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The Grove of Hedonists - A Lewd Story by Forseti Fox

Donavon had plans to hike the entirety of the Jotunruta Trail.

The four-hundred-and-seventeen-kilometer-long route weaved its way through th spiderweb of fjords that dominated the upper coastline of Norway. Donavon had successfully tackled trails in the triple digits back west, in his own country, but the gray-furred goat never traveled abroad to satiate his desire to lose himself in the wilderness. This would be his first experience. Sure, the Jotunruta trail had to bump up against private property and cut through little towns out of necessity, but the trail was remote enough that a would-be hiker could often travel an entire day without seeing another anthro animal. The goat decided to tackle the trail alone.

Around four days prior, Donavon booked a plane, barely made his connection, and took a touring bus out to the town in which held the trailhead. Despite the fact that flight tickets were more expensive in the later summer months, the caprine backpacker knew that it’d be a worthwhile investment if he could avoid the area’s brutal winters. He scrimped and saved his wages from his two jobs, after rent and insurance were properly budgeted, and the goat even managed to snag a month-long sabbatical from his desk job at the local DMV, even though it’d be unpaid. He quit his part-time job at a grocery store outright.

But the goat would soon learn that the stunning beauty of the fjords would make for a far more punishing hike than the flat stretches of plains and forests that made up the Midwest. Even in high summer, the northern nights would cause the wooliest mammal to shiver within minutes if he’d forgotten to bring an insulated mummy bag. The hard stone earth summoned up a perpetual soreness in Donavan’s backbone; he decided to forgo a foam pad in order to make up space in his pack. The constant changes in elevation and the stark, stony footpaths threatened to put holes in the caprine hiker’s shoes, and uneven footing threatened to put fractures in the hiker’s leg. On top of that, it rained, at least eight hours every day.

Donavon wasn’t yet white in the muzzle, but his thirtieth birthday came and went a couple of years prior, and aches started to pop up in his digitigrade joints that were previously dormant. Even his chubbier belly had begun to work overtime in its conspiracy to completely hide the mammal’s abdominal muscles, even with all of the hiking that the goat got up to. The gray-furred caprine kept his black-furred goatee and mustache well-trimmed, but it was tricky to ignore the fact that half of one of his black horns was missing, having been chipped off in an accident a decade prior.

But aesthetic advantages hardly make a backpacking journey any easier. The Jotunruta Trail was anything but kind, but the constant immaculate vistas of the green nordic countryside were a reward that Donavon would gladly pay any price for. It just so happened that the price would be his ability to continue having a healthy and whole body. Nevertheless, the backpacker was going to cherish this reward and suffer this punishment for three-hundred more kilometers. For the first three days, this enthusiasm held strong.

But on the fourth night, Donavon curled up in his light-blue nylon sleeping bag and huddled up tightly in the similarly blue compact tent. In the chilly, crisp air that easily penetrated the nylon of the tent, Donavon suddenly found himself wishing that he hadn’t tackled the trail alone after all. He’d give anything for a little extra body heat in the tent. But even having someone to talk to would be a great boon, even if his conversational partner were cold-blooded. He hadn’t seen another living soul all day, and certain thoughts kept creeping into the mammal’s mind.

The goat found himself wishing for a break in the constant walking. He’d immediately beat himself up mentally for thinking like that, especially in the first week of his travels. But with three-hundred kilometers to go, that monolithic distance couldn’t help itself from feeling overwhelming. He could have stayed in his home country, picking up shifts and saving up for a proper house, instead of continuing to pay rent on his bachelor apartment. Or perhaps he could save up for a car instead of solely relying on his bike. Sure, constant overtime would be anything but mentally beneficial, but this wild adventure came with its own dangers to the goat’s health. Even earlier that day, Donavon had lost himself completely to the pleasure of basking in nature’s beauty, and now, he half-regretted this waste of time and money. In the morning, he’d hope he’d be able to properly banish those thoughts. No one was around for the goat to banter with, and the doubts continued to fester as he fell asleep.

And somewhere in the Norse wilderness, on that fourth night, a fox with steel-blue fur was smashing various herbs together with a mortar and pestle. And despite the gripping cold, he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

The next morning, Donavon expressed his gratitude to any deity within metaphysical earshot for the simple boon of a few hours without rain. He started a makeshift fire, fixed a quick breakfast out of instant coffee and instant oatmeal, and got to work tightly wrapping his tent and tarp up before the inevitable precipitation returned. His morning ritual lasted a mere forty-five minutes. Most of Donavon’s equipment was packed by the time he brushed his teeth and hit the road, though he was quick to fill his water bottle from a nearby stream. The goat also made sure to treat the water with an iodine tablet, regardless of how clear the natural stream seemed.

The steady rhythm of walking the entire day thoroughly pushed the caprine’s nighttime doubts to the back of the psyche. It helped that a majority of the hike on the fifth day was done as a steady incline, though while the goat’s psyche was thoroughly pacified, his legs soon began to form a grudge. It didn’t take long for a small crevice to catch the caprine’s foot and bring him to the floor. Feral goats have the benefit of hooves to traverse such treacherous terrain. Anthro goats are stuck with feet.

