FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Morningstar was one of the largest cities in the kingdom, and it shimmered along the edge of the wastes, a beacon holding back the creeping sands. The marketplace buzzed in the sweltering heat of mid-day. Merchants sat under colorful tents, fanning themselves, while peddling their wares to oblivious tourists. The loosely-dressed vixen ignored most of their calls as she walked the winding roads.

"Miss! Look! Serph rubies! REAL serph rubies!"

"I sell only the finest of tapestries! Come, run your hands across them and you will agree, you have never felt better!"

"Pottery, miss! I have such lovely vases here! This exquisite glass one has been blown by the great Hektar, himself!"

The fox halted in front of a tiny stand adorned with a plethora of junky knickknacks; empty birdcages, costume jewelry, secondhand clothes, a basket of dulled and chipped swords. She stared at its proprietor.

"Do you have a copy of Ormin Khan's latest?"

The pudgy mole observed her behind tinted spectacles. "Afraid not. We only carry Hooper."

"I would trade my aunt's jumping clock in an instant for a nice, chilled ale."

The mole snapped his digits with a grin, and a half-naked skunk youth emerged from the shack at the sound. "She's been expecting you."

The boy escorted her down twisting alleys and over bridges until they came to a lively little café.

"Near the back. Look for the booth with lilies." The skunk left her.

She entered the cool structure and made her way to the back, taking a seat at the booth accented by a bouquet of lilies at its center. She had a short wait, and someone slid into the seat across from her.

"This certainly was sudden." The voice belonged to an aged cougar. The older female appraised the fox with bright green eyes, and took her in bit by bit. "You've grown a little, I think. Especially around the bust," she chuckled. A serving boy wandered over to the booth, and the she curtly addressed him. "Oh. Tea, please." The youth padded off at the order. The cougar wore a few simple straps of silk, one across each breast, and a loose cloth at her waist; she wasn't doing much to be modest, even by often revealing Morningstar fashion standards. She was well-built, only her dulled, tawny fur giving away hints as to her actual age. She breathed a sigh in the vixen's direction. "So, what is it? What have you done this time?"

"Atei-Dha."

The older female tensed at the name, an uneasy look washing over her features. "What?"

"'What' is exactly what I want to know."

By this time the a young lad had scurried back to the booth, holding a tray with a single, tall glass of iced tea.

"Thank you so much," the cougar cooed. She dropped a jingling sack onto his tray, and his arms nearly gave out under its weight.

"T-thank you!" he parroted back, clutching the tray tightly to his chest. He beamed at her in earnest appreciation, and quickly made himself scarce.

The cougar licked the cold sweat from the side of her glass before taking long sips. "Oh, my poor little one. What use to anyone are you if you can't even remember such things you had been painstakingly tutored in for so long?"

The vixen bit her cheek. How was she supposed to keep up with every single ancient deity covered in the stuffy grimoires in the guild library? "Do you honestly expect me to know every single pissant outsider who has graced our little piece?"

"Well, firstly, I don't expect you to know a damn thing, girl. Members who turn rogue have all but proven themselves incapable of learning; just can't get their heads out of their asses long enough to listen to anything -- but, we'll discuss this little freelancing business of yours in a just a moment. Secondly, The Waking Hunger is no small-fry ancient; if you had spent more time paying attention instead of being such a goofy little runt, you might remember this." The cougar brushed a few loose strands of headfur from the vixen's face. "So much wasted potential..."

The vixen shut her eyes with a heavy sigh. She was in no mood for a lecture. "Home..."

The older female's voice took on a harsher tone. "No, you're going to listen. This can't go on, you know that. You are so precious to me, and that is the only reason I even bother myself with your presence. The guild frowns upon contact with former members, and the council has every right to strip me of ALL my power, simply because of our occasional little chats. You want to reinsert yourself into the fold? I'll help you. Otherwise, I'd rather we not meet again." The cougar rested her paw upon the vixen's. "Please. You're being ridiculous about this whole thing. Forgive and forget. Come back to us."

The cougar's warm smile slowly melted under the heat of the vixen's silence.

"This breaks my heart," the older female stated solemnly.

The two females sat motionless, unblinking eyes locked. When they eventually rose, it was together. They held paws tightly as they made their way towards the nearest inn, where they would rent a room for a few hours and enjoy each other's company for what would most likely be the final time.

