FurCreamer

Tara Icecarver in “Playing the Ponies”, by FurCreamer

Tara Icecarver’s right hand clenched the thick, padded, two-foot wide blue fox hat, drawing it with a practiced precision down the underside of the centaur’s mottled, fifteen-inch shaft. The deep pile of fur cradled the huge equine shaft from the flared, dripping head down to the heavy, dark sac at the opposite end.

The rich hues of the hat matched the big patches of a fox bikini that tried to cover the massive globes of her chest. Big fox tails dangled from the lower fringes of the fur bikini, both top and bottom. A pair of matching blue fox boots sheathed her tight calves from heel to a set of thick round cuffs just over her knees. A wild mass of bright red hair cascaded over her shoulders and mixed with the fur top. Thin black, tribal designs snaked around her arms and crossed her muscular shoulders.

The big centaur bucked, literally, and let out a higher-pitched gasp than she expected. Tara’s well-toned, tattooed arm held onto the centaur’s cock with ease. She was seated on a tree stump in the collection of tents and rudimentary defenses that comprised the centaur war camp. The brown-skinned centaur stood on a pile of skins and pelts dragged from the nearby tents and laid in front of Tara’s seat.

Tara’s long, powerful legs splayed open in a somewhat less than ladylike manner while she continued to work the horse cock with the lusciously soft fur hat. Clustered around them, five other male centaurs watched with rapt attention, their own long cocks bouncing against their stomachs with eager masturbatory motions. Dribbles of pre created small wet puddles in the packed dirt below them.

“Oh, the pony is pleased!” she said with a happy shout, increasing her pace and slapping the centaur’s flank. Some expressions of ire at the slight filtered through the anticipatory, hopeful centaur eyes surrounding them at the slight, but faded rapidly as their companion made a guttural cry of release.

Tara felt the pulses through the hat as big, white jets of cum sprayed from the flared tip of the horse cock. The front of the big blue fox hat started soaking in the buttery-thick jizzum that rolled down the pale, pink flesh. She could feel the force of the centaur’s frenzied thrusting as he threw everything into fucking the soft fur hat in his sweet, sweet release. His cum teemed into the big pile of pelts and skins gathered below, along with his own front legs and belly.

“Backed up?” Tara announced, quite entertained by the enormous flood of thick, potent horse spunk blasting the rough sleeping pelts. She again slapped his flank like a common riding steed, a broad smile of accomplishment on her face. “You’ve been sleeping on all these furs and still have full nuts?” she made a tsk’ing sound. “Boys are so naive.”

The satisfied centaur’s orgasm ended with a few final spurts that mostly soaked into the blue fox hat. Drops ran off and landed in the expanding group of white, lumpy puddles in the fur beneath him. Tara released the shaft, which dangled as it softened. His labored breath followed him as he trotted away from Tara, who remained seated on the tree stump, holding her huge, now partially jizz-plastered blue fox hat in her muscled right arm.

Some of the centaurs exchanged eager glances.

Tara flexed her impressively toned arm, “My arm is hardly tired.”

One of the other assembled onlookers started forward, but the leader knocked him back with a stiff body check. She knew he was the leader mostly because of his age, scaring, and, per centaur tradition, the size of his dick. “Ah, something meaty,” she announced with a broad smile.

“Do your work, slave,” he snarled. This one watched with utmost interest after the recently captured barbarian offered this “unique” form of release when their arousal became obvious. He allowed one of his least experienced warriors to try after the rather unusual circumstances of her “capture” on the morning patrol. The patrol leader reported this formidable looking human put up no fight and willingly returned to camp.

Tara released an amused chortle as the leader approached. She grabbed the leader’s enormous equine shaft with the soft fur hat in her right hand, squeezing it around the underside in a deep, soft cradle of sumptuous blue fox. “Well… I’m not really looking for long term commitment.” She began to stroke the huge hat under his rapidly lengthening cock, “But… I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Whatever retort the leader may have had in mind caught in his throat with a pleasured gasp. The sensation of the fur stroking his fat, veiny horse dong sent pure pleasure arcing through his haunches and up his spine. His hind hooves shifted to press closer to Tara, who continued the long, deep stroking motions. The leader’s two foot monster dong started to leak a chunky white pre into the blue fox hat at the crest of each stroke. Ropes of stiff semen began spidering down her toned arm as it overflowed from the increasingly soaked fur.