At first, Donavon panicked. He’d thought that the fiery pain shooting out from his foot most certainly corresponded with a sprained ankle. Even with his cell phone still intact, a sprain would make for a nightmarish scenario in the middle of the wilderness. His knees didn’t appreciate the sudden impact with the hard stone either, and throbbed with a similar agony. And as an added cherry on top, the wet trail floor absolutely soaked the goat’s blue jeans with mud.

At first, Donavon was too mollified to try flexing his ankles, opting instead to rub at them while sitting on his butt. But as the panic subsided, the goat opted instead to test out his injury before jumping to the worst case scenario. He grabbed onto a nearby rock in order to lift himself up. His furry legs started visibility vibrating, struggling to hold up any weight. Gingerly, Donavon made a step forward, and was relieved to find that his ankle didn’t completely buckle immediately. Sure, his foot throbbed with a constant sting, but it wasn’t the sort of pain that indicated a broken bone or a sprain. He simply twisted his ankle. But either way, the full day of walking wasn’t going to be an enjoyable experience as the caprine half-hobbled in order to ease the misery that accompanied each step. The pain would most certainly subside the further Donavon went. But the gray-furred goat cast a gaze towards the green, misty valley behind him, and the doubt crept in once more. He really should give up early, before he wasted any more time.

But Donavon turned heel and continued walking forward. It was a full-day’s hike to the next town if he turned back anyway.

It then began to rain again, just a few hours before noon. The intrepid goat was more than comfortable with making half of his projected rate of progress for the day; sacrificing speed was worth it if he could avoid dragging any hypothetical broken limbs across the finish line. The rain even fell twice as heavy as it had during the rest of the hike, and made quick work of soaking the goat’s fur under his flannel and jeans. But thankfully, this stretch of the trail had more deciduous trees than the portions that were primarily dominated by pines. The broad leaves made for a far better umbrella than the coniferous needles, and there was hardly an open plain or exposed hilltop in sight. Still, the goat’s nylon jacket wasn’t remotely waterproof, and a noticeable chill creeped into the hiker’s already chilly joints by the time that noon rolled around. He was only thankful that the backpack came with a built-in rain cover.

The clock had struck noon when suddenly, Donavon caught a sudden whiff of something strange. It was almost as though someone were boiling a bunch of random vegetables together in order to make a broth, and the caprine backpacker only recognized half of them. Even with the ongoing downpour, the scent was strong.

The goat was stupefied. Having not seen another animal for thirty-six hours, Donavon’s voice was creaky and awkward from lack of use. He squeaked out a husky, “Hey, is someone there?” He wasn’t afraid of encountering a stranger in the middle of nowhere, but the scent was uncanny enough to put him on edge, so much so that the goat didn’t even bother trying to speak in anything other than English.

But there was no response.

Donavon traipsed onward without moving at full speed. The strange aroma grew in intensity the further that he walked along, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary, unless it were obscured by a thick bush or a tight copse of trees. There wasn’t much noise either, save for the wind rustling through the summer leaves. Only the scent stuck out as strange.

Confusion gave way to apprehension, though both effects caused a similar affectation in Donavon’s voice. “Is someone cooking out there- er, um… kokk noen, eller…” The language was thick with an American accent, and there was no world in which the grammar was correct.

Then, there was an audible rustle of leaves at the ground level. Something was moving, and it was much larger than a single feral squirrel. Donavon couldn’t help himself from gasping in astonishment and stumbling backwards. He backed up into the broad trunk of an alder tree.

And then, an antrho fox’s head popped out from behind another alder. It almost stuck out perpendicular to the tree; near enough to ninety degrees that it looked almost comical. His fur was strangely colored; a dark, washed out blue that belonged more to a new car than it did an animal, though his belly fur was white, as was the tip of his paintbrush tail. The ends of the fox’s arms, legs, and ears contrasted with the whiter bits with a deep brown not unlike the color of dark chocolate.

The fox’s voice had a bouncing lilt to it that Donavon associated with most animals from Scandinavia, but his pronunciation was clean and sat at a high pitch. “Oh, hello! You speak English?”

The strange vulpine emerged fully from behind the tree cover as soon as he noticed the wayward hiker’s sudden panicked demeanor. That demeanor, however, remained when Donavon saw that the fox was completely naked.

Donavon averted his gaze immediately. “Um, yeah- English is good.”

“Forgive me if I do not speak it perfectly, but I do believe that I know it well.”

The feral elephant in the room had to be addressed. The fox simply stood there, completely unaware of his sheath that flopped around lazily with each step. “You’re, um, naked.” The goat mentally beat himself up for being so awkward. It wasn’t as though the fox’s fly was down and he didn’t know. One tends to rarely find themselves accidentally completely nude in public.

The fox just giggled. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not that cold out.”

Without a twinge of social awkwardness, the nude vulpine boldly strode towards the goat and extended a paw cordially. The fox hadn’t even bothered to wear any boots. His brown-colored paws were absolutely caked in mud. “My name is Vana.”

Donavon didn’t usually exchange names with other hikers that he encountered on his journeys, and normally settled for a casual “Hey” before simply walking onward. The baffling nature of the situation caused the goat’s words to stick in his throat, and Vana was quick to notice. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, no- Yeah, no, I’m fine.”

