Authors: Kyell Gold
Her apartment is clean and tidy, a big studio with a partly separate kitchen. I barely have time to register the posters of the swimsuit-clad male fox and the Beatles before she shuts the door and sets her purse on the small stand next to it.
“Now,” she says, “I believe I was saying ‘thank you.’”
We kiss again, a deep kiss, an amazing kiss. Her tongue winds around mine, her stomach rubs up and down against my hard-on until I whimper against her. I can’t help myself.
She breaks the kiss and smiles at me, almost purring. “Poor kitty,” she says. “Let me give you a paw.”
Some noise escapes my throat, but I’m not sure what. She’s got my pants open and down, and my boxers follow soon after. I can feel the stickiness on the inside as she takes them down. I’m leaking like a dorm radiator.
She applies both paws to it, trailing soft fingerpads down my whole length, claws teasing through the fur that covers my balls, tickling behind my sac and then around my thighs. She seems to have more than ten fingers. I can’t separate out the sensations. When I force out another moan, she takes hold of my cock and tugs. “Let’s go to bed,” she says in that husky voice, and at that moment she could tell me to jump out the window and I’d be halfway to the ground before I realized anything was wrong.
Her bed is a couch that unfolds to a sleeper. She sits me on the edge and kneels between my legs, stroking me with both paws, but not firmly enough to move me along, just enough to arouse and tease. My tail thrashes against the sofa in search of something to wrap around. My paws grab her shoulders. And I see that slender muzzle move forward, the small pink tongue meeting my huge pink shaft, and the thrill is electric as she laps up the drips from my tip. Lots of girls don’t like that; they’ll jerk you off or let you screw ’em, but they don’t want to do any licking, or oh god she takes me all the way into her mouth and I’m shuddering on the bed, it’s so good.
She licks around with that soft tongue, sliding up and down and adding some suction, and my legs start to stamp the floor. I can’t take much more of this, but I want to be inside her, want her against me. But I can’t make her stop.
Finally, with an effort, I push her shoulders away. Her eyes meet mine, and I feel like she knows what I’m going to do even before I reach down and lift her onto the bed, straddling me. I scoot back so she can get her knees down around me and try to press her down onto my cock, but she resists for the first time.
I can’t take my eyes from hers. There’s a light in them and a smile on her muzzle. She must still have panties on. I slide a paw under the skirt and take my time, tracing claws up her thighs and legs, and then the outside of her hips.
She’s not wearing panties.
I bring my paws in to her sex, heart beating, dick as anxious as the rest of me. And my fingers, expecting a slit, touch a furry pouch.
I stare at her. She’s grinning now, one of those fox grins. I move my paw up and find a sheath and a very hard cock.
“Christ!” I swear and try to scoot back on the bed, but she—he—follows me and leans both paws on my shoulders.
“Come on, gorgeous,” he says, his nose an inch from mine. “We’re having such a nice time. I’ll still let you fuck me.”
His eyes hold me. I’m lying in bed with my paw on some other guy’s cock, frozen. And then he leans down and kisses me, and it’s every bit as good as before, and my mind is screaming,
Get the fuck out of there!
but my dick is saying
Get the fuck in there!
There’s no contest, really. Not at this stage, not when his tongue is melting my mouth and short-circuiting my brain. And when he pulls back and kisses my nose and says, “Nobody ever has to know,” I just nod mutely.
He grabs a tube of something and smears it behind him, under his tail. I can smell it faintly, something arousing. I’m still holding his cock and he’s wriggling in my paw. Then he takes mine in his paw, his delicate, strong paws, and seats me under his tail, and I slide into him, and fireworks go off in front of my eyes.
I’m barely aware of thrusting back and forth into him. His lithe body squirms back and forth over mine, humping into my paw as he leans forward to kiss me again. I bring my legs up so I can get all the way into him, and for the first time he makes a noise of passion too, a squeaky moan into my mouth, his paws wrapping around me as we buck together in passion. All I can think about is pumping my hips into that tight, warm, slick space, and holding the fox as I yowl in climax, breaking free of our kiss as I spurt long and hard into him, my whole body tight and shuddering, an orgasm like I can’t remember having ever.
