked through the tree line, his sweet black-framed body, tipped in orange and grey fur flashing brilliantly as he stepped into a clearing of the forest. Hunter's smile was immutable as he realized he was in nature once more. The naked fox had started many forest romps through this clearing; it was home to him. As he got down on all fours, Hunter let out a soft "Rrrrr-!" A little cackling laugh, reminiscent of a wild fox's chatty happy call. This first feral vocalization devolved into a rapid sniff sniff sniff as he shoved his nose right into a fresh bed of flowers that had grown since his last visit two weeks ago. His eyes softened for a moment as he snuffled about, getting his bearings as he pretended to be a feral beast once more. He was truly himself.

Taking a playful tumble through the flower bed, a few stray burdocks sticking to his mottled dark fur, the fox began his wild romp. Letting his ears and senses pick a direction, the boy scampered down a trodden rabbit path, one he had "hunted" on previously. Although he never caught one by hand, even seeing a wild bunny on these forays was enough to swell the fox with pride as he tromped and scurried through his forest. Darting under felled branches, leaping and skipping merrily over rocks, and hopping across riverbeds, Hunter was well and truly far from civilization, or even the hiking trail for that matter. Just how he liked it.

Occasionally the boy would stop and pause, ears twitching as by sheer happenstance someone would cross paths with him in the deep forest. Wildlife would occasionally play by the trail, and Hunter was no exception to the rule. Most times he could remain still and quiet, hiding from the 'predator' that was 'stalking him.' But today would be different as he wandered down the bunny trail past a spot where the animal paths bent close to the hiking trail. By sheer luck, a couple was out hiking, sharing a mid-week day off. Like usual he froze, but picked the wrong spot to do so, his bright orange fur sticking out beautifully against the foliage. Unfortunately for Hunter, the fire engine red shaft of his cock was even more visible than his orange highlights. It always happened, sometimes as he rolled in the grass, other times as his thoughts turned to the lovely idea if raising a den of kits. Hunter would feel the arousal swell between his legs. Usually he would wander off to a cozy looking spot in the undergrowth and rub one out, but today Hunter decided to let his fantasies take hold as he wandered down the bunny warren, his cock slowly poking out of his sheath as he stared back at the startled and panicked hikers, the fat knot swaying softly as he shifted his weight left and then right, contemplating running.

"What the fuck i-" it was all the man had time to say before Hunter leapt down the path, a cackling foxish giggle and hot flush to his face as he raced off into the underbrush. His throbbing cock bounced, balls bumping against his inner thighs as he did, lustfully enjoying the sensation of being free as he sprinted through his familiar forest home. Leaving behind the confused and calling voices on the trail, the two hikers unable to do anything but stare bewildered, the mottled cross fox felt so free, leaping and racing and tumbling like his ancestors did so many years ago, his yipping voice crying out with vigor and excitement.

But his haphazard flight would cost him dearly. Racing over a log that had felled across a babbling stream, he hardly noticed where he was going. At the end of the bridge the water had eaten away at the riverbank, a muddy milieu of silt making his leap to land farther than normal. He paused for just a second, subconsciously giving his cock a little pump with his hand, before gracefully bounding off the log, landing two paws down on the path. In a flash, the fox's world turned upside down, something whipping hard behind him, with no time to react as a hemp rope cinched tight around an ankle and swept him heel over head in one sudden jerking motion. The poor boy cried out a yeowl as his knee buckled under the weight of his own body, the ligaments almost tearing as the leg snare snapped him up.

"Wh- A-Ahhhh!" The first sentient noises he made in over an hour, and it was stifled by a scream as he came crashing down, head clocking hard against the dirt road. the poor thing saw stars as he dangled from some hunter's snare, built oddly big enough to handle a creature of his weight. As the blood rushed to his head, Hunter would black out... for how long, he couldn't tell, his mind wandering in and out of consciousness as he finally felt himself come to once again. Swaying in the breeze, Hunter whimpered as he gripped and rubbed his pained head, the naked fox boy groaning a little as he dangled by the caught ankle.

"H- help... rrrrf... help?! A-anyone?" The boy was exhausted, his body unable to curl up, nor take the weight off his taught tied ankle, useless struggles only making him saway like a caught animal. As he swung pendulously in the afternoon breeze, the boy's ears swiveled and perked at the sound of a twig snap. It was feint, but soon the rustle of leaves underscored the sound of careful footsteps crackling leaves and undergrowth. The fox whimpered softly as he tried to jerk and twist himself in the direction of the noise, spinning on the rope as he dangled uselessly in the summer breeze. After a tense few moments, the cross fox felt a paw grip his hip from behind and spin him around to face the unknown person.

