FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Survival of the fittest. That's the law of the land. The strong prosper while the weak are trampled. It's very straight forward and easy to comprehend. Though, in this world of superiors and tinnies, there is an opposite that was oddly true. Despite the great culling, the daily massacres, the blood baths, and collateral damage, the weaker somehow still survives.

Tinnies, in all regards, should be a species on the decline. They should be scarce, few and far between, but somehow they thrive. Thrive probably isn't the best word compared to what their lives used to be, but that's not what's important. Their usefulness to their superiors is how they managed to survive. They devolved into subservient drones, or true bread tinnies as their superior's coined them. Tinnies completely devote to the idea of being under their superiors. They still had hopes and desires, dreams and fears, but they were easily broken under the overwhelming desire to serve their superiors.

Back in the day, they may have been considered boot lickers, subs, or faggots. Now they were a prized commodity amongst superiors. Prized in the sense that they instinctively knew how to serve, their minds crushed by the simple smell of a superior's musk. Plenty of superiors kept them as pets, bread them for sale, dressed them up and showed them off. The practice had become so common that the sub gene in tinnies was spread far and wide, and only compounded after the great culling.

Even in threat of immediate death, they would do whatever their superiors told them to. Some of these tinnies were put into positions of "power" to delegate orders from superiors. These tinnies thoughts weren't how they could serve their people, but what would make their superiors happy. How can we squeeze more pleasure out of our pathetic lives? Even the process of breeding this gene into the populous eventually fell to the tinnies themselves. They became so self-aware that the ture breads would be selectively-dominant amongst their fellow tinnies to browbeat non-subs into servitude.

It's better to serve. It's better to let go of free thought and will.

Why is this important? Because there is a magic sweet spot for some superiors in regards to their tinny preferences. That fine line between subs and doms. Where they can't deny their superior's wishes, but are bogged down with a will trying to fight for survival. Fear, confusion, and servitude. A cocktail made from literal blood, sweat, and fears. That was the sweetest, boldest, most intoxicating drug for our superiors. To relive the days of the great culling night after night, all at their lesser's expense.

That's why they were drawn to Crass' Crusher Bar. They didn't know exactly why the warning signs that read "Tinnies Will Be Crushed" and "Your Safety Is Not Assured if under 10 Feet" didn't stop them. They only knew they were drawn to this place. The smell of copper and sweat a thick miasma that wafted from the superior's business called to them in a way that made their stomach churn and their heart's flutter. Like the allure of a haunted house, the promise of danger only lured them further in.

Crass was an expert at luring this perfect mix. Sure he needed to restock from time to time when business picked up, but for the most part, they were there without any more provocation than the promise that they would serve their superiors.

Crass himself was an imposing tiger. At thirteen feet tall and bulging with power, the man was a specimen to behold. Powerful arms that would make the Appellation Mountains weep with envy when flexed to their multi peaks. Pillow like pectorals pressed his vest out, a vest that committed an egregious crime by concealing the tiger's tight eight pack, but made up for it by framing his Adonis belt. His package was held up by a crimson speedo, the slumbering dragon of manhood was much like his pit bull husbands where it was just too large to find the right size poser.

Bright, rich orange pelt sliced apart by inky blacks. The lowlight shimmered off it like velvet and showed it's rich color. The feature that really set him apart was his fluffy white underbelly, not that a white underbelly was unique for his breed, but it was the fact it was permanently stained with a tinge of blood. His profession not letting the smell of coper ever leave him like a cologne made from death. It mixed with his powerful musk and filled the bar with that mind altering haze that those special tinnies fell prey to.

Like the Pied Piper, the most susceptible tinnies would follow him to work. The shaking of the ground as his massive stompers padded the earth would alert them to his presence, and any who so much as got a whiff of him immediately became a thrall to his siren call.

The inner thighs of the tiger were that same stained white, an indicator of what he did in the bedroom with his husband. Those thighs themselves massive slabs of tiger meat from constantly crushing skulls for drinks and...well...because it was fun.

The bar was classy, draped in red velvets and crimson. It looked like a speakeasy where men would gather, get some quality drinks, and smoke stogies.

"Babe!" Big Dick Rick, our blue construction pitty entered the bar. His bully gene making him thick and wide. Powerful footfalls shook the building as he sauntered in. Crass was oblivious to the shaking. It was just a fact of life. You didn't count how many breaths you took in a day, did you?

