FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

As an inn located far from the nearest city, Shorty's got some unusual visitors. Humans were commonplace, and the other two-legged people such as elves who might ride with a caravan or follow the trade trails. But they also got the occasional creature that in other circumstances would be considered a monster.

Tonight's monster was an armored wolverine the size of a bear.

Both waitresses were busy when the beast pushed the swinging door open with its muzzle and padded in. Long, sharp white claws clicked on the wooden floor and the creature's segmented armor creaked as it walked. A helmet had been shaped to fit its skull and muzzle, a single large segment covered its shoulders, and greaves protected its forelegs. Other than that its armor consisted of many curved segments that covered its neck, body and even tail. These provided good protection to its topside while allowing its weaselly body to twist and bend as needed.

It might be a dire wolverine, in which case it was either a trained guard animal or much less likely an Awakened creature able to reason or talk. Or it might be a feral gul. The Maker had created three sapient species, possibly more. His volpa foxfolk were always humanoid but his praka raccoonfolk and gul wolverine-people were sometimes "semi-feral", able to operate equally well on two or four legs, and occasionally fully feral. These could still talk and think, but were easily mistaken for mere beasts.

Feral gul in the service of the Maker tended to wear either blood-red enameled armor or segmented leather armor the color of their fur. This wolverine was in plain steel armor with brass trim around the eyeholes of its helm.

Feral gul could use their forepaws as hands, albeit clumsy ones, and the bartender saw that the buckles on the armor straps were large, made to be easily operated by huge paw-hands.

Some of the patrons turned and stared at the wolverine, but the ones recently arrived on the caravan did not. Between that and the buckles, the bartender (whose name really was Shorty) knew that their unusual guest was recently arrived with the caravan, was almost certainly a feral gul, and was probably either a caravan guard or a traveling adventurer.

What it was not was something to worry about, because the wolverine took two steps inside the door and sat animal-fashion, belly on the floor and head held up by its straight forelegs, waiting to be directed to a table. That sort of civilized behaviour is not often seen in monsters or bandits.

Shorty gestured the wolverine over next to the bar. In the corner by the fireplace there was a seatless booth used when the bar's rare feral visitors showed up, so sometimes as a stage for a traveling minstrel or jester. The wolverine padded into the booth, turned so it faced Shorty, and sat once more.

"Sorry for the wait," the dwarf said. "We're busy tonight. I can take your order if you want food, or serve you drink. There is only one room open, and it's small, but it's available."

"Thank you," growled the wolverine, which had spent its time looking around the inn's common room. It was not large, there being a fireplace, five booths and two tables. All were full. Of the dozen guests here tonight he was the only one with fur. Most were humans save for one family of gnomes who were standing on the bench seats in their booth so they could see over the table.

"I smell stew, that will be fine," it growled. "And an ale. In a bowl, please."

It is often impossible to tell a beast's gender without actually seeing its genitals, and Shorty wasn't about to lift a four hundred pound wolverine's tail to look. But not everyone had to look.

"Ah," said another growly voice, higher-pitched and more of a purr. "It's one of the Maker's people! And so handsome."

The wolverine turned its head to greet the speaker. Its armor was well made, the segments sliding across one another as it turned. Each was backed with a layer of leather and a quilted gambeson covered the creature's back beneath the metal, so it did not clatter when it moved.

"Priscilla," Shorty said helpfully. "This is our guest..."

"Uragh," growled the wolverine. It studied Priscilla, who standing up was roughly the same height it was sitting down. "I do not think I have seen your kind before."

Priscilla, she of the pink prehensile tail, gray-and-white fur, ink-dark eyes, naked purple ears and many sharp teeth, smiled and curtsied. "I am an opossum, O son of the Maker."

Priscilla did not need to look under the wolverine's tail. With her keen nose she could smell his maleness.

The wolverine tilted its head. "I did not know of possum-folk."

"We are few in this area," Priscilla purred, which was true but incomplete. There could easily be more if she went around biting people. That did not happen often, and when it did there was usually no problem, because with Priscilla an angry bite usually involved her impressive yawn and was followed by a burp. It is hard to catch lycanthropy from the were-possum that digests you.

