Redefining Status
#2 of Second Circle
It was a damp, gray-skied night outside the midnight black door of number nine Shaftesbury Court, the establishment otherwise known as "The Second Circle" by its members. The winds of summer had brought, as they often did, the gossamer grumble of thunder from the low hanging ceiling a mere thousand feet above the structures lining the busy New Oxford Road and its many tributaries. A whiskered figure, an otter, briskly strode down Shaftesbury Avenue, carrying his umbrella close to his head, though the light spattering of rain was hardly enough to warrant the use of such a device. Upon reaching the towering black door with an embossed, golden '9' across its surface ear-tip height (at least for those with taller ears than this otter), the mustelid jumped in surprise. Hollingsworth, the ever-cool and collected dhole designated the butler of number nine Shaftesbury Court, was already propping the door open for him.
"Mr. Smythe," the crimson-emblazened gentleman dressed in a fine provision of royal blue began, swinging the door wide open to allow the bustling otter shaking his umbrella clean of only a scant few drops of water, "Mr. Elliston had requested that I be on the lookout for you this evening. I do believe he thinks you are afraid of rain." The dhole shut the door behind Mr. Smythe and took the otter's coat from his shoulder, hanging the tweed jacket across gold-lined hooks near the entrance.
"No Smythe ever died on account of the weather," came the portly otter's reply. His facial fur was so long and bushy that it gave the impression that the mustelid wore a moustache of sorts. "Rather, it is Mr. Elliston's family tree who seems to suffer wind and rain. I'd say the lad has something of a morbid sense of humour." Straightening his tie beneath the folded cusp of his breast jacket, Mr. Smythe gave a curt nod to Hollingsworth, who returned it to him.
"Enjoy your evening, sir," the dhole remarked, folding his hands over his waist and turning away from the door, his back to it, as if he were standing guard at the queen's castle.
The inner foyer of the Second Circle was brightly lit, even in the evening hours. While electric lighting was something many could not afford, as it was very new, the esteemed members of the Second Circle would spare no expense in surrounding themselves with luxury. Dark burgundy, treated leather lounging chairs dotted the room, and near the fireplace, which was currently unlit to the temperate climate outdoors this time of year, sat a red fox, the collar of his stiffly starched white shirt pressed form-fit to his lithe body. Noticing Mr. Smythe, the fox's narrow, long muzzle broke out in a mischievous smile.
"Oh, come off it," came the reply from Mr. Smythe to the vulpine. "Really, Elliston. Trying to fill good old Hollingsworth with false notions about members. Lucky it's you, my boy, or I'd have a few words to exchange. And, your shirt. Really, now, I don't think you need to wear such showy pieces of accoutrements to land a lucky gentlemen. Half the men in here would most likely give a fortune to spend an evening with you."
"Perhaps that's why I can afford to buy you drinks," came the smart reply from Elliston, even though drinks at the Second Circle were a part of membership, and nearly every member seemed to enjoy partaking in them. Martinis were especially popular, as were other "gentlemanly" drinks such as gin and rye. "Two martinis, if you would please, Chambers."
Chambers, tender to the bar, nodded his head. He, too, had the features of a dhole, just as the butler, Hollingsworth. Mr. Smythe quickly held up a webbed paw to Chambers and shook his head. "Oh, tonight, I was in the mood for something a bit more warm. Perhaps a whisky." Twitching his whiskers thoughtfully, Mr. Smythe sat down across from Mr. Elliston, whose eyebrows were raised.
"Whiskey?" he guffawed, as if personally attacked by the otter's choice of drink. Finding no respite in Mr. Smythe's serious expression, he simply shrugged his shoulders. Chambers nodded his head and set to work.
"I see you two gentlemen are already loosening up. On your way to getting pissed?" The voice spoke with a deep, gravelly baritone. Heavy steps in polished black shoes carried a grizzled, middle-aged striped badger from behind the chairs the fox and otter had chosen.
"Ah! Mr. Rutledge! A wonderful pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Smythe, jumping to his feet and clasping the broad man's wide hand, giving it numerous vigorous shakes. "How was your trip to Tobago?"
A grunt was issued from the badger's throat, as he adjusted his hands, switching which one was holding onto the cherry wood cane that he carried at his side. The cane was rudimentary as far as necessity went, but the badger could never be seen without it. "Oh, tiring. My legs, and certainly my stomach, are not made for seafaring. I think I was able to re-examine what I had eaten for sup every day during the trip." The badger's comment had set the otter to a belly laugh. "Oh, and good evening to you as well, Mr. Elliston."
The fox nodded amiably to the badger, as Chambers delivered Mr. Smythe's and his drink upon a polished, silver tray with ornate handles weaved in the shapes of canine tails.
"Reminds me of my time getting to Australia. What an awful awful journey that was, though I certainly did enjoy my time in the outback, once our cargo had been unloaded," Mr. Smythe recalled, reaching his free paw up to twirl a whisker that had been shortened by a near-miss with a Tasmanian devil's knife.