“I am very sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” Donavon’s Midwestern habit of peppering his sentences with an unusual amount of “no’s” and “yeah’s” was always a detriment whenever he spoke to a non-native English speaker. “Yeah, my name’s Donavon.”

The blue-furred fox took the goat’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Pleasure to meet you, Donavon. Now come, come!”

The vulpine stranger then proceeded to pull at Donavon’s arm and drag him towards the grove of trees that he stuck his head out from. The goat was too taken up by the situational whiplash to resist at first, though the quick-pawed fox was hardly as weak as his tiny frame made him out to be. Donavon did, however, stammer out a meager, “Um, what are-”

“I have just made a soup! If you would like some, of course.”

The goat fought hard not to trip over the exposed roots underpaw. “You… made soup?”

“Yes! Vegetable soup!” Vana stopped for a moment. “Oh, very sorry. I am often so ahead of myself. I am a hedonist by nature, and as such, I make my home here. The augers told me that a lone stranger would arrive, and I should treat him royally.”

“...What?”

“I am sorry?” Vana’s upper muzzle scrunched up in worry. He was seemingly confused by Donavon’s lack of visible enthusiasm. If his casual nudity was any indicator, the fox wasn’t particularly socially adept.

“I don’t think I know what’s going on.” It didn’t help that the goat didn’t know what an auger was.

“Oh, languages are so silly! If I say something confusing, do let me know. I am inviting you to a meal, Donavon!”

“But, um… I don’t know you.”

The fox tilted his head. “But I told you; my name is Vana-”

“Yeah, but- Um, no. I still don’t know anything about you. You’re kind of, um, a stranger.”

Vana took the goat’s hand once more. “Do not worry, Donavon. You are a guest. I would never harm you.” The fox’s paw was warm, and his grip was strong. Donavon felt the faint trace of a blush creeping in under the fur on his face.

“Oh no, yeah, it’s not like I don’t trust you. I’m just… taken aback. You said you live here?

“Yes, yes! This grove is my home.”

“I think I’m just, uhh… I’m not sure why someone would just make soup in the middle of the woods. Do you normally do this for hikers?”

“Oh, I just like making soup. It’s easy to find the ingredients around here!”

For a brief moment, Donavon was worried that he’d accidentally traveled through time, and met up with a mammal that completely lacked the 21st century animal’s tendency to not randomly strike up a conversation with strangers on the road. Or maybe this was some fae trickster, beguiling the goat into some mystical trap wherein he’d be swindled out of his voice or something. Something about the steel-blue vulpine seemed otherworldly.

But Donavon’s stomach then audibly grumbled. It wasn’t as though he were able to outclass a Michelin Star restaurant with the compact amount of food he was able to squeeze into his backpack. Vana’s vulpine ears twitched as soon as he heard the rumbling noise, and he giggled once more. “And I made more than enough for one person, don’t worry!”

“Sure- um, thank you.” The situation still felt off, but the caprine hiker was completely unable to keep up with the fox’s breakneck pace in order to stop him from dragging him away. The fox continued to whisk the goat away, further into the wilderness. This particular patch of forest was thick with trees growing far too near each other to feel evolutionarily ideal, though each branch was thoroughly soaked with water, so it was difficult to imagine that the plants were parched. Vana squeezed through the gaps of the trees deftly, and Donavon found himself wet and covered in bits of dirt and tree bark. The injured ankle didn’t make navigating the root-thick forest floor any easier, and Vana was quick to notice. “Your leg! Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine, it’s not too bad.”

“Nonsense, I will check it shortly.”

Then, the two mammals fell into a clearing two meters wide. The forest floor was covered in moss, but there was also an old tan sleeping bag, a few shelves full of strange-colored liquids and various knick-knacks, and a bubbling cauldron filled with what Donavon assumed to be fresh stew. It almost looked like a druid’s living quarters, straight out of a D&D campaign, but a few anachronistic objects spoiled the fairytale aesthetic. Such items included a few jugs of clear water, a silver emergency blanket, a tarp to keep the rain off of everything, wooden firestarter blocks, and other various bits of survivalist gear. Nothing looked dingy, and there wasn’t any trash strewn about, but the fact that the fox seemingly lived here was jarring nonetheless. And even though the caprine’s sense of smell wasn’t nearly as developed as other animals, the entire clearing was ripe with an overwhelming fox musk. There wasn’t a single article of clothing in sight.

“So you live here?” The goat took a seat on a moss-covered stump.

“Yes, yes!” answered the blue-furred fox, diligently stirring his soup. “I find it very hedonistic to live outdoors.”

“Is this, like, a local religious thing, or-”

“No, no, no! Most Norse people live in houses.” Vana ladled soup into a brown ceramic bowl and passed it to the goat. “To tell the truth, I am not even from this land.”

Donavon continued his line of inquiry before sampling the soup, despite the fact that his stomach growled once more. “And, um, what is it that a hedonist does?”

Vana tilted his head once more. “Do you not know this word? Is my language-”

“No, no, yeah, I know the word, it’s just that- I’ve never heard of anyone living like this before. What do you exactly do?”

Vana poured himself some soup as well, and was quick to pour water into another cauldron. “I do not do anything, really. Or, there is nothing I need to do. I live life, find pleasure, and help others find pleasure. That is all philosophical-” Vana struggled to find the right word, and waved his paw around fruitlessly searching for it. “Bah! It is not too important.” The fox placed the cauldron over the fireplace, next to the stew. Donavon noticed that the smoke was able to evacuate the clearing through an opening next to the tarp.

