FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Brrriiiiiiiiiiiing!

"And that concludes today's lecture," added Mister Peterson, over the clatter of standing feet and hefted bookbags. "Reports on last week's wildlife expedition in Brooke Arbor are to be turned in by 'Monday', no later." He said, firmly.

"Think he's eager to here about all the 'wolves' in there, Lewis?" Micheal asked under his breath, dripping more than a hint of sarcasm, as he strode by from the back of class. "I don't know about you, little buddy, but I'm looking at a different kind of bitch this weekend--think you're up for it?"

The blonde, bespectacled nerd blushed, still in his seat. "Huh... you're going to skip on writing the report?! Mike, you're crazy! You know that old man's going to give you Hell, right? Stick you up in detention for 'general lackadaisy' or whatever?"

"Play your cards right, man, you could get in on the action!" the black-haired sophmore nudged. "Cmon man, my place, Xbox. You know you want to square off in some deathmatch."

"What's that, Mike?" a familiar girl's voice asked inquisitively, from over his shoulder. "You're skipping the report? You're not making Lewis cover for you this time, are you?"

"Saaaaaaam." Michael grinned, spreading his arms, about to walk in and hug her--and get slapped by the red-head who was Lewis's other 'friend'.

"Don't you even Sam me, dumbass. Do your 'damn' homework so we can all graduate in the same 'damn' year," she yelled, brushing past him with her bare shoulder."

"Fuck..." he muttered, as she stood there, talking with the Biology teacher--a balding, muscular man in his sixties or seventies. She could hear the words Coach Peterson, and Michael Douglas, along with Needs some direction. Those were never a good combination in a sentence.

"Mr. Douglas! My desk before you leave." he uttered. It was like the slam of a gavel.

"Damn snitch." he whispered. "Lewis, my place, Sunday. We'll talk about this after I ditch the stiff and his teacher's pet."

The kid got up, and scrambled from the room, dropping his biology text, and then picking it up before walking off, rather abashed. Mike could see him mouthing "Sorry!" and then running off_._

It was an empty class, suddenly--he could feel a breeze from one of the windows. Turning his head, he looked the beast in the mouth.

"Mr. Douglas, I'm not going to bite you. I just want a minute of your time."

The man was nonchalant. He seemed to wear a mask of boredom, that could cover his real emotions. Mike wondered if he played poker when he wasn't teaching or giving kids a hard time on the basketball court.

They locked eyes for a few minutes, Mike not saying a thing. Then, finally, he stepped toward the head of the empty class.

"Good. I see you can hear me. Now; I'm going to make this plain. I've got nothing against 'you', Mr. Douglas... it's just, I think maybe you're not suited to be in my class. You're making it difficult for some of the more attentive students to focus on their studies, and I simply can't have that."

"Give me a break old man!" Mike squawked. "I'm just trying to have a little 'fun' with my life. I wasn't here by choice."

Surprisingly, rather than bellow out admonishment, like Sam, his teacher folded his hands and smiled.

"Academics. You'll learn to hate them. You see, son--it's not my choice to teach you, either." he began.

"No kiddin--wait, what?" the young man cheeped, startled by the unexpected remark.

"Kid, you've got to understand--I'm sure you've heard this before--that we've been through all the shit you're going through. But that's a load, and you know it, right?" he smiled. "Old folks aren't supposed to teach you to do the same thing, the way they did it. We're supposed to help you be 'better' than we were. I sometimes think some of my peers have forgotten that. Now... I 'know' you didn't choose to come here--but some of my superiors think it's wise; maybe just out of efficiency's sake, to pin you all down, and put you through the same general studies."

Oh god. Here comes the lecture. he thought.

But lecture he did not. "God, we've become such pathetic old hounds," he instead growled. "Kid, I'm going to introduce you to someone I think might be more your speed, for biology studies--simply because I don't have a damn choice about continuing to teach you..."

"So...?" Michael replied, impatient to get it over with so he could go on to feeling up hot girls at the rave.

"You're going to 'learn', and that's that."

And without another word, he picked up the black phone that was hanging on the wall behind him on its jack, and dialed up a number.

* * *

Chamomille Stevens

Tutor

That's what the Marquee sign said.

"She'll be with you in a minute... Mike." the old man grinned. "Try not to get 'too' distracted."

And then he was off, just like that--yellow shirt and khakis fading down the hall, and into an elevator.

Tentatively, Mike turned, and opened the door. It wasn't that he couldn't have just bolted, at that point--more that he was curious about his teacher's earlier remark. Bunch of old hounds, he'd called them all... like there was something there, that the two shared in mind.

It was enough to keep Mike on the hook, as he opened the door, and stepped into the room.

Phew.

It was worse than the biology lab. The smell of preservatives, tank water, and grime, mixed with marker grease and dirty erasers. This classroom must be where they did the AS Bio classes--with all the dissection and stuff.

