FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It'd been a few days since the lion's last meeting with his squirrel. With the information gained from him and the kid's pastor, one Richard Nyder, the lion had narrowed down the neighborhood where the boy disappeared. After doing background checks on the various people living there, he started going door to door to see what they knew. So far, a few people had remembered young Fernald Smithers, if not by name then by appearance, but none of them had much information to impart. None of them had spent very much time with the boy.

During his journey, the lion began to wonder why Nyder hadn't sent someone to accompany the boy. It seemed to him that religious folks going door to door always worked in pairs. But then, he'd seemed like a jerk, anyway. No wonder his nickname was "Pastor Dick."

Pebble was currently on the last three houses on the block. The first didn't remember Fernald at all. The second, inhabited by a married fox couple, the Durdens, did remember him, but could give Pebble no further information than that. The final house was fittingly at the top of the hill. Large and bunker-like, it looked more modern than the preceding houses. At the moment, it looked deserted and lonely silhouetted against the slowly darkening evening sky. Indeed, there was no car in the driveway and a check of the mailbox revealed it close to overflowing, with several envelopes and junk mail crammed in, all addressed to one Mr. Jessup Dunmeyer.

Pebble took note of the piled-up mail, which tended to be a sign that no one is currently home. Still, this was one of the houses on Fernald's route and he would've likely visited it without checking the mailbox. And Pebble was, if nothing else, a lion who covered all his bases. So he approached the front door and knocked. There was no answer.

However, just as the lion was turning to go, a beat up muscle car of indeterminate make that had clearly seen better days came noisily speeding up the dead-end street and slowed at the beginning of the driveway, as though the driver was hesitant to continue upon seeing Peeble. The car never actually stopped, though, only glided to a crawl, the driver apparently making up his mind very quickly, and continuing on, the car revved its engine loudly as it came into the driveway and halted so abruptly there was a light screech of rubber on concrete. The vanity license plate read "BGBDWLF."

It sat there a moment, idly, the growling engine like a patient predator's panting before the motor cut and its owner emerged, a very large, middle-aged wolf. He eyed his visitor.

"Who are you?" His voice was gruff, his question blunt and to the point. He looked and sounded short-tempered. He jangled the car keys up and down in one hand. A paper grocery bag was tucked under the other arm. He approached slowly, continuing to size the lion up.

The lion just stood there with his hands on his hips, tail lashing back and forth behind himself. "Private investigator," he explained. "I'm here about a missing squirrel kid. I want to ask you some questions."

"Oh, him," said the wolf. He stood there. His gaze was squinty, suspicious. He seemed to be considering something. Finally he asked, "Got any credentials?" His gaze narrowed.

Pebble chuckled and reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, flipping it open to reveal his ID, showing he was licensed in most states of the country. He also had an official-looking letter from the chief of police stating he'd been brought in on this case, but this was a fake, provided to him by William after some prodding. He was also packing a rather large firearm, his Ruger revolver nestled in a shoulder holster underneath his jacket.

The wolf have an indifferent grunt as he examined the ID and then tossed his keys up into the air and deftly caught them open-palmed as they came down. He seemed satisfied.

"Heard about that kid when the cops came by asking 'bout him." Shouldering rudely past the lion, he unlocked the front door. "I'll tell you the same thing I told them; I saw 'im, and told 'im to beat it and shut the door in his face."

He paused halfway to the door. Over his shoulder, he added, "What if anything happened to 'im after he left ain't my business."

Pebble wasn't buying any of it, to be honest. It was far too cut and dried. Far too brief. But he didn't let it slip. Instead, he simply nodded his head and grunted. "I see, then. Well, his parents are really upset about this."

"I can imagine."

"So make sure you're around for the next day or so. A friend of mine on the force says the judge might be issuing a search warrant."

The wolf had unlocked the door, but paused as he was opening it and glared over his shoulder at the lion. There was a flash of anger. "A search warrant? What the fuck for? This isn't even my house! I'm just watchin' it for my friend."

"You aren't Jessup Dunmeyer?" asked Pebble.

"No," said the wolf, "I'm Scott Linarcos."

"Well, Mr. Dunmeyer's house is the last one on the block where the boy was seen. Probable cause and all that. And if you're housesitting, I'd say that makes you responsible for whatever happens while Dunmeyer is gone. You can contact him if you want and tell him we'll be searching."