The badger smiled, which was something that didn't appear quite... right, upon his grizzled face. "Ah. There are no new members to induct tonight. Perhaps you'll regale us with the tail of your trip there. Not all of us have heard it, I believe, including the good Mr. Elliston here."
The fox nodded. Indeed, he hadn't heard the story, and he had always been greatly entertained by the otter's tales. While sometimes far fetched, and downright unbelievable, the portly otter gentleman would surprise him and the other gentlemen of the club time and time again. Many would never guess the otter to be quite the Cassanova. Mr. Elliston himself had difficulty picturing Mr. Smythe in some of the scandalizing positions he described in his personal stories, but the monologues had nonetheless given the fox more than enough to think about lying in his own, or some other lucky gentleman's bed, at night. Cursory looks to his fellow club members post-Smythe had also given the fox occasion to determine the size and shape of many of the other members' arousals. That had been a particularly enjoyable evening.
Mr. Rutledge joined the otter and fox and the three enjoyed conversation for a good ten minutes before other members of the club began to filter in the front hallway, each looking slightly more damp than the next. Apparently the rain outside had begun to intensify, though it sounded little more than a steady rain through the brick walls of number nine Shaftesbury Court. Once they were all seated, the current toastmaster, a thin, wasp-waisted hare by the name of Stokely, stood up to give the evening's toast. Mr. Rutledge was insistant upon Mr. Smythe narrating one of his tales the current evening, particularly his Australian trip. Mr. Stokely was hard-pressed to decline the offer, as many an ear and tail perked at the mention of such a thing. It wasn't to say that Mr. Smythe was the most popular member of the Second Circle, but his stories were a strong candidate for most enjoyed. It took merely a few moments of hearty applause to gather the otter to his feet.
"You flatter me with your praise, gentlemen," began the otter, slipping the buttons free along the breast of his jacket, opening it to the silver-lined vest he wore underneath. It was apparent to the eye that Mr. Smythe obviously enjoyed a good meal, though he didn't stray into the realm of obesity. "Apologies to those of you who have already heard me tell this story." The otter paused a moment, and the corners of his lips turned upward. "Or not, since I see that most of you here tonight have already, and still wanted a repeat. Well, I shant bore you gentlemen with a long introduction that I usually give to this story, about how I came to acquire the queen of England's bidding to see a batch of criminals exiled to Australia thusly. I believe the part most of you gentlemen are most interested in is how I came to know Abasi and Erasto, the kangaroo twins of the Anjabi outback tribe, aborigines, I believe they're called. Two very, very fine young gentlemen, as I recall them. Strangely soft, given the lifestyle they lead. I wouldn't want to get off topic, though, so I'll continue on.
"Now then, it was the summer of 1884, a most pleasant summer, even standing on the aft of the Oakshire, on the open sea. It had been a long trip, two years duration, although the many stops along the way we made for the glory of her majesty. Loading up on spices in the Orient, mainly salt, I had the fine pleasure of enjoying many a meal rich in substances I didn't know existed. Turmeric, saffron, white pepper... things that are so expensive that I had no business putting them anywhere NEAR my muzzle, such as the two boys I mentioned earlier," Smythe remarked, eliciting good-natured laughter from his cohorts inside the cozy, intimate room.
"Upon arriving upon the northern coast of the big island, the cargo entrusted to me by the queen was led off the boat, encased in chains. I used to think Australia was a dreadful place to send men, regardless of their crimes. The previous time I had been there, I had only been at the coastlands for a brief amount of time, and the rest inland. The place is barren. Only the settlement of Perth had any charm to it at all. The brushlands, called the outback by the unlucky Brits having been thrust there, was where the worst of the lot was to be taken, to fend for themselves. I was to accompany them, with three companions, all equipped with the most lethal rifles her majesty could find. Dangerous men, these were. One, in fact, a surly, unkempt ferret, kept spitting at myself and the other guards. It was most unfortunate, but he was quieted with a ball to the back. Seems the guardsmen had very little patience for those who didn't stay in line.
"It was a good three day hike before we reached our destination. I suppose the guardsmen thought it sufficient, as I have to agree that it is difficult to retrack a three day trek from Perth with a blindfold over your eyes. We removed the criminals of their eye dressings, and bound their wrists together. We left them for dead. I know, it is harsh, gentlemen, but that is the payment for disobeying the law. We had rifles trained on them until they were out of sight, low across the horizon, and we followed our way back to Perth, except we encountered men along the way, men that we had not previously passed along the brush.
