Spotted Firsts

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.

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Spotted Firsts

Aryn sat on the doorstep to the mansion, whole body quivering as he shook his head vehemently, unwilling to take a single step further into the unknown. Music pulsed from within, a vibrating techno beat designed to get the paws moving. He mewled. No, no and no again for good measure. It was a done deal: he would not go in. No one could make him. The feral white King cheetah would turn around and go home, forgetting that he had ever been dragged to a party. Why had he even allowed himself to be persuaded in the first place? Why had he cleaned his black spots so meticulously? That little mark on his shoulder that he was usually so proud of, his cute identifier? He should not have bothered in the first place.

He licked his shoulder and looked up at his anthro companion, towering over him. The two-legged mountain lion paused, paces ahead, and glanced back, long tail swishing slowly from side to side, the tip dusted with powdery black.

"Aryn? What's wrong?"

He turned, paws shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. Though he was dressed comfortably for the summer heat, his smart casual attire denoted the type of party they were attending, or at least attempting to attend. Panting, Aryn dropped his head to the ground and growled, rubbing his face against his paws. Tibby would understand, he was sure he would. They had known each other for so long that surely the other feline would understand what a terrible mistake the party had been already. Tibby could go in without him, he would not mind.

The cougar frowned and folded his arms across his chest.

"Aryn." His voice was weary, sharp at the edges. "This is not the time. You wanted to come, damn it! You said so yourself!"

The cheetah flopped on the step, splayed out apologetically on his side, creamy belly on show. Tibby sighed and pressed his fingers between his eyes, massaging the brown fur in small circles. What a farce...

"All right...you win." He held up his paws in defeat, tail drooping. "Let's go home."

Padding back down the steps, Tibby made as if to return to the car, only halting when realising that Aryn was not beside him as expected. The cheetah sat upon his haunches, tail flicking as he looked from left to right, indecision rife in his eyes. He eyed the party and caught Tibby's eye, breath coming in anxious pants as his jaw hung slightly agape in testament to his nerves.

"Changed your mind again?"

Tibby scratched behind his ear for something to do, a note of exasperation entering his tone, blue eyes rolling. He stomped to the cheetah's side like a sulky kitten, tail curling against his legs. Catching a stone on the toe of his boot, he sent it skittering across the flagstones - some rare, coloured rock that neither of them could place - and Aryn stared at it, rounded ears slanting down to his skull. Tibby muttered under his breath about cats never knowing whether they were coming or going, momentarily forgetting that he too was of the feline persuasion, petting Aryn on the head with an absent minded paw. The cheetah looked up hopefully and licked the back of his friend's hand; the cougar's eyes softened.

"Come on then," Tibby grumbled. "You're lucky I owe you."

Aryn purred and rubbed the full length of his body against the cougar's legs, vibrations travelling through him into the anthro. The cougar laughed as he was playfully mauled with affection, allowing the cheetah to head-butt his thigh and rub the scent glands on his face into his jeans, purrs intensifying.

"Oh, get off, you..." Tibby feigned a look of disgust, though he could not conceal the smile tugging at his lips. "You've got drool on me! What are the ladies going to think if you're slobbering on me, hm?"

Aryn tilted his head, eyes twinkling as if to say that the slobber would not be a problem with the ladies at all: he knew Tibby and his so called 'luck' with the ladies. The cougar spent most nights alone despite his bravado. Some males were all talk and no action, not that Aryn could talk. He didn't get any action at all. He'd rather sit quietly at home, take a break from the chaos. Ladies did not hold his attention.

Swallowing hard, Aryn followed his companion into the party, legs bent to keep his body lower to the ground than he would naturally hold himself, eyes ever watchful and darting about the throng of people. For a moment, he regretted his decision to enter the large main room - the entrance hall - and considered turning tail, but Tibby blocked his path. The cougar shook his head with his lips set into that firm line that made Aryn's stomach plummet.

"Nuh-uh, not this time," Tibby chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't you think I've known you long enough to know all your tricks by now?"

Aryn chuffed and showed him his back. He did not need the silly cat to accompany him to a party! He was not going to run. Well, he did not want to flee all that much. He was not predictable.