"Ah, said the wolverine as Shorty set a large bowl of stew and another of ale was set before it. It fished a coin out of a pouch attached to the harness that supported its armor and passed it to Shorty. "I am hungry, but I would like to talk more when you are free."

He settled down to eat with his back to the wall, with the booth enclosing him so anyone who wanted to approach must face his claws and fangs. No one did, not until the fangs were put away and he sat back licking his chops.

Then someone approached, but it was not Priscilla. It was a buxom little raccoon lass, only a few inches taller than the opossum. She was not as broad in the beam as her friend, but she was far more dangerous, and the wolverine knew it.

"I saw you looking," murmured Ria. She made a show of wiping a few spilled drops from the floor by the stew bowl.

"You are Ria," growled the gul in an equally low voice.

"Yes, son of the Maker," the raccoon said. In a louder voice, "More ale, sir?"

"Please," rumbled the wolverine, and when he put his paw out to push the stew bowl over to her it brushed against her much smaller hand.

It was well done. The wax-sealed scroll tube that changed hands was no bigger than a man's finger and Ria palmed it with a skill borne of much practice.

With the transfer complete and the second bowl of air drunk, the armored wolverine lay down with his muzzle on his forepaws and enjoyed the heat of the fire a few feet away. Perhaps he dozed, or at least he closed his eyes, and for an hour or more people came and went from the common room while he lay there. Finally he started awake as footsteps approached.

"I apologize," he said with a sharp-fanged yawn. "Priscilla. I wanted to talk, but I was tired from the road. The caravan-master asked that I act as outer watch and I ran many miles today on patrol."

"I am sorry as well, Uragh," purred Priscilla. "The bar is closing, and the room that was open earlier has a tenant now."

"Ah," rumbled the gul. "May I sleep here, then? My travelling-companions were polite enough, but I slept under a wagon. I do not think they would like my fangs next to their beds in the caravansary. And the horses would not welcome me in the stable. It would be nice to be out of the weather for a change."

"No need for you to sleep under the stars," the plump little opossum said. She looked casually across the inn's common room, all but empty at this late hour. Ria winked back at her without interrupting her sweeping.

"I would hate for a guest to feel unwelcome," Priscilla purred. "My room is small, but I think there is room for the two of us."

The wolverine blinked as he looked Priscilla up and down. Though she was quite animalistic he was a full feral, a sharp clawed, fanged one four or five times her size at that.

"I don't know," he rumbled. "You are very small. I am not sure there would be room in your sleeping-place for us both."

"I have had large patrons in my room before," Priscilla purred back at him. "Tired and lonely from the road. I always find a way to make them comfortable in my chamber, however tight the fit."

"There is normally a charge for an inn room," the wolverine growled now that he'd confirmed they weren't talking about sleeping. Inn waitresses often supplemented their income via the generosity of lonely travelers.

"I am sure we can reach a agreement on the fee," Priscilla purred. The wolverine nodded and followed at her heel when she headed for the stairs.

He shot a look across the room at Ria, who nodded and smiled at the mismatched couple. The raccoon and Shorty the barman were just closing up. The diminishing clatter of dishes from the kitchen showed the cook was as well. All the other guests had either gone across the road to the caravansary or had rented rooms upstairs.

Priscilla led him to a nook under the stairs that had doors on all three sides. She opened the one on the right and led him into a room not much deeper than he was long. It was a privy at some point and still had the bench seat and covered hole at the end, but a narrow bed had been added on one side and a dresser on the other. Hooks on the walls supported various opossum-sized items of clothing.

It was a more than adequately large space for a four foot tall opossum girl but if the wolverine turned back toward the door he would hit the walls with both his ends. If he stood up his armored head would bang into the underside of the stairs. The furniture only made the space tighter. He occupied most of the open space and he certainly wouldn't fit on the bed.

Uragh turned where he stood, bending double with the flexibility of a smaller weasel and only bumping the bed with his flank. He stepped over Priscilla with one forepaw so he was now facing the door rather than the privy. "If I lie down I will fit -"

"Not just yet," Priscilla purred. When he turned she slipped beneath his lifted paw and into the space next to the dresser. That put her right next to his haunch. She reached beneath his furry belly and grabbed his sheath.