His beautiful sandy-brown fur was striped in thick molasses-colored bands running horizontally on his body, from ankles to shoulders. The man had packed for a mid-day stroll through the forest, wearing an open front hiker's vest and rugged stretchy pants, feet comfortable in a worn pair of leather boots. His face and muzzle resembled a short-nosed canine, yet oddly pointed at the same time. His facial fur was a greyish brown mix, mottled together save for two black patches around each eye, creating a sunken and hollow look to the man's muzzle indicative of a dashing aardwolf. But any hope Hunter might leave the forest unscathed was shattered as the man unslung a single barreled shotgun off his shoulder, using the barrel of the gun to tap the fox's forehead.

"P... please..." Hunter said with a gulp, blushing dark red as he hung helpless like fruit on the tree. The aardwolf smirked as he knelt, propping his gun up against the tree and slowly stroking his captive's face.

"Mmm... you don't need to say another word, boy..." his accent had a unique inflection, South African perhaps? "I've been following you for a long time on these little nature walks of yours, my sweet meat..." Hunter's eyes grew wide, a hot blush peeking through his orange and black cheek fluff.

"Wh... who are-" Hunter's head spun to the side as the aardwolf slapped him hard across the jaw, growling before he tightened his grip on the boy's muzzle.

"I said no more words..." the man growled, producing a leather and metal ring gag from his pocket, dangling it from the buckle. "I've been tracking you for months. Ever since I saw you yipping and yeowling in the forest here, I knew I had to have you. I don't normally harvest locals, but I had to make an exception for you... I'm even going to be generous to you..." The aardwolf growled as he tenderly massaged along Hunter's cheek, the realization setting in that he was in the presence of the serial killer who had been plaguing Clearwater State Park. "You've lived your life wanting to be a feral fox... to run free in the forest... and now I've caught you like a fur trapper would catch a beaver..."

The serial killer smirked as he watched Hunter let his guard down, seeing his cock throb between his thighs as he hung there, the first talk of being a wild beast coaxing the lust out of him. Slowly, the aardwolf reached up to stroke the boy's fat cock, pinching his fingers together to tug the thickening knot away from his sheath, a sign that he had sexually tortured his previous victims. "So, my future entree... you can die a man... screaming and shouting for your life, begging me to spare you. Or... you can die a feral fox. Yeowling and struggling to the last... in bliss. Just like you always wanted."

The cross fox moaned as his killer teased softly, heart fluttering as the man sampled the precum sickening the boy's tip with his tongue, a tender lap meant to spur on his decision. Still blushing hot, Hunter nodded shy and let a single loud "Yip!" answer for his decision. The aardwolf grinned and slipped the ring gag onto his catch, the boy grunting as he started to drool a little onto the forest floor.

"Mmm... good boy. No more human words now... you will be treated with respect owed a prime fox pelt..." Drooling and hanging by his ankle, the boy moaned as he allowed himself to slip back into his headspace, a burst of energy coming back as he thrashed and jerked about like a wild animal caught in a snare. All the while, the real hunter began to prepare his tools. He carefully laid out a blanket and roll of materials, a utility knife, a butt-out, a large orange plastic tool with a pronged end, a plastic guard and a handle on the other, and finally a few rolls of baling wire to tie his prize once he was hung bled and dressed.

Turning back, Hunter was thrashing, using his movement to pretend to snap and mouth at the killer a little, even if his arousal betrayed just how excited he was. This must have been an amusing change for the serial killer, not the usual screaming and crying and pleading. It showed that the tracker really knew how to get into his prey's mind, and the cross fox fell right into line the moment he was offered his dream. Picking up the plastic orange device, the killer walked up to the dangling fox, the handsome creature's fur sweaty, dirty and flecked with burdocks. It would take a little work, but his pelt would clean well. Carefully, the aardwolf turned Hunter to face away from him, smirking as he began to fondle the boy's asshole, the tight pucker flexing as a finger slowly invaded the wrinkled muscle and explored it.

"My, my... you are already so aroused little one... Don't worry... I'll give you one last fuck..." Withdrawing his clawed digit from his victim's ass, it was replaced with the tip of the plastic dart-shaped butt out. The four tines of the tool slowly and sensually pushed down and into his hole, the boy moaning as his ass was dry-raped with the hard plastic. "This is a field dressing tool... it will help me remove your guts without spilling them, meat..." Whimpering, Hunter gasped as he felt the conical head of the tool widen with each inch, his nervous voice cracking into unintelligible howls as the tool stretched his anus wider and wider before the tines slipped past the outer sphincter and began to scratch their way down the inside of his colon, the ring gag ensuring the pathetic primativist couldn't speak a word. Slowly, the horrid device wormed its way down the boy's bowels, his tender hole stretched around the plastic shaft until the guard end sat flush with his tense pucker. Slowly, the serial killer began to tug upwards, grinding the plastic tines back against the fox's prostate, the pain jolting as the four tines began to sink and rip into the inside of his intestines, catching and bloodying up the natural sausage casing as he coaxed his hunting prize's arousal.