"Dressed in naught but skins of what I surmise to be goats, these two wraith-like kangaroo dodgers started excitedly muttering at us in some unknown language, that sounded much like gibberish, or what Mr. Crellinsby sounds like after a scotch or three. The two were carrying long shoots of bamboo, I believe it's called, with belts of feathers tied around their waists, to which each laid a silver-tipped dart, a very primitive weapon indeed. While we couldn't understand them, the two kangaroo fellows, which I would later come to find out being named Djibari and Nmatu, were very interested in our clothing, and our rifles. You can imagine that the fine chaps I was with weren't exactly thrilled to have dark-furred natives curiously poking at their guns. I dare say they would've taken off running if it weren't for my previous experiences with native cultures. After several minutes of animated discussion (at least between Djibari and Nmatu), and bewildered expressions from her majesty's fine guardsmen, I bid the queen's men a fond goodbye after I was fitted with a compass and directions back to Perth. Not being one to miss out on a great adventure, I could hardly pass up the opportunity to follow the kangaroos around, possibly to their home, which is where I believed their excited chattering and pointing to mean.
"It took half a day's walk to reach the aboriginee camp. It was simple, as you might expect, with leathered skins dried in the sun strung over long poles of stiff wood, though they were hardly conical in shape. No, the architecture these savages employed was something of a marvel. They used square sorts of construction, as we do here in jolly ol' England. My two guides, as I affectionately call them now, lead me near the center of their village, where several women were busy sewing skins of leather together, presumably for either clothing or to be used as roofing on their houses. I was then approached by a man similar my stature and height. Now, considering my penchant for food," Smythe remarked, patting the small swell of a belly he prided himself on, "this man was obviously just as well fed, which certainly meant that he was fairly important.
"The broad savage approached me silently, and I dared not move with the expression on his face. At first, it was very questioning, his eyes roaming like wildfire across my body. He stood to the side, to the front, and then behind me, but with each movement, I followed what I could of him with my eyes, and not turning. Finally, he strode around in front of me, this large kangaroo, and clapped his paws together in front of himself. He was soon joined by a number of feral looking kangaroo men, each dark in fur and slim in stature, standing in a straight row on either side of him. The men seemed to be arranged in order of rank, determined by the number of chipped, yellowed teeth they had strung across a necklace each of them wore, and scant else. Only some of the men, and even the women, wore clothing. I surmise it wasn't due to any sort of rank, as I believed the necklaces to be, but more of what was available to the aboriginees, which didn't appear to be much. Nevertheless, the lot seemed to be an amiable bunch, despite their appearances.
"More excited chattering took place between the tribesmen, mostly between their leader and the two men at the head of each line. A drum sounded a few feet away, and then the men broke out into smiles as if it were a passing theme between them. A great cheer was let out by nearly everyone gathered. I had to admit, I was quite flabbergasted! I wasn't quite sure what had just gone on, given that I couldn't understand a lick of speech from anyone. That being, though, it was obviously fair minded, given the cheer and the smiles that followed. Scores of half naked and completely bare kangaroo men and women all surrounded me, nearly all at once, giving me hearty shakes, pats across the shoulders, belly, that sort of thing. Night soon fell, but the delightful company never left me with a moment's quiet.
"I have a hard time believing that I was the reason for a celebration, but what a grand one was had that evening! Most, if not all, of the aboriginees had made their way into the central part of their village, gathered around a large fire that grew so tall it would've licked the leaves from oak trees had there been any in this barren wasteland. Music was played from a strange instrument, that looked of a long, narrow pole of darkly stained wood. The melodies it played could hardly be described as such, since I could not say that they were notes, but more of percussive-like sounds, but without the use of mallets. Dancing also took place that evening, a most interesting spectacle to behold.
"Naturally, being large of foot, kangaroo aboriginees engaging in tribal dance looks as though it is a coordinated game of hopscotch. Chanting in their peculiar language, shifting their weight from one leg to the other, the men and women jostled their pouches and chests with hardly a sense of modesty. In fact, as the evening went along, I noticed that more and more of the aboriginees were becoming more scantily clad. I too, was pressured into such, as a crowd of both women and man began to untie the laces of my petticoat for me. I considered protesting, for a brief moment, before my legs, too, were suddenly snatched upwards by the two strapping young kangaroo twins I mentioned earlier, Djibari and Nmatu, and gone were my pants, in a flash. It surprised me how deft the natives were at removing English clothing, what with the many laces and clasps that I happened to be affixed with that very day.
"Soon I was in naught but my birthday suit, with most of the tribe. The evening continued on, a joyous celebration with no cause. I had very interesting food that evening- snakes roasted over a pit of fire (which were quite chewy indeed, tasting something like a gamey poultry), a dark paste that resembled a sort of salty fruit, and... well, I can't even begin what the substance looked OR tasted like," Smythe continued, with quite a laugh from his cohorts.
