FOX Academy VI - Unnatural Selection

Chapter 2 - Ten Little Indians

Monday morning dawned clear and cold, reminding some and teaching others that early June in Canada's capitol city is not yet summer. But as the sun rose groups of people gathered in the parking lots of Ottawa's Central Experimental Farm for their pre-work exercise.

At the Sir John Carling building employees of Agriculture Canada and gathered for their early morning speed walk. At the Ornamental Gardens members of Health Canada came together for Tai Chi. At the Arboretum a group of auditors from Revenue Canada warmed up for their daily run, each wearing a shirt that said "I am NOT a Spy" on the back. At the Dominion Observatory personnel from Natural Resources met for doughnuts and Tim Horton's coffee.

Nearby, a group of new students at the Foreign Operations eXecutive training facility, known to its alumni as FOX Academy, stood shivering in shorts and tee-shirts. The shorts were blue with a white stripe on each side. The tee-shirts were grey, with the Academy logo on the front and the words "I am NOT a Revenue Canada Tax Auditor" on the back. The students had been let out of isolation in the psychological wing of the infirmary at five in the morning, issued physical training gear and a map of the farm at five fifteen, told to report to the Academy sports field for five thirty, and not to talk to anyone until they were told it was okay to do so. Those that had to pee had to rush, but they all made it in time, and now stood silently, waiting for the instructor to arrive.

At five thirty-five an apparition appeared out of a barn-like structure at one end of the field. The creature that approached was large, larger than any of the students, and broad, as wide as the door he came out of. As he got closer they could see that it was a doberman pinscher with military-style short hair. He wore skin-tight camouflage pattern shorts, an Academy issue grey tee-shirt, and an olive drab cap. His ears and tail were cropped for fighting.

He stopped twenty paces away from the group and surveyed them silently.

The assembly reminded him of the scene in the movie 'The Dirty Dozen'. The one where Lee Marvin meets his crew of misfit convicts for the first time, except he was two sort of a dozen, and they were no way near as daunting. Apart from three wolves and a husky that would have at least look dangerous in the proper lighting, he noted a kindly looking older fox, a skinny bat, a couple of female canines, a small kit fox, and something that looked like a kitten with wings. Right now he would give his left ball for some convicts, murderers, or felons. Even J-walkers would be deadlier than this bunch.

"My name," the big dog rumbled, "is Rederick Nayles, but everyone calls me 'Rusty'." He concluded by spitting a wad of bright red tobacco juice onto the grass by his feet.

"Excuse me, Mister Nayles?" One of the females waved a paw in the air, a vixen with blue-tinted fir. "Why do they call you Rusty?"

Rusty stepped up in front of her so quickly that the entire group took a step back. He might be roughly the size and shape of a tank but he moved like one of those tingly vampires in the movies.

"You were told not to talk to anyone until given permission!" The doberman roared in her face, spattering her with tobacco juice and bits of onion from his breakfast. "Did I give you permission to talk? NO! What's your name?"

"My name is Aglaia, Mister Nayles, Rusty, Sir." She managed to stammer. Rusty was slightly impressed that she hadn't swooned on the spot. "I just assumed that since you addressed us that ..."

"Don't assume anything, any more, ever." He growled back before she could finish. "Is Aglaia your first or last name?" He demanded.

"It's my only name ... sir."

"Don't call me sir! I work for a living! No last name eh? Well from now on you're 'Jones' when you are my class. Got it, Jones?"

"Why Jones?" Aglaia asked, her strong will and tendency for incessant talk overcoming her survival instincts once again.

"Because I don't like anyone named Jones!" The doberman screamed, his face turning redder than his tobacco spit.

"Wait, the doctor who did our physicals, the albino, wasn't he named Jones?"

"Yes." Rusty said, suddenly growing deadly calm. "And you can tell him I named you after him the first time I send your broken and bleeding body to the infirmary. NOW DROP AND GIVE ME THIRTY!"

"That's hitting the rusty nail on the head." Someone quipped as Aglaia dropped into the push up position. Rusty turned in a flash to confront the wit. It was the small tawny kit fox.

"And what name do you want me to put on your headstone? The big dog demanded as he loomed over the fox.

"Ch ... Charles Matty, sir ... Mister ... Rusty" The fox had an Australian accent.

"Would you like to join Miss Jones in a few push ups?"

"Wot? With a fine Sheila like her? Better than getting your arse paddled with a cricket bat, eh mate?" The Aussie grinned back.

"THIRTY!" Rusty looked around at the rest of the bunch to see if anyone else dared to speak.

Down the line he saw the other female, a small English toy terrier, with her lips pursed making paw gestures to those on either side of her to keep quiet. Rusty did not appreciate the help, but technically she had not done anything wrong ... yet. But if given enough time he was sure that she would. She looked like the approval seeking type. Rusty, who was always on the lookout for a future Missus Nayles having gone through three marriages already, also noted that she was not too hard on the eyes.

She looked sort of like a miniature doberman, with a thin muzzle, perky ears and the same black and tan markings. She was slim and fit, with perfect little paws ending in claws that looked like they had been professionally manicured. Rusty did not fail to notice her firm breasts under the tight tee-shirt or the way the chilly morning air made her nipples stand out; nor did the other males standing nearby.

The bat was one of the creatures standing beside her. He stood sideways, facing her, and his head jerked up and down as he tried to focus on her tits and ass alternately. The thick, oversized glasses magnified his eyes comically, and his mouth was hanging open as if he was awestruck. The bulge in his shorts indicated his approval of what little he could make out. He was making little high pitched squeaking noises, and they were beginning to irritate the terrier. She was turned toward the bat and shushing him loudly, loud enough for Rusty to step up without her noticing and take a position behind her.

"Problem?" He inquired.

"He won't be quiet sir." The little dog said with exasperation, forgetting the no talking rule.

"Name?" Rusty asked tranquilly.

"Anabel Balfor sir." The toy terrier snapped to attention.

"I said no talking, and not to call me sir. Thirty." Rusty smiled and pointed toward the ground. "You too bat boy, for making that noise, whatever it is."

"Ansin Faraday Mister Nayles."

"What?" He had a distinctive southern accent. From Georgia or northern Florida, Rusty thought.

"Ansin Faraday. That is my name."

"Did I ask?" Rusty looked around in mock perplexity. "Did I? Give me forty."

A movement caught the big dog's eye. The feline with the strange leathery webbing under his arms was gesturing, indicating a desire to speak. Rusty ignored him, or was he a she? It looked male but it stood with its knees together and its paws clasped in front like a female would. It was signalling persistently, despite Rusty pointedly paying no attention to it. As the offending students finished the last of their push ups he finally relented and turned to the strange little creature.

"You may speak." He informed it.

"Saira Rasielle, si .... Mister Rusty. "That noise he was making was echo location. He was making a sonar map of her body. It's more accurate than sight when it comes to contours and protrusions." It pointed at its own flat chest, marred only by twin pea-sized bumps and blushed.

"Pervert." Balfor struck Faraday with the back of her paw. Rusty let that one slide.

"And you know about this echo location how, mister?" Rusty inquired of the feline. He had decided to treat the cat as a male until proven otherwise.

Rasielle spread his arms to reveal leathery wings. They were not as fully developed as Faraday's, but they looked impressive all the same. "I'm a hybrid." He said quietly.

