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Pews lined the bright-lit nave of the church, row after row, all silent as a prayer. Zaine's footfalls echoed through the empty chamber which, just moments ago, was filled to the brim with worshipers singing hymns, speaking in tongue, shouting hallelujah. The church's size did no justice for the bulging congregation each Sunday, but now it was only the stocky fox, clad in his best clothes, an old pair of uncomfortable dress shoes, perhaps a half-size too small. Without butting shoulder-to-shoulder with anyone, the church felt larger than normal, invasively so, as Zaine approached the lectern where the pastor sermonized. A fanciful altar didn't inhabit the building, which seemed to be the case with many modern day churches. In fact, the chancel housed only an imposing wooden cross hanging from the back wall, musical equipment resting in quietude along the side. But the cross was enough. He knelt, clasped his paws in prayer, too self-aware of his own presence, hard light pooling in from the clerestory. God must be scrutinizing him now, reading his thoughts. Zaine began to sweat.

He did not know how to begin, so he kept silent. He was very much a believer, but he admitted he hadn't been particularly devout. Ever since he moved out a couple years ago, attendance at his new church was as regular as a teenager at his first job. He came when he wanted, when he sought comfort or reassurance. Such as now.

He knew the sins. His parents had made clear what was appropriate, what did and didn't please the Lord. But every night he tossed and turned, echoes of Biblical lessons, his parents' teachings, stampeding through his head, one in particular of his father showing him how to bait a hook and toss a line, how the birds and the bees worked, the perfection of God's plan and the plenitude He'd bestow just as he reeled a big one in. That night offered the most delicious fish he'd ever eaten. That night, he understood the capability of God.

Phones became a burden now, however. Empty nest syndrome, be damned! His mother made sure to call regularly, about once per week, and would always ask about a first girlfriend, considering he'd never been on a date through high school. Even his two roommates would josh every now and again about his lack of a female opposite. Concentrating on college work proved burdensome when apparently hunting a significant other held more magnitude. A hopeful career as an architect would surely be put on hold so he could lay out the foundations of a relationship. Have children. Bestow the title of Grandparent upon his anxious folks. But 'conventional' was the missing keystone.

Wet fur flashed into his mind, a naked canine dousing himself sensually like in a bad romance flick. A man packed full of muscle, a handsome smile zipping along his face. A big dick hanging from his crotch. Always the usual image that'd been haunting him for years.

Zaine shook his head, tugged on a whisker until it hurt, a tactic he'd always used to distract himself from such instances. He couldn't believe what he was thinking. In a church, no less!

He prayed, eyes shut so tight he thought they would burst, pleading for God to release him from the devil's grasp. To help him find a girlfriend to please his mother and father, to assert to everyone--and especially himself--that he was no homosexual, that he would not burn in hell with the rest of them. Leviticus 18:22 sprung to mind, a curt verse his parents had him memorize, along with so many others to round out his arsenal of Biblical knowledge. Particularly, the word 'abomination' stuck out, sharp as a stake.

Silence ate his tongue. He wondered if his prayer was too much, too bigoted. He wondered for a second if people really did burn in eternal damnation for liking people with the same genitalia.

Genitals.

The word made him think of that big man-organ again. He tugged on another whisker.

Perhaps he should speak with the leader of their church. Perhaps he couldn't do this alone. Pastor Slade, a gruff-voiced black bear with a stomach as big as his smile, stood outside with his wife, saying goodbyes, offering quick, personal prayers upon request. Zaine needed a special prayer right now. He had demons in need of slaying. The fox had approached the pastor earlier before the sermon, explaining that he had a pressing concern, although he left out the particulars; but the bear placed a thick paw on his shoulder and offered him an understanding smile. It seemed he could read the worry in the young fox's eyes, quoting a comforting passage from Psalms. They would talk later.

