FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I apologize in advance for the super-long wait that my readers have had to put up with for this chapter. I now have my muse back, however, so here it is. This story is perfectly suitable for the faint of heart... for now. *wicked grin* It is also spectacularly uneventful, for which I apologize in advance. I tried to make it enjoyable nonetheless. I hope that you find it so!

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Pale morning sunshine cast itself in loving rays into the windows of the forbidding, dark, Gothic building. It played along the edges of the small pool in the fields behind, sparkling in the clear blue water, and danced faerylike along the swaying blades of impossibly green grass. Further back, it was stopped by the leafy and heavily pined boughs of massive trees, so that the forest beneath held only fleeting glimpses of light within its shadows.

From deep in the blackness, far back in the trees, six shadowy forms stirred. They watched the field, guarding, listening, waiting, always alert even in deepest slumber. They were Xavier's guard dogs, fully trained, and were one quarter wolf. They were dark gray sable, almost wolfish in appearance except that no white fur graced their forms. Their limbs were black, with gray banded hairs running along the fronts of the long forelegs. The rest of their blood, and the whole of their personalities, was German Shepherd Dog. Except for the occasional eerie howling in the night, and the yellow, wild glow in their eyes, they could almost be mistaken for dogs. Right now, they watched the castlelike building, keeping their eyes fixed upon it, watching the sun dapple smoothly along the dark stone as morning grew into afternoon.

Up higher, along the spires and latticework of the building, the sun shone brightly, warmly in through a iron-laced window. It danced along sheer white lace which was draped loosely around a large bed, and shone upon snow-white fur and the sparkling golden collar which adorned it. In this bed slept Veronica, the stripeless white tigress who had, the night before, been purchased by the master of the house. He, Xavier, had wanted merely a companion--one who could not run from what he was... once she found out.

There was a soft moan, and soft white lids blinked in the flawless feline face, exposing glittering green emerald eyes to the bright sunshine. She sighed, curled comfortably in the thick white blankets, then stretched tired muscles with a yawn. Long white fangs glinted for a moment in the morning light, and then the tigress turned over in her bed, sprawled in the blankets. The pillows, fluffy and softer than any she'd known, were everywhere--there must be ten of them, she thought, groggy.

Eyes half-lidded, her body remarkably relaxed, she thought over the previous night, wondering. Was this black leopard--black WINGED leopard, she reminded herself--was he truly a lonely cat just looking for a companion? Last night she'd been certain, but then, she'd been fairly drunk too. To be sold from a brothel where the government's intentions had been to make a good chunk of money off of her forced, permanent imprisonment, and likely rape, to someone who seemed caring and decent... Especially if that someone was rich and handsome enough, and as much a gentleman as Xavier seemed to be, that he should be able to get any woman he wanted... Well, it just seemed too good to be true. But then, he'd been her fantasy, when she'd been weak enough in her misery to allow herself the fantasy of rescue.

Usually it had been a fantasy of escape. Or of her making a speech, getting Furrs the sudden rights of all mankind. But the rescue one, the one she chided herself for having as being too girlish, too close to slavery in its hopes for protection and dominance, was just as good...

In it, a powerful, dark, handsome creature--one who was dominant but considerate, who knew he could take her but, with that power, chose to respect her enough not to--a dark yet moral creature... In it, this creature would show up, recognize her as something worthy of a life outside her hell, and whisk her away. And eventually, perhaps, she'd give herself up to him, though the horror of sex, to a slave like her, had been enough to keep her fantasy from progressing that far.

And now, her fantasy had come true. Except... In this fantasy, she'd always known that there had to be a reason. A reason for him to be in a brothel, a reason for a powerful being to have to buy love. Sometimes he was an outcast, sometimes he could not trust non-slave-bought females to not be planted assassins. Other times he was a predator, a succubus (or was it incubus? She couldn't remember) or a vampire or some such being, one that needed her to feed from as well as to simply be around, who requested that she give a small part of herself (and not sex, which was a loss of dignity, in her mind--that would be the same as being sold as a sex slave) in return for protection and caring. That always held some appeal.

But was was Xavier's reason? Despite the castle, the "wolves" outside, the Gothic life and the black-feathered wings, she didn't think he was anything other than a relatively normal Furr. She hadn't smelled anything odd on him, anyway, no blood--and he'd mentioned that he'd been without sex, and could do without. So the incubus/succubus thing was out.