The cat did not reply. Aryn leapt and spun around. Where was Tibby? The cat had gone on without him and he dashed to catch up, heart pounding in his chest. The music was harsh upon his ears and he growled, pausing to paw at his head. Why was it so loud? He wondered if the other anthros - so many different furs! Where had they all come from? - cared for the noise at all. Though, with their seeming current state of inebriation, it looked to be that they needed the music to be louder simply so that they could enjoy it.

Aryn licked his lips. Furries were such strange creatures, those of the general kind who went to parties and socialised and all that jazz. He spotted a feral wolf through the crowd and trotted to meet him, purple eyes bright in anticipation. The wolf, however, swayed upon his feet, muzzle drooping down to the ground as his tongue lolled out happily. Aryn backed away, whining. The wolf was in as bad a state as the two-leggers! He turned in a circle, scanning the main room, which was nothing more than a forest of legs, for anyone or anything that might soothe his frazzled mind.

"Oh, a feral! How cute!"

Aryn stiffened, tail fluffing up like the branch of a pine tree. A floppy eared golden dog pointed at him, tail wagging nineteen to the dozen. A small bark burst from her muzzle in what Aryn could only assume was excitement and she clasped her paws to her chest, dancing from hind paw to paw - well, the best she could in a staggeringly dangerous pair of heels - as if unable to contain her joy. Her eyes were wide and childlike, belaying her age. She was not as mature as some female furs that Aryn had met (under duress, he would hasten to add).

"Look! Come here!" She yelled to someone that Aryn could not see, gesturing wildly with her arms flailing.

She crouched down and scooted closer to Aryn, arm stuck straight in front of her body, an invitation for him to come closer that he would not accept. The cheetah stood as still as a statue, frozen in place. What was he to do? Flee? Tibby would laugh at him if he ran. Aryn rumbled a growl, warning the approaching canine back, but he may as well have been a kitten mewling for his mother's milk for all the good it did.

The dog's tongue poked out the corner of her mouth as she brought her paw down with greater force than intended upon the cheetah's head. He flinched and tried to step away but there was already another female fur behind him, blocking his path - a black feline running her paws through his fur with a domestic purr of delight.

"Oh, he's so soft..." She hiccupped and swayed. "Is he tame?"

Aryn snorted and shook himself, stray bits of fur flying off in all directions. Tame? What did they think he was - some kind of pet? Paws attacked him from all sides and he hunkered down to the ground, tail lashing. The petting felt nice from some of them, he could not lie, but the drunken paws were more akin to gropes than gentle strokes and he grunted in pain, eyes closing against the bright lights of the party. He wished he was home.

He rolled over on to his back, paws held up against his body in defence and compliance. A show of submissiveness encouraged most other felines of his kind to back off, demonstrate that he was no threat to him, but they took it as invitation to caress his belly. Far more paws than he was comfortable with scratched through his fur and he cried out, twisting as long nails hit ticklish spots. Caught vulnerable, he could not roll to his feet without sinking his claws into the fur and flesh and he hesitated, body quivering.

"Hey..."

The first canine snickered, pulling the strap of her pink top back up over her shoulder with a paw that still clutched a half-empty, red cup. She ran the pads of her fingers over his paws and giggled as Aryn chirped, wriggling his toes. It tickled! The feral slunk back down against the floor and waved his paws in the air. The dog took one of his hinds in each of her paws, rubbing and tickling over the pads and between the toes as he chuffed and squirmed. Oh, that was much better than silly gropes and pushes and squeezes! Why couldn't they have just rubbed his paws in the first place?

Chirps and purrs burst from him in a cacophony that may have been more suited to a bird of paradise than a feline. Another anthro - he did not see which, being so preoccupied - grasped his forepaws, pressing her thumb between each toe until he near melted into the ground. The golden canine's gaze travelled down his body and her smirk grew, maliciously wide. Unknown to him, his cock swelled, pushing from its sheath and drooling a clear string of pre cum on to his stomach, marking his fur. The paw rubs touched a particularly sensitive spot and Aryn jerked, a spurt of pre cum shooting from his cock so swiftly that only the keenest eye could have caught the motion. And one did.