The warmth of the bear's voice reminded Zaine of the first time they spoke one-on-one. After most had gone home after church one day, he stayed to beat a choppy rhythm on the drums. Some feline normally played as the congregation sang their songs, their praises to the Lord; had wiry arms and legs that seemed to blur out of existence when he jammed. Told Zaine it was all right for him to stay and play a bit. Musical talent didn't exist in his family, but he liked the way the cymbals, the snare, the thumping bass drum all combined to form a unity of rhythm. Pastor Slade had been listening from the side to the awkward cadence of every stroke. The fox couldn't get his appendages to work together; even a simple beat proved burdensome, like trying to get a classroom of rowdy children to settle in their seats. Queue the bear who strolled in, remarking on the fox's interest in the instrument, how he needed a bit of practice.

"Not looking for a career as Peart's replacement," Zaine said with a laugh.

"One of the best drummers there is," Pastor Slade returned. "In a way I'm like a drummer myself--except my job is to get our small gathering of churchgoers beating to the spiritual rhythm of God, to live His music. But sometimes there's a kink in the rhythm, a missing beat. Sometimes I can't quite get one hand to do what it needs to." The bear gave a thoughtful look. "This is the third time you've attended, isn't it? How are you liking it?"

"I enjoy it here," Zaine said, twiddling a drumstick. "The people are friendly and your message always fills everyone with that sort of gladness--a relief--that is hard to come by."

The bear nodded. "I'm happy to hear that. But--and forgive me if I'm wrong--something tells me you may be out of rhythm. Is there something plaguing your heart, son?"

"What gave that away?"

"Most people who stay after are generally looking for a prayer, an absolution of their sins, or comfort. If all you wanted to do was play the drums, well there's a Guitar Center up the street some. Still open right now."

The fox shouldn't have been impressed with Pastor Slade's insight. It was a job requirement, wasn't it? He twiddled one of the drumsticks again.

"There is something, Pastor," the fox said, glancing at the two ladies taking a seat on the pews to chat. They were both beautiful and young, with full tails and vibrant fur, their attire hugging their curves just right. It was hard to believe he hardly found them attractive. "But I'd like to discuss it in private another time."

"Sure," the bear said, reaching a paw out. Zaine set the sticks down to shake it: firm and welcoming. "My office is always open."

The memory faded from Zaine's head as he stood. Straightening his suit, he stopped no sooner as he turned towards the door, which no longer existed. He blinked, realizing his eyes were awash with tears, blurring out the sight of the door. But as he stepped closer, no door appeared. He wiped his eyes. Still no door.

"What's going on?"

Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he was in a vision, his corporeal body possessed by the holy spirit back by the lectern, overcome with its presence. Was this an out of body experience? A strange joke? Tugging at a whisker again, the pain affirmed he was in no trance. The door that he'd walked through moments ago had vanished.

Investigating the wall, there were no indications that a door even existed. Everything was flush with white paint, sturdy plasterboard. Knocking to elicit a response from anyone else still left in the building proved fruitless.

The back exit. The chancel held an emergency exit door, hidden carefully behind another wall for the sake of aesthetics. Pressing against the handle, the door didn't give. Didn't open. How could this be? The exit sign glowed its harrowing green in silence.

"Hello?" Zaine called along the empty pews. Something was burning. His nose twitched and he glanced about looking for smoke or fire. He could smell it, but couldn't spot the source. The clerestory darkened, as if nightfall abruptly took hold of the world. Adrenaline shot through his veins. What was happening?

Rumbling earth shook the building, the pews jostling from their spots. Zaine jumped as a crash cymbal plummeted to the floor with a loud, clattering cry. The giant cross unhooked from the wall, toppling over as the artificial lights that still illuminated the church flickered angrily. Then his eyes went wide as the vaulting burst with what appeared to be a conglomeration of shadows, screams scarring the room like a train braking too suddenly. Zaine covered his pointed ears, but dared not close his eyes as the dark, churning mass floated towards him, a large expanse of wings like a bat's slicing through the air.

