FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It all started with a leap of faith. Or rather, an impulsive sprint across the street.

I grew up as Madeline May, the second-youngest daughter in a family of foxes. The year had been 1982. Like many young, naïve furs from the Midwest back then, I initially believed my life would finally begin by moving to the East Coast. I had finally felt free from my small hick town and its chains. No more church service, no more strict curfews, no more overbearing parents, close-minded townsfolk, leering remarks, lectures about keeping my virginity or being forced to wear skirts or dresses.

No more pretending to be something I wasn't. I could be free to do what I wanted and even love who I wanted. So, I saved up all my money. Safe to say, my folks never supported any choice I made, going so far as trying to keep me in my room the night I turned eighteen, but nothing stopped me from walking out their door straight to the bus station. After arriving in Manhattan City, with nothing but a packed suitcase and the clothes on my back, I tried to make it on my own.

Like many young, naïve, unprepared furs from the Midwest though, I was overwhelmed.

Granted, the opportunities for a new identity were plentiful. There existed a neighborhood where a vixen could go and mingle with other like-minded vixens. Dykes like me. I even found bars where we could be ourselves.

However, those relationships never prospered beyond an awkward introduction. Not long after the rent was hiked, I could barely afford my tiny apartment, jumped between minimum wage jobs, and hemorrhaged through my savings after only several months. No matter how much I worked hard or ate less, scrounging up enough cash to avoid living on the street, the landlord wouldn't budge. He wanted to make up for lost rent by selling what little possessions I had left.

"Of course, there are other ways you can pay off last month, Ms. May," he'd proposed to me, a lecherous smirk on the older Doberman's muzzle, "Otherwise, you can get the fuck out of here."

Safe to say, he forgave the rent. It had been the very first time I performed oral sex on a man, but not the last. He forgave it again thirty days later. I never felt so ashamed of myself, especially when the third month arrived, and I had to spread my legs for the old, ugly Doberman when I came up ten dollars too short. He had the decency to wear a condom, at least.

To put salt in the wound, my landlord spread word about around town about me: a twenty-year-old vixen with 'the best, cheapest pussy this side of the island'. As much as I detested him for boasting about it, it did result in a steady string of 'johns' arriving to my door, the Doberman being one of them. I could say good-bye to working long hours as a restaurant waitress in exchange for lying on my back or sitting on my knees. In exchange for my sense of self-worth and pride too, I made more than enough to actually pay off my rent.

Within several months, I had caught further attention...in the form of a randy, well-dressed timber wolf pimp who called himself 'Smooth Jackie'. He got whatever he wanted, all while placing hundred-dollar bills into any police officer aware of his girls' services. After a violent, misogynistic zebra beat me up badly during one hookup, the wolf offered protection in exchange for a quarter of my earnings, which I reluctantly had to accept (only for me to later learn the zebra had been hired to scare me into working for Jackie. The bastard!).

Three years passed. I found myself blowing random cocks and getting fucked by them on a nightly basis. All three holes in me would have an excess of canine or feline cum that lingered alongside the taste. Along with the claw marks or a bruise on my cheek.

I netted approximately $800.00 every week. No matter how much money I made each night though, Smooth Jackie always wanted me to make a little more. When I couldn't, he'd openly shout, scream and berate me until he got too tired to continue. He hated it when I whimpered, unless it was during some rough sex. He especially hated it when I zoned out, pretending his calloused paws belonged to a hard-working vixen.

One horrible night though, a john couldn't get hard for me. The middle-aged lion had to have been a closeted homosexual (like me) who wanted to prove to himself he didn't like men. No matter how much I faked interest or tried to initiate a good night, he got angry and trashed my apartment. When I complained to Jackie, going so far as to blame him for the lack of 'protection', the wolf brutally pistol-whipped me until two of my teeth fell out.

"Clean yourself up, you stupid-lipped bitch!" he ordered, tossing a towel from the remains of my home as I lay trembling on the bloodied carpeting, "By the way, your weekly quote's now doubled. Ugh, don't gimme that fuckin' pathetic look, Maddy! A cunt's a cunt, so ya shouldn't have trouble doing it!"

By the sixth night, I could not even come close to the new quota. I barely got any sleep throughout the rest of the evening, knowing that if Smooth Jackie didn't kill me, then he and his goons would beat me and rape me until I begged them for death. So, knowing the timber wolf would arrive an hour earlier than planned by 9:00 that morning, I decided that then was the absolute time to leave. The only thing I carried with me was a small purse stuffed to the brim with all the cash I managed to make the previous week.

I remembered feeling a sense of glee and freedom while sneakily running out onto the packed, graffitied streets. Manhattan City did not just happen to be big, but gargantuan, each neighborhood borough densely populated enough to be independent of each other while relying on the other. It existed as a concrete forest of sterile office buildings, overcrowded apartments, high-rises on the southern tip of the island, with a massive, oasis-like park in the center. Maybe if I could just hide out in the park before purchasing a subway ticket into--

"Maddy! Get back here, ya bitch!"

Terror struck me like lightning, and the instinct for survival forced me to run. I dared not to even glance back, knowing that Smooth Jackie's furious expression would leave me frozen in place. I could hear his shouts, his growls as it seemed like the timber wolf were inches from snatching me by the tail. Was he half a block away? Several feet away? All I knew was that my minutes were numbered unless I found sanctuary somewhere.