Tara’s amused smile widened as the leader’s grunts quickened, and his haunches bounced. “I thought horses were known for their stamina,” she exclaimed. The huge horse cock surged against her strokes, hungry for more of the ultra soft fur in her powerful grip. The sound of the leader’s pleasured cry probably was not the sort of the noise his soldiers expected.

The sight and sound of a heavy gout horse spunk splattering across the gathered pelts caused the gathered centaur onlookers to twitch. The heavy white stream covered much of the first centaur’s pooled ejaculate, spreading across the furs below. His flanks heaved with the effort, forcing himself against the fur with wild grunts.

The big blue fox hat turned fur sex toy was quickly consumed by the drooling runoff from the huge flare, turning into a soggy mass of matted hair and spunk.

Tara released a hearty, pleased laugh and swung the big centaur cock toward her huge, round tits and big blue fox bikini straining to hold them in. Vast streams of chunky, white horse snot splattered across them, big lumps clinging to the fur and rolling down the tails attached to the lower fringe. Some back-splatter hit her neck and chin, but her firm grip kept the big veiny monster easily under control. The centaur leader’s plump, grapefruit sized sac continued to pour sticky goo across her huge tits, completely drenching her fur bikini.

The steady gasps of pleasure from the centaur’s cracked, human lips ebbed with the force of his cum shots. Tara dropped the softening shaft, which flopped between his legs and continued dripping. She rose to her impressive full height, fresh cum slowly leaking down her bare, muscled midriff from the flood of semen above. She made an exaggerated yawning and stretching motion, slapping the leader’s haunch in a manner that would send any common pack horse trotting off.

Tara dropped the sloppy mass of what had been a very large blue fox hat into the heavy puddle of spent centaur jizz in the pile of pelts at her feet. “Freebie, you guys can finish each other off,” she said with a cheery smile.

The expressions of the gathered centaurs switched between envy and confusion, with more than a few looking longingly at the ruined fur hat.

“You were all paying close attention to the technique, after all.”

Some of them shifted uncomfortably on their hooves as Tara pressed through like a happy tourist.

“Halt, slave!” the leader cried, though somewhat breathlessly.

Tara pivoted on her fluffy blue fox boot, holding a hand to her cum-soaked chest, “Me?”

“Yes!” he sputtered, “You have been captured! You will serve this camp as a slave until we return to the Taurian Empire where you will be sold!” The leader’s voice slowly regained some measure of command as the afterglow his powerful orgasm wore off.

Tara laughed innocently, “Oh, sorry, I’m confused… You fine gentlemen found me this morning down by the river and invited me back to this camp. This fine fellow,” she pointed to the first centaur, “even offered to carry my sword for me.” None of the centaurs moved against her as she approached the camp’s weapon store, listening to her tale while exchanging confused glances.

Tara picked up a three foot long, well-worn great-sword from where it was dumped on the ground earlier in the morning. “I have greatly appreciated your hospitality, but you know… places to go,” she spun the massive blade like it weighed nothing, “people to violently eviscerate.” She began a casual stroll for the camp entrance.

The camp leader, seeing the confused state of his troops, screamed, “Seize her!”

Raven Furseeker in “Small Town Prison Fox Blues”, by FurCreamer

Raven Furseeker stared through the pitted iron bars with wrote disinterest as the guard’s nondescript dick began shooting thick streams of jizz into the big rabbit fur muff in her left hand. His features screwed up into a rictus of pleasure while his grunts filled the small, chilly jail. Raven’s perfectly-plucked, black brow arched ever so slightly at the volume of sticky cocksnot suddenly flowing from the man’s hard shaft. Otherwise, her mask of complete indifference remained undisturbed.

Thick white lines piled one after another across the white-spotted, brown fur in rapid pulses. Someone wasn’t getting much at home, Raven thought with something approaching mild amusement. Her gaze flicked between the rapidly accumulating cum stains and the wall beyond the cells. The damp, cobblestone stone wall of the jail wasn’t the focus of her attention, rather what hung there: a very, very large fur cloak.