"Holy shit! A Chimera!" This from the fox with the speckles of grey in his otherwise red coat.

"Thirty." Rusty informed the fox before turning back to the feline-bat cross. "Those things work, Rasielle?"

"For short distances Mister Rusty. Unfortunately my mass-to-surface ratio is to low to allow sustained flight. This is because the relative length of my torso to my wingspan ..."

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for Bill Hanlan." Rusty realized that none of them would recognize the name of the Academy's Chief Analyst, an older grey fox known as 'The Professor', but he needed to get back in control of this strange little group. "You just keep your feet on the ground until I tell you otherwise. Got it?"

"Yes Sir."

"Rusty, R-U-S-T-Y, Rusty. Can't you people follow simple instructions? Jesus, I don't envy the instructors that have to turn you rag bags into spies." He noticed that one of the three wolves that were standing together at the end of the line was holding up a paw. "What is it?" He asked tiredly.

"Is this 'it', you know what I mean? Have we, like, made it? Are we part of the Foreign Operations eXecutive now?" The Wolf asked.

"What is your name son?"

"Sam O'Leary, uh, Rusty." The FOX Combat instructor studied the canine, sizing him up. He looked to be an Arctic wolf, from the amount of white in his coat, and in good shape. He wasn't muscle-bound like Rusty but his clinging tee-shirt outlined a set of solid muscles. Rusty noticed that the terrier, Balfor, was watching the wolf out of the corner of her eye.

"What's that thing hanging around your neck?" Rusty pointed to something that looked like an upside-down capitol letter 'T' on a silvery chain.

"That is a Mjolnir pendant." O'Leary answered. "Thor's Hammer."

"It looks like a pair of snakes yiffing." Rusty commented before announcing to the group: "No jewellery on PT. Put it under your shirt for today." He advised the Arctic wolf.

"It's an Asatru religious symbol." O'Leary countered, his anger rising. "Those intertwined lines are a mystic knot, not snakes."

"If I see it again it's a butt plug." Rusty stood chest to chest against the smaller canine and waited to see if his challenge would be met. O'Leary glared at him, but did not raise a paw. Rusty stepped back.

"And to answer your earlier question, no this is not 'IT'. 'IT' is six months down a long hard road full of pain and anguish. Speaking of which, let's go for a little run." Rusty grinned, revealing tobacco stained teeth that answered Aglaia's original question about how he got his nickname.

"How little of a run?" O'Leary asked suspiciously.

"How far can you run at a fast pace?"

"15 kilometres, easy."

"Then we'll go thirty." The doberman's pronouncement was met with groans from the larger creatures, a squeal from the long-eared bat and wide-eyed shock from the old fox. Before they could recover he led them out on to the road, cutting off a contingent of rollerbladers from Environment Canada in the process.

Glancing behind as they started out, Sam O'Leary noticed an ominous sign; an ambulance with academy markings had pulled out to follow them.

* * * * * * * *

Most of them were in good shape, but good was not good enough against the massive canine combat instructor. Rusty liked to compete in super marathons and Iron Dog competitions while carrying fifty kilos or more on his back, and a thirty kilometre sprint was just a little short of his usual morning run. One by one the new recruits fell by the side of the road, to be tossed unceremoniously into the back of the trailing ambulance. The vehicle made the occasional trip back to the infirmary to unload when it as full, or if the latest drop-out looked critical.

Rusty did not stop until the last one, the Arctic Wolf Sam O'Leary, stumbled and fell. The student struggled to get up and continue but Rusty, who was not even sweating yet, kept him down easily with one paw.

"Relax O'Leary." He said as he eased the wolf back into a sitting position. Sam expected to hear a couple of words of encouragement at that point, but Rusty had his own motivational methods. "So far, you are the best of a bad bunch." He told the former bounty hunter. "When the infirmary releases the rest you tell them that tomorrow the real training starts. You have indoctrination briefings in the classroom this afternoon and a social event tonight."

"Where ..." Sam gasped, "where is the social ... held?"

"In the students lounge. You drink there until the halfway point in the course, after which you can join the rest of the staff in the main lounge. Until then you are confined to the farm. Some of the staff might drop by to introduce themselves tonight. I'll be by so you can buy me a beer. The day you end one of my sessions on your feet I'll buy you one. Deal?" He stuck out a massive paw.

Sam wanted to rip it off the wrist it was attached to, but that wrist appeared to be thicker, and better muscled, than one of his thighs, so he decided to shake it firmly instead.

"See you tonight." Rusty said in parting.

Sam looked around. The Central Experimental Farm covered about eight square kilometres, and it was criss-crossed with traffic-free lanes and paved trails that made it very popular with joggers. Rusty had been leading them around and back and forth on a circuitous route that never took them more than a thousand metres from FOX headquarters. Sam hobbled back in the direction of the student barracks.

As he showered, dried and rubbed ointment in his aching muscles Sam wondered why he had applied to join FOX in the first place. Actually he had not sought to apply, mainly because he had never heard of the Foreign Operations eXecutive until a couple of weeks before an application had appeared unexpectedly in the mail. He had filled it in more out of curiosity than anything else, unwittingly passing the first of a series of tests devised by the Academy psychologist Doctor Gordon as part of a very selective process. Of the hundred or so application forms that were mailed out only twenty were returned. Of those only fifteen were invited to visit the farm, and five of those had washed out during the week of isolation. The diversity board may have chosen the initial pool of people, but standards still had to be maintained.

Sam heard the groans and whines of the others announcing their release from the hospital to their rooms. Sam went down the hall, poking his head into open rooms or knocking on closed doors and informed them of the schedule. Then he hobbled off to the classroom to pick out a good seat.

The afternoon passed quickly. They were introduced to their instructors, mostly specialists and ex-agents. They would not get to meet any active agents until they got a little father along in their course.

"No offence," their chief instructor informed them, "but in the cold war days there was always at least one double agent per class, and it takes a few weeks to sort them out from the loyal students. Now we worry about terrorists infiltrating. Anyone here Al-Qa'Ida, FARC or the Real IRA by the way? No one wants to admit it? Well, we'll see."

They were dismissed early so that they could rest a bit before the social. It was appreciated, as most were still suffering leg cramps and headaches from the morning marathon. Sam noted that the other two wolves and the terrier seemed to be in the best shape. What was her name again, Annabelle, Anelle? He had a thing for fit females, and the toy terrier was as sleek and firm as they came, and not bad looking either with those big brown eyes and tan highlights. Sam looked forward to seeing her at the social.

Halfway back to the dorm the other two wolves caught up with him.

"Hey, how's it going? I'm Thomas, Thomas Roark, although my friends call me Tommy Boy." The large timber wolf stuck out a paw. Sam Shook it. The guy must have been over two metres tall, but slim. Sam doubted that he weighed any more than a hundred kilos. Definitely no match for that Combat Instructor Rusty, Sam supposed. He wondered if all the Americans would have to change to the metric system now that they were in Canada. "Mister silent over here is Zac, with no 'k', Ember." Thomas continued. The other wolf was taller than Sam than Sam and about the same weight. He had a greyish-brown coat with rust-like highlights behind his ears and on the top of his muzzle. He waved a hello. "Zac is a bit reserved." Thomas explained.