*****

The bustling city eased into the cooling twilight, street lamps flickering to life, fluorescent signs covering the cobblestone streets in bright and vivid colors. The cafes became packed, tourists pouring into them for their dinners. A squad of royal guard sat at gathered tables underneath the stars. They had the whole terrace of Café Shanwa all to themselves, their generous captain having rented it for the entire evening, paying out of his own pocket money. The females chatted amongst themselves. They commented on the heat. One proclaimed how exposed she felt wearing the local fashion trends.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Terra. You're lovely." The black wolf sitting at the head of the gathered tables raised his glass towards the girl.

She turned away, face suddenly very warm, and the company giggled.

"So what happens when His Majesty finds out you've snuck out with us?" inquired one of the soldiers at the table to the wolf.

"Oh, I'm sure that won't be for at least a few more days. I'm also sure he'll completely understand." The captain had requested not to be disturbed for a few days while he poured over various personnel files in order to make a final decision on the members of the special squadron. Meanwhile, he had easily slipped from the palace without being noticed. A minion accepted the trays of food brought to his chamber door and informed all visitors -- in a perfect copy of his voice -- that he just did not have the time to chat. He chuckled to himself. They were all probably praising his diligence and commitment as they sat down to dinner in the banquet hall.

"So," chimed a young stoat, "just a few more miles. I'm sure we'll make it in time this time, captain."

Heads nodded to the captain in assurance, but all merriment had drained from his face.

"Yes, I'm positive we will." He brought his glass to his muzzle, hoping to hide the tugs of quiet rage pulling at it.

His plan had been simple. He commandeered the squad of Sisters and informed them they were to help him on a very special mission for the sake of the crown. He explained that the creatures had been spotted again, and the king was charging the Sisters of Justice, one of the few all-female squads in the guard's service, with the task of verifying these reports. The captain begged them to take him along, and they found it hard to say no. They did not question him. They were trained not to. He led them to the outskirts of the city of Loricine. His master had informed him of followers that inhabited the area. The master had bestowed upon them a great gift; one of the nameless demons that lived in his bloated corpse and feasted upon his rubbery, cold entrails for strength and sustenance until it was as much a part of him as was his still heart. They were instructed on how to feed and house it, and to await the coming of the servant. It would be succulent. The women were strong of spirit, and their souls would be a worthy meal for Lord Atei-Dha; his master might even allow him to partake of a few, himself, as reward for a job well done. Well, needless to say, the wolf found himself a bit perturbed upon coming across the charred ruins of his master's one and only tiny foothold in the region. The Sisters lamented at what they perceived was a failing on their part, and talked of how disappointed the king would be with them once they returned. The wolf had to think fast.

"No!" he had shouted to them. They would not let these vile creatures roam the land any longer! He roused their resolve. Hardened it. Sharpened it. Worked into them a blind sense of responsibility and honor. Then he marched them along the path he told them the things must have traveled, he marched them towards the wastes. Memphis would have to deal with them for him. He hated calling upon the other servants for assistance, but it could not be helped. Tonight Memphis would send his creatures to collect the girls, and the wolf would steal back to the castle before someone became a little too concerned for his well being and forced their way into his room; it would not be possible to explain away the shambling, skeletal creature found inside.

The clink of silver against glass brought the wolf back to the present. A Sister stood and addressed the squadron.

"I would like to take the opportunity to say something." The girl cleared her throat. "We are all greatly honored by this task set before us by His Majesty, long may he reign, and we understand the importance you place upon our success, captain Donovan. I just wanted to express..."

The wolf rested his muzzle in his paw and stared up at the droning soldier. He grinned at her compliments and laughed at her jokes, thinking of how nice it would be to throw her down upon the table and take her right then and there in front of everyone; to see the looks of horror spread across their faces as he violated this young girl while their churning bodies became coated in gravy, broth, and pudding. He forced himself to keep up with the speech, until a passerby locked his gaze and forced all his attention from the young soldier. The ruddy vixen flowed beyond the terrace, travel bag clutched tightly under her arm. The wolf watched her go, quickly rising to his feet as she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. At the sound of his chair scraping the wood, the young girl fell silent.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Theressa, but I simply must use the bathroom." He apologized profusely to the frowning girl and hurried off.

Inside the tiny restroom, the wolf pulled his quickly stiffening member from his trousers and beat off into his paw. He wrote upon the bathroom mirror with his own translucent ink, forming vicious angles and strange shapes upon its surface. After finishing, he proped himself up on the sink and starred deeply into his own reflection. Soon the shapes upon the mirror lifted from its surface and hung in the air. They converged on one another, swirled around one another. Soon they were barely visible at all, a tiny whirling distortion hovering in mid air.