Raven maintained the placid look of complete disinterest while her wrist continued pumping the big round rabbit fur muff against the spraying cock. Each pump of fur on shaft resulted in a fresh burst of white man-jelly into the soft, short haired fur. She steadily rotated the stuffed, barrel-sized muff, keeping fresh, clean pelt stimulating his cock. Much of the rather large surface was a white streaked mess of freshly spent nut.

The guard’s orgasm ended with a short series of oozes Raven skillfully soaked up with a small patch of dry fur. He stumbled back from the cell door, limp cock swinging out of his faded burgundy uniform pants. His breath arrived deep gulps that slowly returned to a regular cadence. He stuffed his spent cock back inside but did not re-fasten the fly. He was still slightly horse when he said, “The tales are true, this... fur magic is... powerful.”

Raven’s fixed gaze broke briefly with a flutter of the sort of impatient exasperation usually reserved for persistent children or the painfully ignorant. It was only fortunate the latter worked in her favor. She dropped the cum-soaked, rabbit fur muff to the packed dirt of the cell floor. It landed with a slightly wet slap and a small splatter of freshly spent semen.

Raven effected her haughtiest tone, “Yes... and that was merely a taste with such a dreadfully poor piece of fur.”

And it was dreadful. Raven wouldn’t be caught dead accessorizing with such a pedestrian piece of rabbit fur. The fact remained that she had been caught, very much alive, so certain fashion compromises became an unfortunate necessity. The fact that it happened in some no-name backwater with a one-cell jailhouse further irritated her.

The pale, raven-hared sorceress nodded towards the far stone wall of the jail where the cloak hung. “If you wish to truly experience the full extent of the ecstasy fur can provide, you need merely retrieve my cloak.”

The guard turned back towards where the beautiful prisoner’s cloak hung.

The cloak the chief constable specifically warned should not be returned to the prisoner under any circumstances.

It hung from a metal sconce that usually held a torch. The monolithic garment snapped off the wooden pegs reserved for clothing in the small jail office. The voluminous hooded fur was simply too heavy for the sturdy oak pegs. He knew because he’d picked it up, hung it there, and watched even the metal sag under the weight.

The guard quickly recalled the sensation of touching the cloak. The memory of touching the softest thing he’d ever felt in his entire life was very fresh in his orgasm-clouded mind. He gazed at it, that memory now bleeding into the yet fresher one of how that big rabbit muff became a soggy mess on the floor of the prisoner’s cell.

Surely this was not an opportunity to miss…

His fingers gingerly dipped into the back of the cloak. The guard’s flaccid cock sprang back to life, through his open fly, as the sensation of the fur enveloped his hands. He pulled it down from the improvised metal hanger, almost letting it drop as the full weight returned. Raven rolled her eyes, polished black leather boot tapping impatiently on the cell floor. “Careful, you twit.”

The guard shifted back on his heels, hefted the weight of the enormous fur cloak, and walked back towards the cell. Raven found it more difficult to maintain the mask of frigid disinterest as her prized possession approached.

The central body of the cloak was double-sided black fox, fringed in its entirety by a huge silver fox collar/trim. The rear of the cloak was double-layered, with a double-sided cape sitting atop the rear of the cloak. Both layers were double sided, with silver fox on the inside and black fox on the outside. Long, boa-like silver fox tails hung off the rear edge of the cape layer.

The guard figured the cloak weighed over thirty pounds, all of it fur. It seemed as if it were created on a bet to see how much fur one could use in a single garment. With some effort, he began pushing the cloak between the bars of the cell. Had his gaze not focused on the giant fur cloak, he would have noticed the icy sorceress smiling.

The last tail fringe slipped between the bars. Raven whipped it around her shoulders as if it were nothing more than a simple cotton robe. It settled, the long train of fur coming to rest on the floor of the cell in a wide half moon with Raven at the center.

The guard, his cock hard and leaking, looked at Raven. “Now, you got it,” he grabbed his dick, “Show me what it can do.”

“Gladly.”