"You seemed pretty quiet yourself in class today." Sam pointed out.

"Oh, I'm always like that at work." Thomas shrugged. "Comes from being a pilot and a US Marshal. One mistake, one second of inattention and 'boom', no more Mister Roark. I tend to loosen up a lot after hours. Speaking of which ... one of the clerks hat was collecting our papers happened to let something slip. Apparently there is a pavilion on a lake nearby where there is a fair bit of action around quitting time. Zac and I were wondering if you would care to join us for a few wet ones before we hit the social tonight?"

Sam had seen the lake when the big doberman had led them across the road into the Arboretum. He recalled a white building that seemed to be floating on the water. The prospect was interesting, but there were two problems. For one, Sam was a lightweight when it came to drinking, especially hard liquor. Two drinks could make him do things he was bound to regret. The second thing was the injunction to remain on the grounds until told otherwise.

But one did not become a bounty hunter, or a secret agent he supposed, by being timid. What if, he asked himself, the whole ban on going out was just another test? Whether because of this twisted logic, or the need to prove himself after the morning's humiliation, Sam decided to join the two on their impromptu outing.

"Cool." Thomas declared. "There is a gap in the surveillance coverage behind the range, where the drainage ditch dips through the hedge. I found a note about it, written by a former student, stuck behind the mirror in my room."

"How do you know that doberman or someone didn't put it there?" Zac asked, concerned.

"I checked it out, and I'll go first in case the big guy is waiting for us on the other side." The timber wolf offered. "It'll be fine. You'll see." They agreed to meet at four.

When four O'clock came around Sam, Thomas and Zac wandered nonchalantly down the road to the building where the weapons and combat training took place. They spotted two of the groundskeepers that they had been told were really security guards and waited until they had moved on before slipping in behind the barn-like structure. Sure enough, the ditch that ran from the back of the building was low enough for them to crawl along below the level of the sensors that ringed the Academy, and dry enough to do so without getting their clothes too dirty.

Once beyond the perimeter the three cut across Prince of Wales Drive and got on the recreational pathway that followed the Rideau Canal. It led straight to the Dow's Lake Pavilion, home to two franchise restaurants and one independent pub. It was surrounded by government buildings full of lonely, thirsty bureaucrats, guaranteeing a steady flow of paying customers, plus those hanging out there seeking a mate with a steady income and guaranteed pension. Three fit, young wolves such as they should have no problem finding companionship among the secretaries, administrative assistants, and husband seekers.

The three opted for the pub, because it offered the best prospects for chatting someone up with its long bar and stand-up tables. Before Sam could protest Thomas had ordered beers for all of them. Sam took his and pretended to sip it while they surveyed the room.

It was disappointing. Most of the crowd was older guys with government identification cards from various departments hanging around their necks. Some of them looked like they had been there since lunch. There were a couple of groups of females, but they were formed into tight, impenetrable circles, discussing their horrible day at work by the sounds of it.

"It's early." Thomas pronounced. "It'll get better. Drink up." He drained his beer in one gulp and looked to the other two to do the same. Zac complied, licking his lips appreciably afterwards. Sam drained his more slowly, but not as slowly as he had intended. The beer lit a fire in his belly, a fire that demanded to be fed.

"Another?" Zac asked, turning to the bar.

"Sure." Sam's mouth answered before his brain could step up and refuse.

By the time they had finished the second beer Sam had loosened up considerably. They had just started their third round, paid for by Sam, when a lone female walked into the bar. She was a mountain lion, and she looked good. Better than good, she looked preened.

She was wearing tight skirt that hugged a firm ass and full thighs. It came down only halfway to her knees. Her legs were accentuated by open shoes with heels so high they almost violated the building code. Each claw on her perfectly trimmed feet was painted with glittering gold, as were those on her paws. She wore a stylish jacket over a designer blouse that hung open to reveal the tops of large, round breasts that stood up with no visible sign of support. She had high cheek bones that gave her that aristocratic look that lionesses of a certain age have. Her tawny hair was styled and streaked, and she wore dark brown eye shadow to emphasize her emerald green orbs.

The big cat looked around at the pickings, ignoring the jealous stares of the younger females and the drooling, overweight bureaucrats. Then her eye fell on the three wolves, and she grinned. She swayed over to the section of the bar they occupied and gracefully took a stool nearby. She sat half turned toward them, and waited. She did not have to wait long.

"Can, uh, I buy you a beer?" Thomas, the closest, asked, indicating the taps nearby.

"No." She replied staring up into his eyes. "But you can buy me a Strawberry Vodka Stinger." All three wolves scrambled to order simultaneously, maker her smile knowingly again.

Zac was the successful one. He passed the reddish concoction in its long-stemmed glass over to her. She took it with her left paw and sipped it appreciatively, never talking her green eyes off his brown ones.

"My name is Zac." Zac introduced himself, and then his new friends. "What do you do for a living ....? He drew out the pause hoping she would fill it with a name.

"I'm a fortune teller." She answered, ignoring the hint. "I tell futures."

"Oh, you're like a stock broker, right?" Sam was slurring his words slightly already, but he was sure he had figured her out.

"No. I'm a gypsy." She teased them. "But instead of tea leaves I read beer suds. Care to try?" She put down her drink and held out her paw. Thomas pushed forward and held out his mug. "Swirl it around and take a big gulp." The lioness instructed. Tommy Boy complied. She took his mug in both her paws and examined the white clouds of foam as they drifted back down the sides to rejoin the amber world below.

"You are aloof and arrogant, too sure of yourself." She announced. "You will have to take matters in your own paws if you desire fulfillment tonight." She softened her critical pronouncement with a sly grin and playfully poked at the tall wolf's crotch. "Who's next?"

Sam stumbled forward. He rolled his beer so vigorously that half of it slopped out onto the bar. He drank the rest in mouthful, burping appreciatively as he passed his mug to her.

"I see a wolf with his head in a white porcelain bowl, calling on the God Ralph to deliver him from hangovers. Ralph will not favour his prayers."

"Ralph?" Sam looked confused as his companions laughed. "He's not one of my deities. I would prey to Loci if I wanted relief from the effects of dronk ... dink ... beer."

Zac was still chuckling when he gave his mug a whirl and sipped it conservatively. He made eye contact again over the rim of the mug as the foam lined his lips. He licked it off as he extended the mug for her to read.

Head down, she pretended to study it, but she was looking up at him through her long, thick lashes as she pronounced his fate.

"I see a wolf embarking on a journey. A journey of pleasure. But he must first prove that he is worthy to embark on this quest. What would such a wolf have to recommend him, I wonder?"

"I'm told I give a hell of a foot massage." Zac answered shyly.

The tawny goddess put his mug down beside her abandoned drink and stood up. In her heels she as tall as Zac. Her rope-like tail whipped back and forth behind her luscious butt as she reached out for Zac's paw. "In that case, I predict a successful conclusion to your quest." She purred. Without another word she turned and led the surprised wolf from the pub.

Zac followed, turning back to his friends to shrug helplessly. Thomas waved him on with a rueful smile. Sam stared open mouthed as her rolling buttocks disappeared out the door.

