FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I hated him. I hated his stupid face. I hated his stupid clothes. I hated every single strand of perfectly conditioned fur on his stupid fucking body. And yet there I was, sitting across a table from him, listening to him drone on and on about himself and his horrible, idiotic opinions.

Either he was completely deaf to body language or just too full of himself to notice, but every "shut the fuck up" look I shot his way bounced right off of him. He just kept on talking, even when I propped my head up against my arm and started playing with the food left on my plate. It was miserable. I had to ask myself why I was still there. Why would I continue to subject myself to this shining example of overbearing arrogance and willful ignorance?

Then it hit me. It was the same reason I wanted to meet up with him in the first place. I wanted to fuck him. He could prattle on about flat taxes all he wanted, but that wouldn't change the fact that I still wanted to bend him over and stuff his striped little ass with more bull dick than he could handle.

That's when I started to lighten up a little. I still wasn't listening to him--not really--but he didn't seem to intent on waiting to hear what I had to say in response anyway. No, he just talked and talked, flapping those gums and working those lips to spit more right-wing talking points at me. I nodded along, but I couldn't help but think about better uses for his mouth. You know, like, maybe I could recline back a bit in my easy chair while he'd run that rough tongue up and down my cock. His whiskers would probably tickle my thighs while he went down on me, and I bet he'd look up at me with those pretty green eyes of his while he suckled and slurped what he could fit in his muzzle. And when I would finally push forward and slide my way down his throat, he would be completely silent, aside from a few gurgles from gagging on my dick.

That pleasant little thought was interrupted when he started talking excitedly about his suit jacket, like I even remotely gave a shit about it. He'd spent this much money picking it out, that much cash having it fitted, oh and the inside was lined with real Egyptian silk or something. I started to fantasize about pushing him down and ripping it off of him, tearing it apart at the seams. I bet he'd give a cute little mewl over how much of his stupid money I wasted, but I'd have my pants unzipped and his shirt torn open before he could raise a fuss over it. I'd slide my dick between those beefy pecs of his, squeezing them together with my hands as I'd start to work back and forth. All of that bragging he had done about his time at the gym honing the perfect body earlier in the night? That would be all for me in the end. I would use him as I saw fit, bumping against his chin with the head of my dick until I'd finally blast a huge sticky load all over his "professionally groomed" fur. Then I'd hold him down with one hand while I worked my cum in as deep as I could with the other, and when I was satisfied, I'd wipe my cock off with whatever was left of his jacket.

Hoo boy, I must have gotten carried away thinking about all that, because the next thing I remember is him starting to rant about how kids these days don't have strong male role models in their life, and how important it is for a child to have a father to introduce discipline to them. I sat up straight and opened my mouth, ready to go off on him about that shit, seeing as how I was raised by a single mother of three, and I was _extremely_interested to hear how much that must have fucked me up. He looked scared for a moment and started to stammer a little, struggling to recite whatever horseshit lines his conservative family must have fed him over the years. I guess I finally looked pissed enough for him to notice. Not enough for him to shut up, though.

I ended up letting it go and just sort of slumped back into my seat. I went back to half-listening to his inane rambling while I thought about what I was going to do to him when I got him into my bed. He wanted strong male figures? I sure as hell could give him one. I had a good decade and a half on that cat, and more than a couple of feet over him. Playing "daddy" wouldn't exactly be a stretch of my talents.

In fact, I'm a little guilty to say that I got pretty excited by the idea. I imagined giving him stern instructions on how to please me. I'd call him "boy" the whole damn time and make him lick from head to hoof. I'd force him to spend some extra time under my tail, teaching him how to eat a real man out before turning around and letting him get familiar with the monster that was going to be plowing into him. He'd play with it a little, maybe tease at the foreskin, peeling it back to sniff at the fat head hidden underneath it. I'd put his paws on my balls and make him rub them while I'd smear my dick along his cheek and muzzle, coating that pretty striped face with pre-cum.

Then I'd throw him onto the bed face-down before lifting up his tail and smacking him on the rear. He'd probably mewl and moan, but I'd just keep spanking that firm bubble butt of his until he was nice and sore, telling him what a bad little tiger cub he'd been. God, would that ever be cathartic after a whole night of listening to his bullshit, just beating his ass until he cried like the little boy bitch I know he is.

I figured I'd be about as gentle opening him up. Sure, I'd dip my fingers in some lube, but I'd spread those beaten cheeks and just go knuckle-deep right off of the bat, ramming my middle finger all the way in before pumping it furiously. I'd pull out before adding my index finger, forcing that tight hole open wide enough for the inevitable pounding I would be giving it.

But then he brought me back to earth for a minute when he started talking about welfare. About how much he hated it, and how unfair it was.

"People need to earn their money," he said, "And if they can't earn enough to get by, then they need to suck it up and go beg to charities for what they need."

Normally that sort of thing would get me riled up and close to shouting. But by that point, I could hardly be surprised by the shit coming out of his mouth. Hell, I couldn't even be mad. All I could do was idly stroke myself through my pants and grin across the table at him as he helped to fuel my little hatefuck fantasy. I was going to make him earn it. I planned to make him suck it up and beg.

He would be looking back over his shoulder, his tail raised high while I'd be pumping my dick between his cheeks, grinding the underside down against his prepped little pucker. I'd torture the fucker, keep teasing at him; make him cry out for his daddy to stick his dick inside of him. I'd give in after a little while, of course, and then I'd fuck that tiger boy raw, slapping my balls against his ass the whole time. He would probably be having a hell of a time of it too, biting and clawing at the sheets, maybe finding me just a little too big for the pain to ever go away entirely.

I'd make him beg for my load inside of him and tell him that he would have to earn it by being a good boy. But no matter how much he pleaded, no matter what he promised, when I hit my peak, I'd pull out, grab hold of the fur on his head, and make him watch as I fired all over the sheets in front of his muzzle. I'd tell him that he would have to work harder for it next time, and kick him out of my bed without even bothering to get him off.

Lucky for me, the waitress came by with the check in just enough time to keep me from blowing a load down the leg of my pants. The tiger and I agreed to split the check down the middle, and I put on my best fake smile as I reached over to shake his hand.

"You know, you and I might have some differences of opinion," I said to him, "but I can't help but like you. How about you and I get together for drinks at my place this weekend?"

He said he couldn't wait.