Editor's note: this work contains scenes of fictional rough, reluctant, dubiously consensual, consensually non-consensual (CNC), or non-consensual sex or scenarios.
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This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
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Frost laid back on the sofa, the fenpil, a species all unto his own, visibly tired from the day. He couldn't help that his daughters, Omaira and Iclyn, often ran amok -- not in a bad way, of course, but in the sort of way that always had him trying to keep up with them, left feeling like he was chasing his own fluffy tail, the white and blue flitting back and forth, forever dancing out of his reach. Of course, the fenpil was far from a youngster who would have, actually, chased their own tail -- and his daughters were well into adulthood too, even if they still lived at home. He just wanted to make sure they were okay, that they were well set up for life, and having them home with him made it so that he had company there that, otherwise, he may not have had.
So, it was not all that bad, not as he dozed there, slipping into a deeper sleep in their shared living room, the detached home private and secluded, everything that they needed. One of his bare hind paws, exposing the white fluff of his toes before his fur blended into a muted, medium blue, like a teal, twitched over the edge of the sofa cushion, though the two-person sofa was a little too small for the fenpil. It didn't matter too much, however, for there was another, larger one in the same room, set up so that they framed the TV. The TV, fortunately for Frost, had turned off automatically after a period of inactivity, so he didn't have to worry about switching it off as he slept before midnight.
He should have gone to his bed, but that night would turn out to be the start of something new, a bulge rising in his boxer shorts from his dream. It was not a dream that he would remember when he woke, though it must have been a good dream indeed as Frost squirmed in his sleep, scratching his stomach in his sleep, muscles moving lightly beneath his fur. His large ears twitched, scooped and pointed to cup and filter sounds, but he was not listening, not as his shaft pressed urgently against the front of his underwear, need coursing through him.
Everything could have been fine...if not for Omaira, his daughter. She mooched down the hallway with light steps, deliberate steps, the steps of someone that didn't want to be heard, for she only wanted a glass of water. For all he did for them, she didn't want to risk disturbing her father, not after she had heard him snoring softly through the midpoint of the movie he'd been watching. He needed his rest, but at least he had been out with them that day. Even if Omaira would not have admitted it, she was glad to spend time with him, despite not quite being as open about that as her sister.
She had a short muzzle with a soft round and a tight kind of smile that made those around her wonder if Omaira knew something that they did not. Her rich, burned-red fur was eye-catching, though it was the ruffled blue crystals on the points of her elbows and down the line of her spine that really set her apart. It did mean that she had to be careful about the clothes she wore, but Omaira, frankly, was more comfortable in loose trousers and a crop top for daily wear. It was one way, after all, that she could show off her body while doing all that she needed to do, breasts nicely filling out the crop top while being coolly confident in herself. The splash of white of her belly, which rose to the base of her neck where it split to allow the red fur to cut in, set off her looks perfectly, with minimal effort.
Still, not even Omaira could have been prepared for finding her father on the sofa with the thick bulge in his underwear. She had to cross through the living room, if she didn't want to use the squeaky door to get to the kitchen from the other side, to get to the kitchen, her glass and water waiting, tantalisingly out of reach. Her ear flicked, tail twitching, swaying lightly back behind her. Only wearing a light top that flowed loosely down to her stomach, a strip of bare fur was left between her shirt and her shorts: her comfortable evening and sleeping wear.
She'd never seen her father like that before, even though she had been with others, done some things... Truth be told, Omaira had found them boring, no one really claiming her interest. And yet she found herself, right there, with her gaze locked onto her father as if she could not drag her eyes away.
Interesting. Very interesting.