The goat stared in bewilderment. Such a life seemed impossible. “Do you not have a job, or money?”

Vana giggled. “No, I do not have a job. I live off of the land, or off of people’s gifts. Sometimes, a village nearby gifts things to me, if I have not eaten in a while, but I know the land well. I even have a garden nearby.” The fox’s eyes then went wide. “I do not stay around for winter, though! No, no. I move south.”

“And that… works for you?”

“I am very happy, yes!” Vana proceeded to slurp his soup without using a spoon. The fur on his muzzle was visibly dripping. Donavon succumbed to this wild fox’s antics and took a sip himself. The soup had the distinct taste of wild mushrooms, carrots, and turnips. The combination of sweet, savory, and mildly spicy flavors was a bit convoluted, but it beat instant oatmeal by a mile “Would you like tea, Donavon? Or perhaps marijuana? I can also give you a massage, and I should treat your leg.”

The flurry of offerings caught the goat off guard, but it was the last offer that reminded Donavon that he was subconsciously rubbing his ankle. “Oh, it’s just that I twisted my ankle, it’s not-”

“You twisted your ankle out in the wilderness? No, no, no! That is no good.”

“It’s fine, really. It’ll heal-”

“But you must walk so far! And the way is treacherous.” The fox scrambled to his paws-and-knees and quickly made his way over to grab at the goat’s leg, pulling off his wet boot without asking, and doing the same with the soaked sock that covered his gray-furred foot. “Ah, wait-” But the fox did not wait.

The vulpine’s muzzle was aimed directly at the caprine hiker’s foot, and he couldn’t suppress the self-conscious worry that it probably didn’t smell altogether pleasant, but Vana made no corresponding face of disgust, and instead rubbed gently at the goat’s ankle with his black-furred forepaws.

“You don’t have to, um, touch my feet.”

A sly grin flashed across the fox’s muzzle. “I do not mind the scent of feet or hindpaws, do not worry.” Donavon couldn’t squeeze in a response in time. “Does this hurt?” The massage was gentle enough not to cause any more pain, but the slight pressure reminded Donavon that he still had an injury.

“A little bit. But it’s fine-”

“Nonsense. I have a salve that can ease pain.” Vana proceeded to scamper off towards his mystical shelf, but then stopped midway. “Do you trust me, Donavon?”

The goat’s square-pupiled eyes went wide. “What do you mean by that?”

“I have a potion that is very, very good at treating joints and muscle injuries, not just easing the pain. But it leaves the body feeling very heavy, and you will not be able to move far. I would offer it to you, until your ankle has healed, but I don’t want you to feel unsafe, if you cannot move freely-”

Donavon gulped. “I mean, um- If you think the salve works-”

“Yes, yes! The salve would work too, so long as you rest your foot! Or even marijuana, if you partake.” The caprine hiker briefly wondered if this fox had smoked before the goat showed up. That would explain his erratic behavior. But the vulpine’s dark orange eyes weren’t accompanied by any shades of red. “I only offer the potion because it is better for the muscles, and it wouldn’t take all day.” Vana then giggled. “You are very, very handsome, Donavon, but I would not want to take advantage of you.”

The blush threatened to return to Donavon’s face, and a quick, errant glance led to the discovery of a small bit of red poking out of the vulpine’s exposed, white-furred sheath. Donavon’s eyes darted quickly back towards his soup, though a stray paw started to rub at his chipped horn self-consciously. “Oh, um- Thank you, Vana.”

“I do not know if you prefer the company of men-”

The goat choked on his soup for a brief moment. “Oh, no, you’re fine. I, uh-”

Vana kept on talking. “But I find you very attractive- Oh, very sorry, do you need water?”

“You’re totally fine, Vana.”

“I hope I have not made you feel uncomfortable. I often say the first thing I think without thinking about it first.”

The goat sipped his soup. “No, you’re fine, Vana. I’m not, um… Yeah, I’m pretty pan- or, um. I’m into men and women, and queer folks in general. I just didn’t expect- Or, it’s not often you just run across queer people on the trail.” That was a lie. Queer animals hike all the time. But the fox’s completely blunt nature left Donavon perpetually struggling to find any coherent string of words.

And just as Donavon thought that the fox couldn’t get any more blunt, he found himself once more surprised. “If you want me to pleasure you, I would be very happy to.” The bashful caprine guest performed a literal spit take, and started to laugh awkwardly. “Ha, yeah! Um- Thank you, Vana!” The goat immediately cursed himself for accidentally slipping one last errant Midwestern “yeah” into the conversation. “Maybe we should, uh, get to know each other first.”

The slight tightening in the caprine’s already-tight jeans wasn’t helping the situation.

And naturally, Vana failed to pick up on the goat’s social niceties, even with hot soup now soaking the area immediately in front of his guest’s mouth. He was practically half-erect and already leaking pre. The fox musk had begun to overwhelm the scent of soup in the grove. “Oh, thank you, Donavon! And yes, I would love to know you more first, and treat your ankle, naturally, but it makes me very happy that you would like to bed with me!”