Something landed in the room with a sonorous thud, quelling the tremulous foundation, the ball of darkness dissipating, revealing a tall, demonic figure that looked vexedly familiar to the fox. Sharp, red eyes blinked at Zaine, seemed to pierce through him. The demon had the look of a canine, sleek-black fur covering a naked, musclebound frame, set off by white cuspids that glimmered with saliva in those broad jaws. His broad jaws, Zaine noticed, as the hellish apparition approached with a heavy step, causing the fox to fall back, an impressive, uncut phallus swinging with his gait. The demon enclosed his wings behind him, his grin revealing more dangerous teeth, his hot, sulfuric breath buffeting the wide-eyed fox. This was a dog from Hell. A hellhound.

Zaine shook. He never knew a person could experience such fear, imagining his head sliced cleanly off by the demon's sickle-sharp claws, imagining those wicked horns goring him until he bled dry, until every last drop satiated the demon's thirst, warm in his belly.

"Calm yourself, young one," he spoke. "I'm not of that sort, although if you wish, I could refer you to a good friend. It would please him to grant you what you're thinking." A deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.

The demon could read his thoughts? Zaine silently wished he carried a cross on him, something to ward off this hell-spawn. Divine protection.

The demon gave another deep chuckle. "A vampire I am not. Your earthly toys do not affect me as they do in your motion pictures." Sighing, the hellhound knelt down until his snout nearly touched the cringing fox, who couldn't help but think the slightest caress could mean death. Zaine held his breath. Up close, he recognized the demon from his thoughts. "It is not difficult to fill your head with what you deny."

Zaine imagined the demon without wings, without horns, or exaggerated claws. He was the canine from his imagination, the image he'd jerk off to every night before falling asleep. "That was you?"

The demon stood, stretching to his full height. Seven feet, Zaine guessed. The demon flexed, showing off how his body bulged, and, despite it all, the fox felt his heart leap in excitement. Shamefully. "Like I said, your thoughts are easy to manipulate. And please cease with the formalities. Calling me 'demon' is equivalent to calling your elders 'sir' or 'madam.' I am Sabat. And today you are mine."

With a flick of Sabat's wrist, Zaine rose spread-eagle into the air, levitating without control of his body as the demon-dog stretched his wings, lifting himself up along with the fox. The feeling was similar to sleep paralysis, those times when he'd rouse in the middle of the night, unable to move, his mind fully awake as his body slept through his awareness. Pressure would bombard his chest as whispers taunted him from outside his range of vision.

"And each time that was I," hissed Sabat. "Why do you deny yourself that which comes natural to you? This I wonder."

Thoughts of attractive men assaulted Zaine's mind, all of them moaning as they touched their taut bodies, their cocks rigid, fully engorged, ejaculating jet after jet of cum. Zaine's dick hardened to this stimuli. He couldn't help it.

"No need to 'help it,'" said Sabat. "Why would God create such an attraction in your heart and not let you act on it?"

"Because His word says not to," Zaine spat as he spun slowly in the air.

"His word!" mocked Sabat. "Do you even know His word? Have you read it? Studied it? Or have you heard only what others have spoken. Their own interpretations of His divine gospel?"

Zaine wondered if he were speaking to an angel in disguise, interrogating him on his Biblical studies. To himself he admitted that, besides the occasional verse during Pastor Slade's sermons and his parents' old lessons, he had never even read The Bible front-to-back. The most he'd read on his own was Genesis, so many years ago.

"Even the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose." Sabat flicked his wrist and the airborne fox zoomed in face-to-face. "Shakespeare."

"The Merchant of Venice," Zaine confirmed, ignoring the fiery stench of the demon's breath. "Act one, scene three. I've read it."

"And yet you whimsically cite God's word, those very words you've only tasted in bits and pieces, like the last crumbs off an already eaten cake." The demon snapped his fingers and Zaine's dress shoes slipped from his feet, then he manually undid his pants, which then plunged to the floor after them. The tent in Zaine's briefs was obvious. Sabat clutched the fox's crotch, testing the thickness in his paw through the white fabric. "Luckily for you, today you can have your cake and eat it too."