"Over here!" Crass responded finishing up cleaning some glasses. "I'm getting ready to open the bar...oh my." Crass stopped mid turn to look at his husband. The pitty was leaning against the archway to the backrooms. He was naked except for his work boots. Blood covered his chest and abs, a tapestry of cruelty and crimson. His massive dick stood in front of it all, the paintbrush of this masterpiece, throbbed and oozed pre that turned pink by the time it rolled down his shaft and dripped off his nuts.

Crass gave a rumbling purr. If you didn't know better, you'd thought a monster truck was being turned on. Nothing about crass was subtle, and he wasn't going to hold back on account of his man, especially when he jumped him with such a sexy look.

"I thought you were at work?" Crass' voice rumbled as he padded over to his lover. The pitty was shorter than his tiger husband, but because there was a step up into the back rooms, he looked down at his husband with a cocky grin.

"I was," Richard rumbled. "Some little shit got on my nerves when I was just about to leave. Had to show him a lesson. Got that easy nut out so you can really go to town."

Crass practically pounced his husband, his arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss. Crass's fur stood on end as his predator nature was triggered by the taste of blood on his husband's lips.

"It's not fair when you come in here like this," Crass growled into his husbands mouth, fangs meshing against canines. "I got to open soon."

"Then you better be quick about it," Richard growled his response back.

Crass gave a rumbling hiss and bit his husband's lip. Richard could feel the power in that jaw. Many a time that muzzle clamped down on his shoulder in their mating rituals, but the strength of those jaws was contained...for now.

"Fuck Rick!" Crass pulled himself away. "You can't come in here looking like that, rile me up, and expect me not to just destroy you."

"I owed you for being late. You like?"

"I'll fucking drain your nuts you cobble crushing canine!" Crass snarled. He snapped his fingers several times. Normally he would only have to do it once, but he was impatient. Instantly a tinny came out around the bar. It was a fox, nude except for a red silk bowtie around his neck.

"Y-yes boss-" he didn't get to say anymore as Crass's claws cleaved that tinny's head from his body. Crass bit down on the gushing neck of that tinny and tore out the soft innards from its chest. The tiger huffed, his eyes glazing over as his posers grew tight, the fabric sliding between his globe like cheeks and teasing his asshole.

Crass ignored the rest of the fox's body as it fell to the floor and gushed blood onto the various drains. It wasn't long after that the entire bar shook as Crass fell to his knees in front of his man. His powerful maw took that legendary rod from his husband and sucked into his viscera filled maw. The tiger showed expert control of his instincts to gnaw and gnash flesh as he lulled his powerful tongue around that member, the rough appendage tearing apart the fox's stolen innards and making a slick, warm, and delectably thick lube.

"Fuck Crass, you dirty tomcat." Richard moaned as spit, blood, and muddled organs dribbled down his balls. Crass' tail slapped the floor like the ropes from a cruise ship that was loosed from port. The cat was in a haze, but looked up into his husband's eyes as he pushed that dick down into his throat, never breaking eye contact as he fed himself a chunk of warm fox jelly by swallowing around his man's powerful shaft.

Crass purred deep and loud, the vibrations running through his husband's bitch breaker. Crass' paw came up to cup his husband's balls and rub the chunks of fox that dribbled out of his muzzle into his husband's nuts so he could feel the bits and pieces of the tinny they had shredded for his pleasure. Those nuts jumped and shot a thick wad of pre down Crass' throat.

"Fuck you two are so hot together." Someone said at the entrance to the bar.

"Stan! Welcome you big ol' SOB!" Richard greeted their shared friend. "The bar doesn't open for another half hour."

Crass stopped sucking and opened his maw, a wash of gore, pre and tiger spit ran down Richard's dick. Chunks of torn fox rolled down his member and nuts before splattering at his feet.

"Why do you always find the most inconvenient times to show up." Crass purred jokingly, wiping his maw with the back of his hand, but missed a chunk of fox flesh.

"Mmmm...Looks like I came just in time." Stan murred deeply, the large shep walked in, the lighting slowly revealing he was also drenched in blood, his body oiled from head to toe in dripping crimson.

"You certainly did." Richard smirked. "Catch another perp?"

"Nah, the guy didn't do it, but I caught the SOB all the same."

"Let me make you a drink big guy," Crass purred walking behind the counter and pulling down some bottles. "Superior Cops drink free here, and tinny cops are free drinks."

Despite the bulging muscles, Crass was quite nimble. His hands a fluid blur as he tossed and mixed drinks into a shaker. He then snapped his fingers and another tinny came out of the woodwork. A strong looking bull.