“Haha, yeah!” The caprine guest rubbed at his temples, still keeping his gaze towards the northern greenery instead of what was now a full vulpine erection. Only the bulb of the knot lingered inside of the white-tinted sheath. But instead of mentioning his hard-on, the chaotic vulpine simply scrambled once more to his shelf and retrieved a small clay jar.

“Tell me, Donavon, what sorts of things do you enjoy doing?”

“I guess, um- I like hiking.”

The fox half-chittered, half-laughed. “I know about that already, Donavon. You don’t go into the middle of the wilderness unless you enjoy it!”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Before I forget; would you like the potion, or the salve?”

Despite the vulpine hedonist’s chaotic demeanor, Donavon felt no ill-will. Full of trust, the goat relented. “The potion, if you think it’s better.”

“I do, I do!” The steel-blue fox flew back towards the shelves and exchanged one jar for another. “Go on, though! About your interests!”

Donavon rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I have a desk job, helping people with motor vehicles-”

But Vana cocked his head curiously. “That isn’t what you enjoy. That is a job.”

The goat turned sheepish, and sipped once more on his soup. “I don’t know, I guess I work a lot. I only go camping when I can.”

“What are the things that you enjoy, Donavon?”

This sudden interrogation quickly made the caprine guest feel embarrassed. His apartment routine didn’t really extend beyond making quick dinners, fixing cheap cocktails, and watching trashy TV, and evenings spent with company were few and far between. “I guess watch shows… I don’t know, I just go to the woods if I have time.”

Vana reached his paw over to the goat’s shoulder and spoke as though his guest were undergoing some great trauma. “Do you not make love enough, Donavon? Do you not share the pleasurable fruits of this world with good friends enough? Truly exist at peace in nature and relish in its beauty?” The caprine hiker could almost detect the faintest hint of a blush beneath the fox’s face fur; the first sign of the vulpine experiencing anything akin to embarrassment. “These are how I spend my days, enjoying life when I can. These are pleasures that all animals deserve.” His voice lingered on the vowel, stuck with sudden hesitation. “Though I must admit, pleasure is only half as potent when experienced alone.”

“Y-yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“I have met many wonderful animals, but I have also spent many days alone, Donavon.”

Donavon wasn’t close to cracking the code regarding the machinations of this fox’s lifestyle, but he knew that the hedonist probably didn’t receive too many visitors if his little grove was this removed from society. “I get that, for sure.”

“Donavon, I think that’s why the runes told me about you. You are someone who has been denied pleasure, and I am someone who longs to bring pleasure to others. And no matter what you think of yourself, every animal deserves pleasure.” Vana held intense eye contact with the stunned goat, but diligently left his paw on the caprine’s shoulder without venturing it further.

The nervous guest hazarded a joke. “You promise you’re not some fairytale creature?”

The fox giggled nervously. “What do you mean by that, Donavon?”

Donavon then grabbed at the fox’s paw and held it tightly. “I mean; you’re so unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“It’s almost too good to be true.”

Vana then brought his muzzle towards Donavon’s and kissed him, lightly and briefly. “I feel the same way about you, Donavon. I do not often get to touch someone like this.” Then, a mischievous growl rumbled in the vulpine heathen’s throat. “Though one tends to feel more comfortable without clothing, no?”

Could this be an authentic affection? A mere hour ago, Donavon’s mind was far from thoughts concerning flirting and hooking up, and he only found himself whisked away to this situation through an aloof combination or stunned spurts of silence and poor word choice. But the fox was earnestly kind and caring, and Donavon could see in his amber eyes that his intense desire to bring pleasure was the vulpine’s most ideal method of finding pleasure himself. And even though Donavon had concerns about his weight, about his chipped horn, and about his underwhelming life, this fox had somehow made Donavon feel authentically attractive. This sudden connection felt completely genuine.

The caprine was also certainly half-mast. The sudden flirting may have caught him off-guard, but the fox’s direct approach was almost erotic unto itself. It was quick and sudden and chaotic, but Donavon was completely sucked in by this seemingly fae fox’s charisma.

“You’re totally right, I could get more comfortable.”

The fox politely scooted backwards, giving Donavon more space. The goat clumsily unfastened the buttons on his flannel, taking too long to consider the strip tease successful. But Vana simply rested on his knees, licking his lips and wagging his bushy tail as he watched the caprine undress. The white tip of the fox’s paintbrush tail was almost as hypnotizing as his leaking cock. Donavon gave up halfway through his unbuttoning process and pulled the rest of the shirt over the top of his head, hampered by his horns. His wet jeans also proved to be a hassle, but the vulpine was patient. Thankfully, his shoes and socks had already been removed; it didn't escape Donavon’s notice that Vana had made sure to remove the shoes on both feet. Before too long, the goat was left entirely naked, save for a black pair of compression underwear. The hiker dawdled before completely stripping nude, but his long, thin caprine cock felt utterly trapped by the constrictive clothing, and his tent was hard to miss.

Vana’s nose twitched, and his rod followed suit. “You smell wonderful, Donavon.”

The goat giggled, finding that claim hard to believe after three straight days of hiking. “Are you sure?”

“Nothing smells more erotic than a man who has sweated so much and finally found respite.”

The fox was apparently a musk enthusiast.

