FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The afternoon sun had left Ana's rental car an oven, which she discovered when she tore open the door, tossed her bag in, and threw herself into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind her. The wolfdog squinted through the glare as the engine rumbled to life at the touch of a button, and soon enough, she'd thrown it into gear and the tires were squealing as she pealed out of her parents' driveway. She didn't bother to see if anyone had followed her out or watched as she tore through the subdivision as fast as she could.

With the way she was driving, it didn't take her long to reach her destination: Braeville, Kentucky's cemetery. She slung the car around, not quite getting it up on two wheels as she parked with more aggression than anyone had any reason to in a cemetery. She paused to collect herself, tipping her head back into the headrest and reflecting that nobody drove fast to a cemetery because the residents were all late already.

Near the center of the plot was a small-ish building, made of marble, fronted with pillars, and lacking a door: the columbarium. She made her way inside. The interior was lit primarily by high-set windows that let in stark shafts of light that fell on different plaques throughout the day. She didn't think there was any particular meaning to it, but it warmed her heart that the one she'd come to visit lay in one of those sunbeams.

Ana sat heavily on the floor and leaned back into the bench that ran down the center of the space. Aunt Jan's plaque sat just about eye level. She'd wanted it that way -- she'd never had any use for folks who couldn't get down on someone else's level.

"Jan, are you sure I'm not your daughter?" Ana didn't expect an answer; she didn't think she lived in a world with magical grandmothers or aunts or anything like that. Still, she hadn't been around when Jan passed, and she'd only first been to visit when she'd arrived on this trip two days prior. Now, here she was, more comfortable with the ashes of her aunt than in her parents' home.

She leaned back, resting her head on the bench and staring up at the white marble of the ceiling, lit by the reflected glow of the sunlight. It was getting warm, but the quiet and isolation kept her there.

Ana leveled her gaze at the plaque again, taking in the names etched on it: Alan Taylor and Jan Horvat-Taylor. They were born in the same year, but their deaths were nearly thirty years apart. Ana had never known Alan, as such, he was simply the dog next to her Aunt Jan, and then he was Aunt Jan's late husband.

The wolfdog ran her fingers over Jan's name on the plaque. "Why did you come back?" She waved vaguely out the entrance, where the rest of Braeville lay. "I mean, you two could have lived anywhere, why'd you come back here? And why'd you stay? Has it always been like this? Am I missing something?"

Jan would have said she was missing something, she was sure. Her stomach rumbled, and she stood. She was missing food, too, but that was easy to fix. She paused at the entrance and looked back into the building that wasn't quite a crypt. The sun had shifted, and Jan's plaque lay in the dark between two shafts of light. Was there something to that?

She shook her head and started back to the car. Jan would have said yes, and that something was orbital mechanics. She had always been a practical dog.

Billy's was, in fact, still open. Late afternoon sun streamed through the large glass window that looked out on the parking lot, and the air conditioning strained to keep up. Still, Billy's Vittles had been a staple of Ana's formative years, and it had always been a place Jan took her when they were out together. The same old dog -- named Mike, of course, as the framed articles on the wall explained -- had been working in the open kitchen for as long as she could remember. He might have been a little slower than she remembered, but it was hard to tell. Ana and Jan, on the other hand, had simply enjoyed the juvenile pleasure of talking about "Mike's Meat" and "Getting some sausage from Billy's." That Billy's served up some good sausage only made it better.

Ana was working her way through her very favorite comfort food on the menu, mac and cheese with hot peppers, tomatoes, and sausage, when another memory walked in. A tricolor Welsh sheepdog with one flopped and one half-pricked ear had entered while she was enjoying her bowl of contentment and ordered at the bar. He'd gotten up at some point, and now he paused at her table.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but are you Ana Novak?" He had that particular look of someone who wanted to be surprised, but was worried he'd made a mistake.

She finished her mouthful and looked up at him. His face was familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Yeah. Do I know you? You look kind of familiar."

His face lit up, mismatched ears perked, and his tongue hanging out briefly. That face she recognized. John Lee -- they'd been close friends in school, but never more than that, despite what folks had whispered. During her first couple years of college, she'd kicked herself on lonely nights for not doing more with John, but she'd since gotten over that. She was pretty sure she'd moved on.

"John Lee," he offered, his tail wagging behind him. She remembered that too. John never could contain his excitement. "Hot damn! I haven't seen you in, what's it been? Ten, fifteen years?" He turned away from the table, back towards where he'd been sitting then back to her. "Hey, can I join you?"