In the space of only a second, the cell door snapped off, accelerated, and pushed the guard across the room. He impacted the far stone wall shortly after the rusty metal remains of the door hinges hit the dirt floor. His wheezing filled the room, breath stolen in the impact of the barred door against his chest. Through the bars pinning him, he watched Raven step purposefully through the now open cell, the edges of her cloak brushing against the warped metal around the shattered hinges.

“Witch!”

“Fur Sorceress.”

Raven’s voice carried across the room in a manner far beyond natural sound. Dust fell in small motes from the walls and the plates on the small table near the door rattled. The enormous black and silver fox cloak should have been dragging the dirt floor behind her, but it was not. It floated a few inches above, the fur spilling out in half moon behind Raven, the tails along the rear edge undulating softly.

Raven raised her right hand and flicked her fingers to the right. The cell door snapped to the right and slammed into the wall, releasing the guard from the wall. He gasped, lungs no longer crushed under the weight of the shorn cell door, then began to lunge forward, reaching for his sword.

“Ah ah...” Again her finger gestured. The guard’s sword arm stopped. He looked down, seeing his wrist wrapped in what appeared to be a thick, fluffy white fox boa. The fur seemed to have erupted from the floor of the jail, through a hazy arcane glow.

Another white fox boa appeared in a glowing pool from the floor and grabbed the guard’s other wrist. Together they tugged him down to his knees. The sensation of the fur on his skin was soft, but the power behind the arcane fur appendages was impossible to overcome.

The guard grunted as he tried to raise his arms, but he couldn’t.

Raven stood above him. “Enjoying the ‘fur magic’ so far?” Her black brow peaked and her glossy plumb-painted lip curled into a satisfied smirk.

“Release me!” the guard sputtered.

Raven ignored the command, such as it was. “My cloak is hungry,” she replied, brushing the wide silver fox fringe/collar lightly with her left hand. “You’re a little spent, but I can fix that.”

She waved her hand once more, and the guard screamed. The guard’s dirty, city-issued uniform pants snapped along the seams, tearing away as his balls inflated. Pain lanced through his groin, and a groan of something between agony and ecstasy escaped his lips. Fully exposed now, his sac stretched, skin turning pink, veins pulsing outward, and formerly wrinkled skin pulling tight. Soon his scrotum grew larger than a melon, swinging between his sweaty thighs.

Above the guard’s rapidly ballooning balls, his erection immediately began leaking. White oozing blobs started flowing out the pink glans as the arcane forces at work in his groin forced his distended testicles into a frenzy. The dripping flow of precum increased quickly and started rolling down the front of his grossly swollen sac.

Raven flicked her long gloved hand once again, and a third fur boa erupted from the ground below his expanding sack. This one was blue fox, larger and thicker than the two holding him down at the wrists. It snaked around the base of his cock, entwining his flesh in a cradle of soft fur. His groans turned to pleasure again. From the base of his cock the circular boa spiraled upwards, enveloping everything but the glans, leaving it free to freely pour white precum in short spurts.

Raven drew her massive cloak closed as she stepped right up to the helpless, leaking guard. Guided by her unspoken command, the blue fox boa began rhythmically pumping his cock. What had been slow spurts from his magically pumped nuts became a hard, heavy arcing stream that sprayed across the front of her resplendent silver fox fringed collar and hood.

The guard screamed, one once more not easily distinguishable as pleasure or pain. The thick, hard spunk erupted from his body with such power it flew four or five feet to meet the highest crest of Raven’s massive fox cloak. White lines of heavy, almost chunky semen flew into the long, plush fur, carving deep canyons. The guard’s cries filled the small jail.

The pleasured torment did not let up as the magically-controlled, blue fox boa milked his shaft. His modest length had not been enhanced by the spell, only his now painfully swollen balls. The blubbery blue fox boa pumped and swirled around his flesh, keeping his body in a constant state of furgasm. Jets of custard-thick spunk shot with little pause between them, looking more like a rain of sticky, ivory piss across the front of Raven’s monumental fox cloak. Steadily the vast swaths of fur were covered in long looping lines and thick heavy clumps.

