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Yiffing: Living the Plush Life as a Furry

Leopard Fur Print

I almost fear to write about this because mentioning it gives it unwarranted credibility. What is it though about people who get off on screwing other people dressed up as stuffed animals or mascots? What compels people to get into furry outfits and do it while embodying the spirits of squirrels and wolves?

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No doubt Japan is somehow responsible for this furry fandom. Japan or Disney. The efforts through animation to create successively cuter and cuter creatures with every generation has gotten us to the place where it is no longer possible to discern between feelings of extreme cuteness and sexual arousal.

It’s only natural that people going to see Disney on Ice will be enticed by the shapely legs of the figure skaters hired to drift about as princesses, their thighs like mighty pistons that we can well imagine wrapping around our backs and crushing us like helpless walnuts. And while we are engaged in this surreal coupling, why not make it hot by inviting all the sparrows who made Cinderelly’s dress, and the teapot who attended to Belle, to clamber with us into the bed?

Some folks go to gatherings, done up in their bizarre animal outfits, collecting by the hundreds, nay by the thousands. They have orgies, in character, that fill meeting halls and convention centers with all manner of growling, barking, and whinnying. The yards of polyester fun fur they consume in the pursuit of their fantasies will keep the oil and gas industry in the black for centuries to come.

Those who like a more private encounter simply put the moves on a favorite teddy bear propped up at the end of their bed. There is old faithful Mr. Buttons, minding his business and imagining himself to be a charmingly worn childhood relic, when suddenly the mood in the room changes. The now grown tot, to whom he used to dispense cuddles, is looking at him with different eyes. There is a sudden hunger there.

Before Mr. Buttons knows it, he is providing friction for organs he never knew could become so engorged. His carefree days are ended in successive layers of sticky crust that agglomerate to his once magnificent fur. He becomes, no longer a prized possession to be displayed over the pillows, but a dirty secret stuffed down into the bottom of a drawer.

What goes on in the mind of the fur lovers, the plushy screwers, the animal embodiers? Why must they bond the idea of becoming a spirit animal with such a cheesy external shell? Perhaps we will never exactly know.

Tell us what you think!

Tell us what you think!

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