FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This story is pornographic in nature. You stand warned.

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Here's something little I came up with last night. I am very curious on how it shall fare, so if you have any comments, don't hesitate to drop me a few lines. If you enjoy the story, why not to fave, vote or watch? That way others will find out about these stories as well. Thank you for your interest.

Have a good read everyone!

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Tonight's customer was a relatively easy thing, for once, which was fine with me.

A bull, maybe forty, clean, smelled of aftershave and cigarettes when he left me into the hotel room. It wasn't a big room, just a queen-sized bed, the customary dresser, a small chair and a table on the corner. I saw a black suit on a coat hanger, put over the bathroom door, and there was a closed suitcase by the bed, the only possession the bull had in the room, it seemed, besides an opened bottle of whiskey on the small table.

We didn't really talk about anything, not much, except that the bull asked me for confirmation that the fare was as we had agreed online. I nodded a quick yes, and soon received the bills, which I quickly put in my pocket. Then all I could do was to stand there, looking at him, expectant, unmoving. It was his game, after all.

The bull sat down on the singular chair and poured himself a glass of whiskey and leaned back on the chair that seemed almost too small for his large frame. Judging by his eyes, he wasn't drunk yet, and the bottle only looked like he'd taken one drink before the one just poured. He took a sip and grimaced, briefly, hissing through his big front teeth.

"You want some?" he lifted the glass up, and I shook my head.

"Don't drink at work," I spoke quickly.

The bull put the glass down.

"Fair enough. Guess it's better that way."

"It is," I replied, hollowly.

The bull's hand moved away from his thigh and began to rub the front of his pants, highlighting a large bulge on the grey fabric. He wasn't really looking at me, but let his tired-looking eyes wander around the room, taking in the slightly worn décor with disinterest.

"I don't usually do this kind of stuff, but I'm only one night in town," the bull spoke suddenly, after a long stretch of silence.

I gave a quick nod, knowing better than to try and sound understanding. Sometimes clients wanted to talk, sometimes they talked about personal problems, past lovers, failed relationships, wives, boyfriends, business deals that caved in, about that nasty fur who tailgated them in the traffic lights.

Perhaps there is something comforting the faceless, nameless figure, such as I was, perhaps it is that whores belonged to the same category as bartenders, priests and those random furs in the bus you sat next to and had a surprisingly personal conversation with, knowing you will never meet again and affect each other's lives in any possible way.

Another thing I couldn't have known when I entered the business.

At least he wasn't asking why I was doing this.

Pretty often they did, and my answer was always the same.

"Let's just say that there's a market and I'm offering."

I'd always leave it at that, and usually it sufficed to shut them up. Maybe they didn't want the fantasy progress to any more personal level.

The bull continued rubbing on his crotch, making the bulge in his pants grow, slowly. I could already smell a little bit of musk in the air, besides the whiskey and the bull's natural scent, and myself. Clean, freshly showered canine.

Then the bull spoke.

"Why don't you come and help me out?"

That was my cue.

I walked over to the bull and knelt down between his legs, keeping my eyes level with the bull's groin. The scent of arousal was becoming stronger, now that I was close, and the bull was more aroused, and I could easily see the outline of his cock. The bull's hand had moved off to the side again.

"Just take it out."

I unbuckled his pants quietly, then taking care of the zipper, to reveal a pair of dull grey boxers, as grey as the pants, and filled with the bull's endowment. I took almost a clinical look at it, trying to judge, by the shape, how big he was. Maybe eight or nine inches, and he seemed to be fully hard, not too huge for a bull. The shaft tapered down smoothly towards the end, too.

I gave the bull a quick look, and he looked back, down to me, expressionless, not even particularly curious, just a blunt look, and I continued on my work, relieving him of his boxers. He shuffled a little bit on the chair to help me pull his boxers down over his ass and down to his ankles. I didn't make a move to try to remove them completely, since that didn't seem to be necessary to do what I was here for.

The bull's long prick stood out of his groin, firm and thick, pushing out in and angle rather than flopping against his belly. The flesh was dark pink, and his balls were covered in leathery skin and were about the size of big apples, speaking of near-legendary bovine virility.

