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Lisa, and for the third time that night, which had only barely just started she would be so inclined to add, scoffed. The audacity of this woman!, she thought to herself, that she could say such a thing, and to me? It was a truly scoff-worthy offense, much more so than the previous two, in fact. She dared to call this badger her friend, maybe even equal(?) in some respects, but this was an insult, plain and simple! Lisa stood up from her chair with a sudden squeal of rubber upon tile; her back arched, and her eyes were a furious squint. She was small, in just about every way the word could be appended, but that did very little to detract from the inherent threat that peeled off of her visibly--the heavy leather straps covering every inch of her body helped also. Her bright orange fur practically popped out of its bindings; her svelte fox form radiated confidence and control (over others, to be clear) in equal measure. “How dare you,” she all but barked, in that exceptional squeak that could only be hers, “You are not getting the cum. I’m in control tonight.” The rich laugh that filled the room felt like lavender. Why they thought that they did not know, but they did. It was an impossible association to avoid, perhaps because of how it made them feel, but also because of what it made them think. Of her. The badger’s claws, dulled only to the edge of necessity, clacked gently--they were impossible to hear amongst her chuckles. Her head shook back and forth, slow but powerful, enough to make her gigantic, rubber-coated tits sway. “It’s my turn.” She said nothing else, because as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need to; the matter was settled; this girl, a friend for sure, but still clearly a girl, not a woman, had no respect for decorum, or her elders, and perhaps not the badger either. At the very least she obviously had no respect for a back-and-forth system of sharing, a characteristic Morain found pitiable, if it wasn’t so annoying. She did not rise from her chair, however--she sat back, letting her huge body splay out across it. Her wide hips and thick arms threatened to obscure the chair entirely, as if the badgeress was reclining on a sense of self-satisfaction alone. The illusion fell away when she grabbed the table leg, and squeezed. A quick exhalation filled the air, followed by Lisa’s indignant voice. “I guess all the shine in this room must be blinding me,” the fox growled, now standing tall, “Because I could have sworn our table is currently coated in rubber, as per your wishes.” The riding crop, which she always had in her right hand despite (but also because of) the fact that they were currently eating a light dinner of ratatouille and bread, bent against the unflinching tension her left palm provided. Then that palm fell away, and the end of that crop hit their table with a noticeably-squeaky thwack. Lisa pulled her eyes away from the wobbling furniture so she could aim them squarely at the smirking badger, who responded with a purr. “...Yeah. So?” “So!” Lisa spat, actually spat, a few shimmering flecks landing on the rubber right beside her (second) glass of wine, “I specifically agreed to this coating because it was assumed I would be the one getting to cum tonight!” She smacked the table with her crop yet again, a very small smack in the grand scheme of things. A very small smack, leading up to much harsher ones soon--she really couldn’t be more transparent about it, Morain mused. “When did I agree to that?” Morain’s body wobbled as she adjusted herself in her seat, her many pounds shifting in a self-contained seal of rubber that started at her neck and ended right before each extremity. She flowed, as if liquid disinterested in diffusion, and the end of her wave had her drumming her claws across the table top. Its thick coating yielded only ever so, her own smooth nails constantly threatening to glide, rather than dimple. She loved that feeling. It was really spicing up her playmate’s temper tantrum, so sweetly. “Agree?” Lisa finally managed to expectorate after a few false starts, “What do you mean, agree? It’s assumed! Back and forth is what you called this whole set-up, if I recall correctly. And I do.” Morain made sure that Lisa didn’t have any more emphasized words to throw at her before letting her left eyebrow slowly, and very carefully, raise. She stopped drumming her claws on the table--there was quite the indent by now. “That’s not what I meant,” Morain said with a sigh, leaning back towards her meal, “and you know it.” She reached for a piece of bread near the center of the table, grabbing with care--it was bad enough the thing was slick with rubber, it was also quite a lumpy piece of furniture besides--before scooping up some vegetables. She seemed utterly focused upon her bite, which was why Lisa was so caught