There was a growl. "Nnnf." Scott suddenly seemed in great haste to get inside. "Well, fine, go and get a search warrant if you want. My pal Jess ain't gonna like this!" He then slid inside and slammed the door. There was a muffled click as he locked it.

Pebble let out a long sigh. He'd had a long day, but he was at least certain he'd found out what he wanted to know. The wolf showing that amount of anger cinched it for him. Now, it was just a question of whether he was going to find Fernald alive or not. For now, though, it was stakeout time. Turning, he leisurely began walking back down the block towards the windowless white Chevrolet van he'd arrived in. He never turned around to look, but he was almost certain he could feel the wolf's eyes watching him as he departed.

~*~

Little did Pebble know, but certainly suspected, that the squirrel boy was indeed inside and alive, if not exactly well, and the prospect of a search warrant, however much of a bluff, had scared his captor plenty.

Scott Linarcos dumped the grocery bag which contained several six packs of beer onto the kitchen counter and began to gret. His gretting turned into worrying. He wasn't accustomed to worrying. He sweated a little, and went into the laundry room where Fernald Smithers' clothes were kept. They were neatly folded on top of the dryer. Atop it were the boy's wallet and some other belongings. His shoes rested next to them. Scott had discarded the pager and cell phone the first night, but Fernald's briefcase was in an upstairs closet. The squirrel himself was down in the basement, where he'd been for the past several days, ever since his arrival.

Scott scowled as he looked at his prisoner's clothing and belongings. He cursed himself for rushing into this without properly planning. Sure, he'd wanted to fuck the cute little Christian boy the second he laid eyes on him, but he had acted sloppily and hastily. In addition to failing to find and dispose of Fernald's car - he had no idea which on the block was his - Scott also had never quite figured out what to do with Fernald when he was done having his fun with him. Before Jess got back. Or before someone else, like the cops and that nosy lion P.I., came snooping around.

Could he smuggle him out somehow? Kill him and dump the body? Or just forget about him and split altogether? His mind raced with many different possibilities. Each one seemed more unpalatable than the last, particularly killing the boy. A murder charge would be far more hazardous to Scott's health than charges of kidnapping and rape.

~*~

Outside, the lion was in the back of the Chevy van, which was outfitted with surveillance equipment including a computer. A quick check revealed the house was indeed in the name of a cougar named Jessup E. Denmeyer, who was currently out of town attending a salesman's convention in Florida. Scott Linarcos' name didn't come up in relation to Denmeyer. However, when Pebble ran the plates of the junked out muscle car he got the name Scott Linarcos, a resident of a neighboring town. It was entirely possible that Denmeyer and Linarcos were friends, and Denmeyer had asked him to watch the house... but this didn't mean the wolf wasn't capable of abducting the missing boy.

Finishing that, he got out and then went around and climbed into the front seat behind the steering wheel, settling down with a camera equipped with a telephoto lens and sat and watched the Denmeyer house. There was nothing to do now but wait.

Things began to happen as night came on.

~*~

Scott calmed himself with a beer. He felt horny again. Smirking smugly, he went down into the basement. Whatever decision he made, he meaned to fuck the tight ass of his captive one last time, for the road. He found his quivering, pitiful little prisoner in the small closet-sized room down below, dragged him out, and raped him.

Fernald didn't resist. He'd long given up resisting. Although he wept. No matter how many times Scott took him, he still wept. And Scott licked up his tears, finding them, as well as the captive missionary boy's misery and suffering, utterly, utterly delicious. He came three times in as many hours as the evening slowly slid into nightfall, made Fernald his again and again. As he had every time before, despite himself, despite the pain and humiliation, the young squirrel shamefully became aroused and orgasmed himself as he was fucked. This led to taunts and jeers from his captor. Tonight was different, though, he noted.

Usually after having his way with him, Scott put Fernald back up. This time he simply left him lying on the billiard table, with his leather choker around his neck and his hands cuffed behind his back, and went upstairs. Terror ran through Fernald. Was this it? Finally the end? Was he to be released, or...?

He didn't dare think it. Little did he suspect Scott's plans for him.

~*~

The lion perked up as the garage door opened. Scott came out. Getting into his car, he fired up the engine and drove it inside. He then shut the door behind himself, cutting the car and garage interior off from view, as the door had no windows.