There weren't bull calves made tonight, not now, as I gripped onto that shaft, and gave it a little squeeze.

The bull rumbled when my fingers closed around his dick, and I held him, carefully, to treat him to a gentle touch, even though I knew from experience that cocks could take surprising amount of punishing. Some liked it that way, but I didn't care, as long as the work was done and I got my fair share.

The bull scratched his belly with his paw, watching me while I kept my eyes on the pink prick and my paw on it, now moving slowly up and down.

"Play with the balls."

Another command. He didn't really sound very dominant, this bull, I decided, and I'd known some very dominant furs in my life, both back in the marines and in this job, so I had plenty of material to compare him with. He did sound a little nervous, so perhaps he had been saying the truth when he said he didn't do this kind of a thing often.

Sometimes I was surprised by how much better this had made me in reading other furs, their words, expressions, gestures, body talk. Things I'd never even tried to look at were so clear now, slowly analyzed by my mind that dully needed the odd distraction every now and then, even when I was working.

I cupped his leathery balls in my paw and rolled them around, slowly, letting the bull feel how I was feeling up their weight and shape. The skin was hot and smooth against my palm, and I tilted my figertips a little, to give them a squeeze.

The bull responded with a small moan, and pushed his hips forward, driving his shaft through my grip. His breaths were deeper now, sending whiskey smell over my nose. A little amount of pre had already appeared on his tip as well, slowly sliding across the pink shaft, nearing my knuckles.

The bull's paw landed on the top of my broad head, between my ears, and gave me a little push.

Many instincts in my head began to roar at the feeling, the dominant gesture not something my sensibilities appreciated, but I pushed them aside with steely determination, honed through my times on the job. I pushed back the insecurities caused by the feeling of that heavy paw on my head that was causing my ears to flatten.

I felt one of his fingertips over my scar, but he wasn't trying to touch it, it simply was there, reminding me that the scar existed, a small line over my skull, a minor blemish in the crew cut I still wore.

I was on normal clothes tonight, because the bull hadn't made a request for my army T-shirt, camo pants, dog tags or any of the other setup that was available from me. He wasn't into any of that stuff, which was fine with me. It wasn't always so easy to put on that surplus gear I got online, anyway, so it was a little, momentary respite for me.

The bull was urging me to action now, though, and I obliged, wordlessly, letting him guide my head down to his awaiting cock. The stiff prick was angled enough so that he didn't even need to hold it up for me, it simply stood there, waiting and pulsing with his rushing blood, just moments before my muzzle was lowered over it.

Salty musk filled my nose and my muzzle, and the taste of prick over my tongue permeated through my senses. He wasn't too thick, but still, that many inches almost made me gag around the cock pushed into my maw. I had to swallow and adjust myself a little, pulling my head back, taking down a mawful of spit that had gathered. My muzzle still felt dry, but soon became more slick, as my tongue moved over that length in my maw.

The musk must have done something since I was wet soon again, covering the whole cock in my muzzle with my saliva. The bull wasn't thrusting nor doing anything else, he just let it be where it was, stuffed into my muzzle, the object of his fantasies for this night.

The bull huffed, loudly, and I felt his cock, what of it was in my maw, twitch. There was still more, which I moved quick to cover with my paw, the other remaining on his balls. All of his sensitive skin was now held in my grip, whether it was a paw on balls or a muzzle over his cock, and the bull sounded happy with his choice for company for the night.

"Use your tongue on it," the bull groaned, almost harshly, making my ears flick.

I tried to keep the bull's musk from growing too strong by frequently breathing out through my nose, even while I was lapping my tongue across the underside of his cock, and across the tip. That had the effect of increasing the intensity of his musky pre on my tongue, but that was manageable, it wasn't too bad, just slick and felt a bit strange on my tongue, and tasted foreign, but hardly anything could surprise me anymore in the trade.

