A Surfboarder's Mentality
"Tell me a-- AH --about yourself" -Spike.
The Yiffy Episodes of Spike the Jackrabbit: A Surfboarder's Mentality
by [Hammerstroke](%5C)
(A/N: Yeah. This one was fun. I need to take more time on characterization and plots, and showing, not telling, and such. This was fun. I've also experimented a little with stylistic, deliberate errors, like fragment/run-on sentences. The kind people actually use. You find a spelling issue, don't hesitate to mention. You think you find a run-on, you get kicked-the-fuck-out.
Enjoy! -Hammerstroke)
It was a typical day on the beach--erm, that is to say, typical for the beach, because nowhere else could one find gorgeous sunsets, low humidity, no pollution, and blue skies--nowhere except the beach. And while this typically atypical day rolled on, so did Spike--well, he did so on wheels, of course, because you and I know well enough that jack rabbits, especially trimmed, athletic rabbits like Spike, don't roll very well, unless there's someone else beneath them--but we'll get to that.
He felt young again--at the heat, erm, height of his potency, he found himself longing for simpler days when he could romp around in public without anything on and furres would take an entirely different approach to his nekkidness. He yearned to have his scooter under his left paw, a frozen malt in another, and his sunglasses on his face again, lick, lick, lick of the malt as he'd ride down the boardwalk.
Of course, with age came responsibility--which went paw in paw with privileges. Instead of a tread-lined scooter under his left paw, he found the accelerator; the manual transmission left no room in either paw for malted ice cream, but he didn't mind too much. He could always park. And he still had shades, except he called them shades, not sunglasses. Such was the price he paid for growing up.
He looked around as he meandered along, doing a balmy five miles an hour, searching for parking. Bunnies looked his way--bunnies, not jacks, of course--and so did vixens and wolves and kitties and, ooh my, more bunnies... Such was the price indeed. They had skinny waists and full hips, or they were slightly less voluptuous, but Spike didn't mind. They wore shorts and t-shirts or swim suits, or thongs and t-shirts, but rarely much more. Too hot. Some were rollerblading, some biking, some jogging, some playing beach ball.
Spike sighed--he wasn't in the mood.
Even if they were, which they weren't.
How did Spike know they weren't in the mood? He just did. Called it his sixth sense and no one was willing to argue, because not only did Spike have a female in his bed six nights out of seven, but he had yet to father a child or contract anything... icky. Luck of the draw?
No, it was his sixth sense, silly.
I just told you.
Back to the boardwalk. Spike turned around the corner, because the only other option was a dead end. Immediately the street became empty, vacant, abandoned. If you didn't have beach front, you were nothing.
Everything revolved around the beach; everything started and ended there.
Sunset Outfitters survived a block away because of Spike's persuasiveness, if not for the selection of slutty thongs and the abundance of bunnies, vixens, and babes in general that needed them.
He slowed to a stop and turned off the engine, hopping out and locking his ride. His car was nothing impressive--most of his paycheck from Sunset Outfitters, while easy money at worst, went straight to his copper roomie, as did the bulk of his acting revenue (Spike had recently gotten a job with F. M. Mouse studios.) Thorne was a nice guy, but they needed to pay the bills. Spike didn't mind: his life was fine with his level of income.
But he smelled something. Someone, rather.
Someone in need, he figured, though it could easily have been his own stench. His ears drooped, and he frowned. The smell was new, unfamiliar. Almost confusing. A mixing of... bunny... and... wolf? He leaped around the corner, fully intrigued. There, not four paces ahead of him stood... a bunny and a wolf.
While he could've kicked himself for being so ignorant, Spike chose instead to hide behind the corner and observe them. Though they didn't have their paws on each other's crotch, he could literally smell the tension between them, nearly palatable on his tongue. She was gorgeous, of course, and he was no weak specimen himself. He said something, and she laughed, and playfully punched his shoulder, a flirt in Spike's books any day. She had him backed against the wall, but he wasn't about to be overwhelmed.
The babe was full figured, but certainly not overweight. She seemed athletic, almost muscular, except the muscles added to her overall curves without defining new ones. Her tail, short and poofy, was ruby red at the very tip, pink towards her back and white towards her backside. Her arms: white underneath, pink fur above, and red paws. Legs as well. Her tail was bursting out of her short denim shorts, damp around the hips with sweat. Spike wiped his brow; it was almost uncomfortably warm out.
From beneath his own shades the lucky male grinned at the female; the wolf possessed an unusually canine physique--more so than normal, that is. His muscular chest was threatening to tear open his white tank top more than the blondes rack was fighting to tear her clothing. His wide shoulders capped thick, toned arms while his hips, skinny in contrast, held onto a powerful set of legs.
But more than his physique was his grin.
So... sure of himself. So powerful, lusting a radiance all its own, a babe magnet without the rest of the hulk. Sharp, white fangs kept in check by his dangerous muzzle... Spike shuddered. None of that confidence was false.
The females noticed, even though the brute made no movement in their directions. Females noticed Spike, of course, and Spike was athletic too. But this wolf was a full head taller than him, and looked to outweigh him by at least 50 pounds.
Spike sighed, and realized he'd been ogling the guy for at least five minutes. Shuddering again, he slinked back into his ride and circled around again to look for parking.
Waves crash.
Surfers, and Spike considered himself one of them, had a common mentality around here--"Waves crash." A saying, almost--not quite a catchphrase or a slogan, though. Difficult at first to understand, and Spike had only heard it a few times. Deviously clever, he'd decided, although there were few surfers he knew with the brain power to come up with something like that. He was still wrapping his head around it, actually, when he wasn't thinking about his job or a hot female.
His life wasn't devoted to sex. Sure, enjoying himself was a good portion of it, but he needed something to do during the twelve or so hours between "sessions," and sleep only took one of those periods. When Spike wasn't working at the studio or at Outfitters, Spike went surfing, good weather permitting, which it usually always did. There was something satisfying about gliding over water. The sense is that one is not really skimming but flying inches above the wet, the sparkling blue.
It was a great day for surfing, and Spike was never one to pass up opportunity.
At those speeds the wind blew in Spike's face, cleansing it of flaws and sins and yuck in a way showers never could. The breeze, hot while motionless, suddenly dropped ten degrees and whipped past his body and dried him off, so long as he avoided falling off his board into the vertical wall behind him. The water blurred beneath him and he took off, his arms barely needing to balance him. His mind floated away and all there was was the whitecapping of ocean above and the curling of ocean below. Spike's ears folded behind him, awkward at full height at these speeds.
The sun sparkled in radiant sunbursts across the blue, haloing the surface and making him squint. As the sound faded to nothing but the soothing hiss of the wind whipping past his ears, and as the world around him blurred and faded away, only the water, his board, the sun, and his balance mattered. His life wasn't devoted to sex; this was just as good. The air caressed his body like a lover's paws, reaching for him in intimate places and making his fur stand on edge.
As the greens and golds and browns of the shore came into focus, Spike hopped off his board and swam back to shore, board in tow. Standing knee deep in water, he shook the ocean off his fur and grinned. A good wave cleansed his soul, much like Thorne's mysterious midnight swims cleansed his conscience. Sweat dripped down his chest, as did the salty sea water, and he enjoyed every drop.