*****

The vixen disrobed in the changing area and softly padded into the private shower. Her claws ran along the adorned tile, following the curve of the stall and coming to rest upon the racks of heavenly-smelling soaps and perfumes. The bath house was fairlyritzy; too ritzy for her, under normal circumstances. With a turn of the handle the shower sprung to life, and the vixen gasped at the chill, her dark, round nipples quickly stiffening. She adjusted the temperature, and began to lather. Her claws worked the suds deep into her fur, and a soft coo escaped her at the warm feeling of renewal that washing brought. The massaging of her breasts ignited the spark of her desire. It softly glowed deep in her nethers, and she leaned herself against the tile while a paw ran itself down to the oily mess between her thighs. Her thoughts drifted. She and Home had spent the entire afternoon in bed. The older cougar knew, from experience, all the right places to touch and caress, her tongue seeking out the vixen's most sensitive areas and brutally assaulting them. The vixen squealed and writhed under the feline's ministrations, her body played like a fine instrument. They spent the day tasting each other, enjoying the scent and feel produced by their pulsing and clenching mounds as they were ground together. The vixen was the first to give out; she always was. Orgasm upon orgasm rocked her body, and she eventually fell still, sleep creeping over her mind and burying the feeling of rough cat tongue raking over her aching button. When she had awoken, Home was gone. A few heavy sacks of drachma lay on the table with a note. Upon the paper was inscribed a name -- and a warning.

"Madam Zophie. Take great care, kiddo. I know you won't listen, but here is my advice anyway. Use the money to get away from here. Far, far away. If there is a threat, the guild will handle it. Pursue this and you risk stepping on all the wrong toes."

The vixen's digits slipped from her entrance, sorrow taking precedence over lust for the time being, and they moved to her rump to trace the old scar where hot metal had been pressed against her flesh once in her youth. She would not see Home again. Her claws grabbed a bottle of shampoo, and she began working the goo into the slick, matted fur at her crotch.

The night was young when she exited the bath house. She breathed deep. The crisp air of the desert had always agreed with her. She strode off, almost humming to herself as she went. A good bath always seemed to re-energize her, to make her troubles a little less troubling. She had applied a few dabs of much-too-expensive perfume upon her breasts, under her arms, and placed a drop on her lower waist; an aura of the sweetest berries and wildflowers surrounded her and hung in the air at her passing. She took her time in getting back to the inn, staring longingly up into the stars. Black ruffles in the corner of her eye pulled her back down. The figure walked with his back to her, the bright circle of golden runes and skull softly glowing in the passing shadows. She silently followed.

*****

The cultist's trail lead to a more industrial section of the city. The stars did not shine here, the smoke was too thick. After traversing a maze of grimy alleys, the cultist finally entered a small and noisy structure. Through the open, glowing windows, the vixen could make out the familiar clink of glass and drone of idle conversation. A bar. She slipped inside a few moments behind the cultist, and quickly found a place at an empty table while taking quick survey of the patrons. Most, she noted, where bovine or equine in nature, their short fur and tight clothes stained with soot.

"Miners," she thought.

The stares and glances she received were mostly ones of confusion. Her sweetness mixed with the sweat and musk in the air. She waved the serving girl over, and the bear's nostrils twitched upon approach.

"Ale, please."

The bear didn't speak a word. She turned, letting her eyes linger upon the fox, and strode off to the bar. When the vixen finally caught notice of the figure in the black robes, he was sitting in a shady corner with a grizzled old mouse. The two chatted; much too low for the vixen to make out what they were saying over the other sounds filling the bar. While the vixen waited for her ale and shot glances at the table with the two chatting figures, a small breeze wafted through the building. It shot around the room, a faint glimmer, and forced itself into the mouths and out the nostrils of scattered patrons. It circled, picking and choosing the best suited for its task, before slowly dissipating in the air. Shortly after its departure, the elderly mouse stood from his table with the cultist. They shook paws, and the vixen noticed the cultist slip something into the old mouse's back pocket as he strode for the door. As the serving girl approached the cultist for his order, the vixen deftly lifted the paper from the passing figure's trousers, and the old male never so much as glanced back. She stared at it, the clink of glass upon the wooden table momentarily drawing her gaze; the bear locked eyes with her for a few moments before she returned to her duties.

It read, "That was impressive; what you did in Loricine. I know it was you, because I could still smell you on the air. You have a lovely scent, did you know that? So lovely I became momentarily lost in it that night in Tam." The vixen's eyes widened. "I can't believe you would take advantage of me while I was so vulnerable. It's all right, though. I forgive you. Soon we can be together again. Alas, my duties prevent me from conveying to you my unyielding love on this night. If only I could be there with you now to hold you, to press your supple chest tightly against me and share your warmth. I dare say I would not be able to contain myself. The evening would most likely end with me slamming you into the tavern floor again and again, until your addled little head swam enough to allow me ample time to part the luscious folds between your lovely thighs." Her eyes darted across the paper, a small crack of panic forming in her mind. Two large figures moved towards the door. The cultist, seeing her expression, grinned under the dark cover of his hood. "It is a poor substitute, I know, but please accept this little gift from me. I hope it warms you like you stoke my fires to unbearable heights." In the lower right corner, in place of a signature, was written "Atei-Dha consumes" in the dead language of the sands. The vixen's face washed in fear when strong hands clamped down on her shoulders.

