Just a Regular Wednesday
Aren't you tired of all this smut? Aren't you dying to see someone with common sense for once? Wait, you're not?
Oh.
You might be in the wrong place then.
You start the day by waking up in your queen-sized bed, which you share with your coyote girlfriend, Veronica. You feel incredibly lucky to have the smokin’ hot gal, and she feels the same way towards you! You couldn’t ask for anything more in a partner. She’s a little more awake than you, and holds you extra tightly, like a coyote-shaped squid. The way her thick thighs intertwine with yours tell you she’s frisky, and while you’d have time to appreciate that on a weekend, it is unfortunately Wednesday. After a bit of indulgent cuddling and a sweet kiss on her forehead, she whines as you untangle yourself from her grasp.
“Are you suuure you can’t call in sick, just for today?” whimpers Veronica.
“We both have to get to work dear. C’mon~”
She groans and flops back into the soft bedding. You decide to give her a few more minutes of snooze, and go on to start your own day. The house isn’t your own – you’re working on getting your own place with Veronica – and so it’s not long until you stumble across your younger stepsister. Instead of finding her at the table, hunched over a bowl of cereal, you find the malamute’s back end sticking out of the washing machine.
That perfectly round butt, clad in only the thinnest panties she owns, wiggles enticingly. Her muffled voice echoes out of the machine, taking on a rather unserious tone that belonged in a bad porno, “help me step bro, I’m stuck~”
The view is enticing, and the urge to take advantage even more so. You quickly crouch down behind your step sis, taking care not to bump into her inappropriately as you help. Your paws grasp her by the hips, which makes her moan unexpectedly, and then you tug. She comes out easier than expected, as if she weren’t even stuck in the first place, and you both fall to the laundry floor together. You’re swift to avert your gaze when you realise she isn’t wearing a bra.
“O-oh, thanks bro! Maybe I can-“
“Put some clothes on! Sheesh,” you exclaim, getting out from under her with your eyes firmly closed.
Despite being ‘helped’, she seems a little frustrated as you leave her and get dressed for work. Your stepmother is probably still asleep, as today is her day off, and your father is away on yet another business trip to a country you can’t recall the name of. You call out a goodbye to your stepsister, give Veronica another kiss on the head, then set off for work.
The trip to the Hallixion offices goes without a hitch – apart from the goth wolf that decides to sit right next to you on the otherwise empty bus, giving you mixed signals – and the first couple hours are mind-numbing spreadsheets and meetings that could have been emails. The daily routine is interrupted when one of your coworkers, a squirrel named Amelia, ducks into your cubicle. She asks for some help refilling the printer, which you find a little odd, but you can’t resist the urge to be that helpful, strong man that carries a carton of heavy paper for a pretty gal.
She leads you into the storeroom, big squirrel tail swishing hypnotically. Making sure to keep your spine straight and bend with your knees, you pick up a fresh box of paper then turn to see Amelia closing the door. The two of you make eye contact, and she holds your gaze as she begins undoing the buttons on her collar. Uh oh. She’d been extra friendly with you for the last couple weeks, and now you realise why. You quickly – but safely – put the box back down then close the distance. You see the excitement in her eyes for a moment before you do up those buttons again.
“Amelia, I’m flattered, but I have a girlfriend.” The doorknob to the room jiggles a bit, then whoever is on the other side leaves in a huff to go find a key. You give the dispirited squirrel a stern look, “and this is hardly the place. Let’s not lose our jobs over impulsive mistakes.”
“S-sorry,” she squeaks.
“It’s alright,” you say, patting her slumped shoulder reassuringly before turning to pick up the paper yet again. “Let’s both just forget this happened and go refill that printer.”
Amelia suddenly looks sheepish, “oh! Uhm, actually that was a lie. The printer is fine.”
With an eyeroll and a quick reminder about appropriate workplace behaviour, you leave a few minutes after her, as to not rouse suspicion. At first, you think nobody noticed, then your boss is the next to arrive at your cubicle. The mountain lioness slaps your desk – not angrily, but urgently – and says, “my office, ten minutes.”
