The Fire Down Below by Heuvadoches

The Fire Down Below

Heuvadoches, Bad Language, Buck, Fantasy, Horse, M/F, Mare, Mild Erotica, Never Seen Sex Act, Rabbit, Short

#6 of Tails from the Foxx

This was commissioned by Playfoxx as part of a Halloween special in 2007. Unfortunately, it was not chosen for publication and pairing with a photoshoot due to the lack of overt explicit content. Oh well.

The Fire Down Below

by: Heuvadoches Naumova

"Hey, bunny boy!" the shift captain shouted across the bay. "Quit fucking around and get your shirt back on. You got hydrant duty, remember? You need to learn the streets, so I want all of those plugs along County Road Sixty-Three South checked. And don't forget to do the LeMorgan Estates. The construction manager's been on the commissioner's ass about the 'lazy fucks in the firehouse' again."

Bert shot his boss' back an evil look over his shoulder then sighed, turning back to face the other two firefighters at the card table. "Just as well, Max. I've a feeling you'd have gotten all my clothes by lunch time anyway," he said. "Aces full of eights."

"You win this one, rookie," the black fox chuckled in return." "Though, just barely." He fanned out the San Francisco Waiters. "Queens with treys. And anyway, I'd leave you with a towel to cover up with."

"I wouldn't," said a bare-chested collie, with a leer. He'd folded early this hand. Cigar smoke curled from his long nose, but did little to hide an almost eager sparkle from his eyes.

"You just want me in your pants, ya damn coon-ass," Bert laughed, crushing out his cigarette. "Or a good look in mine, at the very least." A bluish cloud puffed from the side of his face as he stood and snagged his shirt up with his toes from a pile near Max's feet.

"Can you blame him?" Max asked, licking his lips and watching the rabbit slip into his uniform shirt. "I wouldn't mind either one myself, I mean, what with that whole thing about big feet and all. Too bad you're straight; you know guys give the best head."

"We've already ploughed that field," Bert smirked, bending over to pick up his socks. The collie whistled appreciatively and Bert shook his rump as a tease. "Kiss my ass, Chuck. Wait, nevermind, you'd enjoy that." Bert sighed and stood. "Look, another debate on that subject will only keep me from checking those hydrants, and you know how pissy Captain Ross can get about shit not gettin' done. 'Specially since the big wigs are involved."

Max grinned at the young buck's teasing. "Yeah, you got a point, kid. Be careful."

(ﾃつｯ'ﾃつｷ.ﾃつｸﾃつｸ.ﾃつｷﾃつｴﾃつｯ'ﾃつｷ.ﾃつｸﾃつｸ.->[@]<-.ﾃつｸﾃつｸ.ﾃつｷﾃつｴﾃつｯ'ﾃつｷ.ﾃつｸﾃつｸ.ﾃつｷﾃつｴﾃつｯ)

Bert turned the truck down Old Coach Road, staring at the wide expanse of the subdivision's infrastructure sprawled out across the muddy landscape. He sighed and shook his head, looking at the bruised earth and wondering what this was like before progress cast its ugly stamp on this place. He harrumphed, putting the gearshift in park and stepping out onto the new pavement, cursing the early afternoon heat and the old truck's lack of a decent air conditioner.

The road split the area into two main parts with a wide, gentle curve. Around both the inner and outer rings, cutouts on the curb marked the driveway of each new address. A stack of bricks stood nearby for the mailboxes. Finally, about every quarter mile along the inner side of the curve, a bright neon-yellow, steel mushroom sprouted from the dirt. These were the fire plugs that the pump engines would hook into should the unthinkable happen.

The routine, by now, was quite familiar. Bert walked to the back of the truck and pulled out a ten foot length of hose. After attaching a digital gauge, he plugged the nozzle end into the large tank set into the bed of the pickup. The single lug cap on the hydrant came off easily enough and he attached the other end of the hose to it before setting the wrench to the spindle nut on the hydrant and opening the valve. The woven canvas hose inflated quickly and gushed into the holding tank. About a half-minute later, Bert shut the water off, pulled the gauge, and scribbled a few numbers down on a hasty sketch of the subdivision.

Cursing the southern heat again, he rolled the hose up, placed it back on the truck and drove to the third hydrant. "Chief won't care if I fudge a number or two," he thought. "He won't even have to know about it if I average every other hydrant on this pipe." With the hose on his shoulder, he glanced over at the old, Victorian style mansion that sat at the apex of the curve. "That thing *is* rather creepy looking," he muttered, digging out the wrenches from the toolbox. Turning his back to the mansion, he set to the task of hooking up to the plug when a gentle, lilting voice startled him.

"Care for a drink?"

"Wha???" he squeaked, thumping the ground with his foot. The wrench clattered to the pavement as he whirled about.

"A pale skinned palomino in an old style, full-length dress stood at the front bumper of the truck. In her hands, she held an antique silver tray. On the tray, a glass pitcher filled with ice and a dark brown liquid. A pair of tall, iced glasses sat to either side of the sweating pitcher, each sporting a sprig of what appeared to be mint. Her soft, brown eyes sparkled with amusement, watching the rabbit's nose twitch with each hurried breath. "It be hot. You care for a cool drink, no?"

"Umm ... yeah ... sure. I think."

She giggled, deftly pouring the beverage into the glasses on the tray. "Good, I be hoping you do tink. It be ... how you say ... boring, no? Yes, boring t'find menfolk who do no tink."

Bert glanced almost sideways at her. "O ... K?"