off guard, flabbergasted in fact, when her retort was suddenly cut off by: “Screaming and kicking your feet won’t change that, either.” Crunch. “Zucchini’s really good in this.” Lisa’s muzzle was so absurdly pinched into a mask of pure enmity that she was not even capable of receiving what should have otherwise been a very lovely compliment about her ability to cook a vegetable that Morain once described as “beyond reproach.” Instead she shook, violently so, and for about ten seconds as the outrage subsided, at least enough for her to be able to do anything besides glower. Her fist and the crop both came down upon the surface of the table, landing with a thud, a thwack, and an “Hmph!” “Unbelievable,” she hissed, and spat some more, why not, “That you could say such a thing to me, and when snatching away my privilege for the evening, and after the meal, and the rubber, and the, the-” “Wine. Very good wine,” Morain added, and then slurped. “-Yes, exceptional wine,” Lisa huffed, far more vulnerable to all this praise than she was trying to let on--mercifully the line between embarrassment and anguish was already so thin that it took very little in terms of vulpine wiles to erase it, “It’s unbelievable, you bitch!” Morain’s right brow joined the left at the top of her face as she swallowed a rather large bite. She pushed herself up from her chair and made the long journey around the table, mouth twitching as she slurped down the remnants stuck between her teeth. Her mouth was clear once she’d finally made the trip, it needed to be. She didn’t spit, unlike some excitable young vixens. “What did you just call me?” Morain asked in a volume barely beyond a mumble. Her eyelids were half-mast, her lips a straight line--expression utterly inscrutable, enough to give even the indomitable Lisa pause. Who was about to answer, mind you, but she found herself suddenly cut off by a piercing squeak, produced by Morain’s fingertips gliding down the edge of the dinner table. She was pressing so hard the table was shaking, slightly. The sound of heavy breath rapidly filled the air. Once she finished, the badger said: “Well?” Oooh, damn her, damn this woman, Lisa inner-monologued, It’s my turn, nn, ughhh, blah!, she knows it should be, I can’t believe she’s just, and, and-! “A bitch!” Lisa suddenly could not help herself from shouting, ears red as her (thankfully, furrily obscured) face. Not that saying that embarrassed her, not at all--what embarrassed her was what she did next, which was all but dive into the rubbery blubber of the badger in front of her, and force their lips together. Morain’s brow and eyelids pushed up, as a sharp exhale shot out from her nose. Their tongues touched, only for a second, but the bumps of each muscle brushing together was overwhelmingly electric. Morain pushed Lisa away, but did not let go of the vixen’s face (or the table, which she was gripping quite hard, now) once the distance was made. Her face was full of disdain, and something else. “I may be, but at least I can control myself,” Morain growled, before her smile finally made its appearance, “Seems like a couple of foxes need that tonight.” She pulled the maelstrom of emotion that was Lisa’s snout back in for another kiss, not shy with the tongue this time. Lisa snorted; the younger woman was practically choking on badger tongue, but instead of pulling away she pressed forward all the harder, sucked it in deeper. She reflexively whapped the table with her crop as she fought asphyxiation for more of her playmate’s mouth, yelps filling the air. A few more smacks, and snorts, and spit, spit causing her lips to slide on Morain’s. The badger finally pushed the leather-clad vixen away, but her hand still did not retreat, and instead dove downwards, down Lisa’s many straps, across her fur, and under the rim of that leather skirt, claws dancing at the edge of her leaking pussy. Lisa whapped the table again, much harder. “Careful, careful, don’t want to damage our toys,” Morain hissed over the sound of muffled whimpering, “Little softer, girl. Like thisss…” Morain slid the tip of her pointer claw down, down to the quivering brim of Lisa’s wet lips, and then proceeded to delicately trace that claw along the entire edge of her pussy--she really took her sweet time at the clit, pushing gently left and right in from the side, dragging the backside of her claw across the front. It made Lisa a shivering, snorting mess, so much so that Morain actually managed to make the vixen drop her crop upon the table top; her fingers were constantly shifting between different overstimulated postures, useless. But not for long. “See? Just like-nnf!” Morain’s gloating cut short when Lisa’s hands plowed into those hanging tits of hers, grabbing hard, massaging, squeezing, specifically rubbing her thumbs where she knew those huge nipples must be. It was so sudden and so much and