You gulp and finish up what you were doing, then approach her personal assistant precisely ten minutes later. The corgi seems to give you a knowing look, then waves you in. The boss’s office is one of those fancy ones with the mahogany desk worth a month of pay, bookshelves filled with eloquent titles you’re pretty sure are solely for display, and one-way glass that allows her to survey her workers without them knowing she’s watching.
The older cougar beckons you forth and slaps a contract on the desk. She eyes you hungrily while you read, and you faintly detect a rumbling purr in her chest.
“A promotion?” you finally ask.
She nods, “your efforts have been noticed, and I have some special assignments in mind for you. If you’re up for it.”
Getting incredibly suspicious vibes, you raise an inquisitive eyebrow. “What kind of… Special assignments?”
She doesn’t answer, instead opting to slowly walk around you, like a predator with its prey. The buxom feline clicks the lock on her door, then casually circles back to her desk. Your boss knocks the paper from her desk then sits upon it, facing you with crossed legs. They don’t remain crossed for long, as she sensually spreads them before you, her offering clear as day.
This has become a difficult situation.
Your eyes remained glued to her own, refusing to take in the heavenly sight below. There’s a workplace-politic aspect you can’t ignore, but you can’t just accept this either. This job is important to you, you like this job, you’re more than happy for things to stay the way they are. A pay rise would be nice, sure, but you have a girlfriend, which you firmly remind her of.
“Ma’am, I have a partner. And I am quite happy with my current arrangement. I appreciate the… offer, but respectfully decline.” Her legs cross over once again, and there’s an unmistakable look of disappointment. You decide to add, “I would love to continue being an honest, hardworking Hallixion employee, no more no less.”
She considers for a moment, and you worry about your job security a little, but then she nods in understanding. “Apologies, perhaps this isn’t the right path for you,” she says, looking down at the contract, “I’ll keep you in mind if something more appropriate can be arranged.”
With a reassuring smile, she directs you out of her office. The cougar calls in her corgi PA as you leave, and you hear the door lock again. Deciding to put all of that out of mind, you go back to your desk and get back to work.
You leave work a little early, but only because you’re off to see a client. They’re on the way home from where you work, so it was decided that this one would be assigned to you as your last job for the day. It’s nothing tedious like drafting a new contract and signing stuff; this is more or less just a reminder that could have been an email, yet it is policy that these are done in person.
The address you were given leads to a modest home, if a little rundown. After rapping a knuckle on the wooden doorframe, you are answered by a frazzled-looking vixen. It’s clear she’s having a bad day, as her fur is all rough and her hair a tangled mess of neglect. She looks tired, exhausted, and some secret third thing you can’t quite place yet.
“Good afternoon,” you start, “I represent Hallixion, are you Mrs Robinson?”
“Yep, that’s me. Did something happen?”
“Indeed, we’ve confirmed your banking details but were unable to withdraw the initial funds-“
“Oh, that,” she mutters, then walks deeper inside. “Come in, make yourself comfortable. Tea?”
“No thank you,” you reply, following Mrs Robinson into her living room.
The two of you settle down in awkward silence. There’s clearly something going on, so you respectfully wait for her to gather her words. The orange-furred vixen stares downward and rubs her paws together, as if weighing up her options. She finally sighs, “I can’t pay you, not yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s in the contract, and we need this deal, I just don’t have the money…“
Mrs Robinson looks up at you with trepidation, to which you offer a reassuring smile. She looks more than a little embarrassed when she finally asks, “perhaps, I could pay in some other way..?”
The contract is rigid, there’s no room for negotiation, no matter how much you want to help a girl down on her luck. While pondering what other forms of currency she could pay in, you fail to notice her slipping off the straps of her bra. It’s only when you see her sensually lifting her top off that you realise the nature of her desperate offer. You jump out of her seat and grab her by the wrists just before she exposes herself, giving you only the merest glimpse of underboob.
“No! Ma’am, please,” you blurt before fishing for your wallet; you always have some cash for emergencies, and this classifies as such. You feel her paw settle on the crotch of your pants and swiftly brush it off, then place a few fifties in her grip instead.
“W-wha, no I can’t,” she asks, trying to give you the money back. “Maybe if I just-“
“No! No, that’s quite alright Mrs Robinson. What would you husband think?” you chuckle. She’s clearly hurting for money, and you aren’t, so why not help out? “I’ll be back when the next payment is due, do you think you can have it all ready by then?”