In the name of the Father Zaine rebuked the demon with all his might, remembering different members of his congregation saying this in response to sickness, to perceived satanical attacks; but all the demon did was laugh heartily. The fox's heart sank in hopelessness.

"Don't worry, young fox. He will forgive you." With a flick of his wrist Zaine's suit tore off, joining his pants and shoes below. Zaine struggled to move his arms and legs to stop this demon, but the exertion of his will proved pointless. His heart sank further.

"Just kill me."

Sabat pouted. "Now why would I do that?" He lifted the fox's chin with a clawed finger, then tugged carefully on a whisker. "Trust me. You'll enjoy this."

Without warning, the remaining articles of clothing ripped off him, shredding into strips of cloth, falling onto the pews below like confetti. All that was left was a naked fox, all bright-orange fur, a pudgy belly that made Zaine feel all the more self-conscious. With only the force of a paw gesture the fox rose further, until his crotch was eye-level with Sabat. Maw-level.

"Amazing," said the demon, clutching the stiff foxhood. "Blessed since birth, I see. Must've been quite the brown noser before the old man sent you down. Such a shame you've never shared with anyone."

Zaine shuddered as Sabat stroked his cock. The feeling of someone else's flesh on his was foreign to him, like a language he couldn't speak. But right now he was learning new words, new meanings to a string of syllables he had only imagined for so long, having only known the one-lettered sign language, the O, of his paw.

"Good and hard," teased Sabat. "Must be, what? Ten inches at least." The hellhound sunk his head in, wrapping his mouth around the bulbous head, taking in the near-foot of cock in one gulp, sucking hard, a serpentine-like tongue working a miracle of sensation.

A moan escaped Zaine's tight jaws. Involuntarily. He didn't mean to. Didn't want to give Sabat the satisfaction that he had complete control of his body. But his cock had never been so hard before, the hot, wet mouth sending so many sensations through his dick, up his spine, down his legs, it was difficult not to forget the gravity of what was happening. God, forgive him.

Moments passed in a strange combination of delectation and fear. He'd been crying out. So many times he thought he would cum, but his body seemed to acclimate to all the pleasure, and there came no pinnacle of release. Zaine knew Sabat controlled even the minute functions of his physiology.

Then Zaine watched as his cock slipped from the demon-dog's mouth. He caught his breath as they aligned face-to-face, and he searched Sabat's eyes for any sparkle of benevolence. What purpose did Sabat have with him? And what worried the fox more: what would happen to him after they were through?

"Do not worry." Sabat grinned. "Would be shameful to have you wasted on a single encounter." Snapping his fingers, he allowed the fox to resume control of his arms, although he kept his torso and legs immobile as stone. But the fox was thankful for this small comfort, this extra range of motion, finding a newfound respect for tetraplegics. "Touch me."

"T-touch you?"

"You fear me, yet I still entice you. I know your thoughts; can feel your urges like the beating of your heart I hear clearly as a drum. Touch me as you would a lover you've denied yourself for too many years."

They embraced, an awkward sort of contact as Zaine pressed into Sabat's hard chest, the demon's dick stiffening against him as they touched. The fox slid a paw down the firm ridges of abdominal muscle and he wondered if all demons looked as he did, and whether their appearance was the result of their own imagination, if they thought themselves this way and thus were born of that image. Or perhaps the devil himself carved out each demon-child to his whim, a sculptor of his own army.

Zaine expected some sort of answer from Sabat, since he could sense everything he was thinking, but the hellhound just breathed, stretching his wings out around them, enclosing them both in thick, leathery skin (it was then the fox realized that Sabat had no actual need for wings to fly, as they continued to levitate mid-air without their steady contractions). Conflicting thoughts waged their war in Zaine's head. He still had no idea what the demon's intentions were: Whether or not he planned a gruesome murder as soon as he let his guard down--or if this really were just an exercise on the pleasures of the flesh.