Spike grabbed his board and jogged over to his little niche: a towel, a beach blanket, his cooler, and his shades. Plunking the board in the sand, he quickly wiped off excess moisture from his tan-colored fur and sighed with content. Soon the sun was beating down on his eyes through his sunglasses; he closed them and stretched out, reaching his paws for the water below and the shops above his horizontal self.
This typical day, Spike observed without much surprise the subtle change from pleasure to pain--from one extreme to the other without noticing, see? Where once the sun shone down on him, warming his body and relaxing his muscles, it now released a torrent of baking heat. It assaulted his chest, battered his legs and rammed his face. His eyes were closed, behind the safety of his shades, and yet he could not block out the harmful luminescence. The sand around him caked, drying out and burning those that dared tread upon it without some sort of protection.
It snuck up on him, even though he expected it.
But Spike knew this happened. Expected it. It was a test; a test of will, of endurance, of sacrifice towards a deeper, more satisfying reward. True, he could simply leave; he could roll over, he could drink more of his drink--the escapes were numerous and everywhere, and yet...
Spike grinned. Felt his legs on fire, felt his chest on fire and his arms and his paws and his head on fire, about to burst open and explode and melt and fuse and broil. But he grinned. Looking down past his paws, across acres of shimmering gold, he found his salvation: the vibrant life of the ocean. At last, hours after passing the point of not being able to take it anymore, he stood, trudged towards the blue, weary.
Suddenly there was cold; his felt the water punch his chest and force all the air out of his lungs; he gasped and thrashed for half an instant before calming instinctively, letting the water flow into ever nook and cranny of his being. Suddenly he was lying on the softest bed, with the warmest flesh pressing down on his, and his mind went blank; devoid of thought he simply gawped, till he surfaced.
He breached like a dolphin, jumping damned near backwards and landing with a great SPLASH all around him, water falling in waves across his chest, his russet hair flashing copper highlights in front of his eyes.
Suddenly there was cold; the sun was just another light in the sky, while the water-- WAHOO , the WATER! --was all he could feel. It was great. He stood in the chest-deep water and looked around, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It seemed to him that this was all the physical love he needed for the day, though he certainly wasn't one to pass up an opportunity.
Having cleansed his soul with his little fire torture, he turned around to walk back to his board and his towel.
"Hey."
"AHH!"
THRASH
SPLASH
Spike fell backwards, so sudden had the face appeared.
" OMIGOD , you okay? I'm so sorry."
He floundered for a second, but surfaced properly, shook the water out of his ears, and smiled.
"Oh, hey, Miss Breeze."
This particular Miss Breeze was wearing one of Spike's thongs. Well, one of the thongs he'd sold her, that is--he doesn't own any thongs. A while ago, Spike had helped Miss Breeze find some swimwear and in the process helped her regain some confidence in herself. They'd had sex in the stall afterwards, of course, but that really wasn't the highlight of that sale.
"No--I told you before, none of that 'Miss' business." She shook her head, and then embraced Spike in a sudden, breath-defying hug in the knee-high water.
When she let go, he wheezed for a moment then continued, "How are you? Haven't seen you in a while. You doing okay?" He was, in fact, referring to her weight-induced depression and the breakup she'd suffered as a result.
She nodded, smiling. "Silly, of course I am. I got back together with Bruno."
Spike frowned, wondering if he'd misheard, but said, "Oh yeah? Didn't he... um... call you fat? Dump you? Wasn't he, uh, too much of a prick?"
She giggled. "I know what you're thinking, it's not like that. I seduced him with my new swimsuits, got him nekkid, then threw him out on the walk. Locked the door on him, burned his clothing, and laughed."
Spike was laughing now, too. "That's wonderful. You look great, by the way."
She giggled again, blushed, and nodded. Her fur shined in the sunlight, wet and clingy. Spike tilted over, looking down her side at her rump, the cheek nicely framed by her thong.
"Like what you see?"
"Always," he chirred, looking back over her figure to her face, smiling. "You thirsty?"
Miss Breeze--Breeze, she insisted--nodded and followed him out of the water.
She had her own towel and moved it beside his, laying on her stomach and propping up her upper body on her elbows. The sun shone on her back, highlighting the intricate fur on her legs and tail. Spike watched her backside for a few seconds, smirking, before lying down beside her on his towel. He reached over and grabbed a couple of iced teas, passing one to her.
"Thanks," she panted, downing the chilled liquid in four strong gulps. He watched as her throat work to swallow it, then as she wiped her muzzle. She looked over at him, watching him watch her. "What?"
He shook his head, "Nothing." He kept watching her.
She looked away, blushed, then looked back and pushed him away, laughing. "Stop it!"
He laughed. "Why?"
She shrugged. "How come you were so nice to me?"
"Offering you a drink? How else do I get someone like you in the sack?"
She laughed again and shoved him over. "No! I mean, at your store? A couple weeks ago?"
"Oh, right... I dunno. Just felt like the thing to do, I suppose. You looked so sad..."
She looked away. "Meh. Tough times, I guess. All better now."
"Sure sounds like it." Sip. "I'm glad I could help," he said with a silly grin.
She huffed. "Oh, so now you're the one who deserves credit, huh?"
"I always do." Sip. "You gotta take advantage of the moment, baby. And you, in that stall, panting and nude--you were quite the moment." Sip.
She hit him, and he choked on his gulp, and she laughed some more. He rubbed his arm, lay down on his forearms and closed his eyes, letting gentle breezes flit across his back.
"Never had sex like that, though," she continued. Spike raised an eye. "Bruno was always so..." she paused.
"Rough?"
"Clam-like," she corrected.
"Huh?"
"Like, he had all the skills of a clam."
"Ah. ...huh?"
"He would always pull and squeeze and abuse my breasts, like he was running them through a meat grinder--"
Spike winced.
"--then all of a sudden he'd just leave them and just dig his way in--like a clam. No imagination."
"Well, give him a break," he muttered. "He's a guy. Since when do guys know anything about anything as important as the proper way to feel someone up?"
She propped herself on one shoulder and leaned to her side. "You're sticking up for him?"
"No, just commenting that you should've seen it coming. Big ugly brute like him? I bet he was fricking huge, with all the diction of a floorboard. You're smarter than that."
"But..." she drifted off. "He wasn't a big ugly brute. I mean, he wasn't an ugly brute. Big, sure, but it was all muscles and veins and shrink wrapped skin." She sighed. "And his smile! So confident, so sure of himself."
"Full of himself," Spike corrected. "Guys are never sure of anything."
"Well, whatever it was, it worked. When he was hitting on me he made it sound like he'd already screwed my pants off. It was such a turn-on."
" I've already screwed your pants off. Does that turn you on?"
Her body rolled up onto his, using him like a comforter, pressing her chest into his back. She muttered, "Of course it does, cutie," sleepily. She licked his big fluffy ear and fell silent, and Spike tried to doze off as well.
Except she was restless, he discovered, and she tossed and turned all the while, and managed, somehow, to stay on his back and to keep him from losing lucidity completely. He grumbled, something inaudible, likely about pillows and comfy sand and his ass not being made for such usage.
Though it wasn't wholly unsatisfying. Her body did eventually mold into his, and it was somewhat comfortable... Spike was just starting to smile, his eyes just starting to droop, when she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. She rubbed her eyes.