"Look there... I think our little friend likes this!"

Aryn looked down the length of his body towards his tail and flinched, horrified. If his mind had not enjoyed the petting, he certainly could not say the same for his body! His pink cock was fully engorged, showing his masculinity to the world at large! The cheetah yowled.

"He's so cute when he's hard," the canine slurred, refusing to let go of his paws, jiggling them back and forth. "Do you think we can get him to cum?"

"I think you can! It gets some lads off!"

"Yeah, well, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, shut it."

Letting go of his forepaws, the fur somewhere behind his head - he could only see a pair of white furred legs - walked her fingers down his chest and stomach, creeping them closer to his cock as she hummed a tune to the pace of her path.

"Maybe you can jack him off?"

Aryn flinched and hissed, fur fluffing up as he wriggled away, sliding over the linoleum with a squeak of movement. He was only startled, not aggressive, but they did not know that and scrambled backwards with drunken giggles and wide eyes, muttering amongst themselves.

He took advantage of their retreat to flip back on to all four paws, ignoring their humiliating laughter as he strove to sort himself out. Try as he might, however, the poor cheetah could not get his shaft to recede, go back into hiding, and he shifted from paw to paw, giving a cheetah's version of a grimace as another of the drunken females tried to pet him, nails trailing over his hindquarters with unnerving familiarity. If he had been an anthro, he would have blushed but, as it was, he merely tried to make good his escape through the tangle of legs.

A paw grabbed his tail, holding him back with a firm, sharp yank.

"Where do you think you're going, kitty?"

He yowled and spun, paws slipping on the smooth, wooden floor. He darted first one way and then the other, seeking escape, but they blocked him at every turn, using their bodies to bar his way and laughing raucously at his attempts. Escape plans foiled, the cheetah crouched and trembled, utterly helpless at their whim. Aryn could not stop an equine mare from kneeling down at his side, rubbing down his side in a way that made tremors of delight shake him and embarrassment nullify any mental enjoyment. He shook his head: would it ever end? Their paws grew ever bolder, inching under his belly to where his cock grew and grew; it was the perfect size for a feline. One of them said he was small and he mentally argued with her, hiding his muzzle under his paws as questing fingertips brushed his shaft, the barbs soft.

Trembling like an Autumn leaf, the cheetah flattened his stomach to ground, protecting himself belatedly from unwanted attention, though an insistent capybara with a rounded muzzle that could have been kind tried to worm her paws under his stomach. She patted his flanks as if that would entice him to let her molest him further, painted lips curved upwards in a perpetual, terrifying smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another approaching, a bright glow of a feline, and growled, anticipating further groping. Why could they just not leave him alone?

"There, there..."

A petite ocelot with striking spots and a glowing, amber coat stroked his head gently and beckoned with two crooked fingers, stepping backwards away from him. Her brown eyes shone with kindness and he raked his gaze over her spots, the black circles with golden centres marking her uniquely; no two spots would ever be the same on a cat. Taking his cue from her unexpected gentleness - it was a far cry from furs trying to touch his malehood! - he leapt after her and entwined himself with her legs. He rasped a cheetah 'mew', the cry high pitched, and she held up her paws, warning the disappointed cluster of ladies back.

"All right now," she said firmly, feline tail lashing; he watched the path it cut through the air with a keen eye. "I think he's had enough."

Following her path so closely that she near stumbled over him, Aryn wove his way through the crowd with the strange ocelot, blinking as her fluffy tail tickled his whiskers. She laughed lightly, musically, and he shivered at the sound, relief flooding his body as he fixed his attentions upon her as his saviour.

The ocelot led him through the party to a door set at the back of the room and he chased her through gladly, exhaling a breath that he had not known he had held once they were alone. The room was small, some kind of reception, with a plush carpet, sofa and coffee table, nothing too extravagant, though Aryn would not be the best judge of wealth.

Closing the door at Aryn's heels, the female smiled and crouched down to his level, blue eyes studying him sympathetically. Thus secluded in the room, the music muted to a manageable level and the cheetah plopped upon his haunches, top line of his body shaking from mental exertion. He could not have been more drained if he had fled for miles upon miles - a stretch that a cheetah was not meant to cover by any feat of the imagination.