"Christ, doesn't that beat all." Thomas said as he turned back to the bar. Spying the forgotten drinks, and not being one to waste good beer, or money, he sipped at Zac's mug. "Want the rest of this Vodka Stinger?" He slid the glass toward Sam.

"Sure." Sam said. "And after that, let's have some Tequila."

* * * * * * * *

Back at the Academy dorm, Charles Matty had just finished washing up and was headed back to his room. The building was one of the older ones in the Academy, and unlike the quarters set aside for single agents and support staff, it did not have separate showers or toilets for each room. Instead, they had to use the common washrooms, which were equipped with a sliding sign to show what sex was currently using the facilities. When the last creature of whatever sex left the room they were responsible for moving the sign into the neutral middle position. Forgetful students were often the cause of acute embarrassment.

Charles strode along the hall with shower clogs on his feet and a large towel around his waist. He was glad that the hallway was empty, not that he was shy but because he felt a little self conscious around some of the larger canines. Charles was of average height and build, and did not have the sculpted musculature of some of the others. Still, he expected to do well on the course, having already served in the Australian equivalent of the Academy, even if DINGO did not have the same deadly reputation as FOX.

Thinking about home, Charles made a wrong turn. It was easy enough to do in the dim corridors where every door looked exactly like all the others. He had left his room unlocked so when he grasped the knob and it turned he just stepped right in. The layout and the furnishings of each room was exactly the same, and none of them had a chance to personalize their space yet, so he did not even realize that he was in the wrong room until he was surprised by a high-pitched squeal.

Charles whirled, bringing his paws up in a fighting stance and dropping his towel in the process. Standing at the other end of the room, one paw to his mouth and a hairbrush in the other, stood the hybrid, Rasielle. Rasielle was naked also.

"What are you doing in my ..." Charles began, before seeing the stranger's luggage and personal items where he expected his to be. The guitar case in particular clued him in to the fact that he was in the wrong place. Charles could not carry a tune with a wheelbarrow.

"Uh, sorry." Charles said, bending quickly to retrieve his towel. "I got lost I guess and all these doors look alike." While his head was down he stole a glance at the feline. No one he had talked to was sure if the cat was a he or a she, and money was riding on the outcome. But Charles had not made a bet. Since seeing the cat-bat in shorts and tee-shirt with nipple protrusions brought by the chilly air he had felt a strange attraction to the cat, and although he had always preferred slim females he was a bit uncertain as to why. He was slightly disappointed to see a small penis hanging between Rasielle's legs.

His fur was mostly white, with a few black markings here and there. The leathery webbing between elbow and waist was black also. His head looked like a cat's, but his arms were like a bat's, with only two digits and a thumb on each paw. The feline had a body like a kitten, slim and without definition, vulnerable, and cute too Charles was forced to admit. He gathered his towel in front of his crotch as unwanted stirrings drifted through the region.

"That's okay." Rasielle said, relaxing a bit. He crossed one leg in front of the other, covering up most of his penis, but Charles still felt ... what? Uncomfortable? Distressed? He was not sure, but he felt something. "It's good to have someone to talk to. I was feeling a little lonely, and I was too shy to go around introducing myself." The feline cross indicted that Charles should sit on the end of the bed. Charles would have rather left in a hurry, but he sat. It was like he had no control over his own body anymore.

"I'm Saira." The little catbat held out one of those strange paws to shake. Charles took it automatically and pumped it twice before letting it drop.

"Where ... where are you from?" The fox croaked, trying to make the best of the absurd situation. Saira, it sounded like a girl's name to Charles.

"I'm an American, but not from anywhere in particular. I grew up on a government installation." He sounded uncomfortable about the subject.

Charles, an army brat himself, could sympathize. "From Oz myself. Charlie's the name." He cocked a thumb to his chest. "Long way from home. What did you do before coming here?" He was starting to relax.

"Oh, I had the usual jobs as a kid." Saira said, looking down and swinging one leg around unconsciously. "I worked as a grocery clerk for a while, and then drifted into making props for the local theatre group I was part of. That led to making more complicated things, like machinery, weapons. Then I started designing my own machines. My latest project is an aerocycle, a sort of flying motorcycle." Saira's enthusiasm had picked up as he went along.

"Cool. Haven't done much myself except for some espionage work back home." Charles said, his eyes following the path of Saira's swinging leg. He could not help it. Something about the slim little guy fascinated him. He shook his head as if to clear it. He had to get out of here before ... before what?

It was too late. Saira came to sit on the end of the bed beside him, between him and the door. Now he would have to edge around him to get by without touching him, because touching him would be bad, wouldn't it?

Charles almost had a heart attack when Saira put a paw on his furry thigh. "I like you Charlie. Will you be my friend?"

"S ... sure." Charles squeaked, his pitch higher than the catbat's original squeal.

"Good. I don't have very many friends." Saira leaned in uncomfortably close. His paw moved a little farther up on Charlie's thigh, up under the towel. "I like your breath. It smells nice." The feline told him.

"M ... mints."

"I like your green eyes too. They are so kind. Your fur is nice also. Like velvety sand." Saira took one of Charlie's black paws in his. "With soft, warm paws, and a big comfy bushy tail. Oh I could just wrap myself up in it." The slim little guy leaned suddenly against Charlie, throwing his arms around the startled fox. But it seemed that not all of him was frozen in shock, something was moving under the towel, making it stand up like a tent.

"Oh dear." Saira said on seeing it. He slid a paw back under the towel and squeezed the warm tube he found there. "We are going to be good friends!"

A shudder passed through Charlie and his eyes fluttered at the contact. Charlie had always considered himself a ladies guy, a straight shooter, but he did have a certain curiosity about what it would be like, with another guy. Especially when he inadvertently came across photos of femboys posing nearly naked, or totally naked, or while sucking on a ... he tried to clear his mind. He flailed weakly at Saira's paw and tried to stand up, but his knees would not hold him.

Saira frowned, but not in disappointment with his new friend. He looked more like he was disgusted with himself. He sighed and stood up in front of Charlie with his legs slightly spread and his paws covering his crotch.

"Charlie, there is something I have to show you. Now, don't freak out on me, okay?" The stunned fox nodded assent numbly. Saira slowly lifted his paws, pulling his penis up and out of the way at the same time.

Charlie stared, unsure of what he was seeing at first. Then it dawned on him. "You have a twat."

"A vagina, please."

"You're a he ... a her ... a hermap ... hermaphrodite!"

Saira blushed. "I prefer to think of myself as a girl. Look at me again."

Charlie did. With his ... her paws covering the small penis she looked like a slim female, a little underdeveloped in the chest area perhaps, but definitely female. In fact, her pose with the cupped paws just above her groin was kind of sexy, in a renaissance painting sort of way. Unbeknownst to him, Charlie must have been a renaissance guy at heart, because his towel lifted a full four centimetres as he stared at the pink slit in the sparse white fur.

Keeping one paw on her groin, Saira reached out and lifted the towel off Charlie's lap. She tossed it into a corner. Six inches of pulsing red meat stood up, twitching like an emergent mole exploring the great wide open. Saira dropped to her knees between his legs.

"Good friends we'll be." She took his cock with one paw and guided it into her mouth.