"That was nice," she whispered.
"Sure, sure. Figures I'd be the one to sleep with you and not sleep with you at the same time."
She licked his cheek. "Hmm. Alright, you win." She propped herself up onto all fours, "Here's your reward."
"Huh?"
"Roll over."
"Oh... OH!" And suddenly he was wide awake, and he rolled over, facing her suspended body, damp with sweat from the heat. "But... out here? In front of all these people?"
"Why not?" she asked, with a funny look. "I'm tired."
With that she lay back on his body, except that they were now face to face, and even though there were two layers of bathing suit between their good bits, Spike had to admit that this was much more interesting than he'd've thought.
"You have a very sezzy, very comfy front side, you know?"
"I thought we'd already established that."
She giggled, and closed her eyes, and Spike found himself wide awake once again. It was not how he'd intended that to go at all.
Breeze, as she preferred to be called, stretched and rolled off, muttering something no doubt relating to her crispy backside. Spike groaned--he was a whisper's breadth away from losing himself, and with a wondrous weight weighing on his chest, it would've been a wondrous dream indeed.
"But no, she had to go and wake up..." Spike muttered. Then her head moved away and he was suddenly staring right at the sun. He hissed.
"I'm gonna go swim for a few moments." He stood.
"Sounds good."
"You comin'?" He started running.
She bounded after him. He felt the water run up against his legs and throw him forward; a chilling splash on his back told him she'd done the same. They frolicked in the water for a few minutes, splashing and diving and rubbing up against one another. Soon as the beach slowly pulled back they started treading water.
At this point spike started feeling slightly guilty, stealing occasional glimpses of the thong between her thighs, pulled tight, or of her butt, equally tight, or of her breasts heaving in the water with their own buoyancy and inertia, it seemed, but she was the one to wear the revealing things, so it wasn't his fault if he was a red blooded male checking out her curves.
Not that he hadn't already seen her without anything covering those curves. But as the water trickled down her body, and as she beamed, oh-so-cutely, laughing with him and just having fun, he couldn't help but think he was taking advantage of her beauty.
He stared, then, at her figure and her cute face as she surfaced from another round of submarine, or whatever they were playing, and he took a deep breath, found it was full of water, found then that he had forgotten for a moment to tread water, and then found that he still wasn't doing anything about. He swam underneath her, brushing up behind her, and his body was sinfully close to hers.
She smiled, looking over her shoulder at him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close, kicking hard enough to keep them afloat. After all the thrashing and splashing and soaking and laughing it was pleasing, then, to stay somewhat silent. Slowly the waves floated them towards the shore again, and Spike tore his eyes away from hers as the sandy bottom touched his paws.
Muscles whining like little kids from the exertion, they sat on the beach, and the water reached their hips and cooled their legs, as she sat on his lap and they grinned and watched the other furs swim and surf and wake-board. It was a typically atypical day, there at the beach: the weather, the people, the views. Oddly perfect, so they took their chance to enjoy it all.
Spike smiled. "So, what are we doing later?"
She looked at him, confused, "Huh?"
"You know... you and I are gonna go out? Tonight?" He smirked, glanced back. "I know you want to, anyways, right?"
"Someone's full of himself, I see."
"Sure of myself," he corrected.
"I thought guys were never sure of anything."
"I'm sure of this. I mean, I'm sure I like this."
She stared, a grin spreading across her muzzle. "Right. You know that new Italian place on the boardwalk?"
"I'm sure I can find it. You need a ride somewhere?"
They stood. She shook her head. "I'll see you... at seven?"
"I'll be there." He kissed her, rubbing her side for an instant before he grabbed his board, towel, and little cooler and strode back to his car, leaving her standing there, with hopefully a smile on her face, as well as a look of what the fuck just happened? Spike, however, found himself thinking of the mentality again.
Spike drove home, smiling as he turned up the tunes. Windows down, sun in his face, shades over his eyes and wind blowing all around him, this was the best afternoon in quite a while.
It was high school all over again.
He spent a good hour cleaning his room. No particular reason, but once he'd showered and brushed his teeth and combed his russet hair and washed his "sezzy" face, he'd had little else to do. He wasn't hungry; he didn't feel like watching porn or reading anything or driving around either.
He remembered Logan, his first girlfriend. She was seventeen, a little over half a year younger than him. A cute girl, too, decent figure, intelligent, funny. Skunk, of all things, but she'd never sprayed him once. He was shy, then--well, who isn't with his first girlfriend? They'd been close friends before that--since late grade school. So long ago, he realized. He could barely remember her.
He'd taken her to a fancy restaurant--Mexican food, not Italian, which had proven to be an unwise decision on his part. Not only was it the least romantic, charming place he could've chosen, but, as it turned out, Mexican foods didn't go well with his stomach, or his rear end. By some miracle, at the end of the night, Logan was satisfied with him, though she'd thought he'd contracted some brew of Mexican diseases.
But they had been friends before, therefore surviving the numerous bathroom trips; and they had had a second date, and then a third, although never at that same restaurant. They did the park; they spent time at the beach, and at the movie theater. The whole time, Spike kept his raging hormones to himself, though it took considerable effort.
Spike had spent the whole of the afternoon before their fourth date pacing his room in his parent's basement. The thought of finally going all the way, taking her cherry, her virginity, her maidenhood, becoming a male--words, colloquialisms that now made him cringe--the thoughts made him restless, as it does for everyone before his first time.
Needless to say, his room was clean that afternoon, as well, for when one has nothing to do, the need to self improve is overwhelming. Spike's room was nearly clean now, too, and he found himself back in high school all over again.
It was time.
Spike threw open his closet and looked through the expensive section... small though it was, he had a reasonable arsenal of fashion bombs. Some females, after all, are not swayed by dirty talk, or wandering paws and such--they require a slightly more sophisticated touch, such as fine clothing and a smart pair of sunglasses.
He decided, finally, on a straight buttoned bluish-purple shirt, over a white tank top, with a pair of black slacks. With his combat-style boots and a nice pair of sunglasses, he was ready. Not that this particular date needed a lot of... effort? Impression? They'd already met and done the nasty, so... Spike hoped this could just be a fun evening, in which case he hoped these were simply nerves.
Some women intimidated Spike. Big, threatening women that were nearly twice his weight; sometimes it was simply their mannerisms that made him uncomfortable. This one date liked her lighter a little too much for Spike's likings. They never saw each other past that one evening. In any case, Spike was no stranger to nerves.
These were different. Spike wondered for a second how he actually felt about Miss Breeze--erm, Breeze, as she insisted. Maybe this was something special, maybe she was special, maybe his helping her regain her confidence had somehow attracted him to her in a way he'd never felt before.
Maybe Breeze was special, made him feel happier, made him smile in the mornings and grin at night. Maybe he loved her.
"..."
Spike stood still for a second, not breathing, somewhat twitching. Shook his head. "Whoa. That was weird." Shook his head again, smirked, sprayed on a subtle hint of cologne, and, looking at the clock on the oven, decided it was time.
Spike made it a habit to arrive just when the woman did. He didn't want her to think he was waiting, which meant anxious and insecure, but he didn't want to be late either, because that in his mind showed little more than a lack of respect. So when she walked around the corner of the building, he was there, but only just.
