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. These stories have been public for some time, but I am slowly uploading my back catalogue of stories currently.
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The Shepsisters
Daniel Yote - assassin D.C. Yote - flattened himself to the wall, muzzle tucked to the side and tail hair bristling. The lithe coyote bit back a snarl, all down to instinct, and triple-checked that his blade was still secured at his hip, a small but deadly dagger, painted with poison that was harmless against clean skin but deadly upon entry into the bloodstream. The beauty of the weapon was that a small nick could deliver the killing dose from his weapon of choice. Firearms had their appeal too when need called for them. White fangs flashed in the moonlight - how typical that there should be a full moon for an assassination - and he dashed away down the narrow alley with a fleetness of foot that would have astounded any watcher.
He had to remain undetected. Daniel had been directed on other missions during the course of his employment at headquarters - he knew it under no other name - where he had had to cause something to serve as a distraction for other assassins, but different missions called for individual measures. It was his understanding of this and his ability to adapt that made him one of the deadliest assassins at headquarters. To his knowledge, no other fur had succeeded on even infiltrating the walls of the Shepsisters home base, so the coyote was off to a promising start in his eyes. A tremor of excited fear shook Dan's bones as he considered that he would soon be confronting the notorious Shepsisters, assassin twins extraordinaire, muzzle to muzzle, tooth to tooth.
It was going to be a fight with only one outcome.
The coyote's eyes grazed the rolls of barbed wire above the outer wall; he would not escape that way, that was for sure. Ducking his head, he skilfully dodged security beams and flung himself bodily into a narrow alleyway between two buildings that looked to be for military purposes, bases for weaponry and training. He barely avoided a bulky wolf who raised his muzzle warily at the entrance to the alley, scenting something foreign on the night breeze. Calmly, Daniel kept as still as a statue, waiting for the wolf to move on before he breathed once more and checked over his more immediate surroundings.
The black, metal ladder leading skywards seemed too perfect a lure but, as the buildings had flat roofs (intended for small aircraft), the coyote scrambled up it like a squirrel; he would be able to observe his surroundings with greater efficiency from the height. The metal rungs were slippery beneath his paws from an earlier drizzle but he clung to them resolutely, heaving a soft sight of relief when his boots landed firmly and safely upon the concrete roof, little bits of grits digging into the grooves that allowed him grip.
A helicopter stood solemnly in the centre of a raised landing pad, dark and unoccupied, though he was careful to approach in the shadows. Shaking his head warily, the coyote crouched lower to the ground, his senses on high alert - there had been nothing in the brief about aerial activity; headquarters had claimed that the Shepsisters were planning to incorporate aerial vehicles but had not made purchases as yet. Clearly they had been misinformed. Warily, Daniel opened the door, which swung open with a faint creak, and scanned the area, seeing nothing slinking through the shadows but a brave mouse that twitched its whiskers and fled into a more concealed crevice. He poked his muzzle cautiously into the cockpit, gun clasped tightly in his paw, and blinked in surprise at the bright blue folder placed blatantly on the passenger seat. It was almost as if someone wanted it to be read. What was that about? Black text in block capitals adorned the shiny cover.
'The top secret secrets of the Shepsisters', he read, every hair on his body suddenly going stiff. Oh, shit...
"Well, well, well... D. C. Yote... We have been, ah, anticipating your arrival."
Something round and cold pressed to the thickly furred back of his neck and he froze, resisting the urge to move away from the paw that wrenched the gun and exposed blade away from him a second later. Deprived of his immediate weapons, the coyote snarled a vicious curse under his breath and his out of sight assailant laughed coldly, the flick of her tail sending a rush of cool air against his legs.
"Don't move a muscle."
"Wasn't going to," he muttered. "Think I'm that dull? Thought you'd have your heavies out here, Danica," he continued lowly with a strange sensation, as if he was falling from a great height, swamping his finely tuned senses. "To do your dirty work for you, like always."
The brunette haired German shepherd, Danica of the Shepsisters, smiled, flashing her startlingly white teeth - would an assassin canine visit the dentist? - and waved her paw in a commanding gesture as if to direct others forward. The thick-furred wolves that were known for guarding their headquarters rushed forward from the shadows and surrounded the duo, raising the barrels of crude guns, levelling them at Yote.
"Get down to your knees," Danica ordered him coolly. "You're coming with us."
Fuck...
Very slowly, so that he would make no sudden, surprising movements, the coyote sank to his knees, staring at a patch of concrete between his knees, which pressed painfully against the unyielding surface. The guards approached and shoved him down with the butts of their guns, smirking and congratulating themselves on so 'subduing' the infiltrator. Distanced from himself, he was vaguely aware of weapons being stripped from his body, whether they were concealed or visible - they seemed to know where everything was, no matter how well he had hidden his tools of the trade. The last thing he saw before a black sack was shrugged over his head was the sadistic grin of Danica the Shepsister.
*
They bullied the coyote through a maze of corridors, a musty smell overpowering Dan's sensitive nose from the old sack, which smelled as if it had stifled the senses of another fur not so long ago. It was soaked with dried sweat and the scent of death, old blood. Squares of light shone through the burlap but there were no gaps large enough to see anything of his surroundings, although he suspected that he was being taken deeper into the complex, of course he was: they wouldn't want him to escape.
You've really gone and done it this time, he told himself bitterly, tripping over his own hind paws as he was shoved rudely in the small of his back, some kind of lionleum beneath his boots, judging from the sound. You ain't ever getting back to headquarters this time, not with these bitches around. But they won't get anything from you, screw them.
He scraped his shoulder against a rough doorframe and he was dimly aware of being thrust into a room that made him feel instantly claustrophobic - even more so with the sack over his head, hemming him in like a prey animal. Stumbling, he collapsed heavily over a square, hard surface; he wriggled vigorously before the guards hauled him upright and felt a flicker of satisfaction as his side connected with the straight, rigid back of a wooden chair. So that was how they were going to play it.
A wolf guard swore viciously and Danica cackled, allowing the wolf to manhandle Daniel roughly into the chair, treating him more like a body in a sack than a living fur. The dispassionate furs bound all four of his limbs separately to the wooden back bars and legs with lengths of coarse rope. The coyote bit back a grumble of pain as the rope cut into his fur and rubbed against the vulnerable skin beneath; he wouldn't like to stay bound for long, lest he lost all feeling from his paws. Ripping the sack from his head, Danica bared her teeth at him, a German shepherd very much like her in size, colour and stature standing at her shoulder, but with blonde hair - her sister, Dora, the other half of the Shepsisters. The coyote snarled bitterly.