"As the evening wore late into the moon-filled hours, the activities of the festival turned to something more befitting of a late night. The tribe suddenly became very open with the sounds, and sights, of lovemaking. The kangaroos were noisy, enjoying their time melding one another to each other, male to female. It was only a matter of time before I too were approached by a women of short stature. She sat herself in my naked lap, which, I will admit, was nothing short of uncomfortable at this point, the delightful smell of lovemaking in the air. I tried to politely decline the woman's offer, being one of the opposite persuasion, as you gentlemen know. But, alas, as we did not speak the same language, her lips found their way to my prize, and she began to busy herself with pleasuring me with her tongue.
"Now gentlemen, I would be lying if I didn't heartily agree that she was talented, but it would seem I do not have the correct frame of mind to finish when a lady is attending to me. My aggressor had noticed such a fact a few minutes after she had begun, and politely dismounted her lips from me. I felt sorry for the girl, as she did indeed look downhearted, but smiled at me nonetheless, and I at her. Moments later, the leader of the aboriginees approached me, the scent of woman strong on him, and his pouch sticky with his own juice and most likely several other women's upon it. He jabbered in his unusual language towards me, and then gestured behind me. I turned around and was soon made to face the ebony shaded arousals of the two young men that had pulled my trousers from my legs.
"My heart leapt in my chest, for I had found these two spritely young savages to be quite to my liking. Djibari was taller than Nmatu, though his size between his legs was shorter than Nmatu, who also had girth on his side. It would seem these two boys were different than the rest of their tribesmates, being as they were quite keen to make love to me that evening. And certainly, I to them. The two boys, who had seemed inseperable up until this point, finally seperated, Djibari to my back, and Nmatu to the front. Djibari pulled me into his lap, and I soon felt the warm surge of his prize pressed 'tween my cheeks. It was quite obvious what the savage was up to, licking and grooming his lips across the side of my neck, causing my whiskers to twitch in anticipation.
"Nmatu had taken residence on his knees on the dusty ground settled beneath my bare, webbed feet. He pressed his hands, again, surprisingly soft and smooth, to the inside of my knees, pressing them open. Ah, his tongue. So explorative, gentle, as if he were cleaning and polishing a diamond with great care. I daresay that it was only a few moments before I was stiff as crumpets left stale. But Nmatu was hardly finished; the dark tipped snout of the kangaroo was soon busy traversing my tip and first few inches. He was slow, calculating, as if the young man hardly cared to relieve me of my seed quickly."
The room full of Second Circle members was unusually quiet, and for good reason. Every man was in rapture, listening intently to the tale Smythe was still weaving. If any indication was needed, besides silence, that the men huddled around Smythe were enjoying his story, one wouldn't need look further than in between the legs of the likes of Mr. Rutledge, Mr. Salisbury, and even Mr. Elliston.
"While Nmatu was busying himself with pleasuring my stalk, Djibari had finally lifted my hips upwards and placed me in proper alignment. I felt the familiar push, and warm pulse of the kangaroo native nestling deep 'twixt my cheeks. I shant say that Djibari was gentle, like his counterpart, because I had barely been seated fully upon his stalk before his wide hips had begun to bounce me against his thighs. Musical as otters are, as some of you might now, I was hard pressed to keep my muzzle shut. I began to noisily chitter, uncontrollably, as the solid claps of my rear end hitting upon Djibari's waist joined in the musical sounds of not only instrumentation but the orchestration of sex.
"Nmatu had taken the liberty of wrapping his hand near my base, and I must say, that it was quite the massage that I've not had rivaled yet, I think. His fingers danced across my shaft near to where his lips twisted across my tip, tongue stroking my underside. He had a very interesting technique indeed; he more or less treated my privates as though it were a bulbous lolli, his tongue usage small compared to that of his lips. Oh, and hardly any suction, really. The boy truly did use his lips to their fullest, and expertly so. I had feared I would pop off within minutes, and I was nearly right. No sooner had I felt the familiar tingle in my loins did Djibari suddenly change his dance.
"And Djibari, like his brother, too, had a very interesting way of moving his hips. He began to drive a circular motion near my entrance. He was embedded deep inside, using only a small amount of his full length. It had seemed that this young kangaroo had a map that clearly marked exactly where my buttons were. His tip stroked my prostate again and again and again, without abandon. I was helpless, gentleman. With a loud bark, which attracted more attention from the boys' fellow tribesmates than I would've cared to, I painted the inside of Nmatu's mouth with my purchase. The boy was very eager, too. I saw his eyes widen, and his ears swivel forward atop his head, but he did not move. His lips clamped themselves beneath the rim of my crown, as again and again I felt my hidden muscle contract, sending jets of my salt into Nmatu's muzzle.
"Djibari took much longer to finish than I had expected- possibly because of his slow pace that he had taken when I neared my own release. Having passed it, I was beginning to get a little sore. I reached my paws back, and let the kangaroo boy know this with a strong push on his thighs, pressing up off his lap. Djibari was not want to let me go, attempting to pull me back down into his lap to continue his heated thrusting. It took nearly fifteen moments of scrambling to push myself off of Djibari's stiffness. It became apparent to me immediately, upon dismounting, just why the boy was so lax in letting me go. Dribbling still down the underside of the twitching mass of ebon male was the boy's sticky white essence, and his hips were hardly one to stop their motion. No, you see, Djibari took his lust out upon the air above his strong hips, spattering the ground between his long, wide feet, leaving the dust-covered earth clumped in his fertile purchase.
