FSE

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--1

Jaqard had his preferences in places to dock, but his ship was headed someplace alien. It had been a recommendation from fellow travelers at sea who attracted no malice from honorable pirates. During an exchange of supplies and information, they spoke of a friendly town, one which had no preference in its' traders, be they merchant, pirate, or navy. Nobody asks too many questions was the word Jaqard had gotten.

With the ship's hold low on foodstuffs but bloated with plunder, Jaqard took heed of the advice, and two days travel saw he and his crew docked at the quaint port town.

--2

As was his routine, the dashing captain left his vessel - the Venom - in the care of a hand-picked skeleton crew, and he left to explore the town, as did the brunt of his men. Some had allowances of doubloons to spend, others given treasures to trade for the sake of the whole crew. Jaqard himself carried a satchel of jingling coins, some of them struck from mints, some chipped off of golden ingots for use as crude money.

Shore leave let Jaqard put his feet on much-enjoyed solid land for the first time in months. The fox's pace was calm, his demeanor cool and collected to match. Though a man of the sea, he was only lightly scented of testosterone, sweat, and salt.

A compliment to his subtle smells, he was a dashing man, and he dressed this part. Surprisingly well-laundered trousers, dark leggings that gave over to his padded paw-feet as they terminated, and a muted brown coat whose golden buttons were tarnished with personality cast him in an elegant light. Fine, black dress gloves covered his paws, one of which was marred with wounds. Despite this censorship, he made no effort to cover the scar that streamed down the side of his face; its' ragged flesh contrasted with his decadence, and it served as a reminder of the pirate's life. One further reminder was the scabbard that bounced against his leg with each step - a warning not to cross him.

The sights and scents of a town were always a delight after months at sea. In the noon hours of the day, Jaqard perused the quaint place calmly. He caught a minstrel show, and he partook of the rhetoric calmly and thoughtfully, sparing a coin after the fact.

He stopped at a storefront offering roasted chicken, and he walked away two coins lighter, but with a golden-brown leg of bird, something he contently ate on his way - he later tossed the picked-clean bones into a swatch of grass, sight unseen.

After an hour's worth of leisurely exploration, Jaqard had grown hungry again; the chicken had been intended as a stopgap, a means to hold him over until a more proper supper hour, but it had only aroused his appetite. He followed his keen nose, one surprisingly not dulled by the oppressive stenches of his ship and the sea, and he led himself into a bakery.

Once through the invitingly open door, the dashing fox saw loaves of bread and croissants offered in baskets and on shelves, but he smelled sweets, too. These were hidden behind glass, away from curious fingers, and their glazed surfaces were made all the more enticing by this protection.

Jaqard grinned at the sight of such a treat, a bun glazed with fresh, golden honey. In his stomach, he felt a pang of hunger, an urgent throb. How often do I get sweet treats in the life I lead? I do believe I've earned this, the fox told himself He glanced to one side of the bakery, and then the other; nobody in sight, and nobody to stop him from simply snatching up what he wanted, but even pirates had standards.

"Is anybody here?" he called out, his snout pointed towards the rear door - the entrance to the kitchens.

After a pause, he heard the light footfalls of padded paws not unlike his own. From the kitchens, a young thing emerged and smiled wanly.

Jaqard smiled back; he was stricken by the beauty of this vulpine creature. The blonde locks, the long and feminine snout... And then he realized that it was a boy. His smile turned into something more along the lines of a grin, before it evened out into forced neutrality.

"Hello," the baker said, wiping flour off on the already well-floured apron he wore. It left his black mittens lightly dusted in a shade of off-white, as was the brunt of his body, yet his true colors were obvious.

Despite obviously being a fox, Jaqard noticed something else about the boy; a mask. And when the young baker's luxuriant tail swayed out from behind its' owner, he saw black bands that split up the burnished orange before giving over to a white tip.