“Here, Donavon.” He placed the clay jar into the goat’s open hands. “Take this potion, and let me savor your scent while your body becomes heavier.” The fox’s chocolate paw started to gently rub down the gray goat’s side. “You do not need to do a thing. Let me take care of you.”

“Oh, Vana…” was all that the goat could stammer before the steel-blue vulpine dexterously pulled his lover’s underwear down in order to reveal a long pink cock, proudly slapping against his chest after finding itself finally exposed. The fox descended to his paws and knees, and before opening his muzzle, he pressed his nose against the middle part of the goat’s shaft and inhaled. Donavon could smell the puddle of dank precum before he saw it pool on the moss.

The goat was also eager to follow orders, and eager to give his body completely to the fox. He uncorked the clay jar and asked, “Do I drink it all?”

The vulpine moaned before speaking, lost in a sea of caprine cock musk. “You only need to drink half of it.”

“Thank you- er.” Donavon giggled as the fox’s wet nose tickled his cock. “Thank you for everything, Vana.”

“I must thank you, Donavon.”

The caprine hiker did as instructed, and drank half of the potion. It possessed a strange mixture of herbal and bitter accents, not unlike if the flavor of sage were combined with menthol cough syrup, but it didn’t linger on the goat’s tongue with any perpetually vile flavors. He began to feel the effects immediately.

And then Vana began to nuzzle on the goat’s tip.

Donavon felt the urge to shudder at the sensation on his cock, but the sudden heaviness made such a motion feel as though he were moving through a fluid more viscous than water. He cried out the fox’s name once more; “Oh, Vana!” and sank into the soft, wet moss, fully engulfed in the sudden body high. The fox cradled the goat’s massive, bulging balls with his left paw as he held the base of his cock with his right, moving further down the shaft. The fox was shameless with his sloppy, wet slurping sounds. He drooled enough to mat the goat’s fur, even more than the rain could manage. Donavon’s entire body began to tingle, but the sudden heaviness spurned on by the potion left him unable to do anything but lie back and receive the fox’s treatment. A meek, tenor string of moans escaped the goat’s lips, and he proceeded to cry out his recurring chant, almost cementing itself as a divine rite. “Oh, Vana! Oh, Vana!”

The steel-blue fox merely laughed with his mouth full and continued to suck. The rumbling of the fox’s throat added another layer of pleasure. Vana proceeded to gently caress the goat’s sack, squeezing as tenderly as he could. Donovan was utterly astounded at the vulpine’s talent, and suddenly became self-conscious. He wouldn’t be able to last a full minute at this rate. His body shivered, his breath became shorter, and his hips humped into the hedonist’s muzzle gently, unable to fully fuck his mouth under the influence of the fox’s strange brew. But Vana seemed to feel the faint trace of tension in his lover's body, and retreated from his blowjob in order to comfort his guest. “Do not be afraid to finish early, Donavon. Let yourself cum when your body tells you to.” And then, the fox promptly began to deepthroat the goat.

“Vana, Vana!” Donavon had lost his control of language. There was only one word which mattered to him. The fox had no difficulty managing the spear-like caprine member into his tight little throat, but he didn’t settle for simply sheathing the goat’s member and bobbing up and down. Vana still managed to suckle with his throat full, and his wet tongue danced along Donavon’s shaft, managing to glide against the most sensitive areas. He continued to drool all over, and slurped and moaned with complete abandon. Even with the fox’s affirmations fresh in his brain, the caprine hiker still felt nervous about finishing prematurely. He didn’t want to become completely exhausted if the fox couldn’t get off as quickly. But Vana continued to pull at the goat’s balls, lap his tongue across the goat’s length, and suck the goat’s cock with an unparalleled caliber of skill. The potion worked hard to ease all tension, and Donavon had lost control of his ability to hold back his orgasm. He shuddered, shaked, and called out Vana’s name. And in less than a minute, he began to cum.

“Vana! Oh, Vana!”

Donavon couldn’t move his arms in order to hold the fox’s blue-furred head down, no matter how much he wanted to. But Vana dutifully kept the entirety of Donavon’s member lodged snugly in his throat, greedily swallowing every last drop of seed without spilling a drop. Then, a second rope of cum shot directly into the vulpine’s stomach. Then a third. Then a fourth. The fifth rope of cum landed directly onto the fox’s tongue as he pulled back, eager to actually taste his lover’s seed. The sixth rope followed shortly behind, as did a meager seventh, but the hedonist held his position firmly, curling his canine tongue into a bowl-like shape in order to adequately keep the goat’s rich, savory cum concentrated on his taste buds.

Donavon sank even deeper into the bed of moss, and barely noticed the fox scramble from his kneeling position to lay directly atop the goat, fully utilizing his large belly as a comfortable bed. Donavon’s square-pupiled eyes went wide once more as Vana proceeded to press his muzzle against the goat’s mouth, snowballing his prize into his larger lover’s maw. The sudden musky taste of cum caught Donavon off guard, and the realization that it was his own scent drummed up a brief flash of rogue on the skin under his facefur. But Donavon quickly relented, allowing the fox to make out with him, and dutifully swallowing his own seed along with his lover’s spit. The goat’s cock twitched feebly, blissfully winding down from its orgasm, and Vana’s throbbing canine cock pressed against the bottom of the goat’s belly, spilling sticky pre into his fur.

