FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A muggy staleness hung in the sunset air. In downtown Zootopia, the waning orange sunlight glowed on a forest of skyscrapers. The dying light obscured their growing cracks.

This was a forest with no canopy. Instead, the residents of Zootopia found shade in the space between buildings. These were slim alleyways paved with hard asphalt. In winter, the ground underfoot froze; in summer, it scorched.

An orange tabby scurried into one such alleyway. Darkness ensconced the alley, yet the cat's brilliant fur illuminated him. He was clad in an open white shirt and patched khaki pants. His arms and legs were lean, but a potbelly hung over his pants and jut out from his shirt. He leaned towards the opening of the alleyway. "Pssst!"

A chubby little rat clambered into the alley. She wore a tattered dress that exposed much of her full breasts and her chunky, growling gut. She stood next to the cat at half of his height. She said, with a nasally, scratchy voice, "Alright, where's my half?"

The cat nodded. He responded with a silken tone. "Let me go grab it." He turned away from the rat. Suddenly, his forepaw swept down and nabbed the rat by the scruff of her neck. He looked back to her with a grin full of sharp teeth.

The rat swayed in his grip, jerking her limbs in a struggle to escape. It was no use. "What's the big idea?!" As she flailed, her fleshy body wobbled.

The cat licked his lips. "Well, the bad news is, I ate your half. The good news is, you're about to find it." He stretched his jaw wide and tossed the rat right in.

She screamed on the way down.

The cat gulped her down. He worked the pudgy lump down his throat and into his gut. His belly bowed out, bloating like a taut balloon. He patted his stomach and let out a satisfied burp. "Ahhh."

A deep voice called out from nowhere. "That wasn't nice."

The cat froze and cowered, fur standing on end. "Wh-who's there?!"

A buff dobermann stepped out from the back of the alleyway. Her black fur and leather jacket seemingly dripped out of the impregnable darkness at the alley's depths. She walked forward on legs of bulky muscle, wearing torn jeans. She swung thick, powerful arms. Her fat belly bulged wide with imposing adipose. Her round breasts jiggled in her open jacket.

The cat turned to run.

The dobermann's impossibly long arm grabbed his neck. She lifted him off the ground like he was a doll.

His legs kicked. He clawed at her arm and tore open her sleeve.

She looked to her sleeve with a sigh. "I just got this, too." Her maw slacked open, and she jammed the cat's head into her mouth.

He clawed at her to no avail.

The dobermann stretched her other forepaw between the cat's legs and under his butt. She pumped her bicep and pushed up, cramming the cat into her mouth. His fat belly jammed against her lips, so she pounded his butt with her fist to force it inside her mouth. She punched him down her esophagus and into her gut. His hindpaws passed between her lips.

Her belly jerked side to side of its own accord. Bumps protruded out from her stomach as if something fought to get out. She stroked her middle with pride. "Love a good URP!--squirmer."

* * * * *

A lone airplane approached the skies over Zootopia. It was a sleek craft of shining white. In the clear evening weather, it flew straight and confident.

The belly of the plane was a conference room. Normally used for preparatory meetings, it was now filled with nervous officials. The room was carpeted with a stately green, and a variety of animals sat around an oblong oakwood desk. At its head sat a rotund bovine with white-and-black hide.

The cow was Madame President. Her corpulent face gave her pillowy cheeks, and she had a double chin that gathered in stacks. Her pink snout bore two big nostrils that huffed with worry.

Her enormous breasts, barely contained by her maroon blouse, were each larger than her head. Her top had a modest neckline, but her breasts stretched it with pounds of arced, rolling flesh. Her bosom was too large for her bra, and it gushed out over its top, visibly pressing into her shirt. Similarly, her stomach sprawled far over her lap, smothering it under a cushy, round slab of girth. Her shirt outlined her spare tire, and her black blazer barely fit on her flabby arms.

Her hips squashed too wide for her chair, and their chunky flab bulged under the arms of the chair. Her thick thighs overran the seat and puffed out in pursed folds below the hem of her knee-length skirt. Frumpy calves led down to chunky feet in tight, maroon heels. Fat, black splotches dotted her white hide.