The ocelot reached out tentatively to stroke his head and he pushed his muzzle into her paw, eyes lowered shyly as he scuffed a paw across the softer carpet. He didn't mind strokes when they came from someone less rough than those furs, though it was a strange sensation to have affection fawned upon him. It would have only been a shade more comfortable if his cock was not still stubbornly peeking from his sheath.

"Thought they were getting a bit much for you there," she murmured. "How are you doing?"

He rolled his shoulders in the imitation of an anthro shrug - he had seen Tibby perform the action so many times that he thought he had it down - and mewled, ears perked. Flopping on to his side, he relaxed under her gentler paw, side heaving in breath regained. He could not explain why, if asked, but something about the ocelot made his muscles unknot one by one. She scratched down his side and massaged his legs with skilled paws, easing under his belly while being careful to avoid his sheath, despite her eyes straying, curiosity running rife.

Her paws ended up on his pads and she giggled as he squirmed, kicking all four paws up in the air to better enjoy her touch. Shivering, the feline's purrs swelled, chest vibrating happily, and the ocelot murred, taking her cue from his reaction. Rubbing back and forth with her thumb and forefinger, the ocelot smiled, paying attention to each of Aryn's paws in turn. No spot was left untouched as she scratched with the very tip of her short nails, fingers easing between his toes and over the backs of his paws in a deep massage.

"Aw, does that feel better?" She crooned as he rolled on to his back. "Don't mind those girls, they're too young to know better. They didn't mean any harm really."

Her lips twitched.

"Though there was no reason for them to treat you that way, I'm sorry, honey. It was wrong."

Aryn flicked his tail and tilted his head to one side as if to say that it was okay. What did the ocelot have to do with the female furs anyway? She had done nothing wrong, only petted him. She shook her head, thumb rubbing slow circles on his pads, and licked her lips unconsciously as Aryn's cock grew just a little more, arousal impossible to hide for a male. Her eyes landed upon his shaft, watching with too much interest, though the feline was oblivious to her fixation. She pressed her knuckles into his paws, kneading firmly to a chorus of throaty purrs.

"I hope you can forgive me for not scooping you out of there sooner."

Aryn purred and sprawled: all was forgiven, if there even was anything to forgive. Considering why she was showering him with so much affection, he could not force the image of the clustering female furs from his mind, their obnoxious paws and groping digits, demanding attention that he could not give. Crying out so softly that she had to strain to hear him, Aryn dropped his muzzle to the carpet and inhaled the scents, seeking comfort that would have been easier to acquire if he was in his own warm abode. The cheetah's paws twitched and he snuffled, throat thick with unnatural emotion for a feral. Oh, how he wished he was home. His nose twitched and he suddenly realised that the paws had left his body. What had happened? Why had she stopped?

The cheetah shot to his paws, eyes wide. The ocelot sat a couple of paces away on the floor, legs hitched up and spread wide, panties tugged to one side. For the first time, Aryn noticed she was wearing a long, surprisingly demure skirt - feral furries did not typically go for clothing or pay it much attention - which draped pleasantly over her thighs, enhancing the line of muscle in the feminine curve. Aryn gaped dumbly.

"I'm sorry!"

She blushed, turning her muzzle away while sliding her eyes coyly back to the startled cheetah.

"I didn't mean to startle you, honey, only thought...well... Maybe a lady like me could help me with your...ah...problem?"

She nodded towards the cock hanging beneath his legs, balls tucked further back than a canine. Aryn looked away, tail flicking indecisively. The ocelot, whose name he still did not know, held up her paws, skirt falling more modestly so that her sex was half-covered. Aryn could not help tilting his head down that fraction, however, that allowed him to peer curiously beneath the folds of fabric, scenting her arousal on the air. With the pulse of music in the background, her scent wreaked havoc on his senses, hormones running wild.

"It's okay," she said, widening the spread of her legs. "Why don't you have a taste? You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I spoke to Tibby."

Aryn cocked his head. If he could have frowned, he would have: just what had been said about him?