I think I pass out for a minute. I am sprawled on the bed, still locked tight inside him, and my paw is still wrapped around his shaft, wet and sticky. Neither of us is moving. I open my eyes and see bright blue looking back. “You all right, stud?” He’s got that amused smile on him.
“Rrrrrryeah.” I swallow, try to push away the connection between what my paw is holding and the beautiful muzzle in front of me as he leans forward to kiss me again, tenderly. The passion is still there, the awareness of our unbroken intimate contact, but it’s restrained, exhausted.
“So you just made love to another guy,” the fox says to me. “Sounded like you liked it, too.”
I’m too mellow right now to be provoked. “Whatever,” I murmur.
“You done this before?”
I shake my head, and that seems to satisfy him. He kisses my nose. “Well, you were damn good. I’m gonna go clean up for a few minutes. If you’re not here when I get back… that’s okay. Just want you to remember this.”
Remember?! I tense again and can’t repress a moan as he slides off me, his rear squeezing my sensitive cock exquisitely and finally releasing me. My tail sweeps the bed contentedly.
He’s gone for a while, during which I trace the patterns of the water damage on his ceiling and drift off into a pleasant haze. I consider leaving, but the post-orgasmic bliss is too nice to ruin it with activity.
When he comes back, he’s wearing boxers and nothing else. I peer at him curiously. How could I have mistaken him for female? He’s walking differently, acting differently now that the secret is out. Tail still arched, but it’s not swinging as much; his hips don’t sway. It’s almost like he’s a different fox, like I was just fucking his sister. But his eyes are the same bright blue, and his smile is the same when he sees me on the bed, and this time it’s a genuine sweet smile, or else maybe my addled brain isn’t capable of seeing smugness. “Want to get that shirt off?” he says softly, and I nod. He helps me with that, wipes off my stomach and cock with a soft cloth, and put my boxers back on, and then says, “I don’t have anywhere else to sleep.”
I wave a paw, not caring. He slides into the bed and spoons back against me, that fluffy tail between us, my sheath pressed up against his rump. I let my arm flop across him because there doesn’t seem to be anywhere better for it to be. And then I’m asleep.
Five in the morning. I wake up from a dream that I just fucked another guy and find him next to me, his tail tickling my arm. Cold panic grabs me. I get out of bed without waking him up, find my clothes folded neatly next to the bed, and take off. I dress in the hallway and go down the stairs as lightly as I can.
Nobody else has to know, he said. My thoughts are in a whirl as I walk down three streets without seeing them, finally finding a landmark in the dim pre-dawn light and heading for my dorm.
Damn right nobody else has to know. If he tries coming around the team, blackmailing me… he better not mess with me. Or what if he comes around wanting more? Shit! I clutch my head in my paws. I’ll deal with that when it happens. I’ll tell him he’s got the wrong tiger. I’ll pretend not to recognize him. I’ll help my teammates beat the crap out of him. Well, no. A couple guys got kicked off the team last year for beating up some queer. Okay, so we’d make sure not to get caught, that’s all.
What the hell did he think he was doing, anyway? Didn’t he know I’d be furious? What if I’d taken a swing at him? I could’ve ripped his balls off right there. I could’ve broken his jaw. Little fucking fox, trying to put one over on the big stupid tiger. Well, just let him try again. Let him fucking try.
I stalk into the dorm, tail a-twitch, paws balled into fists. Five-twenty a.m. The ’roo at the desk recognizes me, doesn’t ask for ID. Good thing. I’d probably explode at him. I get back to the room and thank god Randy’s still asleep. The thick scent of his come in the room tells me he got a nice handjob, because I can smell the bitch, too. I throw myself down on my bed and try not to let the scent remind me of the fox.
To avoid Randy’s inevitable question about the fox, I pretend to be asleep when he gets up and gets dressed. But we have practice that day, and no matter how much I try to stay to the other side of the field, he catches up to me finally.