"I stammered while standing up. It was difficult work, keeping my legs held slightly off the ground, knees bent. If it weren't for the head of the village once again approaching me and embracing me, I daresay I would've fallen across my stomach. A great, resounding cheer was once again thrown into the air by the gathered aborignees, even those still engaged in lovemaking. Two different women who I hadn't seen earlier in the evening were presented to me, each carrying one end of a belt tipped with feather-drawn darts, similar to those that I'd seen by the two aboriginees that found me. I was bode to place the belt across my naked waist, my arousal having since retreated into my holder. Yet one more hearty huzzah was let out in response to me clasping the belt tight closed.
"That night, I had some of the best sleep I can remember having, sleeping on a pile of animal skins. The hospitality of the aboriginess was second to none, notwithstanding the wonderful lovemaking session I became involved in. When I awoke in the morning, the village was mostly empty. Only Djibari and Nmatu were there upon my exit from one of the aboriginees makeshift houses. The two young men passed me my shoes, but nothing but. I tried to communicate with them once again, to determine where they had gotten off to, but again, my attempts to understand them and they me fell on hard times. I resigned myself to leaving without my clothing, a decision I later came to regret, as I endured many questions and good-natured ribbing by the crew of the Oakshire. Hell, it was a good day of me standing in the nude before I could get even my fellow countrymen to give me a shred of clothing! I didn't have any exciting encounters on board without a stitch as I did in the aboriginee camp, though. A few days later, we set sail once more, finally back for England. While I had enjoyed my trip to Australia immensely, it certainly wasn't for any amount of scenery I viewed there. Unless, of course, you count Djibari and Nmatu as such.
"Still, to this day, if you should ever visit my parlor on number four, Cannes Drive, you would see, in my study, the belt, complete with every silver-tipped arrow original to it, attached still, hanging above my study door. I treasure that gift very much, as I do the memories of the beautiful kangaroo boys who let me explore a little of their culture. Gentlemen, I hope you've enjoyed my little repeat," Smythe finished, raising his glass in an unofficial toast to his fellow Second Circle members. They joined him in his toast, recounting a traditional response as their respective alcohols were further enjoyed. The official nature of the meeting had come to a close, and idle chatter amongst the members broke out, many with smiles in their faces, and swellings in their trousers.
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It was half past twelve in the evening before Mr. Elliston had finally finished his drink. He had been nursing it all night, content to sip the brandy in his snifter until mere vapors of the golden liquid were left. The fox, Mr. Rutledge, and Mr. Smythe were the only three gentlemen left in the large parlor of number nine Shaftesbury Court at this late hour. Standing up, gathering his jacket close to his breast, Mr. Smythe bid Mr. Rutledge and Mr. Elliston a fond evening, as both the vulpine and opposite mustelid stood to shake hands with the toastmaster of the evening. Having exited through the tall ebony door by way of pat on the back from Mr. Elliston, Smythe had a smarmy grin on his muzzle. He knew what Mr. Rutledge was up to, and knew quite well, for he himself had been a "victim" of the badger's late night advances.
Buttoning up his own blazer, and reaching back with a paw to shake with Mr. Rutledge, Mr. Elliston was met with the firey, brown-eyed gaze of the badger fixed on him in a rather avaricious manner. The badger had not returned the favor of a pawshake to Mr. Elliston, and was, instead, standing broad-stanced with a generous swelling within his trousers just beneath the slight overhang of his well-fed paunch. Breaking the silence, Mr. Rutledge placed his paw upon the inside of the black door and leaned his weight forward, his muzzle over Mr. Elliston's left shoulder.
"I have not yet had the pleasure of knowing you, Mr. Elliston, something which I regret very, very much."
The fox's response was hardly verbal. With the vulpine's ears splaying outward, that unmistakable scent of anxiety filling the badger's nose, Mr. Rutledge knew at once he had chosen the correct way of courting Mr. Elliston, for he could not usually pass on the merits of his own appearances to garner attention of the lustful kind. The wide-eyed fox had barely moved since Mr. Rutledge's forceful advance, and more than just a lump in his throat were beginning to form for him. Sensing the fox's apparent frozen, indecisive manner, the badger reached for the fox's wrist, and slid his thumb down until it rested solidly upon the back of the fox's paw. Turning the vulpine's palm to face upwards, Mr. Rutledge took Mr. Elliston's paw in his, though gently, and clasped their fingers together. The fox was a fair deal thinner than most members of the second circle, as most other members included those who often entertained their guests with dinner parties, and fried food was still very popular, not to mention popular in large quantities.
