Better Than Shiny Objects
The skunk was resting, lazily, on her bare, pretty belly, on the cool, navy-blue sheets of their bed. Her chin propped up on a pillow, chocolate-brown eyes half-open. " ... but I bet you can fix anything, mm? My favorite ring-tailed, masked-faced ... likes-shiny-things engineer," she whispered, giggle-mewing. She shifted her body weight, turning around. Settling onto her back, now, with a soft sigh, looking up to him. "Hmm?"
"Depends," the raccoon purred, crawling over her, on all fours above her familiar, horizontal form. "Depends on what needs fixing ... "
" ... well, it's my mind, you see. I've been having," Seldovia said, reaching her paws up. Splaying them, allowing her fingers to spread through his silver-grey chest-fur. " ... such thoughts. I've been having such thoughts," she whispered, "and I think my brain must have a glitch in the wiring."
"Shouldn't you see a doctor? Can't Prancer help you?" he teased, lowering his muzzle by a few inches. A few inches more. 'Til his lips were hovering so close to hers. So close. Her body heat was evident, the lights dimmed. The planet below them (that they were orbiting) reflecting sunlight, an enticing orb visible outside the oval-shaped windows.
"I'd much rather be checked out," she responded, eyes sparkling, "by an engineer." A pause, and a sultry skunk-purr. Her black nose gave a cute sniff. "They have those slightly-rougher paws ... working paws."
"Working paws, huh? I have ... working," he breathed, "paws?" Lips now brushing hers. And a kiss. Soft, sweet, succulent. Suckling on her for just a moment. Exchanging little strings of saliva as they parted (by so short a distance as to barely part). Oh, the taste.
"Mm ... hmm. Mm-hmm," Seldovia went, almost humming it. Her own delicate paws reaching up and around, now. Clutching his side-fur. As she raised her head just a bit. To continue the kiss. Deeper, this time. Fuller. To make the eyes close and the nose to flare. To make their whiskers twitch a bit, brushing gently, gently. Until, once more, the kiss was broken to breathe. (Oh, wasn't breathing such a bother, sometimes? To interrupt perfectly good kisses?) "I just want you ... to fix," she panted, "me, darling. Make me to be satisfied. Aren't engineers good at tinkering? Tinker with me. I know you have the appetite, the ingenuity for it ... "
"Well, I can hardly be qualified," Mortimer breathed back, "to fix you, see, if ... if I've got the same problem. Such," he went, "thoughts." And he lowered from all fours. To an easy, naked lie-down atop her body. "Mm," he went, belly settling to hers. Chest squishing down on her breasts. Hips touching hips. "You're so warm ... so warm ... "
Her arms went around his back. Her head rolled to the side.
"I guess," the raccoon finally decided, nosing his wife's neck, "that our 'thoughts' aren't glitches, after all ... if we both have them. I guess our need to breed ... " A smile as he nosed her neck, beginning to nibble on it. On her silky-black fur. " ... guess it's just a natural part of our programming."
A dizzy giggle-mew. She loved it when they used mechanical metaphors to erotic effect. And she couldn't help but giggle (even more) as she suggested, "Then let's run the program ... "
" ... let's," was the simple, eager agreement.
Seldovia giggle-mewed again. "Darling," she panted, as he continued to nibble on her neck. With more and more hunger. "Darling, I think we must be very odd ... or very playful."
"Oddly," he suggested, gently grinding his hips to hers, "playful?"
"Oddly playful," she repeated, at a whisper, her foot-paws stretching. Blunt-clawed toes bumping with his. Her white-furred belly-fur meshing with his silver fur. The skunk's back and limbs were night-black. As was the outside of her tail. But the middle line of her tail was a downy-white. As were her breasts and belly and groin. Her muzzle, meanwhile, has white running down the nose. While her cheeks and neck were black. She was a pretty painting of night and day, of bold contrasts. So alluring that it hardly made sense.
