FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It wasn't easy working at an orchard. The job was seasonal. The pay wasn't great. And autumn, with its assorted pumpkin and harvest festivals, became a busy, stressful blur. But there were some saving graces. It wasn't corporate. You got to be in and around nature all day. And, of course, you had access to the freshest bulk fruit. Ripe, sweet. Slightly acidic to the teeth. Apples by the juicy, crunchy half-bushel. Glistening blueberries as plump as grapes. And peaches? Well, the less said about them the better. Stupid things. Making my face burn. I think I'm allergic. Oh, well. At least I'm not ...

"Excuse me."

"Mm?" Field squeaked, tugging at his red employee apron. He was standing behind the main register. Back to reality.

"Do you have Honeycrisp?" the black-footed ferret asked. Female. Probably suburban.

"Not until September," the golden-furred harvest mouse said in his gentle, slightly-wispy voice. Honeycrisps were very popular. And overrated. Mutsu forever!

"Oh."

It felt like September, though. Had for weeks. Even though it was now the end of July. The brutal, icy winter had segued into a cooler-than-normal summer. The endless polar vortex. It's throwing me off.

"Well, what do you have that tastes like a Honeycrisp?" the ferret continued.

"The closest you're gonna get is Zestar," the mouse replied politely, gesturing at one of the 'apple charts' on the nearest wall. A list of all the varieties in the orchard, along with expected picking dates. "And that's gonna be another two weeks, still." I think I'll make homemade sauce out of that one. It's so flavorful. I'll freeze it for winter. "Everything's running a bit late this year."

"Oh," she said again. Which was code for: 'I don't like what I'm hearing. Tell me something different!'

"In the meantime, we're picking Jersey Mac and Pristine."

The customer shook her head. "I've never heard of those. What about Pink Lady? Do you have that?"

Field hesitated. "Pink Lady? Well ... "

"How was the basketball?"

"Not so good," the mouse replied, using a bare foot-paw to kick the front door shut. Last night. Just after sunset.

"Poor mouse. What happened?" Adelaide, his mate, asked. A pink-furred bat. Cotton candy. Bubble gum. Watermelon. Such an enticing color. She was watching television. One of those cooking competition shows.

"Nothing. I just ... " Field, shirtless, ran his paws through his head-fur and clenched his jaw in frustration. "Just strained a muscle in the back of my leg. And was a bit out of it, generally. Didn't have any spark."

"Could be tired."

"Or just old."

"Don't start that, again," she scolded. "Thirty isn't old."

"But I feel different than I used to," he whispered.

"I felt you just yesterday," she reminded. "And you felt the same as the first time I touched you." Which had been, what, eight years ago now? That they'd been together? "Are you calling me a liar?"

He blushed, relenting, "I, uh, guess it could be allergies. Mainly." They fatigue me. "My eyes have been itching, lately." The lack of heat and dryness was keeping all the pollen and grassy junk around. Thanks for making me allergic to my natural habitat, nature. God. "I just wanted to do well."

"You're too competitive. Isn't it supposed to be fun?"

"It's fun to win," he quipped.

"Heh."

He sat on the arm of the couch, lightly. Ropy tail wavering about. "You could join us sometime ... "

"Kinda hard to dribble a basketball with wings for arms," she stated.

"But you'd be great at defense!"

She flashed him a fanged, carnation-pink smile.

"You don't have to play, then. Just watch. Cheer me on. Emerson's mate does that," he said, of one of his harvest mouse cousins.

"I'm not that kind of female," she replied, simply.

"Mm." Field crossed his arms, mumbling, "I got called a 'ma'am' on the phone at work today. Twice."

"Well, you know what they say about the third time ... "

"Funny," he deadpanned.

"Though I'd only really enjoy that if I became a male in return." Unlike Field, she was straight. "Like that one time, remember?"

He cleared his throat and blushed, knowingly. Eyes darting.

She giggled.

Standing up with a wince, he mumbled, "Anyway. I'm gonna take a shower. You, uh, wanna join me?"

"Nah. Go ahead. I wanna finish my show." A pause. "But you might not wanna get too clean," she added, suggestively.

"That better be a promise."

"Excuse me?" A frown. "Sir?"

"Yes?" A blink.

"Pink Lady?"

"Oh. Right." Focus, Field. Focus! "We technically do have some rows of Pink Lady, but they're fairly new. They're not mature yet." Luckily, mine is. "It's gonna be a few years. But, even then, they're an October apple."

"I see." A heavy sigh. "Well, do you know of any other orchards in the area?" the ferret asked.

"No, I'm afraid not." Did customers really expect him to recommend the competition? Who did that? It's like when the Russian shoppers tried to barter the prices down at checkout. He shook his head. This is, contrary to popular belief, a real business. We're living in a society! And fruit ripens on nature's schedule. It's not magic.

"I'll just have to look someplace else, I guess." The ferret, who was rather fetching truth be told, turned to leave, swishing her tail dramatically.

"Yes. Thank you. Have a good day!" Field said, with as much politeness as he could muster. Blowing out a breath when she was gone. He shook his head. And his thoughts began to drift to ...

Last night, again. After her show. After his shower.

No lights.

Just the moon, a sugared orange slice. Rising outside the westward window. Lazily peeking between sycamore leaves while, inside, pink and gold limbs and wings entwined on blue bed-sheets. The covers on the floor with their clothes. An orgy of primary colors. And a squeal of primal delight.

"H-hah, ah!"

Submissive or not, the mouse was on top, his butterscotch hips grinding rhythmically between the bat's spread legs. Which, like her wing-arms, were wrapped around him possessively.