As Veronica lay in bed, sleepily contemplating all likely scenarios--and plenty of unlikely ones---the graceful black leopard Xavier was already up and about downstairs. He was bustling around the kitchen, more nervous than the white tigress. His muscles, powerful and sleek, bulged slightly under his shining ebony coat as he reached for milk, for flour, for salt. The thin black silk robe he wore, sashed lightly at the waist, did little to hide his slim but muscular physique. He was strong, he was a predator, and his body exuded this power in every line of his form. His grace and strength combined so that the air around him almost seemed to shimmer, as if the very oxygen was afraid. Or at least respected him.

He blinked his own glittering green eyes down at the recipe, under which his black, clawed forefinger pressed. Buttermilk. Who the hell had buttermilk? His black, feline brow furrowed, and he pulled a carton of buttermilk from his massive fridge. Apparently, he noted in surprise, he did. Oh, right, he'd meant to try out this recipe this week. Hence the presence of the usually-foreign stuff in his kitchen.

He pulled together a few other things, tossed food from the frying pan onto a large, oval platter, and then finally added the glasses of orange juice and milk. A small purple rose in a slender vase completed the elegant, complex look. He placed it all on a tray, turned the stovetop off, and made sure his robe was tightly sashed--it would be no good tripping on his sash on the stairs, breaking glass and smearing himself with breakfast. He smiled wryly at the thought, his long black whiskers twitching upward slightly. He brushed his black locks out of his face, letting his slightly wavy hair fall behind his long, thick neck.

Picking up the tray, keeping it carefully balanced, Xavier padded slowly and quietly up the stone stairwell. It had been eight hours since they'd arrived home, and seven and a half since they'd gone to sleep. It was now a little after two in the afternoon. So yeah, it was a little late for breakfast, but Xavier was an unusual, spontaneous and considerate male, and intended to make Veronica as happy as he could. He rose to the landing, and gently knocked on the door with his elbow.

"Good morning," he called quietly, his deep, sensual voice reverberating into the stone room. "Are you awake?"

Veronica scrambled up, pulling the white blankets close around her, green eyes widening, heart racing. Yes, she'd known he'd come, but now that he had, now that she had to face the one who'd just changed her life forever for better or worse, and face him sober, she wasn't sure how to act. "Y--Yes," she stammered.

Silence. Then, "May I come in?" And the sounds of confused shuffling.

She hesitated. "Yes," she finally said, only because she didn't think she was really allowed to keep him out, and because it would have been rude... and because she wanted this meeting, practically their first, over with.

A moment later the heavy door clicked softly open, and the large, statuesque black panther entered, balancing a large tray of steaming, wholesome-smelling food upon one knee. He caught it with his other hand after turning the knob, then approached her bed. She shrank back (not out of fear but out of nervousness) and smiled shyly.

"Breakfast is served," he said with a smile. Then he parted one lace curtain, his black silk robe shining in the golden light, and leaned in. Veronica pulled herself upright so that she was sitting against the headboard, and Xavier gently laid the tray on her lap. Then he turned, lifting a white, red-cushioned chair from the corner, and sat beside her bed. She looked over the hearty breakfast, green eyes wide. "Oh my God," she said, amazed.

She looked up at him, and her eyes were those of a child who'd just seen her first flower. "I've only had gruel and bread for the past... I don't know." She looked at him for a long while, contemplating his earnest, smiling face, then looked back at the breakfast.

A thick, fluffy stack of pancakes, with a small pat of perfectly-placed butter atop them, was lovingly drenched in maple syrup. Beside it, two eggs--sunny side up--lay hot and glistening in the light, framed with three long slices of tawny bacon. She grinned. Meat had started to look and taste much better about fifty years ago, when mankind began growing it in huge laboratory-factories rather than taking it from living things. And this bacon looked great. Beside all of this was a small stack of sliced-in-half pieces of toast, and a small glop of butter and strawberry jam on each. A glass of orange juice and a glass of milk stood beside a single, fragile, delicately beautiful purple rose in a slender crystal vase.

Xavier was warmed by the grin on the white feline's face. "I must look downright silly," she laughed, seeing the pleased look on his leonine features.

"Kid in a candy shop doesn't even begin to describe it," he laughed, his voice a contented purr. "Enjoy your meal. If you feel uncomfortable with me watching you eat, let me know--but I feel like I've waited forever for you, and I want to drown my eyes with the beautiful sight," he said softly. She gave him a slightly wierd look, as if to say "Normal people don't talk like that, wierdo," then just gave him a somewhat confused half-smile.

"I'm not quite sure what to say to that," she admitted at last with a little laugh. He smiled sedately. She dug into the pancakes first, and he waited, slightly concerned; it was the first time he'd tried the buttermilk recipe. But she seemed to like it--no, better. She wolfed it down, trying to eat slowly but obviously relishing the taste, then smacked her lips. She looked longingly at the small amount of remaining syrup, as if she wanted to lick the plate, then she drained the rest of the cold milk and started in on the eggs. "Delicious, and thank you so much," she said between bites. "You didn't have to bring me breakfast in bed!"