He looked at her. Since he'd already stapled his jaw shut, it didn't actually drop to the cement, though it wasn't from a lack of trying. She had on one of those knockout getups that made mere mortals drool.
But Spike had the stapler. Mere mortals do not.
Really, he was in awe over it. It was a deep red, nearly black-crimson spaghetti-strapped dress, with a slit up her right side past her right hip and a deep cut back. Had a slight hint of sparkles that seemed to glitter like the ocean--or a firestorm, or something equally red. Accenting the whole thing were black elbow-length gloves, which looked surprisingly leathery.
He regained his composure an instant after she saw him. Walked over.
"Wow... You look... wow."
Giggle. "Thanks. You're not too ugly yourself."
"And this is a surprise?"
"Well... At least you know how to dress."
He nodded, held out his arm. "Shall we?"
She looked at him, confused. Surprised, perhaps, at the gentlemanly action. Smiled, "Yes. We shall." Took his arm in hers and they walked in together.
The wait was short, the waiter prompt, and the ambiance decidedly Italian with a hint of oregano. It was loud, but not offensively so: the other patrons seemed to be having a good time. Lots of laughter. A booth with one of those corner benches; they sat side by side, Spike on Breeze's right. He winked at her before he grabbed his menu and started perusing the entrées.
"What can I get?"
He looked at her, as if appalled at the suggestion. Then smirked, chuckled.
"Don't be afraid to order what you want, I'm not rich but I can more than manage."
She smirked, reading her own menu. "What if I order the forty-some dollar steak and leave half of it?"
"You'd better eat it all, you'll need the energy."
"Don't worry; I'm not here for free food." She touched his arm lightly then resumed her search.
Spike kept his eyes on his menu, though he would slide his eyes sideways to watch hers when she wasn't looking and would pretend to look away when she was. She giggled but said nothing--he was sure he'd caught her doing the same thing.
The waiter reappeared, looking for a drink order. Spike stared, realized he hadn't even thought about it. Quickly scanning the list, "This wine looks good."
"Thank you." Like the atmosphere, his accent was decidedly Italian. "And for you, ma'am?"
"Beer," Breeze said, without hesitation. Damned near blushed, too.
Shit. Spike hadn't figured for this. Gave it a second thought, called back the fading waiter.
"Sorry, she's right, we both want beer. No wine."
The Italian fur scowled but left to bring the brews.
"Prick," she muttered. Spike laughed out loud.
"Did I say I think you're gorgeous right now?"
She blushed. "Yes, I think you alluded to that. It's not much, really, just something I--"
"It doesn't matter how expensive it is or isn't. You look hot. With or without the thing on." Brought his paw up, touched her cheek, smiled.
She kept blushing. "Thanks. See, that's what I don't understand about you." She pulled her gloves off, stroked him back, looking at him with a curious look.
"Hmm?" He looked at the mug that had mysteriously appeared. Took a swig. "What's that?"
"Bruno told me he thought I was hot... He even touched me like that, sort of... except, I guess, it was only that. I mean, he only meant the whole skin deep beauty thing. Thought I was hot, but only just."
"I don't understand."
She looked around, nervous, even feeling awkward, perhaps. She chugged, said, "He never told me I looked beautiful. He'd say I was hot, but it was only to get me to sleep with him."
Spike nodded. "Well, from what I've heard about him, he sounds like a real prick."
She shrugged. "But that's what I don't understand. You're saying the exact same words... and yet, it's not insulting. You know?"
He considered. "Maybe, I guess. I'm just saying you look hot. You can call me a prick if you want, I'm sure I won't mind."
She kissed his cheek. "Thanks. And, for your info, I'm officially offended."
Silence for the next few seconds, and Spike spent the time watching her avoid his gaze and sip from her mug. Leered, took a drink of his own, smiled some more. Then looked at his menu though he knew he wasn't going to order anything more than some pasta or something.
Really didn't matter. The waiter reappeared, Spike made sure not to get what she was getting. "And can you bring us some more beer, please?" Spike most definitely was not feeling it yet.
"Whoa. Are you trying to get us drunk?"
Someone three tables over laughed loudly. From the other side of the room furres cheered. Seemed like a fun place.
"Well, would you mind?"
"Maybe not." She smiled. Her glass was empty, set aside. She turned to her side, looked at him. "Do you yiff every piece of tail that buys something in your store?"
Spike nearly choked on his drink. "I... No, not since you."
Her eyebrow arched. "Really?"
He shrugged. "Well, not if she's already bought something. And James won't let me."
Breeze giggled.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
"Wondering about my intentions?"
"Maybe. I like spending time with you..."
Spike set down the mug. Reached around her, hugged her. "I like spending time with you. Under you, above you, around and inside you."
She nodded, looked away. "I guess that's al--"
Swig. "But... I would rather it be something a little more than just your body."
"Thanks. You are better than Bruno."
She was silent again, and the noise from the rest of the joint filtered in again.
Her dress sparkled under the lighting as she moved closer, sliding up right against him. Leaned her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes.
"Tired?"
"Comfy," she corrected.
He stroked her hair and hugged her close, and they sat there for a rest of the wait till the food came.
The waiter walked towards them, two steaming plates of Italian cuisine at paw. Spike's stomach growled suddenly and made Breeze jump.
"Uh, that's my stomach... I swear..."
She giggled. "Ooh, someone's hungry." She poked him.
Spike giggled, not in the 'girly' way that Breeze would, but a giggle none-the-less. Poked back, in her ribcage, off to the side, then trailed the attacking paw down a little, approaching her hip. She smiled, demure, looked at him, smiled some more. She winked, and then as the waiter set the plates on their table she launched an attack on his upper body, paws probing each and every ticklish spot on him.
He laughed, and couldn't really fight back without hitting the table or knocking something over. Started tearing at the eyes, it was so intense. He brought his paws forward and pushed her back, crying, "No more! I can't take it!"
She relented at they focused on their plates. Inhaled; the food smelled great. Spike finished cutting his food. Good thing Spike was right-pawed: his left paw was free to roam around and he planned on making good use of the opening. He innocently placed his paw on her hip as she took the first bite of her pasta. She blinked and smiled but otherwise made no indication she'd even noticed.
Spike frowned. Not the reaction he'd planned on. This time, he brought his left leg up and crossed it over her right one. Tried to look like he was concentrating on his food; secretly watched her reactions.
Nothing.
He shrugged. If she wasn't in the mood to play games, then he wouldn't--
Her paw fell on his lap--but it was so conspicuously placed that it couldn't simply have fallen there. The dainty thing was a breath's breadth from his crotch, and it felt like it was aiming for it. He gulped and took another bite.
"So," he said, keeping his voice from squeaking. The paw, moving with a life of its own. "Tell me a little a-- AH --about yourself."
Two could play at that game. His free paw snaked its way between her back and the bench cushion, upwards towards her revealing neckline. She arched her spine but made it look like a deep breath. "What is this, a blind date?"
"Well... I actually don't know all that much about you, aside from your most recent ex., and that you don't like being called Miss." His eyes bulged out momentarily as she hooked her finger around his belt.
She licked her lips, then pulled her paws back. "Hmm... I sell local adventure trips."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Adventures? What kinds of adventures?"