Holding his breath, he reached his paws around, memorizing the sinewy curves of the demon's back, then down to the taut rump where he took a risk with a firm squeeze, hoping his touch was appeasing Sabat, feeling the demon's thick tail flick about. Still encased in his wings, surrounded by the emanating warmth of his body, Zaine almost felt safe. Almost. But it was difficult to deny that this felt good--all that seemed to matter at this moment.

Zaine squeezed that ass with more confidence; Sabat's dick throbbed, pressing hard against the fox. Peering down at it, the size was surely intimidating and he knew what the demon wanted him to eventually do. Glancing up for some sort of reassurance, the demon returned a grin, a flash of those teeth Zaine was thankful didn't decimate his own member moments ago.

"A foot of cock," said Sabat, almost nonchalantly. "You can manage."

Experience was the commodity Zaine lacked, glancing at the demon's fleshy-pink dick with a gulp, his body descending involuntarily, his face aligning with Sabat's crotch. Received a good view of those heavy balls too, pleasingly full and encased in a thin layer of soft, black fur. After a few seconds of hesitation, Zaine finally grasped the head of that huge shaft, which angled towards the heavens like Sabat's horns, and probably just as hard. Foreskin half-covered the broad glans and he pulled it back, revealing the swollen head, pre-come trickling from the tip.

Zaine had longed for a moment like this for so long, although he would've preferred a less terrifying turn of events. And not in a church with some demonic entity, but in the warmth of a bed with the love of his life. How many years had fear and disgust held him back? Chagrin? But damn, if these were the last moments of his own life, he was going to enjoy himself. Relish himself in taboo.

"You're getting the idea, love," affirmed Sabat. "Don't think. Just act."

Love? The fox assumed Sabat's use of that word was sarcastic, but something didn't sit well. A demon using the dreaded l-word? He remembered Sabat saying 'lover' earlier as well and it all seemed so oxymoronic. But without further hesitation, he opened his mouth wide, Sabat's cock soon probing his throat. The taste of his flesh, the preseminal fluid, was intoxicating. Zaine bobbed his head. Gagged. Kept at it, stroking the rest of that veiny shaft with a paw, the other fondling those balls. Occasionally his teeth would scrape at his skin, but Sabat felt no pain. Only grinned, moaned quietly, urging the fox forward with a gentle paw to the back of his head, pulling sensually at his fur. Soon the gagging stopped and Zaine fell into a comfortable rhythm, nursing the fat dick, swallowing all the pre that seeped out. This must've been heaven. There was no way its antithesis would allow such pleasure to unfold.

"Heaven," stated Sabat as he folded his wings back, prompting Zaine to release him, his dick glistening with saliva. "Such an overrated place." With a gesture of his wrist he spun the fox away from him, then pivoted his body. Zaine looked as if he were bending over to pick up a dropped pencil; but as soon as Sabat's large paws began massaging his ass, the fox knew what was next. He bit his lower lip. "This'll be all the heaven you'll need."

The fox breathed hard again. Anally, he was a virgin in every sense of the word; he'd never dared stick even a finger in. Had no idea what it felt like down there. But this he knew: it would hurt. A foot of demon-cock--he would surely die from this alone!

Sabat hushed the fox, fully aware of his worry, then lifted up his bushy white-tipped tail, slipping in a long, wet tongue, feeling the tight ring of muscle pucker in response. The sensation sent shock waves through Zaine's body. Biting his lower lip harder until it nearly bled, his dick throbbed in excitement. Touched himself. Never felt so good before.

Soon, the tongue slipped out and Zaine sensed the demon repositioning himself, felt Sabat's hard dick pressing against his wet tailhole. Without warning, Sabat pressed himself inside and the fox's entire body tensed, yips of pain bursting from his throat, echoing through the nave. Inching in provoked more cries, a tear trickling down a cheek. Sabat paused, waiting for Zaine to catch his breath, then eased out only enough so that his glans still stretched wide the tight passage, spewing pre-come inside the writhing fox. Then he slid in again, a little further this time, inciting a groan from both canids. Slid out. A little further in again until eventually pleasure superseded the pain, until all twelve inches of dick was buried deep into the fox.