His body slipping down a bit, wriggling down, he mouthed at her collarbone. The fur there. Wetting it, burying his nose in it. Getting her full scent, but asking (in an almost innocent, begging way), "Pheromones ... " He wanted them. The good ones. Wanted them in his nose.
" ... not yet," was her answer. "Not yet ... " Her pheromones (both the 'sex scent' and the 'bad skunk smell') were voluntary in their release. And required her muscles to be relaxed. Muscle tension made it a strain to spray.
"Mm." He pawed at her body. Running his fingers and paw-pads back and forth, in little, massaging circles. As his muzzle wandered closer to her breasts.
"Morty," she breathed, eyes closing, feeling the raccoon's hot, moist breath wash over her right nipple. Giving her shivers. Making the nipple stiffen. "M-morty ... " Her paws went to the back of his head, to his head-fur. A sigh, cradling him as he suckled her breast. "Mm. Mm ... "
A slippery 'pop' sound as his suckling lips pulled off her right nipple. As he, making throaty sounds, went for the left one. Her breasts were soft, supple, warm. Beautiful to touch and look at, to grab and squeeze. To suckle on (though she wasn't lactating, of course).
A happy mew from her. Feeling her glands at her tail-base throbbing, throbbing. She felt the nicest instinctual desire to spray. For though the action was voluntary, it was in her body's best interest to release her sex scent. Her body wanted seed in her womb. To get it there, she needed a penis. Her sex scent all but guaranteed the nearest male would blindly stick his penis between her legs. Guaranteed she'd be sown. With male skunks, it was the reverse. They had a sex scent, too, that they sprayed. The male skunk needed to sow wombs. His scent guaranteed the femmes he sprayed would spread their legs, no questions asked.
Only natural that a skunk's 'sex scent' would facilitate in getting and having sex!
Which is why it was morally taboo for a skunk to spray his or her 'sex scent' in public. It sent every-fur that smelled it into a frenzy. Sometimes, mistakes happened (such as a few weeks ago, when Seldovia accidentally sprayed the amphibious pirates with her sex scent rather than her bad skunk smell). But to purposely spray your sex scent in a crowded room could get you (if you were a skunk) into a huge load of trouble when the whole incident died down. (And, as went without saying, purposely spraying your bad skunk smell for non-defensive reasons was considered a no-no, also.)
Each skunk was immune to their own pheromones, but not immune to the pheromones of other skunks.
So, when a male and femme skunk sprayed each other?
Well, they were both madly under each other's spell. It was like a heady tug of war. Like the coming together of magnets. But the pheromones also served another important function: ensuring loyalty. If you were getting a regular dose of a skunk's 'sex scent,' it wasn't something you wanted to give up. It was subtly addicting in such a way as to ensure the mate-ship lasted. To ensure you stayed with your partner. It strengthened the romantic bond between individuals.
Skunks, admittedly, had a rather complicated physiology. But, then, most every furry species had a complicated physiology of some sort. The biologies of which was constantly influencing their actions. And though not every fur could be expected to breed with a fur who had a compatible physiological makeup, most furs (guided by subconscious factors) tended to either marry within their individual species or larger species groups (rodents, canines, felines, mustelids, lapines, et cetera). Doing so meant you could make babies. Which is why Petra, for instance, had told Peregrine that it didn't specifically matter so much if she ended up married to another rat, as long as she was married to some species of rodent (and Peregrine, being a mouse, was definitely a rodent). And, them being the only two rodents around, it was only natural for them to start having sex with each other. But, as Christians, they didn't let instinct make the decision for them, of course. They'd started a romance and committed to holy matrimony first. Purifying any basic lust or biology with love and spirituality. Giving the whole thing a deeper purpose, a more satisfying meaning.