"Ah, forgive me, where be my manner? I be Lila LeMorgan," she said, pronouncing it 'Lih-'ley Leh-Mor'gah' and holding out a glass. "The lady o'the house y'seein behin' me. This 'ere been my estate some years past, but alas, th' times be different now."

Bert took the glass and drank. The liquid turned out to be sweetened tea with a cool aftertaste, apparently from the mint. He shivered slightly, feeling a deep chill spread through his parched and overheated body. He nodded, lowering the glass slowly before opening his eyes again. "This is good tea," he said. "Thank you."

She nodded demurely.

"Ms. LeMorgan, I wasn't aware there was any construction out here, yet?" he began, waving his glass at the house. He then took a moment to drain the rest of the tea.

"That 'cause it be here long afore all o'this," she said with a smile, taking the empty and handing him the second one. "Come inside, we get some'tin t' eat an be out of the hot. Mebby make it worth dis lonely mare's time?" Without another word, she turned and appeared to glide toward the wide front porch.

Bert squinted after Ms. LeMorgan, his eyes following the gently sashaying rump and swishing flaxen tail. He glanced down at his glass, then over at the hydrant, and finally back up to the retreating pony. The ice tinkled ethereally against the sides of the glass as he briefly mulled it over. Making his decision, he dropped the hose noisily to the ground and hurried to catch up.

"Jus' set you glass by the door an' one o'the servants will be 'round t' get it," she said, leading the way into the parlour. "I 'pologize fur ah scarin' ya earlier." Her hands remained busy in the front of her body, out of sight for the moment. "Sometime I forget how to deal with people. It's been a long time."

Bert set the empty container on an old looking lace coaster and followed the mare into the adjoining room. "Hmm? Oh, it's OK, ma'am. I suppose it's all just a part of being a rabbit," he joked.

"Indeed," she said with a smirk. "And what other parts be all rabbit?" she asked, walking around a wooden, high-backed chair. She looked over her shoulder and then slowly turned to face her guest. The reason for her fidgeting became clear as the bare flesh of her bosom rotated into view.

Bert's eyes widened, locked on the sight for a moment before he wrenched his gaze up to Lila's face. "Ma'am!" he gasped, taking a step backwards. "I ... I ..." he gulped. "This is ..."

"No right?" she asked sweetly. "Ah, mi ange, it be right as you be wanting it to." Her hoof tapped softly on the wood floor as she took a step toward the white eyed rabbit. "But, you resistance be a sham. Otherwise, why you tink you follow, no?"

Bert took another step back, "But ... but ... whoa!!" He teetered on the edge of balance for a moment, his arms pin-wheeling for a single rotation before he sat down heavily in the forgotten chair. It creaked, protesting at the sudden load, but held together.

"Yes, it be a sham for sure," the mare snickered, looking at the sizable bulge in Bert's jeans. Her breasts bounced lightly as she went swiftly to the floor, sliding between his open knees. Her head nuzzled gently against the rabbit's lump. "I want it," she whispered softly.

"And you can probably guess what happened next," Bert finished. "We damn near broke that chair, especially when she hiked up that dress and sat on my dick!"

Coarse laughter tumbled across the card table. "That's some story!" chuckled Max. "You've been doing some research on this town, it seems."

"Story? No, it happened, just like I said."

"What story?" asked Chuck, stepping in from the back door of the firehouse carrying a spatula.

"The explanation about why I'm late coming back from hydrant duty," said Bert.

"What's it about? I can't hear anything out by the grill you know. You want yours still pink, right?"

"Oh, probie's just spinnin' a yarn about an old house out on Sixty-Three," said Max. "And yes, rare is perfect."

"But there ain't no houses along Sixty-Three South," said Chuck with a puzzled look, walking up to Max and giving him a scritch on the ear. "At least ... not yet."

"It wasn't on Sixty-Three," Bert interrupted, "and it weren't no house. It was a mansion on Old Coach Road in the LeMorgan Estates subdivision. In fact, that was her name. LeMorgan."

"Now I'm really inclined to believe Max," laughed Chuck.

"If I'm lying, then I'm as queer as those damn fruits on Broadway and Fifteenth Avenue," Bert said hotly.

"Look, I can cut you some slack for a lot of shit because you're new to the area," Max said, his grin fading and his expression becoming deadly serious. "But, I'm calling this one a fat load of well crafted bullshit. And watch who you're calling a fruit, rookie."

"I'm ... I'm sorry, but this is weird. I know what happened to me, and I know I'm telling the truth! Why would you think I'm lying?"

"Because the LeMorgan mansion burnt to the ground some seventy odd years ago," said Chuck.

"What??" exclaimed Bert, taking a step back.

"Yeah," continued Max. "Some people blame a jealous wife, but the sheriff couldn't prove exactly which wife did it. There were too many suspects and not enough evidence."

"So ... why didn't the LeMorgans rebuild?" asked Bert softly, colour slowly draining from his nose.

"They ain't none left," Chuck said. "Last one died in that fire. They found her body tied to a chair in the parlour with evidence of some sort of fuel. Lamp oil, probably. Some young, hot blooded filly named, umm," The collie snapped his fingers as he tried to remember. "Lilac ... no, uh ... Lima ... ... Linseed ... no, it was something Froggy ..."

"Lila?" the rabbit whispered.

"Yeah! That's it ... Lila! Almost like the flower, no? Bert? You OK? Hey, Bert? Oh shit, catch him! He's fainted!"