Zaine understood that there was no way he could've taken it all the first time in a normal setting. He knew Sabat contributed more of his manipulative powers over his flesh. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why not let him ride the zenith of agony? The feeling of fullness felt incredible and Sabat allowed this to be so.

"Would you rather it hurt?" mused Sabat.

"No, no," Zaine returned with a sting of worry. He didn't want to give the demon any ideas! "But why are you doing this? Why go all this length? Why me?"

Sabat swiveled the fox around his dick so they could see each other, holding him close with his thighs. "You will know in due time. Fifteen days, six hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds into your 88th birthday, as a matter of fact. For now, let's enjoy each other while it lasts."

The unexpected happened. Carefully, they descended. As soon as cool hardwood aligned his back, the fox detected he had control over his body again, save for the fact that Sabat's dick still penetrated him, saber-like. But he could move his legs freely, could adjust to the minutiae of Sabat's movements. Then the hellhound leaned in, pulled Zaine close, and planted a kiss so passionate to his lips that the lights overhead began their angry flickering again.

First: confusion. But only for the briefest of seconds before Zaine returned the kiss, reaching an arm around the demon, savoring the taste of his tongue, his breath no longer acrid. He tasted as he'd imagined a lover would taste in such a kiss.

Release. Before Zaine could question him, could figure out his true intentions, Sabat placed a finger to his maw. Silent, the fox gazed into the demon's eyes. Those familiar, familiar eyes. He'd seen him more than in dreams, in fantasies. But the fox couldn't place it. He kissed that finger.

Then they fucked.

Gentle and rhythmic at first, their soft moans glancing off the church walls. Sabat had both arms on either side of the fox, claws digging mercilessly into the wood flooring as he thrust. Zaine braced himself on those arms, tracing their musculature, the demon quickening his pace, their bodies slapping, colliding loudly. Zaine could hear his voice echoing through the room, unable to contain it. Couldn't keep from vocalizing the intensity of each moment zipping by, the intense pleasure of Sabat's cock boring deep inside him, stretching him wide. Zaine pawed off, gazing at the beautiful creature before him, his powerful, intimidating body that, at this moment, was his to savor. So enticing was his dark musculature, the perfection of his body's definition. It was too good to be true--he must've been dreaming. But the pleasure became too great, his cock tingling, signaling the imminent climax, reminding him that this was all real.

"I'm gonna come," he whispered.

Sabat moved a paw in, stroking the bulging glans, whispering back indecipherable words, sweet nothings. Ropes of thick, white seed burst from Zaine's long dick and onto his cream-colored chest. Satisfying cries accompanied each ejaculation, each contraction, each feeling greater than the last. When Zaine opened his eyes, the last spurts of thick semen seeping down his length, it looked as if someone had dumped lotion all over his fur.

"Ready for more?" groaned Sabat, his thrusts becoming short, almost frantic, his voice: gruff, labored. Expanding his wings until they fully spanned, Sabat hilted himself deep inside the vulpine, all twelve inches of throbbing meat, hot semen flooding Zaine's bowels. Pulling his dick out, he beat himself off over the fox, emitting growls of pleasure, impossible amounts of come streaming in long bursts over the fox's abdomen, chest, and face. Tongue slipping out, Zaine could taste its strange saltiness, slight bitterness, its scent driving his nostrils into a furor. Lifting himself up with a paw, Zaine grasped the demon's dick with the other, finishing him off, come spattering over the fox's gaping mouth. When Sabat finished spurting, he looked the fox over, grinning at the mess, leaning in to plant another kiss, sucking on the fox's wanting tongue, tasting his own seed.

Breaking the kiss, Sabat whispered, "My power in this world is waning. But I could not allow the bear to pluck away your virginity. I know of the events that are soon to pass--I forgive you."