She rose quickly and spun. The blow to her muzzle came as she turned, delivered by a very powerful-looking horse, and she crashed down upon the table. Everything stopped. The serving girl rushed the equine with a scream, and fell flat to her face, tripping over an extended hoof from a sitting ox patron. People quickly rocketed from their chairs, a few inching their way towards the door, a few rushing the horse -- who was now releasing the buckle of his trousers -- most simply standing and staring in disbelief. The panicking vixen attempted to rise, but was held tight. Two more burly drinkers had slipped up behind her as she lay and now grasped her by the wrists. The door guards easily kept any fleeing patrons from escaping outside, holding them back with powerful shoves and heavy blows. A small circle of large furs -- bears, oxen, horses, wolves -- defended the table, on which lay the heavily panting fox, from any good Samaritan's approach. The cultist rose idly from his chair, and slowly worked his way through the mass of yelling and screaming patrons. The circle around the table parted and allowed him entry. He stood before the panic-stricken vixen, and allowed the robes to fall from his figure. Long, golden hair flowed from the mink's head, and his toned muscles rippled underneath snow-white fur as he stretched for the vixen, his eyes plastered to her heaving form. A few from the circle stepped inward, and with rough gropes, pinches, tweaks and rubs, yanked the simple clothes from the fox's arching body. The circle loosened, letting everyone crowded around have a very clear view of what was happening in its center. The cultist stepped forward, forcing her legs apart with bulging arms, and placed the head of his thick, swollen member against her dry entrance. He advanced no further. The vixen stared at him with an intense hate, chest heaving and fangs bared. Heavy blows rang out from the front as the muscular guards beat back the tide of patrons who doubled their efforts to rush the door. When the mink finally parted the vixen's folds and hilted himself in her moist dune, most turned away in disgust. The fox shut her eyes tight, her claws digging to her palms. Her rapist started slow, lightly placing his hands upon her hips and applying only the slightest pressure. He stroked and rubbed her toned abdominals, dragging his sizable length from her, and slid it back inside at a snail's pace. He wanted her to feel every inch, and she did. Her budding rage mixed with the tingling pleasure slowly spreading through her depths. He slowly dragged his manhood, glistening, from her tunnel -- and drove into her with such force that his sac issued a smack as it lightly slapped her behind. Her scream was cut short, the large member of the horse that had struck her before filling her muzzle. Her jaw popped. The equine's strong hands grasped her muzzle and held it apart as he forcibly shoved the flanged head of his member past her tonsils and down into her throat. She choked, contracting around the thick, black shaft. He thrust his entire length into her with urgency, slamming the tip of her muzzle into his hard stomach with each movement. Tears streamed from her eyes at the burning in her throat and nose. Her digits wrapped around equally thick cocks as the two holding her wrists forced her to stroke them. The mink plunging into her worked her trickle into a torrent. His trained PC muscles flexed, and he danced inside of her. After all, the servant did not intend this to be torture; only an appetizer until it could claim her itself. The thing had graciously offered the mink first go at her, and issued only two orders; leave no lasting marks, and make the little bitch enjoy it. A wolf kneeled underneath the plowing mink, and his broad, flat tongue ran itself over the vixen's clenching star. It slipped inside her rear, and swirled violently. The vixen moaned, muffled by sweaty horsecock, and involuntarily wrapped her legs around the lunging mink to draw him deeper; she immediately hated herself for it. The horse ramming her throat was the first to give. It brayed at the ceiling, and the vixen felt her throat flood with warmth which ran down into her stomach. She was getting dizzy. If she didn't take a breath soon, she knew it wouldn't be long before she passed out; which might actually be a blessing. The horse finally withdrew. A fine spray of jizz shot from her mouth and settled across her chest as she coughed. The equine pumped its member, the dying pulses of his shaft slinging thick ropey strands across her muzzle and breasts. Though teary eyes she surveyed her situation. The mink still stared at her with twinkling blue eyes; with some dismay, she noted that if not for the fact he were a demon-worshiping rapist, she would probably have willingly given herself to him -- under much different circumstances, of course. Loud gasps drew her eyes towards the front. The two at the door, while stopping any and all attempts for the patrons inside to escape, made absolutely no effort in stopping more from entering. Any who tried to move past the guards or peek over their shoulders, curious about the commotion inside, where quickly grabbed and pushed in. A mouse and tiger couple clutched at each other at the sight they found before them, mouths agape in shock. The other patrons resigned themselves to the fact they were going nowhere. A few sobbed openly, burying their faces in their paws and trying their best to block out the vixen's grunts and the wet sounds of rough sex. Some were not so displeased; they furiously stroked themselves at the poor fox's plight. The mink's tempo increased, and he drove himself deep with each thrust, the vixen's hips meeting his with soft pats. She could hold it back no longer.