"Yeah boss?" The bull said with only the slightest shake to his voice. Crass simply smiled and gripped the bull by one of his horns. Crass flipped him backwards and forced him into the crook of his arm without breaking his back. The bull half screamed half moaned as his head was pinned between the tiger's bicep and forearm. Crass then took his free hand and placed the tumbler on the shelf like pec just below the bull. In the next second, he flexed. His powerful bicep crushing the bull's skull in practiced move to shatter the skull and get a healthy amount of brain matter and blood to plop into the tumbler.

"Fucking showoff." Richard chuckled recognizing the flipping motion Crass used to put the bull in the crook of his arm.

"You love it." Crass chuckled and bounced his peck to lift the tumbler and snatch it with a free hand and slammed the cap onto it. He shook the drink in one hand while preparing a glass with the other. The tumbler had been reinforced to handle the powerful shaking. That utensil could be thrown from a cliff and dent the ground without a scratch. Crass flicked the cap off and poured Stan's drink, a gray matter old fashioned. Not over ice and still slick and warm.

Stan chuckled and downed the drink, shivering as the flavor of bourbon soaked brain filled his muzzle.

"You really know how to treat an officer, don't you, Crass." Stan growled lustfully as he licked his chops, the slick drink staining his teeth crimson.

"Don't be hitting on my husband too hard now," Rick chuckled as he slapped Crass' ass. "He might get the wrong idea."

"Oh come off it now," Crass play punched his husband's shoulder. The force was playful, but would have shattered a tinnies bones. "We've all had fun at one time or another."

"Best days were during the culling," Stan put his glass back on the bar and motioned for Crass to make another. "Especially when I found you two in the pit."

"We fell in when corralling some tinnies," Richard chuckled. "Had no idea I'd find the love of my life while rolling in a mass grave."

"Really?" Crass purred, the sound like thunder as he took another tinny, this time crushing his skull in his fist in order to fill the tumbler. The screams of terror from that tinny were ignored "It's the only way I imagined it."

"Stop teasing us both," Richard chuckled and sat next to Stan at the bar. "No reliving those glory days."

"To hell we can't!" Stan barked excitedly. "We can do whatever we want to those little shits, and ain't one of them gunna complain. Any who do, would know they'd be next."

To emphasize his point, Stan snapped his fingers. An elephant tinny sauntered forward. He was a paragon of muscle and strength, easily seven feet tall and bulging with power, but half the size of the cop before him. He looked like a toddler next to the superior stud. Without waiting for it to say anything, Stan lifted him up by the arm, tore it backwards and shattering the bone inside. The tinny gave a screaming trumpet before Stan lifted him and slammed him onto the bar, face down with his broken arm pinned behind his back.

"What do you say?" Stan growled.

"P-please...I...I have a family."

Stan didn't like that answer and flexed his thumb to shatter the wrist of that hand.

"What do you say to your superiors, tinny filth?"

"Th-Thank you!" He gasped out.

"That's right, and where do you live?"

"Please...my family..." the tinny never finished as he twisted that arm and popped it off before bitting down on it.

"7thstreet!" he shouted.

"The block will be leveled tomorrow." Stan growled before clamping down on the tinny's neck, shattering the spinal cord and tearing it right out of his body. Stan gnawed and broke the vertebra like hard candies and swallowed them noisily while the corps beneath him lay there spewing blood.

"Stan, stop, you can't come rile up Crass like this just before the bar-" Richard never finished his thought as Crass jumped over the bar and tackled his husband. One of the table booths shattered as they slammed down onto it, splinters and blood spraying everywhere as the tinny cleaning it was crushed beneath Richards back. Slick warmth ran down Richard's shoulders and between his ass cheeks as his husband snarled, eyes wild.

"Too late," Crass rumbled. He mashed his lips against his husband, his bloodlust directly linked to his dick as his rager grinded against his husband's. Stan watched as the two lovers made out passionately in the growing pool of blood. He chuckled and took the tumbler from the bar and poured his drink himself. Crass couldn't finish it before the display got to him.

Stann bit down on the skull of the elephant, coring out the skull into a makeshift cup and poured the drink into it. He noisily drank it, the blood and gore dribbling down the corners of his lips.

Crass caught the display out of the corner of his eye and was thrown overboard. He arched his back and let out a tiger screech. The sound sending shockwaves through the establishment and causing glasses to shatter and mirrors crack. It was like a switch was flipped and tinnies came running, enthralled by their master's command. They were confused, scared, and panicked as they ran towards that bestial cry. They moved of their own accord without any prompting. They threw themselves at their superiors disregarding the danger they were putting themselves in. The tinnies got to worshiping, groping, messaging, and shivering in fear as they worked over mounds of powerful muscle. Titans of strength and power that could kill them in an instant.