Vana then pulled away from his kiss, but Donavon, panting, longed to reunite his lips to the fox’s. “Vana….”

“It was good, no?”

“It was… it was completely perfect.”

The hedonist planted one more sloppy kiss directly onto the goat’s muzzle, giggling as he pulled away. “You taste amazing yourself, Donavon.”

“Thank… thank you.” But doubt crept into the goat’s mind once more. “Wait, wait- Vana. You didn’t get off yet. I don’t know if… I might need to recharge.”

The fox chittered and laughed. “Do not worry, Donavon. Nothing would bring me more pleasure than bringing you to orgasm.” He proceeded to slide off of the goat’s chest and crawl over to the shelving structure, procuring what seemed to be a joint. “Do you partake?”

The goat had smoked weed only a few times, and hadn’t dabbled in years, but the head high combined with the potion’s body high sounded euphoric. “I could smoke with you, yeah!”

Vana proceeded to hold the tip of the joint in the flame of the nearby campfire before placing the other end into Donavon’s mouth; his arms still felt too heavy to move fluidly. Sweet bliss flooded the goat’s synapses, flowing just as quickly as the potion had. Vana’s supply seemed to be of good quality. “Oh, that’s really good!” The goat then proceeded to laugh.

The steel-blue fox took a drag, and a warm smile spread across his vulpine muzzle. “Thank you, Donavon. I grew it myself!”

“Wait… is it legal here?”

Vana giggled. “I don’t know! No one’s asked!” Then, both mammals started to erupt into full-bodied laughter. Never before had weed worked so quickly.

Then, Donavon’s stoned gaze fell once more onto Vana’s erect cock, fully without shame for the first time. “Vana, you’re still hard!”

“Do not worry, Donavon! There is no rush-”

“But… y’know, if there’s something I can do to help, I’d love to.”

The vulpine hedonist then cast his own gaze towards the lower parts of the goat’s body. “Well… there is one thing you can do for me, Donavon.”

The caprine guest laughed nervously. “Though maybe… full disclosure: I haven’t bottomed often-”

“Oh, no, no, no, Donavon! Nothing like that!” Vana then proceeded to cast a stray gaze towards the goat’s hips and lick his muzzle. “I would certainly be honored to breed you. But no, I… Well…” For a brief, rare moment, the metaphorical cat had caught Vana’s tongue.

“What is it, Vana?”

“It is a bit embarrassing…”

The goat giggled. “I can’t imagine you getting embarrassed.”

“But I am all the same!”

Donavon smiled. “Tell me what it is, Vana. You’ve done so much for me. I want to do something for you.”

“I would like to kiss your feet, Donavon.”

The balance of bashfulness shifted, and now the goat was blushing. His feet had been thoroughly lodged inside of tight, wet hiking boots for five days, and hadn’t seen a trace of a bath for just as long. He could almost catch a whiff of his own foot sweat over the fox’s own domineering musk. “Oh, um- I don’t know, Vana. I’m afraid they’d smell bad-”

That sentence alone caused Vana’s cock to twitch.

Donavon gasped. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

“Please, Donavon. I know it is strange of me, but-”

Donavon had never been with a partner who was into feet play, but considering the fox’s diligent treatment earlier, he’d be more than happy to oblige. The goat wiggled his toes. Or at least he tried to; his body still felt too heavy to allow for fluid motion. “They’re all yours, Vana.”

“Oh, Donavon!” The fox’s voice fluttered. Where once, the fox would fly at every activity without reservation, he instead gingerly descended to his knees and slowly approached the goat’s exposed feet as though he were trying to catch a butterfly without scaring it. The steel-blue vulpine even descended further onto his shoulders before venturing his nose forward. The moss and dirt clung to his fur, but the fox paid no mind.

Donavon wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d never let another man near his feet before. Even though his muscles weren’t itching to engage in any strenuous movement, his sensible nerves were more prone to feeling the most delicate touch as though it were an ambush of vigorous tickling. It also helped that the pot was potent. The mere sensation of the fox’s whiskers brushing up against the thin-furred soles of the caprine’s feet were almost too much to bear. The tiny sensations caused the nerves throughout Donavon’s entire body to catch fire. Vana simply started to inhale the foot musk, seemingly eager to sniff for as long as he could before he started kissing. The fox kept making cute little whines, and visibly shuddered upon every inhale. Donavon could see his exposed cock twitch up and down with each breath.

“Is there anything I should do, or-”

With a voice flush with rumbling pleasure, the fox interrupted. “No, no, you are perfect Donavon, just remain relaxed.” He then proceeded to drag his flat, wet tongue across the ball of the goat’s left foot, leaving behind a wet trail of saliva. A tingle shot up Donavon’s spine upon the sudden ticklish sensation, but he did as he was told and kept still, allowing the fox to work. Vana began to leak precum immediately. The steel-blue fox was forceful and slow with each motion of his tongue, and the wet sounds of methodical tonguework were interspersed with needy little grunts and moans. By the time Vana switched to the other foot, he had begun pointlessly humping the air. Donavon was surprised that the other mammal wasn’t jacking himself off, and he wondered if the foot fetishism alone would send the fox over the edge. The constant twitching and leaking of his red rocket were surely an indicator.