I kneaded the bull's balls in my palm while I worked over his dick, applying a little bit of suction to the shaft from my lips, closing them around the length of cock firmly to make the vacuum needed for the actual blow part of the job. My paw around the thicker base of the prick buried in my muzzle gripped as firmly as was comfortably, for I hoped that would hasten the bull's orgasm.

The heavy hand remained over the top of my head, unmoving, simply held there for his pleasure. I tried to do my best not to think about it and instead just concentrated on the job.

Five times left, four times right, repeat more slowly, push your head back a bit, push back until your lips touch your paw, repeat faster, suckle more, squeeze a little bit less.

I had quickly learned that keeping it interesting always made it end quicker than just doing it mechanically. Call it another trick of the trade, if you may.

The things you do for your living.

I was expecting the bull to start thrusting into my muzzle at any point after a few musky minutes passed, but nothing came. He simply sat there, one hand on my head, his cock inside my maw, throbbing and leaking, but he made no effort to try and take any more active role in the sex.

Guess that was what got him off in his mind...let the straight guy do all the work, now that he's been forced to do it. Sometimes I wondered what kind of sick fantasies coursed through the guys' minds when I was doing this and other things to them. Sometimes I just couldn't bother to even try to wonder.

I added a bit of a rotating motion to my paw, over his shaft, stretching the skin of his shaft from side to side, causing it to tighten momentarily before I released him again. The bull moaned, but still he didn't move, not even to buck his hips to drive himself more deeply into my muzzle.

The bull reached for his whiskey instead, and took a sip, right there, while I knelt down in front of him, my head slowly bobbing up and down on his cock, trying not to gag over all bovine prick that had been shoved down my maw.

At least he wasn't trying to go for deep throat, like some other longer guys sometimes did.

There's always something positive to everything, even to having to suck a weird-tasting cock for a living.

My ears flicked at the sound of the whiskey tumbler being put down. The bull belched after his sip and sat back still, letting me work on him without interruption. I know that he paid a hundred dollars for this, so I suppose it is his right to expect me to do everything for him, and the customer is always right in this business as well.

I continued playing with the bull's balls while I sucked on him, the fleshy parts of my cheeks hollowing a bit for all the suction I was applying onto that pink rod stashed between my lips. I was making all the movement and setting the pace, and even though I had been going at him for about ten minutes already, and he had oozed plenty of pre that I grudgingly swallowed, he wasn't still showing signs of actually getting off. Maybe he was one of those guys who could go on having sex for hours, with huge stamina...then, he only paid for one hour of Doberman muzzle on his lap, so perhaps he simply wanted all of his money's worth.

My knees began to feel a little bit stiff from my posture, bent down as I was, but I was determined to keep it up. I was in good shape still, I had worked on it, keeping myself in good condition, for my own sake. It was pretty much the only thing I could still hold control over in my life, and I was not about to let go of that yet. Maybe the bull could appreciate it, too, my broad, muscular shoulders, my arched back and the thickness of my outstretched legs. It didn't really matter for him, likely, but it mattered to me, the knowledge I could still hold myself in shape, after everything that happened.

The bull's fingertips stroked past my scar again while he adjusted his grip on my head.

Still no signal, no urging.

I alternated between hard sucking and light suckling now, pumping my head up and down some more to get more friction going over the slick prick inside my violated muzzle. I slobbered my tongue across the head I knew to be a sensitive place for most guys, I let my lips grip him tightly and stroke across the wet, strong-tasting shaft. I breathed audibly and made rough, rumbling, almost barking sounds around his cock, hoping that it would act as an additional turn on for the bull.

Growling around that cock also added a vibration to the multitude of sensations I was giving to the bull. The big male groaned and leaned his head back, as I saw when I glimpsed up to him, and his balls seemed to be drawing closer to his body, felt across my palm cupping them. I knew he must've been close.

I kept all my efforts, all though the moans and huffs coming from the wide-chested beast, gripping onto his prick when his hips finally shifted forward instinctively, and his balls jumped. Hot, pungent cum splashed against the back of my throat, and I had to fight back my gagging reflex again at the odd sensation, instead swallowing everything he was shooting into my muzzle. That must've felt good for him, because whenever my throat constricted from the effort of swallowing around the bull's prick, he'd groan and shoot another load into my maw.