Charlie almost came on contact, but he caught himself at the last second. Hold on, he told himself calling on his Aussie pride. Hold on, do it for Steve Irwin, do it for Crocodile Dundee, do it for Dame Edna ... wait, no, do it for Steve Irwin. Charlie had enjoyed quite a few blow jobs in his time, but this one felt so good! Was it simply because of the exotic attraction he felt for the little guy ... gal ... whatever?

Looking down at the black and white head that bobbed on his cock he still could not decide whether he was thinking of Saira as a slim girl or a feminine boy. It was like his secret fantasies and his public desires had come together in one perfect little package. The acknowledgement that he even had unfulfilled desires made him all the harder, and his balls ached for release. If she kept sucking and licking his prick with her tender mouth and jerking it with her paw like that he would not last another minute.

Charlie took her by the shoulders and tenderly eased her to her feet. He slipped a paw between her legs and found her sex open and wet, welcoming. His digits slid in easily and found her clit already hard and protruding. He rubbed it slowly as he caressed her insides. He could not help notice that the tiny penis was stiffer than it had been.

"Do you want me to ... uh ... do anything, with it." Charlie asked, not quite sure what he would do if she said 'yes' and jammed it in his face.

Fortunately for the nervous fox Saira covered her 'bonus feature' and shook her head.

"It doesn't do anything. Just ignore it. Please?" She pleaded. Charlie tried. He concentrated on massaging her clit and while she toyed with his tool. But his eye kept coming back to where her other paw rested just above her vagina.

Saira noticed his distraction. "Wait." She said, stepping back off his soaking paw. She turned and bent over. She stood with her tail raised and her thighs pressed tightly together. "What do you see?" She asked, looking around her tiny tight buns at him.

Charlie could see two firm, round globes, a puckered hole between them, and a dripping pink lily opened to receive him. Charlie answered her with a groan full of lust and desire.

Saira reached back, took his trembling cock in her paw and aimed it as she backed up and sat down on his lap. The tip entered easily but it soon became too wide for her opening. She put her paws on his knees and bobbed up and down, descending a tiny bit more each time. Charlie held her hips and steadied her, enjoying the sensation as he sank deeper into her with each thrust.

With a sigh Saira settled all the way down on him. Her little ass squashed against his hips, her twat sealed around the base of his cock. Instead of rising up right away she leaned back against him. With her head resting on his left shoulder she turned her face toward his and their mouths met for their first kiss. She caressed his head with one paw and reached down to fondle his balls with the other.

Charlie let his paws roam across her heaving sides and smooth chest. Her nipples stiffened at their passage. He slid one down to rub her thigh and tickle her clit, being careful to avoid the stiff little penis. She was hot, and taut as a bowstring. He could feel her skin vibrate as his paws passed over her.

Still leaning back, Saira began to move on his cock. Just a little bit, up and down slowly, a centimetre at a time. Inside, she was wrapped so tightly around him that he could feel her with every square inch of his prick. Their lips had not yet parted from their first kiss.

The pressure of his cock on the sensitive spots inside, and his digits on her clit outside, was maker her wetter. The wetter she got the faster and further she travelled on his joy stick. The more she moved the better it felt, and finally she had to take her mouth from his in order to breathe and moan with pleasure. Charlie was having trouble just breathing through his snout too, and he gulped air between nibbles on her neck and ears.

Saira leaned forward and put her paws on Charlie's knees as she pumped her legs to rise up and drop back forcefully to his lap with loud smacking sounds. Charlie could see her in the mirror over the dresser. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was lined from the strain as she fought to reach orgasm by pounding herself on his stiff cock. In the mirror she looked like a boy again, with her flat chest and small erection. But when he looked down he saw pink pussy lips alternatively swallowing and sliding off his rod. Looking up he was yiffing a femboy, looking down a cunt was massaging his dick. Up - gay, down - straight. Up - forbidden erotica, down - visual stimulation to match the slippery, sliding slit that rode him. Up, down, up, down; his rocking head matched her thrusts one for one as they both came closer and closer to the edge.

Charlie came first, the double effect of her tight pussy and the image of his confused desires were too much to resist. He fell back on the bed with a cry while his hips bucked spasmodically below her. But Saira was not far behind. The explosion of sizzling cum and his arrhythmic jerking dick inside her was enough to get her where she wanted to go. With a matching cry she added her hot fluids to his as she ground her clit against him.

Their spasms died slowly. When they ceased altogether Saira gently pulled herself off of his deflating member and rolled over to lay on him with her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her automatically and rubbed her back to cool her down. She teased the fur around one of his nipples as their breathing returned to normal.

"You are going to have to take another shower before going to the student lounge." She told him.

"You too." He wondered whether he should suggest showering together. Was it too soon in the relationship? Did they even have a relationship?

"I'll take one later." She said in a low voice. "After everyone is at the lounge."

"Hey, no. You have to come too!" He urged her. "You're training to be an agent in one of the leading espionage agencies anywhere now, and you are just as good as any of us." He lifted her chin and smiled broadly at her. "How can I have a beer without my favourite Sheila by me side, Eh?"

"Okay, I'll go." Saira giggled, Charlie's good humour infectious. She settled her head back down on his chest. "But you shower first and go ahead. I'll join you there. Promise."

"That a girl." Charlie hugged her hard to reassure her. He himself was feeling a bit uneasy, although he covered it well.

Charlie couldn't help thinking about the box of condoms he had bought when he learned that he had been accepted at FOX Academy. They were back in his room, not doing him any good. He had expected his fellow students to be mostly foxes, given the nature of the agency. With foxes able to breed only with other foxes, he didn't usually bother with them unless he was with a vixen that didn't use the pill, and he had bought them more for avoidance of unexpected fatherhood than prevention of disease. But given the unusual nature of his sexual partner, he kept wondering if he had not just inadvertently planted a litter of catbatfoxes.

* * * * * * * *

There was a public parking lot across the street from the Dow's Lake Pavilion and the mountain lioness led Zac there. She indicated a huge showboat of an Oldsmobile as hers and Zac waited by the passenger door for her to unlock it from the inside. It was a model from the seventies, long before remote keyless entry became the norm. It did have power locks though, and she was able to let him in from the driver's position.

Zac discovered that the car had a bench seat instead of the separate driver and passenger seats he was used to seeing. It was roughly two meters wide, almost seven feet. An unheard of expanse in modern vehicles short of full-sized vans. There was a pair of armrests that flipped down in the centre, and a bump between the driver and passenger's side. Zac recalled something about a 'transmission hump' and made a mental note to ask that old fox Grey about it.

The sexy feline put her car in reverse, turned to look back through the rear window, and backed out of her parking space. But instead of turning into the exit lane she cut across several lines of parking spaces until the car came to a row right at the back of the lot. This row was overhung with large oaks and maples, and beyond the light cast by the stanchions in the middle of the lot. She put the car in park, opened the power windows on each side a crack, and turned off the engine. Then she swivelled around so that she was leaning against the padded inside of the driver's door and put her feet up on the seat, close to Zac.

"So Zac. I hear that you give a hell of a foot massage." She toed off her stilettos one at a time and deftly tossed them into the back seat. Zac obliged, taking one of her feet in his paws and rubbing the pressure points in a manner that would loosen the muscles and relieve the tension in the ligaments. She signed and let her head roll back against the window. "Ahhh. That does feel good."