Though mildly stricken, the captain didn't lick his lips or grin; he was a charmer, not a lecherous pig. "Hello, yourself," Jaqard said, smiling fondly. Despite his newly-found interests, he hadn't lost sight of what he'd come in for. "I'd like that," he said, and he tapped upon the glass, over the honey bun.

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and he fetched the treat for Jaqard, handing it to the captain on a cloth napkin. In exchange, Jaqard dropped three coins upon the glass case; two for the bun, one as a tip, and the foxcoon smiled.

With the bun in hand, Jaqard nodded in acknowledgment to the foxcoon, and he turned to leave. Yet, after a single step, the youth stopped him.

"Sir," he began, earning Jaqard's attention in the form of a patient gaze, "I haven't seen you in town before. Are you a man of the sea?"

Jaqard thought nothing of the foxcoon's curiosity, and he smiled benignly. "I am, indeed."

"You don't look like you're part of a navy," the baker mused, giving Jaqard a queer, narrow-eyed expression, crossing his arms across his chest in the same instant.

The pirate glanced at the sweet treat in his paw with a kind of longing expression, and then he shot the foxcoon a grin. "Perceptive. I'm certainly not," Jaqard said, turning his whole body to face the boy. "I'm a pirate."

The foxcoon grinned toothily. "A pirate, is that so? A fearsome man of the sea? Plunder and adventure?"

Jaqard allowed himself a small laugh, and then he licked the side of the bun. "I know not what your parents might have told you, but fearsome isn't the word I'd use. Some pirates are dishonorable filth... Myself and my crew, hardly." The tone he added was just mildly haughty, but he felt it was necessary to differentiate himself from the romanticized monsters the boy had no-doubt grown up hearing about.

"I see," the coon-masked fox said, but he didn't seem convinced in the least. A certain gleam was in his eye, an obvious interest.

Unsure of what to say to the foxcoon next, Jaqard glanced to the door, and then back to the starry-eyed youth. "Well, then," he said, sharply enough to end the tod's trance, but still amiably, "perhaps I'll come back before shore leave is up again." He smiled, and then he started to walk toward the door - but the foxcoon wasn't done with him.

"Wait, sir," he said shyly.

Jaqard once more stopped mid-stride, and he looked at the boy with seemingly limitless patience. His expression, a gentle smile, urged the tod to continue.

Five seconds awkwardly went by, the boy working his lips and clenching his jaws, but saying nothing.

Jaqard evened his smile out into neutrality and gave him a wary look. "What is it, boy?"

"I want to be a pirate," the foxcoon blurted out. And then he blushed and looked away from the captain.

The captain allowed himself a soft chuckle, doing all he could not to sound too terribly derisive. "As much as eager, able bodies are appreciated, boy, I hardly think a baker," he glanced down at the bun briefly, "talented though you may be, has a place among my crew..."

The foxcoon sighed, but not in resignation. "Won't you humor my request? I've spent my life so close to the sea, and yet no one will take me aboard their vessel. I'm unfit for the navy. The merchants call me useless outright."

"And since the navy and the traders won't have you, you believe you should be pirate?" Jaqard asked, finding it harder and harder to conceal his disbelief.

Cutely - too cutely to be a pirate - the boy's lip quivered, and then he bit it for a moment of pause.

During this respite, Jaqard took a bite of his bun, finally, and he seemed quite pleased with it - though not enough to take the tod in.

"Please, sir," he sighed, "won't you humor me? At least allow me to see your vessel, to set foot on her?" He paused, and then he smiled thinly. "I'll give you another honey bun."

Jaqard chuckled around the bite of the treat, but he swallowed before speaking. "What's your name, boy?"

"Desmond, sir." His ears warily lowered.

The pirate nodded once. "This evening, after sunset, when the lanterns come on, come out to the docks. I'll instruct my men to escort you to me." His tone took on a serious, commanding air; intending to scare the young fox straight, he imbued his words with authority. "You'll dress the part, and you'll be ready to work. I should hope you'll impress me; I doubt you'll be able to do much baking if I send you home with blistered paws."