Finally, I found my haven through the sound of ringing bells. A cathedral! St. Francis Cathedral, a massive stone church down the street! It was Sunday and mass had just finished for the day!

Within seconds, I made the leap of faith. Brushing past honking cars and impatient pedestrians unaware of my situation, I ran as fast as my nimble feet could kick at the ground until I burst through St. Francis's front doors. After making my way past some furs through a short corridor into the main nave, packed with only a dozen or so of the remaining congregation, I awkwardly tried to make sense of my surroundings. As well as stand in awe of the massive, beautifully Gothic interior.

"I'm afraid you have missed today's gathering of Mass, miss."

"Huh?" I turned to see a feline clergyman dressed in Catholic robes nod to me.

"You're new here, aren't you?" he asked.

"Y-Yes," I nodded, still clutching onto my bag. "I am..."

My experiences with church ranged between long Protestant sermons as well as unairconditioned daydreams. At least, as a farmgirl from the rural Midwest. Until that moment, the stereotypes of Catholics as strict, unsmiling, and unwelcoming had been ingrained in me.

"I'm sorry to sound intrusive, miss, but you're trembling..." the clergyman, an orange-and-black-furred Bengal tiger around my age, commented with concern. "What troubles you?"

"There you are dearie!" Smooth Jackie's venomous chuckles behind me made my fur stand on end. I tried to walk away when his cold paw gripped one of my wrists. "C'mon now, I thought I lost ya. Let's get you back. Where. You. Belong!"

"Let go, let me go!" I tried pulling away. "I'm not going back!"

He refused to let go. "Like I ever needed your permission for anything."

"Excuse me, but the lady said she did not want to go," the tiger clergyman spoke up before standing between us. "I suggest you leave, sir."

"Stay out of this, monk!" Jackie snarled without letting me go. "I want my money and my goddamned bitch back!"

A few muzzles looked our way. I worried what the wolf would do, even in a populated space.

"You dare speak the Lord's name in vain within these walls?" the nameless tiger glared at the pimp, not knowing he was a pimp. Or maybe he did?

"You're fucking damn right I am!" he snarled before pulling up his shirt to pull out his handgun. The remaining voices around us gasped in fright. "Maddy, stop struggling or I'm gonna fuck you up to Hell and back!"

"Stop."

All three of us froze at the deep, commanding voice that traveled down the nave. It belonged to an older, white-furred tiger in priestly robes. His icy, Arctic eyes were anything but welcoming...to my former pimp.

"You dare bring a weapon inside of these sacred walls?" he growled.

"F-Father Levi?"

Out of all the things I expected to take place, what happened next never left my memory. In a flash, Smooth Jackie's furious glare melted away into horror. The same kind of horror I felt just moments ago. The same kind of horror the average fur felt when they suddenly faced the eyes of their greatest fear. That same fear laced Jackie's paled muzzle as it stared directly at the white-furred tiger, standing in front of me, protecting me.

"I-I didn...I didn't know...I didn't know this was your...Jesus, I'm sorry!"

"In the name of our Lord, leave now. Never return to this city, Jack Joseph Willison."

After fearfully dropping his handgun on the floor, he fled the cathedral. I never saw 'Jack Joseph Willison' again, though I did hear rumors about the wolf returning to the Midwest. Or disappearing completely from the face of the Earth. I never figured it out. What I did figure out was that God wanted me to find sanctuary in St. Francis. He wanted me to struggle before I found my calling to Father Levi Zacharias, the white-furred Siberian tiger who saved me from Jackie and an unfulfilling life of debauchery fueled by self-hatred.

When asked if I would feel welcomed to become a sister of St. Francis' Covent neighboring by, how could I refuse? Not only did I feel obliged to thank Father Levi, but it seemed as if His voice called to me.

As the years rolled on and I became accustomed to the simple life in a convent, I befriended many of the nuns. They did not shame me for my past nor treat me as any lesser, but in time I did learn why my former pimp had fled the cathedral: Father Levi was greatly feared and respected in Manhattan City's criminal underworld--and in time, the rest of the country. He specialized in an extensive information brokering network to the right furs who could pay for the right information. So long as what they requested did not break a few significant rules. No weapons in his church, or churches, the clients mustn't be disrespectful regarding religion within the walls, the 'payment' would always be in the form of laundered tithes, and Father Levi would not divulge information if it interfered with his sacramental seal of confession. Whatever other clients asked, he would not divulge.

The criminals aware of such an open secret jokingly called him, "The Mister Rogers of the Criminal World."

Although the only furs who knew his secret origins were his devoted wife, a wonderfully understanding tigress I had the pleasure to repeatedly speak with, and his eldest son, Abraham (the same clergyman whom I first encountered), what could not be debated was the Siberian tiger's devotion to the Will of God. A large portion of the tithes made from the underground network would be donated to various charities. While I always sensed this lingering, unfound rage quelled beneath the older feline's exterior, he never spoke an unkind word, was incredibly polite to all furs who attended Sunday Mass, held an unnatural sympathy to me after I explained my life story to such a man, yet held this confident smile that let me know I was meant to find him and start anew within St. Francis' holy walls.

Years passed, and I never regretted the decision.

---

Like what you read? Want to contribute more to what I write or just want to give your thoughts? Then leave a comment for me down below. You can even become a patron for me on my Patreon, where you can read or view content weeks before they're made public! #supportmeonPatreon