The bull's tail smacked against the back of the chair, and he rumbled and cursed a quick "fuck" under his breath, before the pulsing of cum across my tongue waned and he was still again, panting heavily, but no longer adding to the mess inside my muzzle.

The bull's hand fell of my head, and I moved backwards immediately, letting that cock slip past my lips, wetly. A small trail of cum connected my maw to the angry red, glistening tip momentarily before the heavy organ finally cut free and stayed as it was, flopping slightly downwards while still remaining hard and solid. Some cum trickled past my lip and over my chin, staining the smooth furs there.

I tried not to cough at the odd, numb feeling in my muzzle and my throat, and my nose was filled with too much bull musk for comfort, but my work was done. I looked up to the bull but didn't see anything except his black-furred chin, for his head was thrown back and he was breathing hard and ragged. That big cock still stood out, proudly and manly, having expelled his load for the night.

I let go of the bull's balls and got up from my knees, stepping backwards a little to get further away from the sex stench.

"Can I use the bathroom?" I spoke in my low voice.

The bull barely gave me an eye before nodding, and as I walked past him, I saw that he was going for his whiskey again.

I entered the small, clean bathroom and closed the door behind me. The air here smelled of soap and chlorine from whatever they used to clean the place, but there was a strong incidence of cum there as well, coming off my stained face and muzzle.

There was a mirror there, over the sink, and I could look at myself, standing there, a tall, broad Dobie wearing a simple blue shirt and some pants, with a white streak of cum across his muzzle. My ears were flat, one a little bit more than the another, because my scar made the right one move slightly less than it used to. My haircut was good in hiding the scar itself, though, and I would've needed to feel for it to actually find it.

I pushed my paw into my pants pocket and took out a small plastic bottle I had filled with maw wash before leaving, and used the strong-tasting fluid to gargle my muzzle, quickly. I hacked and spat the blue fluid into the sink and then ran some water over it to get rid of the mess. I grabbed to a paw tissue and wiped my muzzle before tossing the cummy tissue into the trashcan under the sink.

I tried my best not to look at myself in the mirror again.

I stroked a paw across the top of my head, now thankfully free of the bull's paw, took a deep breath and reminded myself that the job had been done. That hundred dollars meant another month of internet access, or a few days' groceries, or a considerable portion of the rent.

I tapped a paw over my pocket holding the two fifty-dollar bills, took another deep breath, and slowly pulled the bathroom door open.

The bull sat where I had left him, still with his cock out, having lost none of its turgid state while I as gone freshening myself up. The bull gave me a look as I emerged. He was holding the whiskey glass in his hand.

"Sure I can't interest you in some of this?" he repeated his offer.

I shook my head again.

"I don't drink at work."

The bull shrugged.

"I didn't used to either," he rolled the glass in his paw.

"Can I leave now?"

I knew that he hadn't used more than half of the hour he had bought, but he seemed disinterested in continuing our acquaintance, beyond the offer for the drink. Perhaps that was some sort of a cue I didn't readily recognize, or maybe he simply thought that he'd be polite for the whore. Surely I got beaten up, slapped and raped on a regular basis, so why not be nice for the whore?

The bull's horns cut through the air with the motion of his big head.

"Good night."

"Good luck to next town," I spoke at the door, feeling the need to be polite, since he, too, had probably wanted to be polite.

Maybe.

The bull finished his glass of whiskey and put it down to the plastic-surfaced table with a small clicking sound.

"Bye."

I made my way through the dimly lit corridor and into the elevator without meeting anyone else. I checked the time from my cell phone and noticed that it was almost twelve already. I huffed. I had missed the last bus, so I would have to walk home. I didn't mind very much, really. Some fresh air would do me well, I was sure of that.

I coughed, once, into my clenched paw, and the bull musk filled my muzzle again.

That made me cough again.

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Thank you for reading my story. If you have any comments, don't hesitate. Also remember, that by faving, voting and watching, you will help others to find these stories as well.

Cheerio!