Desmond fidgeted, yet he kept eye contact with Jaqard, and he answered the pirate affirmatively: "Yes, sir."

That didn't surprise Jaqard. He had expected the foxcoon to agree just to be stubborn, come what may of his visit later on. He nodded smartly, and then he started to walk again, but this time, he stopped himself. "One last thing, Desmond."

"Yes, sir?"

"It won't earn you any favors with me, but - do bring another one of these." With that, Jaqard left, and Desmond closed early that day.

--3

In the evening, Jaqard sat in his quarters. Under the gentle glow of a gilded lantern, he examined the blade of his saber, and he thoughtfully wiped it down with an oiled rag, a gesture that was unmistakably phallic.

Twice came a sharp rap on the captain's door, and Jaqard bade whoever it was to enter with just that word. The door swung open, and in stepped a young vulpine, the unmistakable foxcoon from the bakery, but dressed... Differently. He was almost a caricature of a handsome pirate like Jaqard, dressed in carefully-laundered slacks in tan, a buttoned-down and sensible leather vest, and a silk shirt over said vest, unbuttoned and flowing around the foxcoon's lithe form with beauty. That, coupled with the young tod's silky, flowing hair and the pretty-boy looks of his slender muzzle and shallow eyes made him look like more of a sharply-dressed bachelor than a pirate-hopeful; Jaqard's smirk only nailed this opinion down. In one paw, he loosely held a small object, one bundled in a cloth rag; the captain knew what was inside of it.

In behind Desmond came a short, yet incredibly burly rat, his wiry coat matte black and gleaming with natural oils in the lantern light. "You said you were expecting a fox with 'coon marks, captain," he said in a low, gravel-textured rumble. His heavy paw rested on Desmond's shoulder, its' grip loose, but ready to snatch the sissy fox away at a moment's notice.

Jaqard seriously contemplated having the young fox removed from his vessel on his dress alone, yet he found that male beauty captivating in a few ways; beyond having never seen something so utterly feminine, he was also morbidly curious to see how tough the lad was. "I was - and this is him. Leave us, Vic," the captain said, setting down his saber and the cloth; as he stood, Vic left, and he shut the door behind himself.

"You came, I see," Jaqard said, standing toe-to-toe with his new "recruit." There was no charm beyond an idle swarthiness, no friendly smile, nothing in his eyes but dominion.

Desmond resisted the infantile urge to hug his tail around his body, and despite all instincts, he stared Jaqard in the eyes. "I did, sir."

"This is how a pirate dresses?" said Jaqard with a sardonic flair, fingering the fine material of the foxcoon's silk shirt, his eyes scrutinizing the tod mercilessly. "And why is your hair not tied back?"

Desmond noted that the captain's hair was in a tight ponytail, yet a few of the locks hung over his face in a breezy way. Absently, Desmond clutched his long mane into a ponytail with his free paw, and then he released it. "I apologize, but--"

"Pirates don't make excuses, Desmond," Jaqard warned, and he got right in the recruit's face. "And, crewman or not, on board the Venom, you will refer to me as captain." The dashing tod straightened his back, and he stood proudly. Though not much taller than the boy he menaced, Desmond's nervous slouch and pinned ears made Jaqard seem much larger. "Do I make myself clear," Jaqard growled, "boy?"

"Yes, captain," Desmond grunted. He was being studied for weakness; he knew it. Every effort he could manage to not cry, he made - and in that, he looked admirably determined, but still so obviously green to Jaqard.

"Good," said the captain, snatching the cloth bundle before turning on his heel. He stepped around to his desk, where he re-took his seat, set aside the wrapped bun, and took up his saber and cloth again. "You'll work the night shift; docked as we are, with much of the crew on shore leave, that should give you the best chance for," a chuckle, "survival."

Desmond tightened his jaws, and he gave his luxuriant tail an agitated flick. A singular thought crossed his mind: this is still better than kneading bread dough.