A wolverine's sheath is sunk into the fur, not hanging outside like a dog's, and had to be felt for in the shaggy belly. She found the long ridge that led forward from his balls and gripped, sliding the sheath forward and back against the inner shaft. At once he arched, thrusting against her hand, and his sheath stiffened beneath her fingers.

"How long on the road," Priscilla purred, for the feral's formidable shaft went hard in her hand almost instantly. She knelt next to his launch and used her other hand as well. His sheath was far too long for one little opossum hand no matter how firmly she gripped. Even two was not enough, but it was better than one.

"Two weeks," he growled, thrusting against her hands. "My travelling companions were friendly enough, but not that friendly. I could not be too forward lest I frighten them and none of the lady travellers volunteered to join me under the wagon. Sometimes a lady will ask to ride on my back if she is interested, but not this time."

"First she rides you, then you ride her," Priscilla purred.

"Mostly it's just what you are doing now," the feral panted. "I lick, she rubs. Sometimes they suck," he said hopefully.

"Goodness," Priscilla purred. The wolverine's sheath had partly withdrawn and half the thick black shaft was exposed. Gul had a reputation for being well hung and this one was no exception. "You couldn't lick yourself when no one was looking?"

"I did halfway through, but that was a week ago," the wolverine growled. "Too many eyes watching since then." He craned his muzzle around as she went down on hands and knees next to his flank.

"Careful," he rumbled as she slipped herself beneath his belly. His half unsheathed shaft rubbed her back and one huge hindpaw stepped to the side as he instinctively positioned himself for mounting. "If you're not careful I may hurt you. I don't think even my tip -"

"Shhh," Priscilla said, and reached back with one hand. Her fingers did not reach all the way around the thick black shaft but she was able to direct it beneath her tail until the tip touched her groin.

The result was immediate. The moment his tip slid into the outer folds of her sex the wolverine rumbled and arched. No matter how polite he tried to be the lust overwhelmed him and the unsheathed part of his shaft disappeared with one thrust. The four huge paws on the plank floor around her tensed, the sharp white claws adding to the many scratches already there.

"I was going to lick you," the wolverine groaned. "At least get you wet before, though I could smell you were interested. I didn't think you'd be so, so forward."

"No need," purred Priscilla, who had a cock longer and thicker than a man's in her sex. And that was only half of it. He was thrusting, now that he knew his tip fit, but he was doing so with painstaking care. There was a shuddering reluctance in each arch of his back as he kept his urges under control. He was being very careful for fear of hurting her.

"Come on," Priscilla purred, and pushed her rump against his belly. Her prehensile tail wrapped around his haunch and rubbed his furry balls. "Show me how lonely it was on the road."

"I'll hurt you," the wolverine rumbled. "You're too small."

"You won't," purred Priscilla, and pushed herself back against his cock. Inches more of it disappeared and with a feral growl the wolverine arched and slammed into her, thrusting until his furry scrotum hit her sex.

He was careful for a reason. The long sheath along his belly had disgorged a thick black shaft more than a foot long and Priscilla's belly bulged as he forced it all in. Most human or humanoid women could only accommodate half his length and beneath the flesh of his hard-on was a bone that strengthened it. If he fucked a normal woman this hard he could seriously injure her.

Used to being gentle on the rare occasions he mounted humanoid women, it had taken some work to get him to fuck her properly. Even now he paused after that first great thrust to see if she screamed or shuddered.

"Go on," Priscilla purred, and that did it. One huge forepaw reached back and wrapped beneath her belly, holding her in place as the wolverine started humping. That was just what she wanted and she grabbed his other forepaw with both hands and held on as a horny, lonely feral used to treating humanoid women like delicate crystal sculptures did no such thing with her. He thrust until his furry scrotum was wet with her juices, going balls deep each time.

Priscilla liked ferals and was ready before his tip poked beneath her tail and it was just as well. He was atop her for a full five minutes, growling as he thrust, until with a snarl he slammed into her and came.

Growling, his cock pulsing as he spent his seed, Uragh clamped his fangs into the hem of her blouse and held on. If it weren't for the blouse, which she'd pulled up over her butt to fuck him but not taken off, he'd have scruffed her. Get a feral going and he'll treat you like a feral. It was a good way to get a hell of a hicky if you had delicate skin. It was also a good way to get hurt if you did, or if the feral was too horny to be careful.