“Yes, of course! And this,” she holds up the fistful of notes. “ I’ll pay you back, I swear. Thank you sir.”
With a calming pat on her back, you leave the foxy wife feeling a little better and head out. You send a quick email to your company to confirm Mrs Robinson will pay tomorrow – you don’t mention that it’s your money – then head on home.
Before you can reach your house, you turn to see your neighbour rushing out. It’s Mrs Merry, the overly friendly mare you’ve known since childhood. Her voluptuous form saunters up to you, wearing a bathrobe and little else, and even that is threatening to slip off at the slightest provocation. You stop to greet her while keep your eyes firmly off her generous cleavage.
“My, how you’ve grown up. You’re quite the handsome young man.”
“And you are quite beautiful; your husband is a lucky man,” you say, putting emphasis on her marital status, which she promptly ignores.
“Mmm, he’s going to be out at a party tonight and I fancy myself a drink,” Mrs Merry pouts, leaning to ever so slightly expose a bit more of her chest. “Won’t you be a dear and come inside for a tad? It’s so sad to drink alone…”
She tugs at your wrists, like a siren on the rocks, but you’re no foolish sailor, you know what she really means. You lean in and give her an unexpected hug, complete with a light peck on the cheek. “Sorry ma’am, my girl is expecting me. Have a lovely day,” you tell the mare, pulling away before she can come up with another reason to lure you inside. She rubs her thighs together in a huff as you escape into your home.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, you run right into your stepmother. It seems she had the same idea as Mrs Merry, for you smell wine on her breath and she dresses just as provocatively. The curvy malamute presses her buxom front into you.
“Welcome home honey, c’mere give your wifey a kiss~”
“Mooom I’m your stepson, not dad, get off-“ you grunt, pushing her away.
She double blinks, feigns surprise, then tries again, “oooh, well come give your stepmom a kiss…”
Polite, familiar pecks on the cheek are a thing, like you did for your neighbour, but not the drunken mouth-to-mouth French-kiss she was clearly aiming for. Swiftly ducking under her outreaching arms sees you evade yet another inappropriate encounter, and she huffs in a startlingly identical way to Mrs Merry.
“Must be something in the air this week…” you mutter to yourself.
Finally, after a long day of work and near mistakes, you come into your room to find Veronica slumped over the bed. You quickly set your bag down and take a seat beside the coyote. She looks up at you with watery eyes and an intense blush.
“Heya, everything okay? You’re home early.”
“I called in sick,” Veronica mumbled, then turned to bury her snout in the pillows, muffling her words. “I went into my stupid heat early, it’s making me go crazy. I can’t think like this, I can’t-“
You wrap your arms around her, “it’s alright, as your boyfriend it is my duty to help you through these difficult times.” You reach out to the bedside and retrieve a packet of condoms- at least you try to, but your paw can’t find them. Leaning over to peer inside, you verify that they’re definitely not there. You glance to catch Veronica gazing at you expectantly, then sigh.
“My condoms aren’t where I left them, have you seen them?”
“Mmm nope,” she lies – you know her well enough to tell. “Please, I really, really need it. I’m burning up. M-maybe I wouldn’t get pregnant…”
Your smile is comforting, yet stern. “You know we’re not ready for that. Not yet, sweetie.”
“I’m begging you, I need it, please?” she asks with the cutest, horniest puppy eyes.
You pat and ruffle her between the ears, “give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”
She’s already humping a pillow before you’re out the door. Sex would definitely be irresponsible, so it’s time for plan B. After a minute of trying to gather supplies while dodging the advances of your increasingly brazen stepmother as well as your stepsister, you return with candies and dog-safe chocolates you’d hidden for just such an occasion. It’s not what she craves, but her face lights up nonetheless. You then spend the next hour giving Veronica massages, feeding her snacks, and overall treating her like a princess. That instinctive need lingered in the back of her mind, but your efforts did well to distract her.
“Thanks, boyfie.”
“Anytime~”
By the end of the day, you were both in pyjamas and spooning in your shared bed. Tomorrow, you’d do it all again, and pamper your girlfriend until she got over her annoying heat cycle. Perhaps you’d pick up some condoms on the way home, like a responsible adult.