While his paws concentrated on her foot his eyes strained to adjust to the dark interior. The way she was laying back had made her skirt ride up to the top of her thighs, and he could just make out something pale and fuzzy up between her legs. Lacy panties perhaps, or even ... pubic fur? He switched feet, moving her left leg toward the front a bit more to afford a better view. She chuckled, not fooled by his seemingly innocent move.

"You never did say what your name was." Zac mentioned as he separated her toes and squeezed the tissue between them. It was not strictly part of the relaxation massage, but other girls had told him that the sensation was very erotic, like having their ears tongued.

"No. I didn't." The feline replied, lifting her head and opening her eyes to stare at him. "Next thing you'll be asking me my age." Zac shrugged and smiled shyly, indicating that it was all the same to him. She returned his smile with one of her own that had hunger in it. "You do anything other than feet, Zac?" Zac ran his paws up her leg as far as her lower thigh in response, seeking the nodes and nerve endings that would send chills through her. "Oooohhh, yes. You can call me Houston, Zac." She purred as she leaned back again.

He had run into her type before when he was travelling out west; female felines of a certain age that picked up young studs for a night of pleasure: cougars. Zac was sure that Houston wasn't her real name, but it really didn't matter. She probably just didn't want some cunt-struck kid calling her up incessantly after a one-night stand. He doubted that he would have time for an affair outside of the Academy anyway, even if he could work up the nerve to sneak out regularly. He had heard that the schedule was pretty demanding after the initial week of security theory.

Zac concentrated on massaging Houston's legs, letting his paws drift higher and higher. When he reached the tops of her thighs he discovered that the lighter patch was indeed a lacy little pair of panties, almost a thong. His claws traced furrows in her fur along side of it, but did not attempt to slip under into the forbidden zone yet. Not that he thought she would stop him. The way her legs were moving, alternately raising and lowering, exposing her inner thighs to his caresses, he was fairly certain that his advances would be welcomed. But he wanted to tease her a bit first, to bring her close enough so that he could finish with her. Zac was fit, but he was no porn star when it came to endurance.

"That skirt looks tight." He commented. He wanted to feel that ripe round ass under his paws but the material was all bunched up under her. In one smooth move Houston brought her legs under her and sat up on her knees in front of him. She shrugged off her jacket and unbuttoned her skirt, pulling it off over her head. Doing that lifted her blouse too, and it ended up behind her neck, leaving her chest exposed. She did have a bra, as it turned out; one of those strapless under cup things, he saw. It was pale pink with white lace on the edges to match her panties. Her nipples were also pink with pale downy fur around them. Houston crossed her arms over her head, making them point toward Zac's face, and held that pose.

His nascent erection grew to fulfillment in record time. He had never seen anything so downright sexy, not in real life anyways, not close enough to touch. From her green eyes shining in the dark to the glimpse of a fang peeking out from under her bold grin. To the way her chest muscles blended into the line of her large breasts and the tension in her thighs as she balanced on the foamy bench seat. From the way her fur ruffled in the light breeze coming through the slightly open window to the scent rising from her, she radiated sex. Zac gulped, realizing suddenly that he was outclassed and could not hope to stand up against her assault. Fortunately for him, that was the object of the game.

Houstonreached over and undid the buttons on Zac's shirt. She spread it to expose his muscled chest and abdomen by dragging her claws across them, pushing the material out of the way with the pads of her paws. Then she dropped them to where a bulge was deforming the cut of his jeans. A quick flip took care of the brass button at his waist. A pull and a tug was all that it took to lower the zipper. Houston leaned in to reach the button above his tail, and she bit him lightly on the stomach.

With nothing to hold them up his jeans flopped around his hips, exposing his straining jockey shorts. Houston stroked him through the cotton as she sat back on her knees, waiting for his next move.

Zac let his shirt slip to the floor and pulled his pants out from under him, rising to his knees in the process, but he left his underwear on. She continued to stroke his cock through them. He reached over and cupped her mons in his paw. She was warm, but not yet wet. He rubbed gently, allowing his digits to sink into the soft flesh between her thighs. He traced the lines of her upper body with the other paw, avoiding the obvious places for now. She responded by shuffling a bit closer, giving him more freedom of movement and allowing him to press harder on the area covered by her panties.

After a minute he could feel the lips spreading under the thin material and the first traces of moisture between her legs. He took that as a sign to lean down and take one of her nipples between his lips. He sucked it gently as he flicked the tip of his tongue over it. It grew hard in his mouth, and he spread his maw to include the aureole. He squeezed her other beast with his paw, the under cup bra proving to be no obstacle.

While he nuzzled her chest she manoeuvred his cock out from under his shorts. She slipped the elastic band under and behind his balls, exposing them to her paw. Watery fluid was leaking from him and she spread it along his shaft, making him slick. While she spread the male lubricant she rolled his testicles against each other slowly and pleasantly. She inched closer until he had to pull his paw out from between her thighs, until his upright cock was pressed between them.

Zac hooked his digits under the straps of her panties and pulled them down off her hips. When he let go they were hanging there, still held against her by the moisture. A gentle pull was all it took to make them drop down to mid thigh. Once they were out of the way Zac reached behind her to stoke her closed pussy with a digit. The wet lips parted instantly, almost eagerly, and sucked his digit up inside her. With his other paw he held her tail out of the way and pressed her against his chest at the same time. His open maw found hers waiting for him, and they locked together as their bodies writhed against each other.

Things moved quickly after that. Houston pressed him back against the well padded seat and reached between it and the door to release it. The back fell away, the top matching the forward edge of the rear seat perfectly. They now had a surface roughly as big as a king-sized bad to work with. As the seat fell back Zac went with it, ending up on his back with the lioness straddling him. He heard a sharp 'twang as one of the straps on her panties gave way. The remainder dropped to her knee, forgotten. Houston then reached under herself and up, grabbed his shorts by the crotch, and pulled. He brought his legs up to help her, and in fear of her ripping them right off his body, he didn't have a surplus of underwear and he was not sure when, and even if, they would get paid as agent trainees.

Houstonnext reached back and undid catch on her bra, tossing it over the steering wheel. Her heavy breasts, freed from the supporting cups, dropped just a bit. An effect that disappeared as she leaned down to bring her torso horizontal, until her nipples rubbed against his.

"Are you ready to catch a little cat-scratch fever Zac?" She purred as she rocked her hips, rubbing his cock with her open pussy. Working her legs she drew the moist slit back and forth along its length, her vulva parting to caress the sides, her clit riding along the tube that stood out against his hardness. When she neared the tip she pressed down, almost hard enough to let it pop inside, almost. But she retreated each time, until he was quivering and shaking in anticipation, fighting to hold back.

Just as he was about to come all over his belly she stopped and let the cool night air at him. This gave him a chance to get his paws in there and alternately rub her clit and the inside of her twat. A smooth breast more than filled his other paw. He worked her clit as hard as he could knowing that he had a lot of catching up to do. He rubbed it back and forth, circled it for a bit, flicked the hard little knob with the tip of one blunt claw. He knew he was making progress when she started to grind it against his digit eagerly. After a while all that he had to do was hold his paw in place and let her crush it between her clit and his pelvis.