He'd been careful until she convinced him otherwise and he was careful now. Panting, Uragh let go of her blouse and craned his neck so he could see beneath her. Even from this angle he could see the bulge his cock made in her belly. By all rights his tip should be in her lungs.

"That should not have worked," Uragh growled. "But I am glad it did."

Still holding her against his belly with one forepaw he rolled over onto his side and then his back. He was careful to hold himself up with his haunch and foreleg so he didn't crush her leg as he turned over. There was just room between the privy and door for him to stretch out and if he relaxed his legs would splay out and hit the bed and wall to each side.

Armor clanked against the floor as he finished the turn and Priscilla found herself on his furry lap, still impaled. He'd finished quickly by gul standards thanks to being pent up but that bone in his penis meant he could keep going for an hour if he liked. It was shrinking inside her, but if she moved atop him he'd quickly get horny again. He could easily bounce her with his forepaws to get that started, but for now he wanted to talk.

"All right," he rumbled. She could feel his voice vibrate through his belly and up through the cock still wedged in her. "What are you?"

"Were-opossum," Priscilla purred. "My mother is a druid with a dire opossum companion, who is also her lover. She never turned into an opossum do it, so it should have been safe, but someone, some god or priest, did not like the nature of their friendship and cursed her to have a were-opossum child."

"Ah," rumbled Uragh. "I've heard that Weres can be flexible." He looked pointedly at the bulge in her belly that should all rights represent death by wolverine cock.

"If your penis were made of silver I'd have a problem," Priscilla chuckled. "An experienced Were can do things besides just change between animal and human. I stay in this shape all the time save when I go places where "monsters" are not allowed. I am very experienced."

"There are places where I am not allowed. I understand," growled the gul. "So by a variation of shape changing you let me fit in you without hurting you."

"You did not hurt me at all," Priscilla said, because whether or not he noticed her gripping his forepaw as she climaxed around his cock it had happened. Priscilla liked her men big and vigorous and he was both.

"That would explain the noises you made," said Uragh, who had noticed. "Maybe we can both make our noises again, soon."

"In a little while," Priscilla purred. "How do you know Ria?"

"I don't," rumbled the gul. "I was recently in the Maker's lands and my lord Maker, having learned my travel plans, asked me to drop off something when I stopped here. I do not know what the thing was. It is not my business to know."

"So you don't work for him?"

"I am an adventurer, a wanderer," rumbled the gul. "But he made my people. If he asks me to deliver something, I deliver it."

"He made Ria too. She says he used to call her his greatest mistake."

"She is very dangerous," rumbled Uragh. "She could have eaten everyone in the inn tonight, including me, in one meal. I am no match for her, should she just get a grip on me. But the Lord Maker has made peace with her. She stays here, travels little, and satisfies her appetites on bandits and monsters. I suspect the Maker even corresponds with her, but that is none of my business."

"You know a lot about someone you don't know."

"Rumors," rumbled the gul. "And a little from the Maker. Who instructed me that I was under no circumstances to bed her. I should probably not even have bedded you."

"Don't worry," purred Priscilla. "I'm not nearly as dangerous as she is. You are probably too big for me to eat, and I wouldn't even try unless you were tied up. Weres are tough but you are very strong and have sharp claws. It might take you a while but you could tear me apart, or maybe even swallow me."

"Not the latter," rumbled Uragh. "When you do enough for the Maker, or become well known enough, he grants you a gift. I am not there yet. Maybe soon. Some ask for land or other things. I am a wanderer. I might choose the 'gulper' trick."

"Do ferals ever ask to be changed to be two-legged like most gul?"

"I am what I am," rumbled the gul. "I am content on four legs." He shrugged in a feral fashion. "I haven't heard of it happening, but maybe. Outside of the Maker's lands, it is sometimes a drawback."

"You didn't say anything when I said you were 'probably' too big for me to eat."