"Mmm that feels good, doesn't it? Focus on your lust, my prized fur coat..." the aardwolf crooned softly as he manipulated the butt-out tool, doing his best to stroke and toy with his catch. It was not meant to be used like a dildo, and he knew it wouldn't afford an orgasm to his victim, but a few teasing moans, mewling pleas and unintelligible whimpers would make the coming death so much sweeter. Once he was satisfied, the killer got to work, yanking up hard on the handle and causing the plastic tines to seat in his colon walls, Hunter's gut wrenching as the sudden pain. It caused him to dry heaves through the ring gag like a helpless beast, his empty stomach drooling hot bile out the ring gag. Slowly, the killer began to twist the handle, turning the whole unit and taking his intestines with it. Once, twice, three times, the tool wrapping his colon tight around the tines to ensuring that nothing would leak out of the cored-out asshole. Tears rolled down Hunter's face as he cried in dumb animal moans and wails, just as the aardwolf picked up his knife and began to carve around the guard, cutting free the whole assembly that held the boy's tight and violated anus plugged.

The pain was immeasurable, and Hunter gathered the last of his strength to try and break free. But it would be too little to help. As the knife slipped around his asshole, completing the slice, hunter felt the whole rig pulled backwards and lifting out of his body, resting like a wet sock over the now gaping hole where his pucker had once been. The killer knew he had to work fast, the gorgeous fox's face becoming ashen and pale from the first signs of shock. Turning him back around, the aardwolf chuckled as he slipped the knife against the boy's belly, right under the fat pad and pubic mound. Giving him one last coaxing stroke on his cock, the killer plunged his knife into the gut and drew downwards nice and slow, a shallow rip to split apart his belly. Hunter lifted his head just in time to feel an avalanche of bloody guts slop down his face, flowing out with a growing gush of arterial bleeding out the open wound as his viscera caught on the ring gag and his own blood drooled down his throat. One last cut ensured that he would die soon as the knife pierced his diaphragm, opening the pressurized chamber of the fox's chest cavity. The boy's last cry of disgust and horror fading to a squeak as Hunter's lungs uselessly deflated inside of his chest.

The aardwolf would have loved to have sat and watched as his victim's heart quivered in the rib cage, struggling to pump airless blood out the now numerous holes in his draining gut. But this man wanted to give his prey one last humiliation. Picking up the shotgun, the killer smirked as he double checked the round he had loaded. Buck and ball, perfect. Carefully he sat down in front of the choking and sputtering animal, his pants getting flecked with droplets of blood that would have soaked into the warm forest floor. "You dress so beautifully... your pelt will be so soft, I'm sure I'll be able to sell it... I'll be able to sell all of you. Your meat will be rid of as fine dining, the easiest way to rid the evidence... but I want to give you one last thrill... you've been snared and field dressed... but you escaped being shot by a real hunter..."

Slowly, the aardwolf unzipped his pants, his cock throbbing in hand as he started to masturbate in front of the dying boy. It wouldn't take much to get him off, the act of killing such a rush it drove him mad to wait this long before touching himself. But as he did, he took the barrel of the shotgun and slowly fed it into the fox's ring gagged mouth. It tasted foul, of cleaning lube and carbon smoke. Slowly, he worked the barrel in and out, as if he was face-fucking the fox. "Mmmm... suck it meat... that's it... kiss t and lick it. It wants your tender throat so bad." Even as his eyes began to fade, his throat invaded by the cold metal barrel, hastening the hot splotches of grey and darkness taking over his vision from the loss of blood, he could still see the cock being stroked so lewdly in front of his body. "Mmmm... are you ready? It's gonna pop..."

The tracker's breathing quickened as he felt his balls tense... a moan caught in his throat as he gasped at the sudden rush, a hot orgasm flooding his loins, flowing from his body. He closed his eyes and thrust the barrel one more time, a soft 'glk' coming from Hunter's throat, a sign his boy was still alive, at the precipice. Just as he hit orgasm, the aardwolf jerked backwards, as if the gun were simply an extension of his arousal.

A single crack rang out in the forest, birds scattering in the trees above. The aardwolf was left spattered and flecked with brain matter, spinal fragments, chunky viscera... and his own cum painting a white stripe upon his shoulder. Hunter was no more, a stump of a neck hanging from the carcass as it drained blood onto the ground. No more moving, just swaying as he hung limp. The 'feral' fox was as dead as a squirrel hit with a varmint round, his head exploded. The top half of his head was unrecognizable, the puddle of pudding-like goo oozing brain matter and drooling with unidentifiable chunks of flesh. His spine had been blown out, chunky meat and shards of bone lodged in a tree off to the side of the forest. The only part of him that remained attached was his lower jaw, which flapped uselessly from his neck, the tongue hanging down. The aardwolf sighed as he gave his gun a wipe down, picking the ragged remains of the ring gag off the forward sights as he did... There was still much work to do, he'd have to bind the arms, hold the cavity open, let him drain, and build a sledge to haul the carcass back to where he'd parked. But the tracker couldn't help but smile at his accomplishment. He'd killed his first 'feral' fox. And it felt so good.