At the front of the conference room was a shut door. A strapping crocodile in a tuxedo fiddled with a touchpad beside the door. Black glasses hid his expression, but his shoulders jittered.

The touchpad beeped and blurped under his tapping claws.

The crocodile turned back. "Madame President, the lock cannot be hacked. The door can't be penetrated or removed. We have no entry to the cockpit. They've taken control of the plane. Under the circumstances--"

The president stood, but the chair came up with her. She shoved down on the arms of the chair, pushing them over her broad, corpulent haunches until the chair finally departed her backside. "Wait." She waddled to the door. With each step, her pounding footfalls bounced her blubber. Her rotund rump cheeks juggled in her skirt. She shouted at the door with commanding bass, "What is it that you want?"

A stern voice responded with equal authority. "An end to tyranny. It begins with your removal from this planet."

The cow turned away from the door. Her plump lips quivered. She marched to the back of the plane, swaying her large hips. She opened a door along the back wall, revealing a giant, white egg. On it was emblazoned, "SAFETY POD." She gripped a handle on the egg and pulled, opening its door.

Inside was a seat for just one person. She turned around and lowered her butt into it. Her colossal cheeks jammed into the seat, and her hips plugged tight. She was cramped. The walls of the pod pushed her adipose inward; her bulbous biceps crammed into her huge breasts, popping the top few buttons of her blouse and pushing them up against her chin.

Seated, she looked out to the table of officials. "You have all served this country with valor. History will remember you fondly." She grabbed the pod's door from inside and pulled it shut.

* * * * *

Off-white tile and sweaty walls lined the corridors of Central Booking. Yellowed lights shone through the short hallway.

Judy "Carrots" Hopps trudged down the hall. Her long bunny's feet padded along the tile. Baggy camo pants hid her lean calves and gripped her curvy hips. A fur-tight, black tank top clung to her flat abs and slight chest. Her lean-muscled arms slacked inward, where her forepaws locked into a pair of pawcuffs.

A greyhound in black uniform led her along by the arm.

Hopps' mouth frowned blankly, and her good eye stared ahead. An eyepatch covered her other eye. Her long ears draped carelessly back.

The PA system echoed a calm voice. "Prisoners bound to Zootopia may opt for capital punishment. Speak to your booking officer for more details." The message rolled past Judy's ears like so much chatter.

The greyhound stopped by a slate blue door. He took its handle and opened it.

On the other side awaited a dim, wood-paneled den. A corpulent pig sat at a metal desk. A plaque on the desk read, "TANYA SWINTON, DIRECTOR OF SPECIAL FORCES." Her snout scrunched with a sly grin. "Carrots. I been waitin' fer you." Her deep voice carried a damp drawl.

"It's 'Hopps'." Judy shook her elbow, still in the dog's grip.

Swinton flicked her forehoof, wagging the flab on her forearm. "It's alright. Let 'er go. You can leave us."

The greyhound let go of Judy and pushed her into the office. Then, he left, shutting the door with a slam.

Swinton spilled over her leather chair. Her hindhooves bulged out of her flats. Her navy pants strained around her chubby calves, while her fat thighs swelled wider than the seat of the chair. Her hips squashed even wider, and her melon-sized ass cheeks pushed her forward in the chair. She leaned back over her butt, letting her gut flow over her lap and knees. Her lower gut spread easily in a vast cushion of fat. Her upper belly, on the other hand, pushed a taut dome into her white, grease-splotched blouse. Her pudgy breasts were smaller than her bloated upper gut, but the two plump orbs were enough to add more stress to her top. Lard swaddled her face.

On the desk, on top of a pile of papers, sat a plate with a thick sandwich.

Swinton waved to the chair by her desk. "Take a--(HIC!)--seat." Every word molded her chins under her mandible.

Judy looked aside.

Swinton leaned forward, creaking her chair under her wide rump. Her bunching breasts pushed against her shirt and shot off its top button. "Just gimme a, (huhff), few minutes a' yer time. Er do you have somewhere else ta be?"

Judy hopped into the chair. Her feet dangled a short distance above the floor, and she occupied a slender portion of the chair's seat.