"Enough of that." She gasped, pulling his arm out of the way. Pointing his penis straight up, she cocked her hips and let her pussy swallow it whole. She did not ease it in, or pause to let her cunt adjust to the size of his cock, she just drove herself down on it until his balls slapped her where her tail met her ass. She grunted in satisfaction and rose up to do it again.

Zac had expected her to be nice and roomy, a warm wet glove loosely wrapped around his prick, without any undue friction to make him cum too soon. He was wrong. Although she had no trouble accommodating the length or thickness of his member, she was far from loose. On the contrary, her twat clamped firmly down around him and actually seemed to ripple as she drove herself home on him. Zac had read about Siamese hookers raised from birth to give pleasure that could do such things, that and shoot bananas across the room with it, but he never expected to experience it. He wondered where the big cat had learned that trick. Surely not in Houston.

Wherever she had learned it, it was driving him wild. She had upped the ante while he wasn't looking! Zac jammed a thumb back on her clit and rubbed like he was summoning a genie. Seeing her pulling hard on one breast while balancing herself with the other arm Zac lent a paw and pulled on the nipple of her other breast. She responded with an approving growl.

Zac tried every trick he knew to hold back his orgasm. He thought of things he hated, things he was afraid of. He though about getting caught and kicked out of the academy. He tried to picture his Grandmother's face on the bucking lioness but had to stop because it was just wrong. Somehow he managed to hold on until she was too tired to ride him like a dildo anymore and had to drop down on his chest and let him take over the thrusting. He rolled the two of them over so he could work from above her.

Now he controlled the angle, the speed, and the depth. He could tickle her clit with the tip of his cock while he let it cool off outside her steaming passage. He could rub the sweet spot inside her with the less sensitive back of his prick. When he wanted to maximize the stimulation, he could rise up on his toes and knuckles to drive his shaft along her clit and in until every centimetre and more was deep inside her.

It was while he was in that position, looking like some perverted exercise freak, that he sensed her coming. Something deep inside her began to grab at his prick was it careened in and out of her. Her ankles crossed over the base of his tail and she shoved him into her hard on each thrust. Her head was flailing back and forth as sharp cries were torn from her. All Zac needed to do was to step up his game one more notch, if he had another notch to step up to that was.

Feeling his cock swell in preparation for the final act Zac shifted up a bit more, until he could feel the knob of her clit against him from tip to base on both the plunge and the withdrawal. Then he started to swing his hips and rotate them as his pelvis came up against her, grinding her little joy button down brutally before pulling back. It did the trick, the older feline dug her claws into his back and groaned through grit teeth as her orgasm shuddered through her.

It was a long slow one, and Zac abandoned himself in her sweet pussy as it became hotter and wetter, but even tighter than before. Lowering down to his elbows and knees he rocked faster and faster, letting her cunt massage the full length of his cock as the charge built up inside him. It took less than a dozen strokes to overload the system. His head exploded just as his balls did, and he continued to pound away at her pussy, driving his cum out of her and onto the leather of the big car's seats.

Zac and Houston kept moving against each other for another two minutes before winding down to a standstill. Then he lay on her, and in her, for a few more minutes, relishing in the heat that was coming off her and the soft curves of her body. But he was almost exhausted for his efforts and his arms were trebling as he politely held most of his weight off her, so he rolled off and out to lie on his back beside her. Houston turned on to her hip and rubbed his chest as she gazed down on him.

"So how are you enjoying the course at FOX so far?" Houston asked nonchalantly. Zac almost swallowed his tongue in shock. As it was, the bombshell sent him into a choking fit.

"Oh, calm down." She patted him on his chest with one paw, and rested the other on his shrunken prick. "I know all about it. I work there. I'm one of the Seduction Techniques and Resistance to Sexual Enticement instructors. You did pretty well on your first tutorial." The paw on his back stopped patting him, but the one on his groin began rubbing him in small circles.

"There's always a few of you who fall for that 'secret' route out of the Academy trick." She said with a chuckle. "We set you up to teach you, and the rest of the students, a lesson about entrapment. So be prepared to be called out in front of the others for it tomorrow, you and your two friends. But don't worry," she said reassuringly, circling his cock with her digits and lifting it as she ran her paw up and down the shaft, "its not a failing offence, and the embarrassment wears off. Now," she grinned, down at his already stiffening member, "are you up for an advanced lesson?"

* * * * * * * *

Anabel Balfor drifted through the small crowd of students and support staff that had gathered in the Student Lounge. It was quite an eclectic group. Besides the diverse student population the support staff represented a number of different species and age groups. From where she stood by the bar she could see an elderly raccoon that had been introduced as Gus the dispatcher, a middle-aged grey fox named Bill that everyone called 'The Professor', and a creepy little lemur that looked to be in his twenties. He had asked her what her wrist size was for some bizarre reason.

Most of the students were already here. Two of the wolves, the tall one and the white one that had gone muzzle to muzzle with Rusty had just arrived. Thomas, she thought the tall one was called, seemed in a good mood, but Sam was obviously drunk; she could smell the Tequila from across the room. She wondered where they had gotten the booze. Must have brought it with them, she shrugged. She noticed that Thomas was trying to keep Sam away from the bar and had enlisted the skinny bat Ansin to help. Ansin was engaging the white wolf in a discussion about Asatru noble virtues and whether there was any true doctrine for the religion.

Anabel noticed the blue vixen, Aglaia of no last name, watching the bat from across the room. The bat stole a few glances back. Looks like a budding romance, Anabel thought, wondering what the vixen saw in the skinny flying mammal. She could have him. Anabel was not interested in Ansin, or any of the other students, or so she told herself. Without realizing it she was staring at the drunken white wolf, and licking her lips. When he happened to look up in her direction she pretended to be inspecting her claws.

Anabel was normally shy, but she tried to be friendly. She had to admit that she usually came on too hard on the rare occasions when she did open up. She suffered from being a near genius in that she really did believe that she knew everything, and the reaction this caused had given her a case of social anxiety. She knew that she should keep her mouth shut if she wanted to get to know someone that might be ... interesting, but she also had a deep-seated need to gain acknowledgement from her peers and approval from superiors. This trait turned discussions into arguments, usually leaving her isolated among a group that thought of her as a stuck up know-it-all bitch.

It was because of this that Anabel was still a virgin.

Not that being a virgin was a bad thing, she told herself, or that there had not been any takers. But she wasn't about to give it up to some fat slob of a professor just to guarantee a good grade, not when she could earn one by pulling a month or two of all-nighters in the library. Not for her gymnastics coach, the paedophilic bastard, or her martial Arts Sensei, who was married. Nor was she tempted to give in to her rock climbing instructor, not if he was going to go around with dirt under his claws like it was a badge of honour or something. She paused to check her own claws carefully for the third time since she had arrived, in case some drifting speck of dirt had settled on one while she was reminiscing.

That Arctic Wolf did look nice though, and when he had introduced himself earlier his paws were very clean, especially the claws.

There was a sudden silence followed by a unified drawing of breath from nearly every male in the place. Anabel looked in the direction most heads were turned and saw that a snow-white poodle had just entered the room. She was tall, taller than Anabel, and made taller by the stilettos she was wearing. Between shoe and skirt there was a lot of leg, almost all of her leg, since the skirt was barely long enough to cover her panties, if she indeed was wearing any. The skirt was so tight that a panty line would have surely showed, but there was no evidence of one. Above the waistband of the skirt there was another expanse of bare fur before her top started. The blouse was more like a bra with lapels than anything else, and it left not much to the imagination. Above the plunging neckline there was just short-cropped fur, lots of make up and two tufted black ears.