"Oh hey. You're the 'rebel' who was referred, huh?" a girl's voice rang to his right.

She had wild black hair--curly and wavy--and she was punkishly dressed, with spiked wristbands and a daisy tattoo that ran down her right shoulder. Its stem was leafy, and vaguely obscured words, whose exposed letters included 'u', 'k', and 'm'.

Fuck me. he thought, bemused. Why haven't I been with this girl before...

"You here for tutoring too?" he asked. "Get in trouble with another professor?"

"No." she said blankly, blowing pink bubblegum. "I'm actually going to be giving you some assistance, for the weekend. See, I'm Chamomille."

"Fuck..." he whispered. "I was expecting some old bitch."

She glared.

"What?!" he cried, as she stood up, and walked toward him, her flip flops clopping on the floor.

She grabbed him by the collar of his black t-shirt, and he could feel himself choking.

Fuck, she's strong!

"You've been chasing tails, when you should've been chasing your studies. At least, that's what everyone in your classes say."

"Please... I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by--"

"By assuming I was old?"

"Yeah, that--" Mike gasped, as she drew her face in, never ceasing to glare, as she summed him up. Her grip only continued, tightly, as he began to feel blood running to his head, and--

Slurrrrp.

Something hot hit his face--and before he knew it, she had licked him clean across his right cheek, and then kissed him, leaving her gum in his mouth, as she drew her tongue back.

"It's fine. Why don't you come with me; get out of the classroom, and we'll talk about what's been bothering you."

Was she serious? He didn't have long to find out.

* * *

It was warm out, as they strode through the park. Ragweed burnt Mike's eyes a bit, and made him sneeze. For a change, he had nothing insightful to say, and no asinine remarks.

"Chamomille... err... is it alright if I call you Cammy?" Mike asked.

"I hate nicknames... Micheal." she murmured.

"Err, right, just Chamomille then!" he apologized, tension thick in the air. "Do you umm... want to get something to eat?"

"Food?' she asked, spacing a bit, and chewing some more gum. "No. I ate awhile ago. I'm good." she replied.

Then she let out a long, loud, braaaaaaaaaaaaaaap, filling the air with an eggy smell. Michael's pants tented. This girl was something else--and he didn't understand it, but it was turning him on.

"Why um..." he kicked his foot in the dirt, trying to strike up conversation. "Why are we going out this way, anyway? I thought you had to tutor me."

"I do." she said, simply. "I'm going to give you a class in mammalian physiology. Turn around."

He was sweating. What was that supposed to even mean? Where did the school get this girl?!

"Umm, like this?" he asked. "What am I looking at--UMPH!"

She had slapped her hand over his mouth, and slipped in what felt like a piece of a gum wrapper--plasticky paper.

"Swallow without chewing." she said firmly, holding him tight once more. "It'll all make sense in a minute."

Holy shit. Was she drugging him?

She stepped on his foot. "Do it! The sooner you do, the sooner we can fuck. You want that, right?"

His eyes rolled back in his head. Whatever it was in his mouth tasted mentholated--and it was giving him an incredible high. What the hell?

He swallowed. Immediately, he regretted the decision, as his throat burnt like it was on fire. Coughing, and hacking, he fell to his hands in the grass.

And then something fascinating took over.

"Hurgh! Nnnnnnnn... nnnnngh!" he groaned, feeling his heartbeat fast, as every muscle in his body swole and stretched, ripping at his shirt.

Something warm touched him on the thigh, and the backside--something rough, and hairy, like an unshaved man's face.

"There, let it fill you up. Soon, you won't be afraid to take more. Soon, you'll be fucking like a stud, and forgetting all of this school crap."

"Whooaaaaaa..." he groaned, feeling his stomach gurgle, as he started to feel gaseous. "WHOA!"

What started as a little tightness dropped hard into Michael's intestines, cramping and spasming, as his colon worked overtime. Soon, the bloating, lanky teen had groan in size, and musculature, and some ancient instinct was taking control.

"No... NOOOOO!" he groaned, as his pucker split over the peeking turd.

"Don't worry..." she said, licking her fingers, and running them under his shirt, and up his belly.

"No... no... not that not..."

Crap... crap! I don't want to take a--

pllllllllllllllllllooothUMP!

Soon, his pants were filling--tenting with thick, huge feces... and all he could do was stoop there like a two-year old, eagerly shitting in his boxers.

"You'll get used to that need again." she whispered. "Human clothes make it a bit of an ordeal, so we'll get you out of those. I just thought you might like it that way--brings back memories of childhood, doesn't it?"

"What... what are you doing to me?" he groaned. "What was that stuff? UNGH!" he grunted, as feral impulses loosened him, bending him to shit, harder and harder, until he could feel the waxy pile of massive, constipated poop, hot against his ass cheeks, and moving constantly, forced further out from his hard-working spincter.

"Getting you over your human side, Michael. She whispered."

TO BE CONTINUED...