"Well, for the right price, any kind of adventure."
He gawped. She looked at him, a confused look on her face, which slowly turned into a smile. Laughed.
"Just kidding. Some companies sell hiking trips, camping trips, sea-doo rentals, and things like that. We work with them."
The paw returned, tickling his tail suddenly. Twirling the fur as she absently talked.
"I like to snowboard."
Spike concentrated on her and not her attempts to one-up him. "Really? That's hot." His concentration made him think about her wearing one of those fur-tight ski suits. "Hot," he repeated, starting to sweat. Her paw landed back on his thigh.
Not about to be outdone, he took his left paw and lightly touched her arm, ran it up, made her fur stand on end.
She shivered. " OH yeah, but I'm not any good." Looked at him, smirked, confused. "How did you know?"
"Know what?" he asked, running his paw up and down her arm slightly. She shivered again, this time very visibly.
She didn't answer. Looked at him. Her smile was still there, but her eyes... her eyes were partly closed, deeper, unfocused, almost. He frowned as her muzzle moved closer. Their lips met and parted almost immediately, barely brushing together. He blinked, sure he'd done something offensive, but she had a deliciously deviant grin on her face that reassured him, and she leaned in again and this time their lips parted properly and their tongues touched, briefly at first then with more enthusiasm. She reached behind him and pressed him closer, and his paw slid behind her head and bunched through her hair while the other moved to her hip, feeling the exposed fur and flesh. He closed his eyes.
Then it was over, suddenly, and Breeze was sitting calmly in her spot, having resumed eating. Spike was left hanging in mid air, his muzzle still slightly open, his paws outstretched. He blinked, wiped the spittle from his chin, smiled.
"Alright. You win."
"Sorry?" She smiled innocently at him.
"You may well have won this time... but..."
She smirked, kissed his cheek, and offered him a bite of whatever she was eating. He slid closer, pressing their sides together. "I like you," he whispered abruptly.
She set down her fork and looked at him, tilting her head, and blinked her eyelashes and smiled, all coy-like. "Really?"
He nodded. "I'm having so much fun tonight. I like being with you, you make me smile so much." He kissed her and smiled. "Thanks."
"'Thanks'?" She stared at him in disbelief. "That's it? You're not gonna ask me out again, or ask me to touch you, here and there? 'Thanks'?"
"I don't need to ask you out again, I'm sure you want to."
Spike didn't know if he was sure of himself, or merely full of himself.
Breeze raised an eyebrow. Shook her head, tilted a little. "Not gonna work this time. Try again." She crossed her arms, pouted.
He laughed. "Of course I want to go out with you again. But... would you want to..."
"Be your girlfriend?"
"Please say you will, I don't think anyone I've ever gone out with has been this fun and yet so... so real at the same time." He gently pulled her onto his lap, and they were back at the beach, watching the waves trickle around their hips. He hugged at her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.
Then sudden laughter, some cheering, and a clash of plates from the kitchen. The restaurant came back into focus. She smiled, pressing her cheek to his. "Only if you'll call yourself my boyfriend."
He smiled, kissed her on the cheek. Had an idea. "Hey... you wouldn't wanna go back to the beach, would you?"
She nodded, smiled. "I think I'm done eating for the night."
Outside of ordinary conversation, outside of normal contexts, Spike had never actually heard the words, 'Waves crash,' uttered. Not once. But nearly everywhere he went, near the beach, where other surfers went--restrooms, his store, even--he found those two words scrawled or scratched or penned. Everywhere around here. Spike hadn't noticed at first, but subliminally that phrase had inserted itself into his head, so that nowadays he noticed it immediately. He found himself writing those two sacred words every now and then without realizing it.
Spike had a few ideas about what it could mean, even if it had been so used and reused that it didn't mean anything anymore. Even old public statues, covered in weeds, had the scrawl somewhere. It was at least ten years old, maybe more.
Waves crash. Of course they do. What else could waves do but die out? Spike simply had to make sure he exploited every one and rode it till it did. But what did their crashing have to do with anything?
It was a short walk, and then they were on the sand again. They left their shoes by the fence. Spike set his shades there, too, then started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Hey, you bring me here just to get naked?"
He chuckled. "No, not nekkid... it's just so warm... and this feels so good. The feeling of the breeze in my fur, the party atmosphere... it's so... intoxicating."
The sun was only just setting, a salty breeze wafted through the air, whispering across his fur. Furs had lit bonfires; for more than a mile, little orange glows lit up the sand and the shadowy figures dancing around them, with felines, canines, lupines, lapines, and vulpines, all dancing around and partying, drinking, swimming, and living it up. Spike stretched his arms out, trying to hold it all at once. Closed his eyes and spun for a second. Then opened his eyes, smiling at her, this time the one with a deviant look spreading slowly across his face. She followed him towards the waves; soon water trickled between their toes.
Soon they were running together, Breeze's dress flapping in the wind behind her, running amongst the fur in their swimming suits. Clad in only her dress and his slacks they chased each other for a while. They laughed; they smiled and ran until the sun had nearly set. Panting and wheezing they fell to the ground. The stars were out; not even the light from the city was able to keep them away.
There was a guitar, somewhere near, and someone was plucking the strings in a mixture of rock and blues. Laughter, singing, yelling, even the air was excited. Spike and Breeze lay side by side, and outstretched their paws met. Spike turned to look at her, she was doing the same. That deviant grin returned and she pounced, landing on top of him and rolling. She giggled. He smiled and watched her as they rolled a few times, with her on top again, propped up on her arms and legs.
Water lapped at their paws. Tickled.
"Breeze?"
"Mmm?"
"Aren't you getting your new dress all dirty?"
"Who says it was new?"
"Well, it looked so expensive and new, I didn't make you go and ruin it, did I?"
She kissed his forehead. "Don't worry. I'm a big girl. Take care of myself."
He looked up at her, her face and muzzle framed from the light from the beachfront. She kissed him. "You think you're all big and tough, but look who's on top now, huh?" Smirked, and fake-punched his shoulder.
"Ow, you're right, I'm weak." He mimed wincing in pain, but grinned.
Her body, hanging scant inches above his. Her scent, fragranced with sweet perfume. Her eyes, deep, blue, and shiny, and full of reflection. She spread her knees and lowered herself onto him, pressing their hips together. The slit up her hip, letting her leg out.
She had gorgeous legs, and a curving figure that fit his like a cast as she lay down on top of him, her head level with his chest. She was breathing hard, panting almost, as she tilted her head and felt his heart beat. Breeze pulled herself up, sliding her body across his. Her dress sparkled in the firelight like the stars above.
He felt in awe; he felt as if Nature and Miss Breeze had conspired to create this awe-inspiring vision, this breathtaking view, as if to cry out, "Take that!" To boast. He wasn't about to argue, either--let them show off, he figured. She looked at him and he looked deep into her eyes and they kissed.
He was smiling a lot today. He smirked again, then wrapped his arms around her and rolled them around again. "Look who's on top now!" He laughed for a second then kissed her, tilting his muzzle and touching her tongue.
Their lips parted.
"Oh, no, please don't hurt me, big bad Spike! I'll do anything," she whispered, coquette, "anything you want. But don't hurt me."