"Nooooo!" she moaned through grit teeth. Her walls contracted around the mink's shaft, milking it with each pulse. Her back arched and she gasped as the orgasm floored her. Thick spurts issued from her burning snatch and clung to the fur on the mink's trim belly.

The cultist's grin nearly split his head in half. He grinded into her, riding the tremors of her quivering sex. Eyes shut, he allowed himself to be pushed over the edge. His sac drew tight against his body. With one final deep slam, he emptied his nuts into her. The vixen panted, gasps peppered with moans, as she was seeded. She felt the hot liquid move and churn within her, coating her insides. She felt it leak from her opening and run down the fur of her ass cheeks. The wolf underneath her pulled his tongue from her quaking sphincter and stood at her side. After a few quick pumps, he discharged upon her heaving stomach. The massive amount of cum ran down her sides and slowly descended towards her steaming mound. The cocks in her hands erupted and the two grasping her wrists let go; she was too drained to move. They stroked themselves, and aimed at her muzzle. She shut her eyes as her head was coated in a thin glaze. Her nostrils blocked, she opened her muzzle to breath and realized her mistake an instant too late; the spunk shot inside her gaping maw, and she tasted the male's salty batter. She was forced to swallow or choke. The cultist stepped back, his limp member glistening with the vixen's traitorous body's honey, and the circle closed in on her. An umbrella of cocks were stroked over her form. One after another they exploded upon her, bathing her in a torrent of semen. The gaggle of males fell back, and the mink slowly padded up to her. The vixen's strength slowly returning, she lifted herself from the table and tried her best to incinerate him with her eyes. Never had she hated a male -- no, another living thing -- more than she abhorred the fucking imbecilic, putrid, asinine, grinning, well-endowed, toned, handsome...

She shook her head to clear it, which sent thick strands of jizz slashing through the air in all directions.

The mink ran a claw along her muzzle. She had to force herself to recoil from his touch instead of pressing into it. He brought the dripping digit into his maw and sucked it clean. With that, he turned quickly, gathered his robe from the floor, and strode out the door. No one moved. Then, a few minutes after the cultist's departure, the first moan escaped one of the burly furs staring down upon the vixen's coated form. Something rippled across their features. Something that softened their hardened expressions and caused their knees to buckle. It was realization. They had just all just actively participated in the rape of some strange vixen in the middle of one of their favorite bars. They didn't even know why they had done it. Most made a mad dash, their minds blinded with mad, intense panic; most also had the exact same thoughts. They had just raped someone. Oh, God. They had just raped someone. In public. They had to run. Empty their bank accounts and just go. Not even tell their families. How could they possibly explain? The ones that remained in the bar crashed to the floor, crushed under their own desperate disbelief -- all but one. It was the horse that had socked her in the jaw, and then almost ripped her throat open with his giant member. She stared up at him, and he stared back in absolute silence. He had not even tucked himself back into his trousers. He just stood there, absolutely dumbfounded at what he had just done. She raised herself from the table and sat upon its edge, her milky lacquer slowly running down her breasts, over her nipples, down her chest, through the fine fur on her stomach, over her crotch, down her lightly throbbing mound, snaking down her thighs, coating her -- everything; it dripped from her toes, little pools slowly building underneath her feet. Tears streamed down the equine's face.

"I'm so sorry."

She opened her muzzle to speak, but the gleam of metal stopped the words in heraching throat. The horse had produced a nasty looking combat knife from his belt, and quickly drug it along his neck. The spray of blood caught her right in the face. He stood gurgling for a few moments before crashing to the floor. The vixen stared at the corpse, unblinking. She idly rose to her shaking legs. The crowd recoiled from her, and she took her time in exiting, wobbling as she placed one clawed foot in front of the other. Slowly she traversed the twisting alleyways back to the bustling nightspots of the tourist's district, an overpowering odor of semen heavy around her, and walked the path back that lead back to the bath house.