"My pleasure," Xavier crooned. He watched her eat, watched her muscles ripple under the soft, thick white coat, watched her long white fangs dip into her food, watched her ears flick to and fro. She was beautiful, and he wanted to drink in the sight of her, to taste it and remember it, to bottle it and store it beside the fine wines in the cellar of his mind. He couldn't get enough of her. But for now he sat, quiet and pleased, and finally, he began to speak.

"Today I will, if you don't mind, take a few measurements from you. I will then go out and buy you some clothing, a few things, and return with them. Tomorrow, you will return to the shops with me, and select your own wardrobe."

She turned and looked at him, closed mouth bulging with egg, eyes wide. As she chewed, he could almost read her thoughts; was he going to dress her like his doll, keep her like a plaything?

"You need clothes," he explained, and his tone was almost... reproachful. She regretted doubting him at once.

When she finished the eggs, she moved to the bacon--she didn't normally eat so much, but God it was good. "Um... I don't want to pry, but... Don't you, like, have a job or something? Or... I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound rude," she added hastily, as his eyes clouded. He blinked at her, realizing his expression had revealed his mood, and smiled.

"No, please, ask anything you like. This home, and I, are yours. My business, for the most part, is yours. I do have a job," he added, but again his features went dark, blank when he said this, "but I am taking a week off to settle you in. I do not work full-time in any case, it is a... I work on commissions." He motioned to her food, and she understood; he was trying to tell her not to pry. So it was her business, but only up to a point, then. She sighed, then put down her fork.

"I can tell you don't want to tell me," she said, and her voice was shaky. What the hell was she doing, confronting this guy? He could be dangerous, deep down... "But I can sense ulterior motives like I can smell cologne," she said, then blushed under her fur as she realized that she'd been subliminally influenced by his light but musky scent. "And until you do tell me why it is you needed to buy a slave, rather than attract a woman, I will not trust you. As good as your food may be," she added good-naturedly. He simply nodded. There, it was on the table; he would keep his secret, for now, and try to make her feel at home, and she would trust him--to a point. She would likely not share his bed, chaste or otherwise, until he told her. He looked away, and she set her lips in a sad half-smile and went back to her bacon. So he feared telling her. Fair enough.

When she finished, he asked her about her sleep. They spoke some about the trained wolfdogs outside, and they spoke at length about the training of the dogs, how their natural wolf shyness had been overcome through breeding and training. Finally, she shifted uncomfortably and asked for a toilet, and, smiling, he reached down and took the tray, pausing to pick the vase off. He moved gracefully across to the window, his huge black wings taut on his back, and gently placed the rose there, then led Veronica from the room.

Again, as they moved through the castle-home she was struck by it--the miraculousness of it all. How the hell had she come here? What was this guy's job? And what was the big damn secret that forced him to buy a companion? If he had been walking behind her, rather than leading her down the stone stairs, she would have been wary and nervous. For now, she walked behind him, padding nakedly down the stairs and thankful that he did not turn and look up and down her nude body like most males would. In fact, as he pushed open the bathroom door, he actually averted his eyes politely. Well, she thought! Points for him. He suggested that she take a bath, and take her time doing so, as he had housework to catch up on. She smiled, thanked him, and moved into the bathroom, feeling surrealistic, as if she'd managed to fall into heaven.

Xavier left Veronica to do her business, and went with the used dishes into the kitchen. Sometimes he had a meal after awakening, other times he waited until midday. Right now he wasn't hungry. Right now, he was nervous as hell. It was true, she could not leave him, ever. But it was also true that he might end up saddled with an angry, frightened, hate-filled she-cat who'd only want him dead.

She hadn't pressed about his work--in fact, she'd been honest and clear, then simply dropped it. He was impressed, and he felt guilty about hiding his secrets, but he strongly suspected that the results of his dropping this particular bomb would change her attitude from tolerance to terror. He wasn't going to test that yet, not until he knew her better, learned how best to tell her. With these thoughts, and many more, in mind, he began to wash the dishes.