"I know a few Weres," Uragh rumbled. "Some are experienced. Some can swallow whole people, not by a gift of the Maker but with the same sort of flexibility you have. There is a were-bear in Greyston who can eat people with her asshole." He looked down his chest at Priscilla. "Your lips go very far back along your cheeks, you are very flexible, and you are very plump for someone who spends every day on her feet carrying plates."

Priscilla smiled. "Bandits and thieves, mostly. Ria and I alternate who gets to eat them. The caravansary master knows what we do but keeps his own council, as do the few others who know. Less bandits is good for everyone, except the bandits."

"I have to eat my bandits in chunks," Uragh rumbled. "For now."

With their mutual curiously satisfied Priscilla began to rock back and forth on his cock. Sure enough it once again swelled inside her, and at a gesture from Uragh she dismounted and turned end for end on his chest. She finally removed her smock, hung it on a hook and opened her toothy maw to swallow the wolverine's cock. He lowered his muzzle and returned the favor with his tongue. Whether he had learned his tricks from sating his own urges on the road or from servicing ladies who asked to ride him, he knew his way around a woman's pussy and asshole. Priscilla, for her part, knew what to do with a cock.

When he had licked her to her satisfaction and she had gulped down a great wad of wolverine cum he curled up by the door with her in the middle. His armor was on the outside and there was just warm shaggy fur, huge paws wrapped around her and a muzzle on her shoulder. They slept there, the door blocked shut by his bulk, and in the morning the sound of roosters crowing and footsteps in the bar woke them together.

Each used the privy at the end, her with her feet dangling from the human-sized bench and him backing against it and sitting as best he could. She considered the time, then looked over her shoulder at him as she went down on her hands and knees with her rump facing him and her tail held out of the way.

Without a word the big feral stepped up over her, accepted the guidance of her hand until his tip was up beneath her tail. This time he was not gentle and she clung to his forelegs, squeaking and panting as he stretched out her asshole. With his pent-up lust worked off the night before he took his time. At one point footsteps approached the door and Priscilla opened her mouth to say "I'll be out in a minute!" She would try to keep the moan out of her voice.

There proved to be no need. Whoever it was must have heard the rhythmic growling from the other side of the door because they left without knocking. Uragh must realize she had duties, though, because he increased the pace of his humping until he snarled, bit down hard on a mouthful of her scruff, and came.

Uragh pulled his cock out of the third of her holes, licked her clean and then checked the tightness of his armor straps while she got dressed. The buckles on his armor were so designed he could operate them with his claws. Priscilla looked him over, she looked him over, and each nodded as she opened the door.

Priscilla left the door open and bustled out to greet the morning customers. She, Ria, Shorty and Sharon, the morning waitress - a halfling, naturally, given the theme of the inn - tended to the patrons. Priscilla kept an ear cocked for the clink of armor but Uragh was eerily silent for such a big creature and it was the click of claws that alerted her. She turned and found him by the swinging door. One customer did a double take, not sure how the armored beast had got in without them noticing, but that was good enough. Not that it was anyone's business, but he'd managed to creep out of her room without any of the customers realizing the big feral had spent the night exploring the little opossum waitress's various orifices.

Uragh padded over to the open booth, lapped up a bowl of water and had oatmeal with raisins for breakfast, showing no sign of complaint despite the great sharp teeth that showed when he ate. He nodded politely to Shorty, put a coin on the bar and padded out, presumably to rejoin the caravan guards as the wagons formed up.

It wasn't until Priscilla went back to her room later that she found a gold Wheel on her bed. The heavy coin filled her palm and represented far more than she would have asked had she even remembered to charge him for his lodgings and sex.

When she turned, Ria was at the door, noting without words the new scratches on the floor and how the wolverine's bulk had pushed the dressed further down the wall. That, and the absolute stink of sex that filled the place. Anyone with a decent nose could smell either Priscilla or Uragh and know what they did last night, but luckily most people who came to the bar were nose-blind.

"He seems nice," the raccoon purred. She was a few inches taller than Priscilla, just as buxom if not as plump, and much, much more dangerous. Priscilla was just a Were. What Ria was she did not know, except that she'd been an experiment of the Maker. She did know that Ria was good to have as a friend and very bad to have as an enemy.

"He is," Priscilla said. "I hope he stops by again." She pointed a finger at her friend.

"And you had better not eat him!"