But not all furs ended up with compatible species. After all, Desmond was a cottontail rabbit and Hyacinth was a brown Swiss cow. They could never reproduce. He was more virile than her. She constantly lactated. The differences in how their bodies worked were extensive. But they could still have sex with each other. And it felt very good (a cow's body temperature, also, was a few degrees higher than a rabbit's, which made her vagina feel like a loose, dripping furnace, which never ceased to make Desmond sweat fairly quickly). And they loved each other's personalities. And, so, to them, it didn't matter. Though having children would be an arduous, artificial process for them, either involving Hyacinth being impregnated will bull semen or them adopting. And neither of those could even happen as long as they were stationed away from civilization.
But Seldovia and Mortimer? Their bodies were compatible enough. He could get her pregnant. Not now, of course, with her not being in heat. But he could definitely do it. Skunks and raccoons could reproduce.
All of this (and more) was running through Seldovia's hazy mind as she relaxed her lower muscles and sprayed. "Ah," she sighed. "Ah ... " It felt so good. Really good. Of course, it was supposed to. If it felt good, she'd find it harder to stop spraying, be more likely to spray it all, and it she sprayed it all she'd be more likely to be sown. Such biological science was too calculated, wasn't it, to have put itself together? She believed so. No way all these hooks and lures and puzzle-pieces had designed themselves. She saw God's paw, His breath, in each and every living thing. In how living things interacted with one another and their environments.
A beautiful swirl of emotion, need, and being, coming together to make something grand and poetic, something that defied bottling or one-word characterization. That we, Seldovia thought, are created in God's image must mean this: that we can reason, that we can think, that we can communicate. But, most importantly? That we can love.
Oh, Lord, thank you.
I do not care how all of this came to be. I do not need those kinds of answers. They will not make life's current or future problems any less difficult. They will not fulfill me or change anything.
I only need to know that life is Your miraculous doing.
And, therefore, under Your control.
And that it does not end at death. That there is heaven.
You are the Watcher. And we watch You as You diligently watch us.
Oh, thank You for my blessings. That, too often, I take for granted. But, indeed, as all things are made by You, so are all my blessings. Not birthrights. But blessings. And I humbly give my gratitude. Lest I be made arrogant. Lest I get greedy or selfish.
Thank you for Mortimer. I care about him deeply. He shares more than my bed and body. But my heart and soul. He's my protector, my confidant, my best friend, and the future father to my children.
But, oh, right now (and not to sound crude, Lord): thank You for sex.
The way my heart hammers. The way my eyes flutter. The way my breath wavers. The way that every feeling, every emotion, and every physical sensation seems to amplify, to become more and more. To become as intense as I can handle. Oh, the craving, the heat, the friction! Is there a way to describe the pleasure I feel during sex? It is a welling, driving, needed thing. I don't think there are enough adjectives. Steamy, delicious, like a firework going off inside me. I just need to breed. Daily. You know how my body works. I'm a fur. You made me as such. I love sex. It feels so good. I make animal sounds, losing the ability to speak. It's pure, basic joy. Life is never so dreamy or right as when I'm having an orgasm. An orgasm brought on by how my husband touches me. What he does to me. I tremble, his body shaking on top of mine. I can almost feel him sowing me He's feeling the same things I'm feeling (for the most part). The same pleasure. The same need. The same love.
I fuse with him.
I share something grand with him.
I give him myself.
And he gives himself in return.
That we do this out of love and not simply mere biology makes it last in my memory. Makes it so much more. Makes it vital.
Makes ... makes it ...
... vital.
Seldovia, blinking several times, realized she was panting. And her angular ears were cocked.
Mortimer had snapped her out of her hazy, prayerful monologue, her internal monologue. Snapped her out of it with his horny grunts. She, while lost in thought, had long since emptied her 'good' scent gland. The raccoon's nose was full of it. It stayed in there. He heaved hotly, each breath like the sweetest air. Oh. Oh, yes. His nose was all over her lower body, sniffing, probing, running through her silky-soft fur. He poked his nose into her pouting vulva. Sniffed a few times. Moved on. Sniffing around her thighs.