The caprine hiker allowed himself to sink deeper into the moss and soil, his body now completely overwhelmed by the substances within him. The gentle rhythm of the fox’s tongue felt almost hypnotizing the more that Donavon got used to it, and the little vulpine even started to kiss his toes. Vana was panting like he was in heat. He even started to suck on the larger toes with the same oral dexterity that he used on the goat’s cock. The goat kept a watchful eye on the fox’s crotch, curious if he was going to shoot paws-free. He even felt tempted to wiggle his toes, or push his foot harder into the fox’s face, but the effects of the potion made such motions difficult. All that was left to do was to sit back and enjoy the experience. The fox licked, moaned, licked, moaned, and switched between feet with pious diligence. Donavon even felt his own member stir a little, despite having just reached climax. It usually took the goat a long while before he could get it up again, though he hardly found it surprising that this fox proved to be the exception.

The race towards an orgasm didn’t take long at all. Vana’s panting turned into full-throated moans as he withdrew his muzzle from the goat’s feat. His body arched rapidly, as though Donavon were watching a yoga instructional video at ten times the speed. Vana cried out something in a language that Donavon didn’t understand, and without having been touched once, his canine cock started to shoot ropes of cum onto the soft forest floor. He even shot far enough to splatter a sizable mess into Donavon’s shin fur. He’d never seen anyone reach climax with such power before.

Being a vulpine, there was a lot of fluid involved. Even though the first two spurts were violent and far-reaching, Vana’s cock began to casually dribble clearer liquid at a regular rate, pouring into and out of his sheath and into the white fur of his thighs. The steel blue fox’s moaning was suddenly accompanied with a visible shiver, and Donavon tried to fight the weight of the potion to reach up and grab the fox. It felt as though he were trying to pull himself through quicksand, but after a monumental amount of effort, Donavon managed to pull the fox in for a tight hug. The fox was light, completely easy to pull down, though it wasn’t as though he were putting up any resistance. Fox-like whines and chirps escaped the heathen’s muzzle where words failed, and he instead decided to snuggle up under the crook of the goat’s arm. It didn’t escape Donavon’s notice how close the vulpine’s sensitive nose was to his pits.

“That was spectacular, Vana.”

The fox started chittering again, a strange noise colored by pleasurable moaning. Donavon chuckled to himself, surprised at the fox’s lack of words. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself.”

“Donavon, you are an artist.”

“That’s not true, you did most of the work!”

Vana snuggled in more tightly. “But no one has brought me as much pleasure as you have just now.”

The goat once again managed to push his slate-colored arm through the muscle fatigue in order to bring it around the fox. “That’s high praise, coming from someone who worships pleasure.”

“And yet I mean it all the same.” The vulpine’s words were muffled.

Donavon basked in the sheer pleasure of the situation. Doubts melted away, and regrets faded in an equally thorough fashion, for there is nothing that the goat would have changed about his life if it meant that he would end up in this perfect situation. He was content, high, surrounded in the splendor of nature, and lucky to be in the company of another mammal that one could easily fall in love with.

One doubt remained though. These things rarely occurred for free, and Donavon wasn’t even entirely certain that such a perfect fox wasn’t a fairytale creature after all. Would he just come down from the high and continue the hike, eventually returning to his ordinary life with only the memory of this one-time fling? Was this chance encounter a mere boon unto itself, and life would remain as it was afterwards? Could Donavon even accept a return to the job he merely tolerated, and a life that almost felt stagnant?

Part of Donavon wanted to remain with the fox instead.

And as though he were a mind-reading folkloric creature after all, Vana then proceeded to ask. “Donavon, do you find enough pleasure in your life?”

Willfully naive, the caprine hiker responded, “What do you mean?”

“If you wanted to live here with me, I would let you.”

Donavon’s words caught in his throat. His doubt kept him from freely speaking his mind. “I don’t, um- What do you mean?”

“It is a good life. It is not automatically easy, and there are days of hunger and longing… but I know for a fact that it is an easier life when spent in good company.”

Vana began to cling tighter to the chubbier mammal, as if to coerce his lover. The caprine’s heart rate started to speed up once more, for the fox’s tactics were working. But still, Donavon held onto his doubt. “I mean- Wouldn’t it be hard, moving to a new country? And I think my friends and family would be, um… I don’t know. That’s a lot to consider.”

“So you’ll consider it?”

Donavon coughed a little. “I don’t know, maybe?”

The fox’s chipper excitement returned in full force. “You can stay as long as you’d like until you decide, Donavon! And there are ways to make it work. For one, you have your cell phone, no?”

The goat giggled. “I guess, yeah, that’d still work.”

“Then your friends are only a mere phone call away! Oh Donavon, it would make me very happy to be your husband-”

“Wait, what-”

“You will make a fine hedonist!”

Donavon pulled the fox in tighter. “Did you say ‘husband?’”

“If you would wish. Pardon me for being forward-”

The fox’s forward nature had done the trick. “I’ll definitely consider that then, Vana.” The goat’s tone clearly indicated that the answer wouldn’t be no.

But at that moment, there was no need to focus on the future. There was no need to focus on plans and doubts and fears when pleasure was readily at hand. The weed was potent. The soup was good. And the goat’s libido was quickly recovering the longer the fox clung at his side.