"Go below decks Inform Vic - the rat; you're familiar with him - that you're his charge. You may return when he's done with you." A smart nod toward the door, and then, with blatant dismissal, he turned his gaze down to his saber. "Go, boy."

"Yes, captain," Desmond answered. The foxcoon turned, opened the door, and stepped out onto the deck.

--4

"No idea what the captain sees in you, little man," Vic snorted with naked contempt, leading the fox down through the sparsely lantern-lit gut of the ship, past other hard-boiled and salty pirates who regarded the young thing in a similarly dismissive way.

Desmond kept close to Vic, feeling mildly more safe next to him, but not by far; he guessed that the rat didn't much care for him, either. Even as naive as he was, the foxcoon understood why, too; he was nothing like these men, and he doubted if he ever would be. Jaqard was simply humoring him, or perhaps throwing him to his crew as a distraction; a proverbial carcass to rip clean just for a good time. He was so caught up in his thoughts that when Vic stopped, he plowed into the rat's broad back.

Vic didn't budge, and he responded only with a firm elbow in the tod's gut, afterward turning to face the new recruit.

The blow hurt, but Desmond took it as the warning that it was, and he did all he could to ignore the pain. Returning Vic's gaze - and still feeling tiny, despite having well over a foot of height on the rodent - Desmond's eyes displayed complete submission. With a single glance over the rat's head, Desmond saw mighty cannons and barrels of gunpowder; in an iron rack close by, dully-finished cannonballs waited.

"Those are some nice clothes you've got on," Vic remarked in a mocking, conversational tone, his face split with a grin.

"Thank you," Desmond grunted, rightly stricken with the feeling that they wouldn't be nice for long.

The rat led Desmond into the cannon chamber, a kind of maintenance room where powder was mixed, but such technical work wasn't for a newbie like Desmond.

In an amazing feat of strength, Vic hefted one of the cannons, an enormous phallus of wrought, black iron, and he set it down in the center of the chamber without so much as a grunt of exertion. Then, just as wordlessly, he dragged over a barrel of sickly-black grease and pulled a saturated rag out of it. Purely in demonstration, he gave the inside of the cannon's barrel a swab. After the fact, he thrust the rag at Desmond's chest, leaving a spatter of the tar-like grease on the formerly-lovely vest and shirt the fox had on.

Vic sat down at the powder-mixing bench. With a voyeuristic flair, he propped his chin up on his palm, and he watched the young fox. Get to work, boy.

Desmond glanced at Vic, and then the barrel of grease, and then his shirt; contempt, disgust, and sadness, respectively. He sighed, and he rolled up his sleeves. Right now, he thought, kneeling and reaching into the barrel with his slender arm, I'd rather be baking a cake.

Many minutes passed as the young fox reached deeply into the wide bore of the cannon's barrel, slathering grease all about its' innards. When the rag was no longer caked, he dragged it through the vat of grease again. After a few repetitions, he noticeably stopped caring about the cleanliness of his clothes, and his work became considerably more efficient then.

When Desmond finally finished with the cannon, he asked Vic to check his work.

The rodent did just that, kneeling and peering into the barrel and through the fuse port, coming to the conclusion that it was sufficiently greased, and that the boy had a good eye for such work. He even congratulated Desmond, and his reward was a hard - hard enough to make the fox flinch - clap on the shoulder.

When the fox turned to leave, however, Vic reprimanded him by grabbing him by the tail; Desmond yelped, but wisely chose not to swing on the rat.

Having stopped the fox, Vic set that greased cannon aside... And then he set down another in the same spot, and re-took his seat.

Desmond glanced around; exactly ten cannons, his current job included, still needed grease. As he dropped to his sore knees, he again lamented leaving the bakery.

--5

When all eleven cannons were greased and ready for action, Vic offered the fox a small verbal congratulation, and then he led the young thing off the way they'd come.

Walking on sore and weary legs, Desmond lagged behind somewhat, but he managed to keep pace with Vic well enough. When they emerged above-deck, Desmond thought he'd never smelled sweeter air.