And they did.

Crass was easily the most blood thirsty of all three. He was a reaper during the great culling, not because he was meant to be, but because he couldn't be controlled once he got whipped into frenzy. The tiger snarled and grabbed one of the tinnies that got to close to their necks with his jaws. The chest cavity cracking and popping as those powerful fangs sliced through flesh and bone. He gnashed them together before pressing his lips against his mate, their tongues snowballing the viscera like some demented cocktail of death.

They were just getting started.

Richard lost control quickly after and rolled his husband over. Richard was shorter, but had more mass to him and quickly pinned his snarling and screeching kitten. The motion causing them to land on three tinnies and pin them. Their screams and cries of mercy and fear filled the bar as one was crushed instantly while the other two writhed in agony beneath crass. The couple was brought back to the culling fields. Their bodies sending shockwaves through piles of corpses as they rutted to their hearts' content in a pit of half dead tinnies.

Stan was swept up in the moment too as tinnies came running in. Several had propped his feet up and were messaging them, their hands a bloodied by the mess beneath those stompers. Other's brought him drinks and others gave him back rubs. A duo were rubbing his shoulders, their bodies shivering in fear. At any moment, they could have their bodies torn apart on the officer's whim.

And he did.

Stan grabbed the two tinnies on his shoulders. One a leopard and the other a rabbit.

"Do either of you have a family?" Stan asked, a cocky grin on his muzzle.

"I...I do..." The leopard answered. Stan then crushed the body of the rabbit, the leopard thinking he had said the right thing, but he was wrong. Stan pressed that rabbits dying body against his dick, the blood slicking it up as that soft fur became matted from the life bleeding out of that rabbit. Stan leaned back against the bar, slammed his feet down to crush the worshipers at his soles, and got ready to watch the two go at it. The gore and blood seeping between his toes like a warm bath as he lined the leopard up with his dick and started pressing him down. The leopard started screaming, begging for his life and family, but it fell on deaf ears as Stan groaned, his dick shredding that asshole apart and slipping inside that tinny's chest cavity. The body of that leopard bulging as his guts were rearranged and formed into a flashlight for Stan's enjoyment.

The other two were frotting in a bloody heap. The tinies beneath them were being reduced to paste as they made out and snarled against each other, their bodies like a hydraulic press that was compressing at least four tinnies between the two of them. Their dicks were rubbing into the mangled corpses, blood dripping down their balls and thighs as they felt one another's pleasure pulse only a few layers of flesh from the other. The two were in a trance, snarling and growling at each other as their dicks sawed through flesh and bone, body parts grinding to jam and dribbling down their nuts.

The bar had become a den of death as the tinnies begged for release. They could have ran, but they were enthralled to their superior's desires, yet their baser instincts made them want to live.

None of them would make it home.

The couple had a fresh coat of blood, steaming and filling the air with its coppery miasma. Squelching, slick grinding, and snarling could be heard as they fucked through a squirrel together. Having been spit roasted horizontally, it was gargling it's last words as the couples hot dicks sheared through its spine. The strong lumps of bone, silky with tissue and flesh, bumped like a ribed fleshlight against the viens and glands of their dicks. The squirrel's spine yielded to their love making until they met dick to dick.

That was the trigger as the tiger and pit bull roared in pleasure. Cum shot like cannons out of the pile of gore between them. Body parts exploded and splattered the wall, shattering mirrors and pictures, splintering wood and drywall as the two rode the feeling of having effortlessly killed with their lovemaking.

The leopard on Stan's dick was oozing blood out of his mouth, his breathing controlled by the sliding of Stan's dick. Watching the studs was too much and Stan shot. The cum shot flooded the leopard's body before blasting his skull off and splattering it on the sealing. Stan's toes curled and raked the hardwood, the bloody mess between his toes. That welcome mat of death was still warm and inviting as he slid flesh and bone between his twitching toes in his orgasm.

The three didn't stop that night. The bar never really opened in it's typical fashion. Instead, it became a den of death and debauchery. The walls tearing, the foundation cracking, and the drains clogging with a mixture of lust and gore. The very streets shook with the constant romping as a new culling had begun. The bar would have to be torn down and change locations with how the population was devastated, but like all annoying things and busy work...

...that was the tinny's problem.