"While I enjoy a rough romp in the bedroom, my dear fox, I'm not in the business of taking things by force. If you'd share an evening with me, I'd be," Mr. Rutledge trailed off, tilting his head forward so that his striped snout neared his temporary captive's tall, brown-tipped ears, and he continued with a baritone growl, "delighted."
Mr. Elliston's knees weakened, buckling his chest forward into the badger's front. The fox didn't have much time to think about whether he was truly attracted to the badger at all, due to the rather forward nature of his proposal. He wasn't all that unattractive, certainly. The badger's facial fur was a tad bit undergroomed and unkempt, but otherwise he was well-dressed and well-mannered.
"I accept," Mr. Elliston managed, with more confidence seeping into his bloodstream. The fox never was a coward, though he certainly did prefer being on bottom in sexual encounters. Perhaps it was a weakness in the vulpine's desire for high stature and respectability, most importantly with his fellow Second Circle members. He was new to the group, and was eager to establish himself as a trustworthy, respectful gentlemen. His introductory tale about the Mgongo tribe had been well received, and Mr. Elliston was off to a fast beginning at Shaftesbury Court, number nine. Until this point, though, he had not made love with any of the other members. That was about to change, apparently.
Mr. Rutledge led Mr. Elliston back behind the large foyer where meetings of the Second Circle were held. A darker hallway with only two electric wall sconces led the trail to two doors on either side of the hallway at its end, with two, non-descript doors. Guiding the fox by his hand, Mr. Rutledge opened the door on the left, and led him inside. The room was simple, it's purpose quite obvious to any of those who would look upon it. A lush queen sized bed, decorated in scarlet and gold sheets, pillows, and quilts, was centered against the far wall. A coat rack was opposite the opening of the door would be wear the gents' suit jackets, shoes, and trousers were hung once they were removed with the insistence of Mr. Rutledge. Left in only their undergarments, Mr. Elliston sporting a much more form-fitting version of such, that clung to the vibrant orange of his hips and left little to the imagination of the shape and size of his pouch, the two men took residence upon the edge of the mattress.
"You have a wonderful shape, my dear fox. It makes my blood boil to look at you in this state of dress," breathed Mr. Rutledge, as he was in the business of climbing atop his newfound companion. Laying his erection atop Mr. Elliston's through dense, cotton fabric, the badger joined his lips to the fox's with a bend at his waist. Placing his large paws across the fox's shoulders, the badger's natural weight kept the vulpine pinned to the bed. As the badger's hips began to move, shifting his erection against his partner's through his underwear, his tongue exploring the corners of Mr. Elliston's muzzle, wrestling with his active oral muscle.
Mr. Elliston was hardly without his own enthusiasm for the moment. His gloved paws had settled over the small of the badger's back, his short, black claws slicing through the white and black stripes running the centre of Mr. Rutledge's back, pricking at his skin, scratching. It took only a few more moments of heated tonguing for the striped mustelid to have his fill of gentle pleasantries. Raising his head off the fox's lips, and lifting the vulpine by the shoulders with his paws, Mr. Rutledge set the slim, orange gentlemen upright, and then pushed him to a stand next to the bed, where he joined him. Pushing his undergarments to his feet, removing his legs from them, the badger's heavy pouch sprang into the air. It was just as the rest of him- plump, and dark-skinned, a deep ebony black that glossed in the soft light of the room. Hardly embarrassed of his own body, Mr. Elliston was quick to follow, and from his hips sprouted an erection equal in length, but dark pink in color and less in thickness.
But Mr. Rutledge was not immediately interested in his lover's cock. Grasping the fox's iliacs, the badger bade his companion to turn around. Clapping a paw just above the base of the fox's immaculately groomed tail, Mr. Elliston was bent over the edge of the bed, his legs further spread apart with the nudging of a bare foot at the inside of one of his ankles. The fox gasped upon the next sensation, his eyes shooting wide.
"Mr. Rutledge!" he cried out, flagging his tail, darting the white tip of it a foot above the badger's snout, which had fit itself neatly between the fox's moons, held apart by fingers, the mustelid's tongue firmly drilling against the smooth pink pucker 'twixt the white stripe of fur marking the seperation of the vulpine's halves. Slathering it with damp swipes of his warm tongue, the badger also took his time in fully tasting the fox, whom he'd have momentarily. His lips sealed against the edges of the pucker, his teeth gently gnashing against the smooth, bare skin, of course reserving the amount of force it would take to break the skin open. A faint gasp from the tensed fox was emitted as Mr. Rutledge blew cool breath across the fox's attacked pucker, the cold sensation causing his calves and hamstrings to tighten.
"Mmm, my beautiful fox. You are delicious," Mr. Rutledge muttered, inches away from the spot which he had just coated with his saliva and attentions. Placing a final kiss up on the fox's pucker, the badger drew upright on his legs, spreading his feet wider than his fox's stance. Holding his stalk with a paw, pressing his hips near the fox's behind, Mr. Elliston's erection was captured within the badger's paw.