"Good evening and welcome to The Tracker's Table." The young waiter, a fluffy coated ram who couldn't have been older than 22, stepped happily up to a table for two in the upscale and trendy restaurant. His sharp black apron and grey button down with rolled sleeves complimented his stark white wooly fur as he addressed the young couple. "My name is Terry and I'll be serving you tonight. Tonight, we have some wonderful specials for you. As an appetizer might I recommend the ermine charcuterie, fine aged and smoked cold cuts of ermine served with a lush mix of pickled vegetables and olives. And for entrée special today, we are serving Jagerschnitzel im Stil der Kreuzung, or breaded and fried wild cross fox chops, with handmade spätzle. Can I start you both off with a drink tonight?"

"I'll have a Moscow Mule, please," a young poodle lady in a breezy strapped dress asked.

Her date, a spaniel wearing a semi casual flannel button down and khakis added, "I'll take a whiskey sour, with a dash of your barrel-aged bitters. And tell me, you're serving wild fox?"

"Oh yes. Wild fox, fresh caught! All our specials are hand caught by our head chef, Johan. He's a bit of a hunter and gamesman, brought his love of cooking wild game here from South Africa. And once our specials are gone, they're gone. I've had to tell people that the special ran out while we were getting their drinks, so do think it over quickly. I'll be right back for your orders, okay?"

Terry's chubby ram legs carried him first to the bar to drop off the orders with the barkeep, smiling as he flirted a little with the jovial puma like he usually did. With a smile, the server turned to head back to the kitchen, walking down a hallway bedecked with local art. Artists would hang their pieces down the hallway leading to the kitchen and bathroom, dangling price tags letting the hipster customers purchase a piece of Clearwater's local character. And of course, the restaurant got a little cut of the sale. But one spot on the wall was always saved for something special. A large wooden frame hung on the wall, right next to the men's bathroom, stretching a large pelt out to the corners and sides. The beautiful orange, grey and black fur was still so soft, even after it had been flayed, shaved to length and carefully cleaned. A price tag hung from the tanning frame, "$400 - Cured Cross Fox Hide." Someone would take that in a heartbeat, the ram thought, brushing his hand through the fur. They always sell so quick, it's almost as if the whole town is in on the scam.

Johan, the aardwolf hunter, was smiling as he finished carefully arranging a plate. Fresh spätzle was laid out in a lovingly prepared bed, ready to receive the restaurant's guest of honor. He couldn't help but wonder if Hunter had noticed his restaurant on his trips through the downtown. Perhaps he had wanted to visit, he idly thought to himself as he lifted two beautifully seared fried porkchops from the skillet. The outer breading had fried to a perfect crust, a caramelized outside locking in the juicy and tender meat inside. Handling them by the bones, he carefully arranged them to cross upon the soft egg noodles, nestled in a fashion that would have done Hunter proud. After drizzling the pan gravy over top, he turned just in time to see his young waiter come in, licking his lips at the sight.

"God it looks good, please tell me you're saving some for us to try after the shift?" The ram chuckled as he set the finished plate on his tray.

"Perks of the job, my friend. I've got two portions saved for the end of the night. Thank you for all your help butchering him the other day."

"Think nothing of it. Besides, the restaurant hasn't been busier, what with all the folks come to town looking for the Clearwater Killer."

"Keep on talking them up, I know you love putting on the charm with our customers, Terry." The aardwolf went back to his busy cooking as Terry wandered through the forest of tables, finally coming up to a lone man seated at a booth by the front door. The lion seemed frazzled, his mind lost in thought as he looked over a few sheets of paper, each one containing a picture and some information.

"Here you are Sherriff Matthews!" The lion shook from his thought, sniffing the air as the platter was placed in front of him.

"Terry, thank you so much. God it smells delicious."

"You need to keep your strength up, what with all the disappearances going on. You're such a small unit, and it's not like you know the folks who're going missing."

"I need a vacation, that's for sure. But definitely can't take it when there's a killer around. If I know the moment I did, the next victim would appear right while I was sipping margaritas on the beach." He sighed, spearing a bit of the fresh fox meat and slowly lifting it to his mouth to eat.

"It's gotta be frustrating that no bodies have been found too... it's almost like the victim's disappearing right under your nose."

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