FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

You don't usually much care what I look like, but I always take such great pains in getting ready for you. I clean up real nice, preening my feathers and carefully brushing my fur. I even put on a bit of sweetly-smelling perfume.

But those are the things I normally do. Tonight's special. It's Valentine's Day, and I want to look extra special for you, Sir.

I go to the closet and rummage around in it like I don't already know what I'm looking for. My cheeks are red well before my fingers make contact with the smooth, slick material. With a quiet sigh -- and the vestiges of a stirring between my legs, I take the "outfit" out of the closet.

In my quivering talons are a pair of pink, latex stockings, matching arm-length gloves, and a pair of silken, pink panties.

I want to toss them away as soon as I see them. I usually know what you'll do to me on a given night together... but in these? You... you might tear me apart. And I'm not sure that I have a problem with that.

I slip into one the stockings first, cooing as the lubricated material slides up my legs. They cling so tightly, emphasizing a sleek curvature I didn't know was there. They devour my leg up to the middle of a plump thigh. By then I'm fully erect, my modest maleness protesting what I want to do with our body. I ignore it -- Daddy doesn't like it when I don't wait for him -- and slide the other stocking on.

The gloves are next, and somehow they're just as pleasurable going on as the stockings. They make my arms look weak, rounded, puny. I sigh happily, folding my arms over my chest and caressing my shoulders in my pink, slick grip. You're going to love it.

One piece left to go.

I look at the pink panties on the floor, blushing crimson. They're silk instead of latex, recommended to me by the... ever-so-helpful male attendant at the shop. He was a friend of yours, I'm sure of it. A massive horse who spoke highly of choices his own pet -- I shiver, remembering how he'd caressed my spine when he said that -- had made regarding play-time attire. He assured me that silk would feel wonderful in the brief time between when I put them on and when you would inevitably rip them to shreds.

I shake my head, returning to reality from that wonderful image. I feel both my cheeks and the insides of my ears redden as I look down again. I'm leaking.

With another quiet sigh, I take the panties in my hands and pull them over my sleek, latex-bound legs. When the silk meets my shaft I nearly cum. The horse was right. They really do feel amazing. I flush with pleasure, resting one hand on my cheek and the other daintily on my flat belly, just above my twitching cock. Knowing you, I'm sure you'll have me thank you friend in person sometime.

I feel so incredibly feminine, and the thought itself makes me blush. I don't know why I bother, though. You'll barely notice, and after enough time with you, I won't be quite so clean or so lovely. I suppose I'd better enjoy the moment.

Because I know how the rest of this night is going to go.

You're going to show up drunk as a skunk, wearing that trucker's cap and that dirty, oily wifebeater. The bits of lady-like grace and poise (and general pride) I've managed to muster are going to go flying out the window as soon as you unbuckle those ratty jeans.

You're going to take your musky, stinking jockstrap off and you're going to grind it into my face, because you know I'm hungry for it. You know how hard I'm going to huff your powerful, masculine scent -- 'til I'm quivering, shaking, on my knees and begging for the real thing, as I recall.

And then you'll wave the prize in front of my face. Twelve inches of pungent, leaking, uncut dog meat and the plump, musky, low-hanging spheres that accompany it. You'll just smirk down over those massive pecs and gloriously-soft-yet-firm musclegut and crook a finger, and I'll crawl over like you've got a leash around my neck.

I want it so bad, Daddy. I'll tell you so, and you'll just laugh and slap me across the face with it. Not yet, bitch, you'll say to me in that bassy Southern twang.

This is the part I love and hate the most.

You'll turn around, pointing your massive, muscular ass in my face. I'll crawl forward, already knowing what it is I have to do. I'll put my quivering, latexy hands on your hips and you'll reach back with those meaty, cruel hands and shove my beak in your sweaty, musky crack.

Eat up, slut. I can hear it echoing in my ears already.

I'll whimper and whine, but I'll obey like a good girl should. I'll slather your hole in saliva, worshiping every inch I can reach with my tongue. It always tastes so manly. It's all I can think to describe it as, without thinking too hard about it. I'll lick and slurp and lap and eventually you'll let me have that monsterin front if I do it right. If I make you groan and tell me what a good boy (or girl, if you're in the mood to play along with my Valentine's Day outfit) I am, you'll feed me that behemoth.

My mouth is watering already as I think about what your thick, uncut monster cock tastes like. A little gross, sometimes, actually. Like pussy other times. Like some other dude's ass still other times. But each time, I just melt at the taste of your flesh and nearly die when the first bit of your pre hits my tongue.

Tonight's not gonna be any different.

I hear a knock on the door. My ears perk up and I once again shake myself back to reality. Apparently I'd ended up on the bed, gently fucking myself with my favorite toy. I've soaked through those poor silk panties. Oh well. At least for once I'll be ready to take you. I hope.

I rise and go to open the door.

I'm not at all prepared for what I see.

No hat, no ragged jeans... you're dressed in a beautiful suit, one that you've obviously had custom tailored to fit your enormous frame. It's black, the undershirt is white, and the tie is red. I swoon. You look so powerful and manly... you catch me with a meaty paw as I nearly fall backwards.

"Careful there, sweet thing," you rumble, grinning at me with those slightly yellowed, razor sharp teeth. "Don't want such a pretty lil' girl hurtin' herself, do we?"

I feel a cold chill down my spine.

I thank you and right myself, and you ask why I'm all "gussied up." The smile tells me you know. But you never know. You don't pay attention to these things!

"It's... it's Valentine's Day, sir," I say timidly, not sure of why I feel so uneasy, but _absolutely_sure I'll find out soon. "I wanted... I wanted to look special for you."

"Aw, baby girl_," you practically purr, putting your meaty paw on my cheek and look at me in a way I've _never ever seen you look. There's that chill again. And what's that smell? "How'z about a lil' kiss fer Daddy, huh?"

My heart skips a beat. You don't kiss. But... but maybe...

I stand on my tip toes and you lean down -- our lips meet in the middle. For a brief, shining moment, you've made my Valentine's Day. I never expected you to be so--

You grab the back of my head in a massive paw. My eyes fly open and see your gleaming yellow ones looking back with an evil glimmer. I realize now what the smell is. Beer. And Mexican food. Nononononono--

BWAAAAAAARHHHHP.

My eyes roll as you belch down my throat. It's your way of asserting your manliness, especially with a couple of beers in you, but I've never had to taste it.

I like it.

You shove me backwards onto the bed -- from the door -- and start undoing your tie.

"Happy Valentine's Day, faggot."

I've never loved you more.