"Well, boy - let's go see the captain," Vic grunted, glancing at the tod from the corner of his eye, catching just enough of him to see him nod.

Arriving at the captain's door for the second time that night, Vic allowed Desmond the honor of knocking, and the foxcoon did so three sharp times.

It was the number of knocks alone that told Jaqard that it wasn't any man in his crew hailing him. "Enter, Desmond," he said, suppressing a chuckle and shunning the grin from his face.

Desmond opened the door and passed through, Vic menacingly close behind. Now splattered in grease, hair and fur matted down with sweat and tar-like lubricant, eyes sullen and tired, Desmond looked... Not like a pirate, Jaqard thought, but he did seem to fit the part more.

"Well, then - how did he perform?" Jaqard asked, speaking to Vic, but glaring holes into Desmond; even exhausted, Desmond looked nervous.

"Actually, captain," Vic said in a rare, positive tone, "pretty well. You ought to see the cannons. The boy's got good, thin arms for getting down inside of them."

"Is that so," Jaqard stated, rubbing his own chin thoughtfully. "So you have some merit on my ship, Desmond. Though, polishing cannons isn't all I'd have you do, and you'll find no means to bake on my vessel. Do you know how to tie a good, strong knot? Can you lift anything that isn't a honey bun?" A derisive smirk.

Desmond looked away, but in this moment of weakness, Jaqard snatched him by the muzzle and enforced eye contact. "Desmond, take a look at Vic," he said, somewhat amiably, turning his fellow fox to look at the short, but herculean rat. He stepped around the boy, and he lay a gloved paw upon the rodent's naked, glistening chest with no detectable homoerotica. "Look at these muscles, the strength in these arms," Jaqard said, trailing his fingers over creases of flesh made by muscle, through wire-brush fur that his own natural oils kept pliable.

Vic seemed nonplussed by Jaqard's attention, and he flexed in demonstration; Jaqard watched the muscles pop with what seemed to be only admiration, but was, however well-hidden, gay lust. Desmond watched more in awe.

Jaqard took hold of one of the rat's meaty biceps, and he squeezed it tightly; even with all his strength, he couldn't defy the Vic's flexing, and the muscle didn't compress in the least. "Do you see," Jaqard grunted in exertion from the squeeze, "how powerful Vic is?"

Desmond thought of the rat handling the cannons with such ease, and then he nodded slowly and dumbly.

Unhanding the rat's arm, Jaqard allowed himself just one more moment of admiration for Vic's figure, and then he nodded toward the door. "Leave us."

Vic nodded his head respectfully at Jaqard, then gave Desmond more of a casual one, and he left.

Alone with the tired, dirtied sissy of a fox, Jaqard saw fit to level with the boy. "Vic's praise doesn't come easily. If he says you did good work, I wholeheartedly believe it." With a gentle nod, he beckoned the tod over to the cot of his bed; with only a little coaxing, Desmond sat, and Jaqard stood before him.

"It seems you may be of some use. I can't deny that. Truthfully, however, I don't think you understand how dangerous this life can be." The captain looked at Desmond with a noticeable concern in his eyes; Desmond had done better than expected, yet he didn't want the young thing on board. Not because he was dead weight - he'd proven otherwise, to some degree - but because of how innocent the boy was. "You had your fantasy. You'd best go back to your bakery, now."

Desmond stayed put, and he hugged his tail about his body like a teddy bear, stroking its' sullied fluff; the moment stung so much that he couldn't resist the infantile comfort. "But, captain," he nearly whined, "I did everything Vic told me to do. I did it well!"