Through half-open eyes, head on her pillow, she had to smile. A slight chuckle. Watching him while 'drunk' on her pheromones was always kind of amusing. He was just so cute when his mind blanked-out like that. He was behaving like a simple animal, sniffing her, pawing at her body, grunting with horny pleasure. The scent so powerful it had, indeed, blanked out his civil, sentient tendencies. He was still aware of everything. And would remember it perfectly clearly afterwards. It was simply that his body was controlling his mind for the moment. "Gruh ... uhg." He sniffed at her rump-cheeks, his own, ringed tail swishing with excitement.
"You're ... you're almost there, darling," she whispered soothingly. "Keep going ... " Her heart hammered. She felt like a raw nerve.
The raccoon gave a squeal as his nose finally found what it was looking for: her scent-gland, at her tail-base. Though she was out of scent, it still smelled strongly of her pheromones. And he pressed his cool, black nose right against the gland. He sniffed her for a good minute, his breathing erratic. He whimper-moaned, his penis swelling, peeking out of its sheath. He didn't even have to be touched. The scent alone was enough to give him a full erection. And a full erection was what he was getting. As he huff-puffed, making a lazy purr-sound. Nose still pressed to her tail-base.
Seldovia, swallowing, whispered, "Y-you ... you gonna be able to tear yourself away?" A slight smile. But a slight seriousness, too. She wanted sex. "Come on," she bid. "Come on, boy ... let's see what you can do." She shifted a bit, spreading her legs, moving her tail so that it wasn't pinned to the sheets by her body. Allowing it to luxuriously flag in the air. Exposing her femininity.
The raccoon, pulling back to his knees, snapped out of his reverie, breathed, "Wh-whoa ... oh ... "
"Out of your trance, then?" was the slight tease.
A weak, dazed nod. "I gotta ... breed you. I gotta SO bad," he whimpered. The scent was still in his nose, in his blood. Working him up, urging him. Breed her, breed her. But, now that the initial brunt had worn off, he had more control over himself. Wasn't so crazed. But, oh, that didn't change the intended course of action! It just allowed him to infuse it with civil, planned romance, instead of being purely feral about it.
"D-darling," she said, almost begging.
"Oh ... ohn," was his response, flattening his body atop of hers. So that they faced each other, belly-to-belly. A missionary position. Her legs spread. His hips sliding forward. His six-inch coon-hood, out of its sheath, dipping greedily into her honey-pot. Making him lose his breath. Oh. Mm, hmm. He slid all the way in, her walls hugging his shaft, wetly, hotly ripple-squeezing on it. Oh, gosh. Oh. This made no sense. How could anything feel this good? How could he be doing this with her, a beautiful, playful skunk? How could she be his wife? How could his reality be so right?
Seldovia panted, turning her head to the side, lips parting to let out a delicate mew. Mew. As her paws clutched at his back-fur. Arms slipping around, trying to pull him closer, closer. In a full-body hug. Her tunnel, which had needed to be filled, was. Was filled. Oh, it was! And it was such a relief. Such a tingling fullness. No more hollow yearning. Oh. And his hips, as they began to move, slid over her hooded clitoris, making her tingle more fiercely. More fiercely than vaginal stimulation alone. The two pleasures combining, she turned her head the other way. Only to have Mortimer suck on her cheek and nibble on her fur, slobbering kisses on her.
"Oh, Seldovia!" was the raccoon's quiet, vulnerable cry, body tensing. His toes curling and his muzzle scrunching. Twitches of pre trickled out of his penis. His tail swished all over.
"S-slow down. S-stop," she panted. "Just ... just ease up," she went, taking his cry correctly. He was gonna climax real soon. But it was too soon for her. She needed to synchronize their build-ups.