"I don't know... you've been a bad girl." He nibbled on her chin, her neck. Licked his lips, her cheek. "Bad girls have to be punished."
"No! Please! Anything but that..."
Spike flashed his teeth and propped himself up on nearly all fours, trailing a paw down her front, sliding across the smooth, sparkly dress fabric. She shuddered as his paw lifted off her stomach, and slid back to her arm. He stroked the fur there, the flesh; she closed her eyes and grinned a great big grin, breath coming in stutters. He leaned in, closing his eyes and opening his lips.
BAM!
Spike was torn off her body. He coughed and looked over, where he found a lanky, teenaged fox with a bunch of bottles in his paws balancing in mid air.
"Oh, hell, I'm sorry, man. Didn't even see you there."
Spike nodded and took a deep breath. Didn't really hurt that much.
"Here, take these. Sorry!" The guy handed Spike two beers. Spike made a great show of being able to deal with the imaginary pain, smirked as the guy walked off, hopping on one leg. He turned, looked at Breeze, who was biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard.
"Yeah, that's right, laugh now because you won't be laughing later," he winked, rolling a bottle her way as he crawled up on top of her again. He bent over, touching his muzzle to her arm and licking her flesh, making her shiver and smile. His body pressed against hers, not painfully so, and their flesh molded, only his slacks and her dress separating their good bits. She squirmed underneath him, pressing a knee between his. Humped his leg, he humped hers. He took a swig of his beer and smiled, kissing her again.
She wrapped her arm around the back of his head, pulling him down and kissing him, hard, forcing her tongue in his mouth, giggling at the same time, an odd sensation indeed.
"I told you how excited I'm feeling, right?"
She smirked. "No, but I figured it out." Kissed him.
BAM!
Spike was torn off her again. He snarled and looked at the lanky fox.
"Okay, buddy, once was funny, but..." he paused. This was most definitely not the lanky fox. Rather, the big, ugly brute, but no grin this time.
"Bruno!" Breeze cried out. "Fuck off! I told you to leave me alone!"
The canine ignored her, instead grabbing Spike by the ears. The pain was sudden, foreign, painful. Snarling, Spike swung his bottle-bearing paw and hit Bruno in the skull. Bruno staggered and let go, and Spike pushed himself into a standing position, wielding the bottle like a dagger. A crowd was gathering.
"Bruno, fuck off!" Breeze cried again. "What are you even doing here? What about what's-her-name?"
Bruno grunted and swung, his outreached fist punching Spike in the ribs. Spike lost his balance, stumbled. Then there was a whoosh and Spike saw stars. He reeled over, landing on his side with a knife-stabbing shot of pain up his side. Heard her call his name, muffled and distant somehow. Closed his eyes, waited for the next blow. Outweighed by fifty pounds of muscle, there was no way he could win.
The blow never came. He rolled over, panting, to see half a dozen or so wolves and foxes shoving the beast back, punching and holding him. Someone had bashed him with the flat of his surf board--it was cracked down the middle. The owner didn't care. There was a lot of yelling, grunting, and snarling. Spike snarled, stood up, but there was a force tugging on his arm.
He looked back, surprised.
Breeze looked close to the point of crying. "No! Please, don't, I don't want another violent boyfriend."
Nodded, sighed. Bruno was already being chased off. He thanked the guys who'd come to his rescue--or, at least, he tried, but most had already left already. To them it was just another time to show off, have fun, get a little physical. They were all laughing again, as if nothing had happened. Despite the pain in his side and the slight dizziness, he had to smile. He looked back at her.
"Are you alright?"
He gathered that she wasn't, but wasn't about to say so. She was taking calming breaths, but managed a smile as well.
"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Thank you, for... for not..."
He walked up to her and hugged her close. She was shivering, but managed a grin. He kissed her, a slight peck only, and she hugged back and rested her chin on his shoulder.
She sighed. "I'm tired."
He nodded, slowly separating from her. He watched her deep, blue, sparkly eyes for a second before, "Yeah. You want a ride home?"
"Actually, I was hoping I could spend the night at your place."
He smirked. "Ooh, someone's subtle, huh?"
She blushed. "Sheesh, I'm sorry, never mind I said--"
He touched a finger to her muzzle. "C'mon. Let's grab our things; there should be a cab somewhere nearby."
She frowned, confused.
"Well, I can't well drive, now, can I?" He twirled the bottle in his paw.
She smiled, since he was cute. And thoughtful. And maybe a few other reasons as well.
The cab ride was short, and warm. They spent most of it with her leaning against him, her eyes closed and an arm around her waist. Even though the sun had long since set, there was still some warmth in the air, and the smell of salt and sand was intoxicating. A scent of strawberries, too--her shampoo, he figured.
He was reminded of Logan, just then--Logan's favorite shampoo was always strawberry-scented. He thought of that fateful day, years ago, leading forward to his fourth date with her. She'd hinted--oh, she liked to hint, and tease, and got a sick pleasure out of it--she'd hinted that that night would the night. You know--the night. Of course, she didn't say so in as many words...
He was nervous. Sweating bullets, just like his first date. Sure, they'd kissed; they'd petted and fooled around... but had never gone all the way. Spike was still a virgin at that time, though he'd never have admitted it.
And Spike was still called Pierce back then, too.
Irregardless, he was nervous throughout the whole dinner. He could barely taste his food, could barely smell her hair. She'd played footsie with him, and shared some of her meal. He'd played along, acting suave, urbane. Told his share of jokes, stories, but on the inside, he was terrified.
She'd been in control that night. She chose the movie, got their munchies, found their seats. Even commented on his daze-like state, though he denied it. She had him pegged, however--he wasn't really there. The thought of finally going all the way, taking her cherry, her virginity, her maidenhood, becoming a male--words, colloquialisms that now made him cringe--the thoughts made him restless, as it does for everyone before his first time.
He fidgeted like there were little ants crawling along his fur, across his flesh. Sweaty, paranoid, almost. Damned-near ruined the night, too. Well, did, really. In his freaked-out-ness he'd forgotten all about why he was even freaked out.
They had slept in different beds in different houses that night, and were 'just friends' ever since... The perfect opportunity, wasted. Sure, he'd lost his virginity later, but it just wasn't the same. The moment he'd realized what he'd done, he vowed never to miss another opportunity like that again, to hell with the consequences.
He considered every bunny who looked his way. Sold every piece of thongage he could.
Rode every wave he saw.
They got out. Breeze instantly shivered and pressed close against Spike's chest for warmth. Spike pulled out some cash, paid the cabbie. Thanked him, but the guy was already tearing off. Spike shrugged. His apartment building towered over them, blocking the stars.
It was warmer inside the little lobby, but she stayed plastered to him. Tired, maybe, Spike didn't get a good enough look of her eyes to tell. Didn't ask. He pressed the button, called the elevator. The wait was unbearable, he realized. She fidgeted, playing with her dress, her hair. She wouldn't look at him right, for some reason. No doubt replaying the night's events over again.
She was silent, too. He leaned against the wall beside the elevator waiting for the little chime. Crossed his arms behind his head, sighed. She came up, leaned against him again. She had a thing for his chest, he figured, which wasn't really a bad thing.