Jaqard sighed listlessly, and then he slipped off the fine dress gloves he wore with his formal outfit. Without them, he flashed Desmond the sight of his marred right paw, bisected horizontally twice - once across the palm, again across the insides of the fingers. Like bad land, no fur grew there; nothing covered the ragged, scarred flesh. Disrobing further, shedding the vest and the fine shirt beneath, Jaqard left his upper body naked. "Look here," he said curtly, pointing to his right shoulder, where another scar, a poorly-healed stab, left yet another ugly patch of furless flesh. "And here - as you've no-doubt noticed," the captain said quietly, tracing another scar that trailed the side of his head, marring an otherwise flawlessly-handsome face, but adding a rugged charm to it. "This could just as easily happen to you, Desmond. And you may not be as lucky to survive."

But Desmond wasn't looking at the wounds. He was gazing upon Jaqard's half-nude body, perusing toned flesh and vibrant fur. Vic was a sight too muscular for the boy's tastes, yet Jaqard - a fellow fox, no less - was a beautiful man...

Jaqard saw the all-too-obvious lust in the youth's eyes, and he cracked a tiny, queer smirk. "Desmond," he said, interrupting the boy's ogling, "you appear distracted."

"Ah, mmh," Desmond grunted, "sorry, sir. Captain." He bit his lip, and he forced himself to look Jaqard in the eyes, but when the captain intentionally flexed, Desmond looked over his body again. When Jaqard flexed harder, Desmond was unable to stop himself; his feminine paws caressed the dashing fox's chest, tracing over subtle creases of muscle tone and savoring the pulse of the hard flesh.

Jaqard growled invitingly to Desmond's touch, and he lay a paw of his own on the young tod's cheek, where he caressed that feminine face with a thumb, cupping the side of his head with the other digits. "You're a pretty boy," he said, quietly, but not for fear of being heard outside the room.

"Thank you, captain," Desmond whispered back.

The captain leaned close, and after a bump of noses, he kissed his young recruit on the lips. "In physical love, boy, you'll call me Jaqard." A wink and a grin. "Captain otherwise. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very," Desmond said, and he kissed back, flitting his tongue across Jaqard's lips; Jaqard's own flitted right back, across the tip of young Desmond's tongue, making the sissy shiver endearingly. All throughout such little teases, Desmond's soft paws roamed Jaqard's naked upper body without cessation, eventually making their way to his back, where they rubbed the shoulderblades and down his spine.

Jaqard found little Desmond's male beauty intoxicating, his clear gayness emboldening. Here was a handsome young boy that he could have his way with... Something that was fast making him rethink sending the foxcoon back to his life as a baker. Down in the crotch of his trousers, his member bulged, throbbing against the fine material of them; Desmond sported a similar affliction, and the captain ground his needy endowment against that of his feminine recruit.

Desmond shuddered at the frottage, and he squeezed himself close to Jaqard. "My god," he sighed, his muzzle over the captain's shoulder, "I never thought--"

"That you'd lie with a pirate captain? I hadn't counted on this either, boy," Jaqard chuckled, toying with the locks of the Desmond's hair which, though sweaty, were still beautiful.

"Quite honestly," Desmond said, easing back from Jaqard's close embrace, stealing a kiss on the way, "I'd hoped from the moment I saw you - but I didn't expect anything to come of it." With soft paws, he reached down, and he clutched the swollen lump that was Jaqard's penis in a tight, almost punishing grip.

Jaqard groaned, but all in good pleasure. Harder he throbbed, every beat of his quickening heart making his shaft pulsate in the sissy tod's mitt. "How would you please your captain, boy?" he murred, giving Desmond a sultry gaze. It was no query; it was encouragement.

Kneeling between Jaqard and the bed, Desmond wasted no time at all. He untied the captain's fly, and he pulled down those trousers, the leggings coming with them. Beneath lay nothing, just bare fur. He was treated to the sight of a swollen, red, knotted cock, fully engorged and free of its' sheath, with a set of modest, white, downy-furred balls below.

After a mere two seconds to admire the captain's turgid flesh, Desmond engulfed it in his maw, his lips kissing up to the knot. The young fox treated it to great, sloppy sucks, the still air of the cabin cut with both these lewd sounds and Jaqard's sudden, heated moaning and huffing. In one soft paw, he cupped the captain's warm scrotum; with the other, he stroked down a shapely leg. Bobbing with his muzzle, sucking and slobbering and salivating all over the musky flesh of the captain's penis, Desmond proved that his merit lay in greasing Jaqard's artillery - but not just the cannons.