The raccoon, his ringed tail swish-swishing above them in the dim, bedroom air, gave a shaky sigh. His paws trembled as he stopped all movement. Just stayed in her, at a hilt. Resting his body atop of hers.
"That's my boy," she whispered, her voice so soothing. Laced with encouragement. She tenderly scritched his naked back, caressing through his fur. "That's my boy," she whispered. "There ... there we go," she continued, barely audible now. Closing her eyes and running her paws over his back.
The raccoon, his orgasm backing off, caught his breath, calming down. He whispered, "I love you ... darling. Oh, I love you ... " His muzzle was in her neck-fur. His nose there. His lips. He nibbled on her neck, breathing it again, with passionate, intimate abandon. "I love you."
Seldovia's eyes watered. "I love you, too, sweetie," was her whispered reply. She swallowed, clearing her throat a bit. Hugging him down atop of her. Pleasure fluttered from her groin. A heavy sigh. You couldn't get closer than this. You couldn't get more vulnerable than this. You couldn't express romance more fiercely than this.
"Mm." He kissed her cheek. "You're delicious," he told Seldovia. "You're better than any dessert. You're better than ... better than a good night's sleep, a fine meal. Better than breeding, even. I would love you even without breeding ... I would. Wherever you where, whatever happened ... you would still mean so much to me. And you would still be in my head, in all my thoughts," he waxed. "You are better," he finished, his voice getting huffy-puffy, "than shiny objects."
A mirthful sound from the skunk. "Compliment," she breathed, "of compliments ... coming from a coon, mm?" And, hugging him firmly, she said, "I think it's safe to ... "
... he didn't wait for the sentence to finish. He resumed, pulling his hips back. Humping in. A soft, slick motion, so nice, so nice, so good. Oh. Oh, she fit him like a glove. Every morsel of skin on his shaft was slippery-snugged by her vagina. And, for her, every part of his shaft stimulated her three hundred sixty degree tunnel. Hump. Bump. Pump. Hump. Harder, faster, hurry, hurry, here it comes!
The coon, trembling, gasped out as he clumsily went to a hilt. His sac, tightened close to his body, the orbs swollen, nestled right in her labia, his sac-fur collecting dew-drops of her femme nectar. He twitched, twitched. A moan! A heavy, eyes-shut shudder, and he was spurting his seed, spurt after steamy-white spurt. Ejaculations. Spasms of electrical joy. "Huhn! Uhn ... huh, huhh ... "
Seldovia, her fur matted with sweat, felt hot, hotter. Hottest. The feeling of being sown. It pushed her over. The warmth flooding, spilling, spreading in muscular spasms and tremors, rocking her body with an earthquake of bliss. Her cervix dipped down to pool in his seed before the seed backtracked and dripped out of her (as it always did). Her clitoris, swollen and super-sensitive, was out of its hood. She dare not move her hips lest she brush it against her husband's fur and scream from the sensitivity. Her vagina squeezed, making sure it milked every ounce of semen from the coon. Every last sperm cell. "Ohh, ohhggg ... oh, g-goshhh ... oh," were her orgasmic breaths, body worming, squirming beneath his.
Mortimer just panted, tongue hanging out. Lying on her. "Mm ... mm ... "
" ... oh. Heh," she went, smiling manically. "Heh ... oh." A few deep breaths, the pleasure fading from its high. But leaving behind that 'afterglow,' that goofy happiness. And that irresistible urge to cuddle, snuggle, and nuzzle. Which, after the raccoon pulled out of her body, is what they did. Whispering giggling things only meant for each other's ears. Confiding, spilling feelings, desires, dreams. Just reveling in the sweet air of their expressed love.
"Are you, uh ... you fixed? Mm?" he eventually asked, referring back to her initial 'concern.'
A wide, playful smile. "Oh, I'm fixed, darling ... for now. But I'll need to keep a good engineer round, you know, case I ever need fixing again."
Mortimer had no objection to that.