"My my. Someone enjoyed that, I believe," commented the badger, to the state of the fox's erection, which was damp and sticky with preseed that had seeped from the end of his pointed dick. Drawing the fox's erection upwards into the soft cream of his bellyfur, the mustelid lowered his eyes to fix on his target. Pursing his lips, the badger let a string of saliva fall from his lower lip and cascade over the blunt, broad tip of his ebony erection, shaped like a dome. Smearing the glob of white spittle across his tip, lining his aim, a rough push drove his tip past the muscular ring of the fox's pucker, eliciting a bark from Mr. Elliston's muzzle.
"Grrrf! You aren't gentle, are you, old man?" Mr. Elliston sputtered, reeling onto his toes and leaning forward, though the expansive paw capturing his dick held him in place. That was, until the fox felt the badger withdraw. Mr. Rutledge was busying himself with spitting on his erection again, a most un-gentlemanly thing to do, but he had not brought jelly from his estate, and the parlor room had none, so this was the best he could afford. Squeezing at the base of his black stalk, once again the head of his stiff, throbbing pole was placed between the vulpine's orange and white, a quieter, muffled noise escaping Mr. Elliston the second time. With his tip lodged past the strangling hold of the clenching pucker of the fox, the badger drew yet more of his saliva across his remaining shaft with help of his fingers, slickening it the best he could. His entrance into Mr. Elliston was a labored affair, requiring many minutes and several helpings of the badger's saliva, but as minutes do pass, so did the pain for the fox, as Mr. Rutledge's cream-laden sac rested against the downcurve of his asscheeks.
Leaning his head over Mr. Elliston's shoulder, Mr. Rutledge smiled and pressed his tongue against the fox's cheek in an affectionate lick. "Mmm, you do a fine job of taking a large male, if I do say so," the badger quipped into the fox's perked ears. "Perhaps the Mgongo tribe loosened you up for just such a thing, or were they larger than I?"
Without an answer, only a confident smirk on his thin, black lips, Mr. Elliston began drawing his hips to and fro in a circular manner, corkscrewing his stretched pucker across the base of his lover's erection. Looking over his shoulder and streamlined back, paraspinal musculature taut with the dipping curve of his torso, the vulpine fixed his eyes on the badger's face, which was, to say the least, surprised, and slack-jawed. The empty look to his eyes spoke volumes to the fox working over the badger. He was not without a sense of control and a set of moves of his own.
"Ohhh, ohhh, my dirty, dirty little fox," Mr. Rutledge commented with a chuckle, joining his chest to the fox's back, bending over his lifted hind end even as the vulpine continued to gyrate his pucker to the badger's sheathend. Not content to let Mr. Elliston control the tempo the fullest degree, the badger began to use his hips in their most natural, feral application. Using half of his length, the badger drove himself in a rocking motion, clapping his crotch to the fox's behind in easy rhythm. It was a speed without intent or urgency- the badger was enjoying himself at his own leisure, filling Mr. Elliston's ears with hushed grunts that followed the cheek-jostling crash of hips. His reverie was broken by the insistent push of the fox's butt to the base of his stalk once more.
"Let's switch positions. I want to see your face," came the utterance from the fox beneath the striped mustelid.
Mr. Rutledge was hard pressed to deny his companion's request. Drawing back from Mr. Elliston's behind with a swift pull (thus garnering a yelp from the fox), the orange and white butt was helped opposite its previous position. Flipped on his back, placing his feet against the upper part of Mr. Rutledge's shoulders, Mr. Elliston flicked his tongue across his black lips, wetting them. The healthy, curly swath of groomed, trimmed white fur at the base of his erection was wet and stuck together in the immediate vicinity of the peeled back rim of his sheath. Rather than Mr. Rutledge once again entering the fox, his black erection was swiftly gathered in the fox's swiping paw. Smacking the broad head against the swell of his nutsac, it took Mr. Elliston a fair deal more time to locate the proper angle for the badger to once again align with his loosened pucker.
"Oh, my word, just let me do it," said the badger with a faint chuckle, shooing the disgruntled fox's paw away from his erection. It took Mr. Rutledge only a mere moment to press back inside his fox's rump, a musical purr rumbling from the plush of the vulpine's snowy throat. And once again, a regular rhythm broke out, and the badger's black paw gripped the fox's erection anew, and begin to stroke, this time, with intent. Intent to make the beautiful, lithe fox squirming atop the scarlet bedsheets below spray his load across his stomach.
A brown-gloved paw shooed the badger's grip away from his erection.