“Hey, how was that vixen?” he says, as we take a breather in between plays. “Hope you got better than what I got. She was all okay to jerk me off, but I couldn’t get her to open up. Frigid bitch.”
I jerk, my body coursing with a brief memory of last night’s pleasure again. Aftershock: third one since leaving the fox’s place this morning. New sensation for me. “Nah, she was just a tease. How did you know?”
“Eck.” He jerks his muzzle to the coyote, who’s watching us with the combination of hunger and envy that characterizes a good backup. He’s only a frosh; he’ll be starting when I graduate for sure. Jason seems to like being on the bench. Probably he’ll stay there.
“Yeah, she was just… I walked her to her place… got a kiss…” I trail off. And another kiss, and another… “Uh, that was it.”
Randy laughs. “Denied!” he says, and thank god coach grabs us to run a play because I wouldn’t be able to laugh with him.
As it is, I get pancaked twice in practice. Once when I get hit with another aftershock, and once when I look up at the sky and see the bright blue of a passionate stare. The second time, coach tells me to hit the pine and taps Eck, not Jason, to take my place.
I’m paranoid in the shower that I’ll get a hard-on looking at the other guys, but I don’t. Same as it ever was. None of them turn me on one bit. I flutter back to anger at the fox. Somehow he tricked me into getting aroused by him, when I’m clearly not gay.
To prove it, I call up the memory of a sweet cheerleader I screwed last week and jerk off in the shower that night in the dorm, panting and leaning against the wall. I clean up my spunk, kicking it down the drain, and feel satisfied that I didn’t think about the fox once. That’s about the last moment of satisfaction I get for a while.
The following week is an absolute nightmare. I wake up in bed hard Monday morning and I think I smell him in the room, but it’s only the residue of a dream I don’t remember. That I was dreaming about him and waking up hard worries me a bit, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I try to get angry again, but I can’t see the smugness any more. I just see that sweet smile, feel that tightness around my cock, that soft muzzle of his, the way he pressed into me while we
fucked. I sit in class and try to express my memories in abstract doodles, covering a page with them and only realizing when the students around me get up that I have no idea what was covered.
Tuesday I fail a test.
Wednesday Randy asks me if I’m in love. I punch him in the stomach. We get into it and I feel better for about an hour. Afterwards, we go out for beers and I’m lost again.
Thursday I give up on classes and track down that cheerleader. I figure maybe some good old-fashioned normal sex will get the damn fox out of my mind. She’s a perky raccoon, with a great rack and a great attitude, and she’s a fucking lousy lay. I set a land speed record getting out the door after it’s over.
Friday I give up and go back to the bar with the guys.
We’re sitting in our group and the girls are in theirs and the squirrel’s at the bar, alone. I can’t follow the conversation, and eventually the guys stop trying to include me. I wander over to the squirrel and stand beside her, one paw on the stool the vixen—the fox was sitting on a week ago.
She looks around to see if there’s anyone else there, then gives me the wide eyes again. “Buy a gal a drink?”
“Yeah.” I signal the bartender. “Shot of Wild Turkey and one of whatever she’s having.” I lay down the money.
Interested now, the squirrel straightens up. I try not to gag on her perfume. “You went off with that fox, right? Back for something with less bite?” Her prominent incisors show as she laughs.
I wince. Even the conversation the boys were having about which superhero movie is the best was better than that, and that one consisted mostly of quoting their favorite bits with gunshot noises. “Do you know her? The fox who was in here last week?”
The bartender sets down my shot, and some light beer in front of the squirrel. I down my shot before he has a chance to walk away. The squirrel sneers. “No, I didn’t know the stuck-up priss.”
“Fine. Enjoy the beer.” I stand up and walk out, ignoring her muttered “asshole” and Randy’s “hey, Dev.” For a minute, outside in the night, I worry that he’ll follow me, but maybe he remembers Wednesday and doesn’t want to get into it again. He’d rather be in the arms of one of the two big-breasted bitches at the other end of the bar. I wish that was all I wanted.