Soft fur (furry horror/splatter short-story) R18+

. . .

Soft fur

Written by NuzzleWorthy

A 'watch-list' entry

...

You just be careful, kiddo... and so here I am again. Dreaming of my own shocked face, those bright headlights. That horror. That fucking horror.

You always hear about us waking up. Throwing our limbs out from bed, leaving our sheet-cocoons to wade the sweetened shallows of normality. I'm talking schooldays, jobs, the real business-getup of blacks and whites, the busy buses of greys, the shades of paperwork in all things colour coded - and nonsensically precise.

My story is red. Its dark. Its blue in dripping, dampened places, It's a bitter shade of concrete that sucks the warmth from naked bodies. I never sleep naked. This morning, it seems I have.

Then we've got a colour that likes to mimic all others. More of a forensic texture, the classic of chrome. Oh, and I can tell ya right here and now kiddo: that stuff can shine. Strapped to my muzzle, itself a muzzle. Near impossible to breathe in.

Paint me in panic. All colours. Naked, cooled. How the fuck did I get here...?

There's a pair of eyes in the darkness. They stare at me. There's a third eye as well. Through this one, many more stare.

The camera lens glints just ever-so-slightly, suspended amongst the dark abyss of this place – this 'wherever', as I am suspended in the unknown -, and what illuminates it is this speck of flickering light just above my head. Perhaps a bulb; its years made countable from its dimness.

My paws are tied in that direction (bulb-like), as though I'm reaching it – as though I'm in prayer, and if I were, believe me; I'd pray for Him to grant me safety from those, wretched, cunning eyes.

They stare. The pair blink. The camera stays idle.

"You look so happy when you sleep." Says it. And I must say 'It', as the voice is so smoothed yet so stiflingly saddened, that I doubt a person could be saying this.

But a person it is. And maybe I'm still right, when this something - masked and crooked in posture - creeps closer towards me. The fur around his mask suggest a hyena's eyes behind it, and they seem to enjoy studying me. Unblinking. As if doing so would waste a second.

My heart pounds delicately, and I cross my legs in front of me, scrambling for chalky privacy. Trying to get my penis tucked between my thighs, and not left slumped across the cold cement.

"Do you guys think that too...?" The camera can't respond to the hyena. Still, that's who he's addressing.

Whatever he's talking to... it's something living and something live... something that doesn't involve me in its discussions... something that regards me as some thing...

"Well... now that he's awake, I'll do a sort of... intro."

He flips the camera around on himself, and he's close enough to me now that his tail brushes against the more intimate regions of my sprawled body. Making sure his throat is clear, he adjusts the mask on his muzzle – giving space for his bushy, ragged ears – and gives a little wave with his paws.

There's a knife in one of them. One of the serrated ones that would get served alongside steak in a family restaurant.

I grunt, and even that struggles to escape the steel grip of the muzzle.

"Hey guys, welcome welcome. I've got a treat for you today. Last week, as I'm sure you remember – the golden retriever didn't last long. So, I asked for you guys to brainstorm more extensive ideas... and... well." Maybe he's smiling. "What you came up with was... fun... and very creative... but I can't do them all."