"In the name of the Venom, Desmond," Jaqard grunted, afterward letting his tongue hang out of his maw in lecherous flair. He entwined his fingers in the silky mane of the tod's hair, and his ordinarily reserved tail lashed so fast, so frequently that it was decidedly wagging. Into Desmond's eager maw, he incessantly pumped ropes of his salty, bitter preseminal fluid; the slime stung the tod's tongue, burned his sinuses with its' masculinity, and spurred him to even greater faggotry.

Squeezing on the captain's balls and bobbing faster and harder, Desmond made it abundantly clear that Jaqard's was not the first cock he'd ever tasted or the first set of balls he'd touched. He knew his way around the dashing captain's genitals so skilfully, in fact, that Jaqard was led to guess, and rightly, that the foxcoon was entirely queer.

"Oh, Desmond," Jaqard panted, rolling back his eyes before closing them. He curled his fingers in the foxcoon's hair, and his tail wagged more fervently than ever before, fanning around the smell of his own musk, made all the more potent by arousal.

It was Desmond's intention to please his captain, to make him cum; whether Jaqard wanted to keep him after the fact was of no concern to the foxcoon, all that mattered was the moment at hand. Squeezing those balls, rubbing a thigh, licking over that knot when he was down as far as his mouth would allow - Desmond wasn't just sucking Jaqard off, he was worshiping the fox. Some men worshiped the sea, their ships, deities, the stars - Desmond's choice in idols was phallic, so it seemed.

As happy as he would have been to splatter his messy was down into the foxcoon's gullet, to feel the sweet release that the boy's maw could bring, Jaqard wanted something else; as certain as he was that Desmond would enjoy gulping down his semen, he had the feeling that a boy as gay as that foxcoon would love something else even more. Gripping the feminine male's ears, but only to the extent that he could pull the eagerly-sucking boy off, Jaqard ceased his work. With his twitching, drool-smeared member poised by the young sissy's muzzle, he allowed himself a shudder.

"Don't you want to... Finish up?" Desmond asked, his voice tiny and shy; an irony after what his mouth had just been up to.

"I do," Jaqard said, and nothing more. He pulled Desmond up to his feet, shared a quick kiss with the foxcoon - in which he enjoyed the taste of his own manhood - and then forced the boy down on his back, against the soft cot close by.

Desmond assisted Jaqard as the captain negotiated his fly; with it undone, Jaqard pulled Desmond's trousers off, and he tossed them away with contempt most obvious. As he stepped out of his own, and shook them off of his hind paw, Desmond did away with his sullied shirt and vest, and that was that; both beautiful foxes were nude.

The captain allowed himself a scant moment to enjoy the true physical beauty of the young specimen; no muscle tone whatsoever, his form was slender, and quite feminine. His shaft, smaller than Jaqard's, was a vibrant pink in color; it stood proudly, knotted as his own was, but seeking more submissive pleasures, like a helping paw. "You are beautiful," the captain cooed, and then he mounted Desmond. It was as brief and loveless as that; he clutched the boy's legs at the knees, wrenched them apart, and slipped his manhood up beneath the foxcoon's scrotum. He ground against the smooth, only thinly-furred taint below, and then he felt his tip nose against that snug, puckered tail hole, which he insistently pushed against.

Though Desmond was dry, Jaqard's cock was well-lubricated with saliva and its' own natural pre; that made the penetration at least tolerable. Desmond winced and arched his back, and he clutched two great paw-fulls of the soft top sheet of the bed. Grimacing, clenching his eyes shut, flattening his ears out against his skull, the foxcoon projected a clear image of discomfort.