The bear? Did he mean the Pastor? The fox's vision began to spin as his head seemed to balloon into a disorienting lightness; he was falling through the floor. But, for the briefest of moments, he saw this hellhound as not a demon, but as a young, handsome dog yearning for his other half.

"Do I know you?"

"Your spirit does, but that is for another day."

The fox's vision darkened.

"Who are you?"

Silence. And darkness.

* * *

The tiny boat weaved gently over the water, his father holding the fishing pole in a steady paw. A faded Rubbermaid cooler sat at one side, fish-less--but not for long, Zaine knew. The morning had only begun. The air was crisp and cool, smelling like nature, and the water was a slate of calm blue, much like the sky, ripples visiting the surface every now and again.

"Think about how God created our world," he began, tipping his hat back, then giving his son a fatherly pat. Thick foliage surrounded them like a fortress. And the air was so silent, not even an insect sang. "All for us."

"I've read Genesis."

"So you have."

"I did." Zaine took the other fishing pole, fiddling with the reel. "But I do wonder--why would He kill all his children?"

"Kill?"

"You know: the Great Flood."

There was a silence deeper than the quietude that pervaded their surroundings and it seemed Zaine's father was measuring the weight of his question--or, perhaps, he was sculpting a convincing answer.

"I mean, how could a perfect being create something so imperfect He thought the only answer was to kill them all?"

"Well, that's the thing, ain't it," his father said. "But you'll have to see it this way. Our great Father could have made us perfect, but in order to do so, He would have to rob us of free will. And what would be the point? He gave us the burden of choice, and it is with this burden that we find our way back to Him."

"But what about the burden of my heart?" Zaine said, remembering he hadn't gone fishing with his father in years. Where was he? He dropped the fishing pole into the water.

"What burden, son?"

"That every night I think of a man." Zaine tugged on his whiskers, but felt no pain. It was then he knew. "My heart desires to lay in his arms. To touch him. To be touched by him. It is this desire of which I made no such choice!"

"And you believe this desire to be wickedness?" his father wondered, the bobber dipping into the water, indicating a bite. Paw spinning, he began reeling in his catch.

"Ambiguity. That is all I can say. Is it wickedness to desire such a thing you'd described to me as abominable? Or is it wickedness only to act out on those desires, even if it means I must deny myself what I seek until I die?"

"You think God desires your unhappiness?" The fish thrashed over the water.

"It would seem so. Why create such feelings when the act is something He supposedly detests?"

Without answering, Zaine's father slung the fish into their boat. The fish flopped wildly, then magnified to too many times its size, crushing both foxes inside the boat which couldn't hold such an increase in weight. Water swallowing them up, they sank into the silent blue.

* * *

Zaine awoke with a start. The feeling of drowning was too real, but it soon subsided as he realized where he was: naked in the church, Pastor Slade kneeling to his side. Drying semen clung to the fur on his abdomen and chest. But only his. Any indication of Sabat's visit did not exist: the evidence of his orgasm, the scratches on the floor, the disheveled condition of the church. It seemed time had reversed.

"What happened here?" the Pastor asked, sitting Zaine up, glancing him over, his eyes spending too much time on the flaccid foxhood that lay thickly between his legs. Zaine noticed this and Sabat's portent about the bear plucking away his virginity echoed in his head.

Zaine glanced around. Evidence still existed that he was visited by the demon after all: half his clothes lay in a pile while ribbons of the other half lay strewn along the pews; and, as he stood, a sharp pain slashed into his abdomen from his anus.

"I-I don't know," the fox stammered, picking up what was left of his clothes to cover himself up, doing his best to ignore the pain. "I need to leave."

Without putting anything on he bounded through the door--that thankfully existed again--and into the afternoon sunlight, much to the astonishment of a few church members who were still present, but unaware of the fox's predicament.

Back inside the nave, the bear stood, the image of the fox's thick cock coming to mind. As much as he must banish the thought, he knew what he was going to do. He just needed the fox inside his office, unsure of himself, seeking his guidance. And alone. Definitely alone.