"You can concentrate a little more on what you're doing if you don't have to do both at once," whispered Mr. Elliston, trapping his erection between his thumb and forefinger as a sliver of silvery fluid dripped across the curve of his knuckle. Scrunching his toes, dragging their blunt, black clawtips through the wide chest of the badger above him, Mr. Elliston bade Mr. Rutledge move his hips faster, and so he did. The result was the entire bed wobbling upon its four posts. While the badger retained a healthy weight, he was by far the broadest of any of the members of the Second Circle, and when he put his weight into something, he could get your attention. Looping both of his arms over top of the fox's thighs, scooting his lifted ass nearer to the edge of the bed, to further aid in the increased speed of his thrusting. Though his depth were shallow, the full-bore slapping of his pubis to the fox's began to cause a dull ache for Mr. Elliston.
And it was a good thing that the vulpine had taken matters into his own paw, to stroke himself in just the right manner to quickly climb his peak. The newly-snarling form of the badger above him was not about to change the style of this lovemaking, his eyes glazed with feral notions, the rich, masculine scent of the fox's musk filled his nostrils like an exotic spice, and he could nearly taste it, tingles prickling along his tongue.
"S-s-slow," Mr. Elliston hissed, his back beginning to arch. It was painfully obvious to Mr. Rutledge what was about to happen. Removing his erection to its halfway point inside of the fox's moons, he began to rapidly shortcock his thrusts, grinding the plume of his erection over that hidden bulb of pleasure deep within the fox's perineum. The change had its intended effect. Mr. Elliston's eyes were wide as expensive white china, several barks escaping his muzzle as his feet kicked upwards, nearly missing the sides of the badger's snout. Toes extending and spreading apart, tail flitting erratically over the edge of the bed and 'twixt Mr. Rutledge's inner thighs, a column of white, sticky essence, with a watery consistence, rose as high as the badger's collar bone, before gravity overtook it to splash against the fox's wrist. Mr. Rutledge would hardly get away cleanly, though, for the fox's paw, now having been affected in coordination by his orgasm, began flicking his bucking pink stalk between his loosely clenched fingers, sending an array of dull pearl in a myriad of directions. Most of the fox's seed ended up lining the wobbling, gentle swell of the mustelid's breadbasket, though a fair deal of quivering pools ended up taking residence in Mr. Elliston's curls of pubic fur.
Mr. Rutledge continued his short, tempered thrusts into his lover's backside for a few moments past his orgasm, before he paused, a grin forming on his dark lips. The badger's broad paw descended upon the fox's belly, his palm swiping through the sticky, watery mess left thereon. The badger suddenly dismounted the fox, and was on top of him in no less than a few ticks of a watch. With his knees placed to either side of Mr. Elliston's slim, heaving chest, the fox gave the badger a questioning look.
"Why... did you... stop?" he asked in between catching breaths.
"You have a beautifully handsome muzzle, my dear fox, but I have things I enjoy as well."
Using the fox's seed for a far better alternative to saliva for lubrication, the badger edged his knees forward until the fox's muzzle was pinned beneath the visage of ebon maleness and a white furred pouch. The vision in his right eye soon became clouded as Mr. Rutledge exploded without warning, looping a heavy turrent of thick, white goo across the eyeridge of Mr. Elliston. Gasping for breath, the fox turned his head away from the first boiling hot lace of glue-sticky badger seed that struck his face. The broad black tip of the badger's erection, swaying with the motion of the paw stroking it, was actively decorating the fox's snout with long, thin tendrils of pearl. It dripped from the fox's neck across the scarlet sheets, leaving a dark-rimmed stain around the white goop.
Growling above the fox, Mr. Rutledge pressed the dome of his erection to the cheek of his companion's, a few last, weak bubblings of his essence enfusing the fox's russet orange fur with badger.
"Ohhhh my my my.... what a pretty thing you are," uttered Mr. Rutledge, lifting his eyes from the tip of his erection to gaze at the mess he had decorated Mr. Elliston's muzzle with. And the look upon the fox's face certainly showed that the enjoyment of the mess was hardly one-sided. Drawing his fingers through the mess on his muzzle, the vulpine tasted the badger's offering, with a much appreciated, satisfactory rumble in response from Mr. Rutledge.
The two dressed each other after sharing a kiss. Mr. Rutledge hardly minded that he could taste himself heavily upon Mr. Elliston's tongue and lips. The fox was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined he'd be without a stitch of clothing. Silently congratulating himself for once again having slept with every member of the Second Circle, now that the task of the fox had been taken care of, a smug smile was upon the face of the badger as he exited the parlor room just behind Mr. Elliston, whom he opened the door for. Bidding each other good night at the ebony door, Shaftesbury Court number nine was empty again.
Empty, except for Hollingsworth and Chambers, who both exited from the staircase on the second floor, Chambers wiping his paws on a clean, white towel.
"One of the best shows yet, eh Hollingsworth?"
"Indeed," agreed the other dhole, dusting the front of his shirt, which had dark stains streaking up across the front of it.
"See you next week?" Chambers inquired.
"Truly," came the quick reply from Hollingsworth, as he exited.