She wondered if the ears were dyed but when the poodle turned Anabel saw that she had two more black patches that were mostly hidden by her skirt. She was a party poodle, Anabel realized, one of those rare multi-coloured poodles. From the way she was working the room Anabel suspected that she was a party poodle in more ways than one. The old fox, Grey something-or-other seemed particularly taken with her. He was following her around the room with his paws stuck in the pockets of his green vest waiting for her to acknowledge him. The poodle was ignoring him, but not in a malicious way. Anabel had the feeling that she would grant him recognition when she was good and ready, when Grey was reduced to a quivering mass of lust.

Anabel scanned the room, looking for Sam without admitting that she was looking for Sam. She saw Charlie the Aussie chatting with beaver in a groundskeeper's uniform. That strange little catbat, Saira, was watching the kit fox from a corner and nodding along to whatever the husky was saying to him. Or was Saira a she? Anabel made a note to find out before there could be an embarrassing incident in the showers.

She spotted Sam by the bar. He was passing a beer to the big doberman, Rusty, who had shown up to collect his bets from the group. Now there was a dog with a body she could go for. Too bad he was the mental equivalent to tractor. Still, she had to loose it sometime, especially if she waned to become a field agent, and what did a girl need anyway? She blushed as she thought of the dildo she had hidden in her sock drawer. Like Rusty it too was unable to discuss the finer points of dialectic materialism, but it got the job done. Rusty would probably be cheaper than all the 'D' cell batteries she was going through, and he looked like he had a lot of experience in that area.

He was till talking with Sam, and the two were standing very close together. She wondered if they might be gay, and then she realized that they were going at each other again. The big dog must have said something about Sam's lucky charm. The doberman was leaning over Sam and barring his teeth. Thomas was pulling on Sam's arm to no avail. A couple of the students were formed up behind Sam, and some of the support staff looked ready to jump in on Rusty's side, like he needed help, she thought. They were about five seconds away from a brawl. And no one was doing anything to stop it.

Without thinking, Anabel strode over and forced herself between the two. She did not know why she did it, because she had never done anything like that before. But she had heard rumours that everything that happened in this place was a test, and she was not about to disappoint them through inaction; SHEEP Academy was on the other side of town.

"Say guys, anyone want to dance?" She said, hoping the lame humour would distract them.

"I think that sonny boy here was about to show he his tango." Rusty said dryly.

"Gonna show that old dog some new tricks." Sam slurred from behind her. She ignored him.

"Common Rusty, give the kid a break." She whispered to the doberman. "It's his first night and he's obviously ... stressed."

"What ya say'n? Huh? What ya say'n to him Ana ... Annie ... Girl? What's she say'n to you Rust Bucket?" Sam stepped up, squashing the toy terrier between him and the Combat Instructor. Anabel almost panicked, but the feel of his hips against her butt, squeezing her whip-like tail between the cheeks of her ass, felt sort of good. She pushed against Rusty's rock-hard abs to separate them, and managed to wiggle her buttocks a bit against Sam as she did.

That distracted him, and he looked down on the little black and tan canine in confusion. She turned to face him, pressing herself up against him more than was strictly necessary to force him to back up.

"Early start tomorrow Sam." She told him with false cheer. "We should be going to bed, I mean going back to the dorm. Look, half the students have left already!" That at least was true, only a couple of them remained in the lounge. The rest had probably fled to avoid becoming involved in the fight that she had defused. "Come, let me walk you back to the dorm Sam."

Sam looked around in a daze. He suddenly seemed to realize where he was and what he was doing, and he did not look proud about it.

"I can take care of myself." The white wolf said, but without much conviction. He pushed Anabel aside and fled the lounge without looking once at Rusty.

"You saved his ass, so you're responsible for him for the rest of the night." Rusty spoke to her from his place at the bar. "Go make sure he makes it to bed. I don't want to find him sleeping in his puke in one of the ornamental flower beds come dawn." While his words were harsh his voice was kind, and respectful.

"Yes sir, Rusty, sir." She called as she rushed through the door.

* * * * * * * *

Most of the structures at the Foreign Operations eXecutive were designed to blend in with the other government buildings in the area. Since they were situated in the middle of a working farm in the middle of the city of Ottawa most of them resembled agricultural or lab buildings. For example, the ranges and gym looked like barns, the hospital looked like a greenhouse, and the headquarters building looked like an administrative building.

But it was hard to recreate some of the more elaborate training facilities required to turn out some of the world's best spies in an area that was open to public view. So they used the Gatineau Hills to the north for mountaineering practice, the military ranges at Connaught for sniper training, and the nearby Army Cadet Camp's obstacle course and rappelling tower. But the basics were taught on the Academy grounds where they had created smaller versions that looked like they belonged in an agricultural setting.

Rappelling for instance, was first taught in the hollow area of a three-story 'U' shaped building, out of sight from pedestrians and passing traffic. The building had a railing for tying off the ropes and the area inside the arms of the 'U' was covered in a thick layer of sand. If any lost tourists should wander over and inquire as to what they were doing they were to answer that they were window washers in training. Buckets and squeegees were always kept nearby.

This building was next door to the student dorm, and they had to pass it coming and going to the other Academy facilities. Their only choice was whether to pass in front, on the public side, or behind, on the private side.

Shortly after the altercation between the Arctic wolf and the big doberman had wound down, one of the students decided to pass behind the 'U' shaped building. Halfway past, movement inside the sandy, open area attracted an eye slightly blurred by drink. The student turned and strained to see what it was.

At first it looked like a single figure was standing at the edge of the sand. Then the figure seemed to split and become multiple figures. The student blinked. The light was poor, the hour was late, and the party had been good. All those things could affect your vision, and your hearing. It sounded like a flock of birds was passing overhead. Lowered paws revealed only a single figure, someone the student recognized.

"Oh Hey. There you are. I was looking for you." The student stepped closer. Saw that the figure in the shadows had been drawing something in the dirt by the building's edge. "What do you have there? Say that look like ..." Before the student could finish a noise came from above, like the sudden rustling of many leaves. But there was no wind.

"Holy shit!" The student looked up and blinked, expecting the hallucination, for it must surely be one, to disappear. But it didn't. It just got closer.

"What the fu .... aaahhhck."

There was a heavy thud accompanied by a sharp crack, and then all was still.

* * * * * * * *

To be continued ....

The FOX Academy series:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Book IV - Wait for No One

Book V - Dawn of Vengeance

Kain Algorath © Marcus X Light

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer © Devil Kitty

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Geno © Coyotek

Dongo Fett © Dongo Fett

New Characters Appearing in this Book:

Saira Rasielle © SilentRampancy

Sanmer Soon © Sanmer

Zachary Ember © EmberWolf

Thomas Roark © That Creepy Guy

Charles Matty © Lonewolf17

Anabel Balfor © Devil Kitty

Aglaia © Aggy

Ansin Faraday © Ulrik the Fell Handed

Sam O'Leary © Commander Eagle

Grey Muzzle © Grey Muzzle