A slick squelching filled the gaps between their noises. His essence fusing with her flower.

"F-faster ... "

"Uh-h ... uh ... "

"Oh, yeah," she whined, clawed toes curling. Her long, bug-catching tongue lolling out. Though average in length, Field had a blue ribbon in thickness. And, oh, those heavy rodent balls. Tightening, they slapped against her petals, now. She could feel the heat. And what's more, his thick, tufted loin-fur purposefully rubbing against her sizzling clitoris.

He mumbled something against her cheek. Humping hotly. The bed began to creak.

"Louder, mousey," she panted. "Say it ... "

"Mm-h. Your ... "

"My pussy?" she cooed.

"Y-yeah." His fur was matting with sweat. Her breasts squishing down beneath the weight of his chest. "Your pussy ... " Huff. " ... feels so fucking good." Bluntly put, perhaps. But the truth! "Like I'm breeding an angel."

Adelaide giggled, enjoying the mouse's looseness. It meant he was relaxed. Comfortable. "Mm-h. An' how would you, ah-h ... " She arched, ecstatically " ... right there. Oh, Field."

Slowing his pace, he steadily drilled that spot. His penis was tingling. I can't last much longer!

She swallowed. Trembling. Barely able to finish what she'd been trying to say. "You've never had s-sex with ... mm-h. Mm. Anyone but me, mousey." He'd been a virgin when they'd met. She had not.

"Then I have no way of knowing you don't feel just ... mm-h, like an angel," he insisted.

"Ah-h, you have a point, there."

He squeaked, mouthing on her cheek. Then nibbled down her jaw with his big buckteeth. She panted. Their breaths spilling hotly o'er each other's faces. His earthy, mousey scent starting to overpower her own. Fur flying. Everything tensing. He wanted to make her climax first. But it was gonna be close.

"Mousey! I'm ... I'm gonna ... "

"Oh ... "

"You're daydreaming again," Kessler told him, dryly. One of his co-workers. The middle-aged northern cardinal circled behind the register, her drab olive-brown plumage showing only hints of scarlet red. "Don't worry. I won't fib on ya to Coriander." Referring to the chipmunk that managed the store for the orchard's owner.

"What?"

"Huh?" she mocked, irreverently. "Gonna hose you down."

"Don't bother," Field mumbled, still seeing pink.

"Cause it would turn to steam?"

No response. Just fiddling with some rock candy sticks. Separating the colors.

"That look in your eyes? Seen it before. It's how male birds get before they strut their stuff."

"Mouses don't strut."

"Bet they lust, though."

"Why are we talking about this?" he wondered, whiskers twitching. And why do I have a better rapport with females than males? I'm not 'one of the girls!' "Anyway, for your information, it wasn't a daydream. It was a memory."

"Well, ain't that a teacup full of cherries," the cardinal quipped.

Field glanced at Kessler, scrunching his face in confusion. "What?"

"So, you good up here, Big Ears, or am I gonna have to keep an eye on ya?"

"I'm good," he assured, bashfully. When I'm not being a sap, anyway.

"Then I'm gonna stock jams and jellies."

When she left, Field looked around. Alone at the front of the market. The door in the backroom was raised up, revealing the orchard. Five thousand trees. Blue skies. Fluffy clouds. No customers. Peace and quiet! That wouldn't last. With each passing day, it would get busier and busier until, in mid-October, he'd ring a thousand furs at his register each afternoon. One after another. Not able to look up. Not able to think. Madness. Good thing my doctor has me on anxiety medication.

Though, really, she's my real medicine.

My winged thing.

My bat.

My, uh ...

Hmm.

He bit his lip and reached for a piece of scrap paper. And a blue ink pen. And began jotting something down.

Hours later, he laid back. Forehead-fur damp. Blue eyes hazy. Staring at the ceiling, his head sinking into a pillow. Another night. Another roll in the hay with his amour. The mouse sighed.

"Good?" Adelaide murmured, rubbing a velvety, strutted wing-arm along his chest and belly.

A weak, delighted nod.

"Thought so, too. You make a fine steed," she ribbed. She'd ridden him, relentlessly. Cowgirl.

After a few seconds, he rolled onto his side, facing her. "I, uh ... I wrote something for you today. It's not much, but ... " He fondled her breasts. Her nipples were still hard. He tweaked them, lightly.

She chittered. "Mm-h, you did?"

"Yeah. Um ... it's in my pants."

A laugh.

"No! It's ... that's not an innuendo. I mean, really, there's a piece of paper in my jeans." He turned and reached for his clothes without getting out of bed. Tried to, anyway. Straining. Did we undress in the doorway or something? But, finally, he grabbed denim. Pulled it close and extracted the folded up paper. "Just a poem." He squinted. His eyes were adjusted to the dark by now, but it was still hard to see. "Well, several."

"Read the best one."

"They're short. They're haikus."

"Just read it."

He took a breath and recited, airily:

"Lovely pink lady,

flying through my swooning heart.

You drive me batty."

Adelaide smiled, widely. "That's really cute."

"Yeah?"

"Of course!" It wasn't an award-winning poem by any means. But the intention behind it was so sincere. "I love it." She kissed his face, repeatedly. "I love you," she added, huskily.

"I love you, too," he mouthed, briefly swapping tongues.

"So, who's my good boy?" she whispered dominantly, tilting her muzzle and blowing into his sensitive ear.

He shivered. "I am," he insisted. The mouse closed his eyes and buried his nose in her neck-fur. Breathing in deeply. While the days had been unseasonably cool this summer, the nights were such sensual scorchers. He smiled. It all averages out, doesn't it?