Desmond was so obviously in pain that Jaqard didn't even stop to ask are you okay? Of course, it didn't mean he was going to stop - but Jaqard was no rapist. If Desmond simply bleated the word stop, he would have, but the foxcoon said no such thing. And, when he pressed his knot to the sissy's stretched tail hole, the boy moaned, despite still bearing his grimace.

Grinning and leaning over his young recruit, Jaqard allowed Desmond a grace period of exactly six seconds, and then he started to fuck the coonfox. Harsh, efficient thrusts delivered immense pleasure to the captain and the recruit alike; Jaqard moaned hotly, but Desmond's sounds of pleasure were mixed amongst hisses and gasps, noises which were becoming less frequent as time went by. "Do other men have you often, boy?" the captain growled, nuzzling into the prostrate white of Desmond's neck.

"Sometimes," Desmond quaked, arching his back for particularly harsh thrusts, ones that ground Jaqard's endowment into his prostate and made his member throb and squirt its' musky pre.

Jaqard growled lewdly, switching his thrusts to quicker, more gratifying humps that pounded his knot threateningly into the sissy's pink, tight asshole. "And how often is sometimes, boy? Don't lie to me."

"At least," Desmond squeaked, Jaqard's cock plowing into his prostate with particular ruthlessness, "once a month. When men come into my bakery who give me those queer looks..."

"You lift your tail up?" Jaqard smirked. Despite his outward composure, he was close already; beads of sweat ran down his face, where his fur was already saturated with the perspiration. Oral sex from the boy had ruined his endurance.

"More or less," the foxcoon answered; notably without much, if any, shame.

Jaqard hunkered down over the cute foxcoon, and he humped harder and faster, his breath coming in tight snatches. Not much longer, he told himself. I'll be damned if this boy can't take a knot... The captain closed his eyes, grimacing in concentration, and he fucked Desmond for all he was worth. Vicious, short thrusts punched the bulbous gland of his knot up against the foxcoon's loosening tail hole, working the deliciously snug ring of muscle apart a little bit every time, repetition easing the boy open.

Desmond howled and cried out like a bitch in heat getting a much-needed breeding. He clung to Jaqard tightly, and he cared not if the men in the crew heard his wailing; they most certainly did, of course, but none of them were any to judge. It was absurd to think that they had never laid together at least once.

"Take my knot, boy! Take it!" Jaqard grunted, forcing that fat gland against Desmond once more, then twice. A third time; a fourth; a fifth. On the sixth, that anal ring spread wide; on the seventh, it permitted the knot with a noisy, wet shlup!, but Jaqard absently pulled back in one last humping thrust. The eighth, with that tail hole already subtly gaping, was met with no resistance at all - but when the captain sank in to the absolute hilt and paused, those anal walls found purchase on his flesh again, gripping him with their blissful, cock-milking tightness that drew him to an orgasm in mere seconds.

Jaqard grunted, spilling his hot load into the foxcoon's behind, and in his orgasm, he put space between their forms, and he smacked his paw down on the sissy's needing member. A consolation handjob from the one and only Jaqard duSang; a clandestine story for the ages if there was ever one. He masturbated Desmond furiously, his paw fast becoming a blur, his fervent stroking splattering pre every which way, the noise filling the room just as well as Desmond's cooing and gasping.

Rendered so close to an orgasm from the incredible and gratifying sex, mesmerized by Jaqard's very presence and male beauty, Desmond teetered on the edge; the captain helped him over it with his pawing, and with a complacent cry, he splattered his sticky load all over the smooth plane of his belly, and even upon his chest, where pink nipples peered cutely through the downy fluff of an inoffensive body.

"My god," Desmond huffed in his afterglow, his seed dripping from the tip of his member, and all down Jaqard's paw.

Jaqard murred in contentment, rubbing his thumb over the pulsing flesh of the foxcoon's pink penis; his own throbbed heavily beneath the boy's tail, keeping that knot tied. "I think there's a place for you on my ship after all, Desmond," he grinned, and then he lay over the foxcoon, snuggling up closely.

Desmond purred sweetly, and he hugged himself close to his captain.