Swinton picked up her sandwich, which was stuffed too far with pink meat and yellow sauerkraut. She leaned back and took a big, gushing bite of her overflowing reuben. She chewed it up slowly, wagging her chunky cheeks as her jaws mashed. She gulped that down and paused. Her stomach crooned and squelched. Then, she cocked her head and opened her plump lips. "BhuRAWWRP!" As she belched, all three of her chins wobbled, and her flabby cheeks jiggled. She patted her gut and blew a satisfied sigh. "Carrots, you know what they do with the convicts that get exercuted?"

Judy stared narrow-eyed at Swinton. Her voice was deep, husky, breathy. "It's 'Hopps'."

Swinton tore off another meaty bite, then gestured the sandwich upward. "Djeli mheat," she said through a mouthful of fatty meat. She swallowed. "Damn fine deli meat." She hiccuped, "HOYP!" bouncing her gut and jostling her tits.

Judy's expression remained. "You wanna tell me why you brought me in here?"

Swinton scoffed. "The President's plane wuz hijacked by terrorists. We have reason ta believe that she escaped and is nay-ow in Zootopia. We need to get 'er outta there. We need someone who can do it quietly."

Judy kicked the air. "Sounds like your problem."

Swinton slammed her chunky forepaw. "I'm makin' it yers. Get the President out, and I'll clear yer charges, past and present." She plunged the rest of her sandwich into her maw with a sloppy squish. Her cheeks billowed, and her jaws strained to mash the meaty meal. She clenched her eyelids, closed her lips, and grunted a loud gulp down her throat. She gasped for air. Her flabby cheeks blew out. She patted her shuddering belly as it creaked ominously. Between the buttons on Swinton's blouse, her belly showed bright red hide with angry veins.

Judy remained bored. Even if Swinton split right down the middle, it wouldn't mean anything to her. Not that Swinton would combust any time soon--Judy had seen a man eat himself to bursting before, and this wasn't it. Things would have to get a lot uglier than a little sweat and a couple of gurgles.

No, Swinton was just another run of the mill glutton, perfectly ladylike in comparison to a million other assholes that Judy had dealt with. Only difference was, they gave this one a fancy desk.

Judy shrugged. "Sure."

Swinton's belly churned and burbled. "So, you'll--(hrrk)--take the deal?" Her wet, greasy lips hung open as she wheezed. Her breaths swelled her gut in and out against her shirt.

"I'm going there either way, aren't I?"

* * * * *

A jet black van pulled up to a giant concrete wall. An enormous metal door the height of a giraffe sealed it. Armored guards stood on either side of the door, armed with rifles. Snipers stationed all along the top of the wall, and they watched over the other side, into Zootopia. Their black uniforms blended into the starless night sky.

Inside the van, Swinton sat shotgun. She looked back, through the barred window, to Judy. "Alright--(BHWORP!)--this is the rendezvous point. Think you can remember that?"

"Yeah. I can manage. Can you get me outta these already?" Judy held up her wrists, jingling her cuffs.

Swinton unlatched her door handle, and her hammy haunches thrust the door open. She squirmed out of the van and waddled to the back door. She opened Judy's door.

Judy hopped out.

Swinton plucked a small key from her breast pocket, and she removed Judy's cuffs. Then, she reached down her rotund waist and plucked a black device from her thinning pants pocket. "Here's a tracking device. It's locked onto the President's phone."

Judy took it.

Next, Swinton pulled out two sheets of rubber from her breast pocket. They were clear, and each had a round, metallic protrusion. "Take these gas masks. They'll stretch ta fit your face or the President's. Might need these if'n things go sideways."

Judy put those in her pants pocket.

Finally, Swinton got out a tin from her breast pocket. It rattled in her cleft forehoof. "These're digestive pills. You'll need 'em in there."

Judy wrinkled her nose. "For what?"

Swinton grabbed Judy's forepaw and forced the tin into it. "Yer prey. You won't make it far unless you become a predator. This will neutralize any live combatants you encounter."

With a squeaking creak, the metal door slid aside. It shifted slowly, grinding loudly as it went.

Judy turned to the door.

Swinton called after her. "And if you try deserting... I'll be havin' Carrots stew." She slapped her belly into ripples and licked her lips.