In the bathroom, Veronica used the toilet, then ran a hot bath. There was plenty of hot water, despite the dishes she was sure Xavier was doing. God, he was handsome. Predatory, dangerous even, with an edge of the unknown wild in him. But he seemed gentle, and sure, and kind to her, and his black, sleek body, with its barely visible black-on-black markings, attracted her powerfully. She almost could believe that he might, in fact, be a vampire. Except for the fact that he'd stood in sunlight, she remembered with a smile. She stirred her white paw throught the hot water as it filled the tub, and sighed, remembering the way the light had glinted and gleamed across the obsidian expanse of his pelt. Gorgeous, just gorgeous. But, though she admired him, and was immensely grateful, she still held a strong suspicion, and a powerful fear, of him and his motives. She hid it well.

She slipped into the hot bath, soaking, luxuriating. She'd been trained on how to run the perfect bath, but had never been able to use one herself. She'd been taught instead to make herself perfectly presentable with a mere five-minute shower, so that an owner could get a good clean fucking after she'd washed the full day's housework from her body.

She snarled to herself with the memory, then began to lather her fur with the new shampoos lining the tub. God, he'd taken pains to prepare for her, she knew. Decorating the bedroom, buying flowers and soaps. Damn. What did he want? She shook her head again, lathering her scalp, then slipped beneath the hot water for a moment. Sounds became garbled, gurgling, a single throbbing pulse that was her heartbeat vibrating in her ears. She opened her eyes, looking through the water beneath the shampoo residue, looking down along her white-furred body--then the light shifted, and she came up explosively, turning toward the door as she clutched her arms around her chest.

"It's just me, and I'm not looking," came the deep, commanding voice. A black, sinewy arm held out a white terrycloth robe. He tossed it toward the bath, and it landed on the floor beside the tub.

"Got it," she sputtered, wiping soapy water from her face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied, then slipped away. She tried to relax, tried to get back into the soothing heat of the tub, but was too shaken by his sudden entry. No, she didn't trust him yet. Nowhere near. Finally she used the showerhead to rinse her soaked white fur, and did a quick rub-through and rinse of a creme fur conditioner. She'd have to get ahold of soaps for white fur, but of course Xavier hadn't known he was getting a white cat when he went for his little shopping trip, did he? She grinned nervously to herself as she pulled the drain with her pawtoes and stepped out, dripping, onto the heated stone floor. She pulled the robe tight around her and tied it, then emerged from the steaming bathroom cautiously, long white tail lashing around behind her. She looked around the empty, quiet house, and then heard footfalls from her right. She followed the sound, and a moment later Xavier appeared with a tape measure in his paws. He was dressed beautifully, in a black suit pants and black dress shirt ensemble, the black suit jacket hanging loosly beneath his wings. They, too, had seamed holes for the feathered wings. She admired him, the way the clothes clung to him beautifully, as if made only for him. He was a study in black, and he was beautiful. She averted her eyes, realizing she was staring. He then smiled and motioned for her to remove the robe, and she blinked and did so, though reluctantly.

Xavier tried to be as nonchalant as possible, to ignore her body and act the respectable, professional gentleman. But he couldn't help admiring her curves, couldn't stop the barely-noticeable intake of air when he drew the tape measure tight around her breasts and saw erect pink nipples, couldn't help licking his lips with subconcious lust when her newly-washed feminine scent wafted to him from her groin. He took measurements everywhere, his black paws enjoying their first true physical contact with her, sliding over her inner thighs and around her chest, drawing slowly, gently tight around her waist and along her back. She shuddered involuntarily, afraid but trying to remain detached, her body reacting with both fear and lust despite itself.

Finally Xavier drew away with a relieved smile, and handed her back her robe. She'd been writing down the measurements he'd dictated on a small notepad--silence would have been unbearable, she realized. And now he gently took the notepad, examined it, and nodded. "I think that's all. I will be back in a few hours--I'm going to get you a bra, a few pairs of underwear, and two sets of basic clothes. Any requests?"

She shrugged, and then, with a shy grin, said "I look good in dark purple, and in black." Then she blushed, and though he couldn't see it, he somehow knew. In black, eh? For a split-second he imagined her atop his black body, his ebony wings hovering around her... He shook the thought away, and again nodded politely. In his rumbling, sensual voice, he spoke again.

"I will see what I can do. Make yourself at home, and in an emergency call my cell phone--I've taped the number beneath the telephone, which is in the kitchen," he added, pointing. "Eat whatever you want in the fridge, in the freezer, anything, and feel free to hang out in the den. If the phone rings, don't answer unless it's me--my number shows up on the Caller ID as Xaviercell. And other than that, make yourself at home, within reason." He smiled again, then slipped away. A moment later the huge, heavy front door banged shut, and Veronica was left alone at last.

That was chapter three. I hope to follow it soon with four. Please feel free to leave comments, ratings, suggestions, and questions. All encourage faster subsequent chapters. ;P