~*~

In the privacy of the garage, Scott loaded his hastily packed belongings into the vehicle. But not into the trunk. No. Not the trunk. They went into the backseat. The trunk was left open. Fernald's things went there. And, Scott mused, the boy would soon be joining them, and they'd both soon be out of here.

He intended to depart later that night with his slave. Whether he'd dump him alive somewhere, or kill him and then dump him, he'd decide later. Right now, the wolf's one post-coital thought was escape. Escape before someone came and found him out.

~*~

After the garage door closed, the Denmeyer house sat silent and dark. The lion watched through his telephoto lens nonetheless. Something was bound to happen sooner or later, and he was a very patient feline. Linarcos was spooked and would try something. He was certain of it. The longer he watched the house, the more he knew it and could feel it.

Movement to his right caught his eye and turned. The Denmeyer house's right hand side neighbor, the male half of the Durdens, the slim male, crept out of his front door after dinner and slinked up the sidewalk to the other house. The fox however didn't see the parked van.

Pebble watched as he knocked knocked on the front door and waited. He waited. And waited. Finally, the front door opened, and he could be seen smiling and conversing with Scott for a few minutes. His smile soon faded, though.

"Come on, Scott," Durden whined. "It's been weeks since we got to have some fun down in Jess' little love haven. I was looking to spice things up!"

The wolf growled. "No can do, John. It's, uh... in use at the moment."

The fox's expression brightened. "Oh? You have someone over?"

"Yeah," replied Linarcos. "Someone who values discretion."

Pebble perked up at this. Linarcos could only mean Fernald! The boy was alive! Or already dead and the body was in the basement, Pebble cautioned himself. And yet, Durden's words had clued him in to something about the Denmeyer house he'd previously been unaware of. "Love haven," Durden had said. A hidden room? It seemed that Jess Denmeyer had a playroom of sorts somewhere in house and ordinarily let his sexually adventurous neighbors use it. That would definitely be one of the first places the lion would try to find, should his course of action lead him to break in by hismelf.

"Come over tomorrow." Linarcos slammed the door so hard Mr. Durden staggered back a bit.

"Asshole," he mumbled, and walked back towards his house.

Pebble watched him go. It was obvious, if nothing else, that the Durdens were uninvolved in the affair. Consequently, he returned his attention to the Denmeyer house. He had to act. But how? A frontal assault could work, but it would be dangerous. He didn't know if the wolf was armed or not. Besides, Fernald could still be alive, and such an approach could endanger him. Short of calling William up and getting him to bring the cops to try and muscle their way into the house, he was stuck.

Finally, after a few moments, the lion decided to act on his own, as usual. He had always been a fair enough lockpicker, so he decided to go with picking the lock. He gathered his kit and waiting for the coast to be clear, turning and watching Mr. Durden, one hand poised on the van's driver's side door handle. It seemed to take forever for the fox to saunter back down the hill to his house, amble up to the front door and finally go back inside.

The second the door shut, Pebble gently and soundlessly eased open the van door and slid out. With equal gentleness, he silently shut it. He made his way up the street and hurried under cover of darkness to the front door of the Denmeyer house. Working methodically and as quietly as possible, he took out his tools and began to attempt to pick the lock.

~*~

Scott sighed and wandered into the kitchen, getting another beer. He shook it up as he headed back downstairs into the basement. He chuckled a bit at the sight of the squirrel boy still lying on the pool table. He popped the tab, letting the foam shoosh out and splatter on the barely moving form, earning a little moan from Fernald as he shifted on the table.

Taking a foamy swig, Scott turned and went back upstairs and resumed preparing to leave. He started carrying the last of his things into the garage through the connecting door in the kitchen and put them into the back seat. Then, he popped the trunk. Time for his other cargo...

~*~

The lock was a good one, and so it'd taken Pebble a good few minutes to get it open. But finally he had cracked it. He gently opened the door and went inside.

He came to the kitchen first. Brightly lit but empty. The door leading to the garage was ajar, but Pebble ignored it for now. He moved into the living room, a very spacious affair with a large TV and fireplace. An opened can of beer sat on the coffee table.