They stepped into the elevator. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep, stuttered. She pressed up against him again, reaching up on her tippy toes, reaching up behind his head and pulling his muzzle to hers. They kissed; their lips parted and she pressed her cheek to his. He could hear her heart beating, feel her breathing. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her closer, holding her up.
They didn't say anything as they rode to his floor. She pressed her hips against his, rested her head against his. Her dress sparkled in the mirrors. The lift chimed again. The door opened.
She looked at him, sorrow on her face, almost, as she let go. Walked down the hall, holding each other's paw. She was leading him, tugging on his paw, though she knew not which room was him. He pulled back to a halt as she approached his apartment. He felt a stinging sensation in his ribs, maybe he'd gone and cracked it. Wouldn't surprise him. A soft click as he unlocked the door.
He fumbled for the light switch, not taking his eyes off hers. She was pulling him again, pulling him towards the balcony. Thorne was not home yet. He frowned. The abstract fear of them falling off flitted through his head. She let go halfway there, opening the door, stepping out onto the cool floor.
"Spike... I..." She looked away as he stepped out to reach her. He grabbed her paw, held it tight, reassuringly. "I wanted to thank you."
He frowned. "You're welcome, I'm sure, but what for?"
"I... I just... It's been so hard for me lately. I haven't had someone close to me since him," she spat that last word, "and then you come and you act so caring, so comforting. I even ask to spend the night with you, and you don't grope me, feel me up, try to fuck me right then and there. You just... You're just you."
"I try," he whispered. She grinned.
"I can't say I love you, because that's crazy! I can't love you after one date!" Shocked. Confused at the same time. "But when I'm with you, hugging you or resting on you, I feel so safe, in such capable hands. Thank you."
She looked away, taking deep breaths. Leaned against the railing.
He smiled, walked up beside her. Leaned as well. Unbuttoned his shirt, let it flap in the breeze. "You know, I was so nervous tonight."
She looked at him. Her face, stoic.
He thought for a second. "I was sweating bullets. The thought that I would screw this up, that I would go and act like a guy, get in a... a fight," he winced, "I dunno. I guess there wasn't anything to worry about. Now I'm worried that you aren't okay, that I haven't done my job of protecting you, making you safe and secure and sure of yourself."
They looked out over the city. She wrapped her arm around his, slid up against him.
"So," he continued. "Um... If you wanna sleep together, that's fine. If you want the bed to yourself, that's fine. There's a couch, I can take it. Whatever you want... if I can manage it, just ask."
She shook her head, holding tight with her arm. She held tight. "I want you to stay by my side."
"What if I have to pee?"
She laughed suddenly. He grinned, and kissed her on the cheek, then nuzzled her, feeling her soft fur against his cheek.
"Would you still wanna spend the night with me if I had groped you?"
She giggled. "Only if I got to grope back." She turned around so she was facing him, the back of her dress sparkling for the world to see.
Spike looked down into her deep, blue, reflective eyes. Smiled, pressed himself against her, felt her body mold with his. She kissed him, rubbing her paws up and down her back. His paws wandered too, sliding over her shoulders, down her back, feeling her rump. She murred in his mouth, pulling him closer.
They broke the kiss, each taking in deep breaths. He pressed a paw to her chest; her heart was beating as fast as his. Maybe more. She grabbed his paw and placed it on her shoulder, pulling the strap off. It glided down her silky fur. The other soon followed. Her fur was sweaty, ruffled. He moaned quietly and pressed her body against his again. His tongue pressed against her muzzle; his tongue tasted hers.
The dress bunched down around her slender waist. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples poking his flesh. She shivered, slightly, and pulled back. His eyes flitted across her body momentarily, taking in her figure, before settling back on her face.
"Let's go inside," he suggested. She nodded, meek.
Spike pulled the sliding door shut behind them as they walked, body on body, into Spike's room. She pressed him back, letting him fall back first on his bed. He watched as she bent over and slid the rest of her dress off, kicking it across the floor. She smiled, then leaned forward and pressed on top of him, her hips on his slacks, her breasts on his chest, her muzzle on his. Their paws wandered over each other, his paws eventually finding the base of her tail and playing with it, and hers raking through his russet hair. Her ears drooped on either side of his head.
Their tongues tasted the alcohol in each other's mouth, though hers also had a candy taste to it. He moaned as her paws found their way between them and played with his fly, sliding it down. His shaft was a hard bulge in his pants now, straining against the fabric. Her paw slid down his front, and he took a sharp breath as her dainty fingers grabbed around his stiffening flesh.
As if on its own, his fly popped open and his slacks slid down to the floor, along with his boxers.
She moved her muzzle from his, licking his cheek, his chin, his neck. He groaned, sighed contently as she moved down his front. Her breasts caught around his cock, and with a deviant smile she pressed them together and started sliding up and down his front, stroking off his cock. He moaned, feeling little spurts of precum shoot out of the tip. She bent her head down and licked the tip, her rough tongue sending shots of pleasure swimming through his nerves.
He gasped and grabbed at the sheets, his hips bucking upwards, thrusting through the cavity between her breasts. Her breasts wrapped around the front of his member, pulling the skin up and down as she slid along his hips. He jerked again, thrusted towards her mouth and shot a shot of pre again. She skillfully caught it in her waiting muzzle. Her tongue lolled out and licked the tip, the length as it popped in and out of her mouth.
His furry balls twitched. He cried out, his eyes rolling in his head. He kept thrusting, forcing his cock in and out faster, further, spreading his tasty pre all over her chest. The tip of his cock was about to explode, he knew it.
"Oh, GODS ," he cried, "I'm gonna COME!"
She murred and slid her slippery breasts along his member, until the head of his cock was fully in her mouth. He erupted, shooting a thick wad of steamy spooge against the back of her muzzle, down her throat. She gaggle a little, letting the cock pop out of her sucking muzzle. He gasped, the cool air hitting his cock and making him come again. Her neck and chin, covered in hot cum. She stopped gagging and swallowed properly, bringing a paw to rub the hot goo all over her top. Licked her lips and took his tool into her muzzle.
She wrapped a paw, sticky with his jizz, around the base of his cock, while the other started caressing his furry balls. Spike groaned and thrusted, forced his member against the back of her neck. Her fangs rubbed against the flesh as she pulled back and twisted her muzzle along his flesh. Her lips were tight, just like last time.
Just thinking about their earlier encounter was almost enough to make him orgasm again. He released his death grip on the sheets and grabbed her head, forcing her up and down his meat. She murred happily as he rammed her muzzle. Her tongue raked up and down his length. She gagged and swallowed a little each time the tip hit the back of her throat, and squeezed his balls, twisting them and spreading more come all over them.
He cried out, and came, firing a thick, ropey shot of jism down her throat, and more dribbled out.
She quickly pulled him out, moaning, "My face!" She pumped him hard, and he cried out, and white cream splashed over her face, covered her in an erotic facial. She left go of his cock and licked the cream off her cheeks, swallowing in big gulps. Tasty pre dripped out of his cock. Murring happily she stood and pulled him up.
He looked at her, smiling and dizzy but confused all the same. She winked. "I want you behind me," she cooed, and though it was particularly nasty and adult and slutty, the way she said it--coy, demure, and innocent-like, her eyelashes flashing--made him groan and throw her on the bed, face first. Her tail lifted right away and he pressed a finger into her, sliding deep into her cunt. She cried out, her sweet-smelling juices leaking out around his digit.