In the dank, musty jail room the smell of spunk began pushing even the age old scents of mildew and decay out. It was a familiar one to Raven, who felt her cloak soaking up the guard’s overpowered orgasm. She felt the weight of the cloak against her shoulders, sagging at the front from the amount of fresh jizz plastered to it. The guard’s sac slowly withered back to its original size as the contents were emptied against her mega fox cloak.

The guard’s face contorted into a mask of agonized pleasure and drool rolled down is chin. He slumped down, not moving.

With a double wave of her hands, Raven uttered an incantation. The spunk-stained cloak hovered a bit higher off the floor, and soon the huge clumps of the guard’s baby-batter seemed to sink inwards and be consumed. The fur seemed to brighten and thicken even further, the fox hairs becoming longer and shinier. Seconds later it was clean, no trace of the guard’s voluminous stains remained.

Raven allowed a brief, but very satisfied smile. The boas both restraining and milking the guards receded back into their arcane portals, and he completely crumpled to the floor.

Moonshade Foxsinger in “Casting Sleep the Hard Way“, by FurCreamer

Moonshade squeezed her eyes shut harder when the orc grunts of pleasure crescendoed and thick, steaming jets of gray-white spunk fountained from the brackish green head of his big cock. Orc jizz sprayed up the side of the elf’s blue fox hooded cloak, starting where her hands clamped a generous section of it around the shaft and continued to pump. She could feel the beat of the powerful streams even through the thick fur. More importantly she could smell the heavy musk as it set into the pelts near her cheek, streaking up the left side and looping over the huge fringe of the cloak’s hood.

The orc’s fur-fueled orgasm continued unabated for almost a full minute. The beast must not have emptied his foul green sac for months, Moonshade lamented.  She drew the soft, thick bottom edge of her fur cloak up and down the fat, veined shaft. By now the runoff from the jetting spunk soaked the clenched fur around the head of the orc cock, leaving it a wet mass from which the green head blossomed with each manual thrust.

Finally, the grunts of pleasure subsided from his open, smelly mouth. The upward thrust of his hips slowed until they came to rest on the decidedly far less refined pile of random skins upon which the pair rested. Judging from the crusted valleys and dried furrows in many of the random collection of furs, this particular beast regularly pleasured himself among them. Obviously the chance to get his vile cock into her precious fae blue fox cloak had been too great to pass up.

Now it magnificent fur cloak was in far worse shape than the scattered pelts below them. A mass of orc cum clung like glue to the left side, loops and strings branching out from a central mass over the top of her hood. Only the sheer size of the fur hood and fluffy fringe saved her pale elfin features from the flow.

It did not save her nostrils from the stench of so much orc cum just inches from her face. Moonshade gagged as her grip on the green dick loosened. Bile rose in her throat, and she stood while the orc remained blissfully stationary on the messy pile of pelts. She fought a primal instinct to simply throw off her cum caked fox cloak and leave it among the furry ruins in front of her.

This was not an option.

A prized possession, the exceptionally voluminous fae fox fur could keep the wearer warm in any temperature, no matter how cold. A useful enchantment in north-lands, especially if she planned to walk out of this war camp and back to friendlier territory. A side effect of sorts, the fur was thicker and much softer than most any fox, or any fur, even the finest royal chinchillas. Moonshade tried breathing through her mouth but it hardly helped, the scent was too strong.

The cloak could be cleaned; simple work for even an apprentice enchanter. As an adventurer of some renown, Moonshade Foxsinger had it done many times before. Though in most cases, the fluids weren’t this color.

She grimaced, reached up, and scooped a wad of rancid orc spunk off the side of the cloak. Spidery lines clung to the clumpy fur then snapped as she pulled away, flinging it into the pile of old pelts beside the now sleeping, very satisfied orc. She reasoned he wouldn’t mind. She scooped off a few more handfuls of jizzum from the matted fox pelts and pitched down, leaving big splatters at her feet.

Moonshade grimaced, regarding her pale, sticky hand. She bent down, found a relatively dry red fox pelt from the pile and wiped a big wet stain across the long hairs. A few more wipes, and she tossed it away like a used tissue, catching some lumpy mess she’d scooped off earlier. The smell subsided only slightly, but it was an improvement.