He heard movement behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wolf emerging from the kitchen. He darted around a corner into a narrow, somewhat dark hallway to the right of the living room. Scott didn't come into view. Had he seen him? Pebble was unsure. He slid his hand underneath his jacket and let his fingers glide over the grip of the Ruger. In addition to this weapon, the shoulder holster also held, on the other side beneath his other armpit, a taser and an extendable metal baton.

He turned and looked down the hall he'd ducked into. There were four doors here. One, at the very end, was open, allowing weak light to pour out. He tried the first of the shut ones. A den. Dark and empty. He tried the next door and the next. The second yielded a bathroom, the third a spare room of some sort with its own adjoining bathroom. There was an unfolded futon and signs of someone having been living in it for a while.

Pebble guessed this was where house sitter Scott had been sleeping. But despite showing signs of someone having lived in it, such as food trash and other things, the lion noted no personal belongings or luggage. The wolf was definitely moving out tonight. Shutting that door, he then proceeded to the fourth and final door in this hallway, nudging it open with his foot to reveal a set of stairs leading down. A basement. As good a place as any for a bondage dungeon, he mused, and went down the stairs immediately.

The smell of sweaty sex assaulted the lion's senses the minute he went down. Fernald Smithers lay there in plain view. Naked, ill-used, lying with his head turned to one side, facing the stairs, eyes shut. His fur and hair were damp, and the immediate area stank of beer and sex. The only noise in the room was the gentle bubbling coming from a fish tank.

Pebble stared at the limp squirrel for a moment, then let out a soft grunt. Poor kid. No telling how long he'd been down here, but he couldn't help him just yet. First he had to deal with the wolf. He spun to make sure Scott wasn't coming down the stairs to try and sneak up on him, then, heading back up, he shut the basement door. He flew back down the stairs and walked around the pool table, looking for a place to hide for the moment. Scott would come to him.

Fernald stirred but didn't awaken. Pebble decided to hide under the stairs for now. After reaching inside his jacket to unholster his taser, he crouched down and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

The wolf entered and tromped down the stairs. "Wake up," he said.

Fernald stirred some more, eyes sliding open. He gave a pathetic whimper at the sight of his captor, then noticed the lion beneath the stairs. He gave a little gasp. Fortunately, Scott didn't notice that the squirrel's gaze had shifted.

"We're going for a little car ride, you and me," Scott was saying as he got to the bottom of the steps.

Pebble moved as quickly and smoothly as a lion was able to move. In a flash, he'd pulled himself from under the stairs and walked boldly up to Scott just as the wolf reached the bottom, taser up.

"Huh?" Scott said, and started to turn in surprise.

He suddenly felt electricity coursing through him as the lion jammed the taser into his groin. He flailed, giving a herky-jerky scream, then fell over onto the floor where he lay twitching for a few moments, fur standing on eend. Fernald watched from where he lay on the table in disbelief.

"I..." he started, weakly, his voice cracking and trailing off. He saw a thin ray of hope. He didn't wait for Scott to quite finish thrashing before he said, "Please... help me..."

He raised himself up and got down off of the table, trying to stand with wobbly legs. Steadying himself against the table's side, he watched as Pebble breathed heavily and then took out a pair of handcuffs and locked them around the wolf's wrists, binding his beefy arms behind his back. A second pair of larger handcuffs were produced and locked around Scott's ankles.

Finally, he turned and looked at the boy. "My name is Pebble," he said, slowly approaching him and offering his hand in a gentle gesture of reassurance. "I'm here to save you."

Fernald wept. He couldn't help himself. He didn't know who this lion was beyond his name. He guessed he was a police officer from the handcuffs. With his last strength he flung himself at the feline's feet and hugged his legs. He spilled forth incoherent praises and thanks to his sudden and unexpected rescuer.

He didn't care that he was still nude. All that mattered now was he was saved. He felt his prayers had been answered. He didn't even care if his tormentor was punished just yet. All he wanted right now was to leave the basement he'd spent the last several weeks in. For now, though, he just clung to Pebble's leg and sobbed like a small child.

Pebble shifted and then leaned down and wrapped an arm around the squirrel's middle, pulling him up into his arms to hold him while he cried. "Come on," he said gently, "let's get you out of here."

"Oh, thank you," Fernald said, and then sagged in the lion's arms, thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. He'd need to be carried out. Soon, he slid into unconsciousness, and being in Pebble's strong arms was the last thing he remembered before he awoke again. That and finally feeling safe.

The End