so incredible, that rubber pressing into her skin through her fur all the tighter with that little vixen’s hands applying just enough pressure-! The badgeress’s body shook with the moan that rocked the whole of it, a wave of rubber ensconcing Lisa as the older woman suddenly grabbed her very tight. “Sorry, I’m not soft,” Lisa whispered into Morain’s ear, with exactly as much sexual tension as the badger had seconds ago, “But I’ll soften you up. Both of you, you old bitch.” The grip of her hands on the badger’s tits went from playful to painful in an instant, another long moan filling the room as Morain’s body wobbled in its slick prison. And yet apparently the fox had forgotten that even with all her shaking and low groans, Morain still had her hand right at Lisa’s (even more so now) dripping puss, and she knew how to use it. Those fingers, albeit carefully, dove. “Ahh, nnn, shit!” “That’s right,” Morain gasped through a particular painful and pleasurable yank of Lisa’s hand, “I don’t need to be rough with you. I can break you without even, nnn, ahh, trying.” Lisa was practically gushing down across Morain’s paw now (the vixen had always been a mess-maker), to the point that a keen-eared creature could make out the soft drips of precum on the wooden floor beneath all the huffing and seductive whispers. Not that Lisa wasn’t making this old woman weak-kneed--the only reason why Morain wasn’t suffering a similar embarrassment was that all of her pussy juices were trapped in between her fur and a thick seal of rubber, a detail so debauched it was making the badgeress flush. One hand gripping the table, rubbing her hand along the knob in the middle, while the other peaked inside of Lisa’s soft pussy lips. Parting the folds gently along her claws, sliding her fingertips against the throbbing warmth that only got slicker with each pass. The vixen’s hands did not stop yanking and teasing those fat tits for even a second. They downright battered the heavy things, so much yanking and pulling and hefting them, feeling the weight of them in her hands, goodness, they were so big… and then a few more squeezes, more massaging, more bites as well. Morain always grunted and got mad, but the vixen knew she loved it. The teeth marks in the rubber, the compression, the pressure, especially when she managed to focus it right into the tip of her nipple! Fuck! “-Nn!” “Sh-shit!” They were a mess of squeaking limbs and gasping snouts, all noises and sensations amplified by the weight and pressure they put on the table, and its various limbs. Morain practically tossing Lisa into it and making out with her again as their bodies made the whole set up creak so dangerously; Lisa getting fingerfucked so thoroughly that notches appeared in the rubber coating from all the crop thwacks; there was always at least one stray hand gripping it, pulling it, stroking that smooth shaft right in the middle of it. It was so much for them, all of them, but it was far too much for the table--Lisa convulsed around Morain’s paw, which led to several quick strikes and right on the table’s underside, while Morain’s hand gripped its cock with such severity the whole thing began to spasm. Both women froze in the middle of the mid-dinner fuck as the table, without permission, shot jet after jet of milky-white cum across the top of itself. Lisa pulled away from Morain’s left tit with a pop, and licked her lips. “Well, looks like someone couldn’t control himself,” Lisa breathlessly mused, pulling the gag from Ormur’s mouth. As soon as he could breathe normally he began to gasp, piteous moans coming out between breaths as he finished emptying his balls. “P-please, I’m sorry mistress!” he whimpered, eyes desperately searching behind the blindfold. They couldn’t see it, but they could feel it, in every penitent syllable. “I didn’t mean to, it, it was-” “What? Too hot for you?” Morain said with a chuckle. She was trying to look disappointed, but the excitement behind her eyes was simply too obvious. She reached over and flicked Ormur’s softening cock, the fox shaking so hard the posts that pulled apart his arms and legs creaked in protest. “Couldn’t even hold out for one dinner,” Lisa tutted, as if she wasn’t red-eared and feeling a long line of pre continuing its slide down the inside of her leg, past the knee, “You know what that means.” The bound fox’s face blanched, and he shook it as much as his bindings would allow (not much). “P-please mistress, ma’am, I can do better. I can make it up to you, I promise!” “Oh, you will make it up to us,” the vixen said, pressing the tip of her crop against the underside of his chin. “All night long,” the badgeress said with a sigh. He and everything on him squrked as she leaned into him, playing his soft cock. The fox gulped. He wouldn’t be doing very much moving for the rest of the night, but he sure was going to be sore tomorrow.