"Ooh, yeah, like that, deeper, ohhh ," she moaned. His paw massaged her lips, her clit as the other pistoned in and out of her hole. "More!" she cried, on all fours, and started slamming her hips around his paw, her breasts heaving back and forth with her body. He smirked, breathing a cool jet along her slit, making her yelp in pleasure. Her smell, so enticing. He leaned down and pressed his tongue against her lips, licking her juices.
He rubbed his flesh against hers, digging it inside, along the inner walls, making her shudder. Her arms gave out and she fell face first onto the bed. He sucked on her clit for a second, eliciting quiet purrs and loud moans from the erotically cute bunny. He reached and spread her lips apart, digging his tongue in as far as he could. Her hips pushed back again, forcing his tongue deeper.
He smirked and pulled his muzzle away. She cried out, desperately pushing backwards to force something inside her. He grabbed his tool with one paw and waited till she looked back. She watched as he slammed himself inside her, immediately shooting a thick wad of his bunny juice deep inside her.
She kept forcing her cunt onto his meat, forcing his cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. He could feel her insides stretching to fit his tool. Their juices squirted out with his pumping, coating his crotch. He took his paws, grabbing her ass with one and her tail with the other, pulling her tighter and closer. His balls slapped her clit, making her moan, louder and louder.
"Fuck! Deeper! AHH, GODS, FUCK ME!" she cried out. " OH, I, AHH! FUUUCKKKK!" She panted and gasped and squealed each time his cock pressed against her belly. He grunted, the slur of sluttiness making him jizz again and again. She arched her back, looking straight up as her cunny shivered and convulsed around his cock and came, her juices spraying over his meat.
Spike felt his cock tense up. His balls squeezed, shooting a hot gush of bunny seed--just as her knees gave way, and his cock pulled free--all over her ass and tail. She moaned, feeling the warm, stickiness all over her rump. He started pawing off, shooting another creamy load over her back. He cried out, dizzy with pleasure. She wasn't satisfied, yet, though--she rolled over, and reached forward, pulling his hips towards hers. With a gasp he thrust into her, his steady stream of precum laced with spooge filling her cunny with each thrust and spilling onto her crotch and stomach each time he pulled back.
He grabbed her knees and pulled them towards his sides, pulling her crotch against his, pounding deeper and deeper. She groaned and moaned, her eyes spinning as he fucked her harder than she thought possible. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks from the sheer intensity. She watched, mesmerized, as he rammed into her, a determined snarl on his muzzle. She thrusted upwards, meeting him in the middle, crying out as she came again--she hadn't really stopped.
He pulled out and sprayed her front with more of his hot lapine seed, gasping. Then he grunted and collapsed on top of her. He panted, his mouth on her stomach, "Just... gimme... a few moments..."
She was panting too. "Yeah... just roll around... I'll get you going!" She helped him roll his cock over her muzzle, and she attacked the half-limp meat with an eagerness matched only by his tongue penetrating her sex. Their juices smeared in the middle, all over her stomach and breasts and chest and sides. The room stunk of sex.
Breeze was the first to cry out, three times in about as many seconds, as he fingered and licked her to and through several shattering orgasms. Her body shook, convulsed. His cock hardened again, his balls filling with more hot, gooey jism. She keened around her mouthful, licking and sucking while she stroked his balls. He moaned, and a little shot of pre surged out all over her face. She tasted the juicy fluid and came all at once, flooding his mouth with her come. The taste set him over the edge, he yelled and his cock exploded a gush of warm spooge, the thick white goo filling her mouth faster than she could suck. Little shots of come spurted out her muzzle, landing on her face. She cried out, delirious with pleasure, ecstasy, and came again, her cunny convulsing around his tongue, squeezing out a flow of his spooge.
Their bodies, slick with sweat, slid against each other. Their juices spread over their fronts, trickled down their sides. Breeze stopped sucking, let his cock pop out. The stream of pre and jizz poured all over her face. He licked her, deeper, faster, swiping back and forth along her inner walls, flicking her clit. As he cheeks were coated in his cream and her cunny convulsed, she cried out, again, and again, her body shaking in pleasure.
They lay there, panting, for a few seconds, before Spike slid himself around again, looking her in the eyes. His cock rubbed against her thighs, smearing a trail of goo along her hips. He kissed her, taking deep, stuttered breaths. There were tears running down her face as her eyes rolled back to normal. Her tits, covered in his jizz. Her muzzle and cheeks and face, also covered. It was extremely erotic. He licked her cheeks, tasting his juices. Rolled his tongue over her tits, making her keen.
His muzzle met hers and they swapped juices. They swallowed, and lay there for a few more minutes, panting. "Gods," he whispered. "We made quite the mess, didn't we?"
"It's... mostly... yours..." she breathed, kissing him again.
"You want a shower?"
She nodded, letting him roll off. They would need clean sheets on his bed. Copious amounts of his jizz had stained the better half of it.
She added, "Only if you'll join me," with a wink.
He gaped. "Fuck, what's gotten into you today?"
She shrugged, and he couldn't find anything wrong with that.
The meaning hit him, suddenly, as they hobbled into the bathroom.
The hot water poured out of the shower head, making them sigh as they slid together into the stall. Steam started filling the room. Cum dribbled down her thighs, legs. Here was this greedy spooge-aholic, practically pulling at his cock. Sure, he wanted the romance, he figured, as she pressed herself against him, his cock pulsing on her crotch. But if she was willing to present an opportunity as insatiable as herself, who was he to deny her?
She was more than just another wave to ride, after all. She was special to him, for sure. And if he hadn't taken advantage of event after event, possibility after possibility that night, this would never have happened. Likely, if Bruno hadn't assaulted him, if he hadn't suggested the beach after dinner, if there had been no dinner... likely their relationship would be little more than a one night stand. She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his back, squeezing her breasts to him.
Opportunities pass. Life fades. Waves crash. The only thing to do was ride them, as hard and as fast as possible, to hell with the consequences.
Her sweet voice brought him out of his state of epiphany. "Every drop goes on me," she ordered, and he wasn't about to argue. With a snarl he slammed into her, his hardening cock rubbing her inner walls raw. She cooed, sliding down on his meat.
She was shorter than him; her feet hung scant inches off the floor as he lifted her up, pressing her tits against his. His spooge dripped over the sopping face in front of him as they kissed again, breaking only to gasp or breath. He used her weight to slam her down further. His cream shlurped out of her cunny with each thrust, splattering on the shower floor.
His groaning grew louder, more intense. She pushed away from him and his cock popped out, spraying her front with a wall of cream, from her tits to her inner thighs. She keened, pressing him into her again, as they kept fucking. Her hips pressed harder and harder onto his, deeper and deeper, stretching her insides to fit him. She was so tight, and so sopping wet... His mind went blank as he cried out, coming again all over her tits and muzzle, Breeze having mysteriously popped off again. He slumped against the shower wall, muscles burning.
He shook his head. "Sorry... so... can't fuck... tired..." he closed his eyes, and slid down the wall, considering this wave fully ridden.
So, yeah! Yay for spooge! Remember to vote! --Hammerstroke