She waved vaguely at the empty spot across from her. "Yeah, sure." John sat down with a sandwich a minute later. "It must be at least ten years. I haven't been back since I graduated, and even then it was only under duress." She grumbled the last part and shoved another bite of dinner into her muzzle to avoid having to elaborate. Duress might have been mostly in the form of a parental guilt trip, but she didn't want to go into it.

John raised an eyebrow at her comment. "So, who's twisting your arm, this time, then?" He attacked his sandwich as he waited for an answer.

Anna watched him for a moment; John had been a wiry, short kid in school, but somewhere along the way, he'd found a couple inches of height and about fifty pounds of muscle. With his sleeves rolled up, she could see how his short summer coat showed off his new frame. There was a story in this new John - he'd become the sort of dog who could easily have graced a charity calendar, and Ana let herself picture that for a moment. Yes, he would definitely look good without clothes.

He'd also had an impressive lust for life that she'd found infectious. His joyous assault on his dinner suggested that had not been tempered by the years.

"Work, actually," she replied.

He paused, eyeing her skeptically as he chewed. "So word around town is you're some big-shot journalist now. How does that bring you back here to little old Braeville, anyway?"

She fixed him with her best withering look, but he shrugged it off. This much, at least, had not changed. "I could ask you the same question. Didn't you go to Stanford?"

He grinned at her. John's grin had gotten him out of more trouble than he would admit in mixed company. "Berkeley, actually. Math and CpE. But you didn't answer my question."

"Guess I didn't." Ana bought time by taking a bite of her food. "My boss wants me to do a Middle America piece. Y'know, go to the heartland, see what the people are saying outside the coasts."

John snorted. "A fresh round of 'Real America' pieces? West Virginia and Ohio weren't giving you enough, so you decided to cut south to Kentucky?"

Ana leaned back and held up her paws. "Hey, hey. Look, she didn't say what she wanted, just 'something.'"

He held her at sandwich-point for a few moments while he pondered this. "Doesn't check out, Ana. Too vague. What's really going on?"

She considered him, this dog she'd grown up with, and who'd clearly done some growing up since they'd parted company. This same dog now wearing well-used denim and a linen shirt, when she'd last seen him in geeky t-shirts. He had a story in that, and it would be good to catch up.

John met her look. He'd certainly picked up extra confidence along the way.

"Fine. I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours."

He grinned. "Great." The dog paused. "You're going to use this for your story, aren't you?"

It was Ana's turn to grin. "John, I'm a journalist. You can trust me."

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You didn't try that line on your parents, did you?"

She grimaced. "No. I'm smarter than that."

"I always thought you were." He glanced at his watch, then polished off his sandwich in a few quick bites and waived at the waiter, a young, grey-furred whippet. "Look, I hate to run off, but I have to get back and move some sheep. Why don't you come by the farm in a couple hours and we can swap stories over some beer?"

The waiter came by, and John gestured in a manner clearly meant to encompass both him and Ana. The boy, for he couldn't have been more than sixteen, nodded and wandered off.

Ana glared at John. "Did you just pick up my check?"

He simply grinned. "Sure did."

"You know I hate that." She reached out to kick his foot under the table. He didn't seem to notice.

He flashed that full John Grin she remembered: head cocked to one side, mismatched ears perked, tongue lolling out. "Why do you think I did it?"

She grumbled in response. It wasn't like she needed the charity. Work would have paid for it. She said as much.

The waiter came back, and John handed him a card and sent him off immediately. "Sure. But maybe I want to treat an old friend."

Ana salved her pride by stabbing a few more bites from her bowl. John simply watched her.

Something tugged at the back of her mind. "Hey, your wife going to be there? I'd love to get her perspective for my piece, too."

John snorted. "Wife? You assume too much."

Ana paused. "Uh. Husband?" She didn't remember that from high school, but who knew?

The dog covered his muzzle, but he couldn't hide the sniggering from behind it.

She looked up from her food and kicked him again. "What?"

This time he kicked back. "It's neither. There is no Mister or Missus Lee. It's just me and the sheep out at the farm."

She couldn't hide a grin. "Oh, just you and the ewes? I see where this is going."

He kicked her again. "Hey. It's not like that. They're fine upstanding ladies and only put out for the best tups east of the Mississippi." The check returned and he considered it for a moment before scribbling on it. "What about you?"

Ana raised an eyebrow. "I, too, only put out for the best tups this side of the Mississippi."

John cracked a fresh grin. He had a ready supply. "I see. Well, you know, Ben's only a few miles west of town, and he's got a pretty good tup, if you're feeling lonely."

She rolled her eyes. "Ass. But no, there is no Mister or Missus Novak waiting for me somewhere. I am wild and free, like the wind. Me and my camera and my laptop." She held out her arms and waved them like wings.

John leaned forward, paws on the table. "I see. Well, I gotta get gone. See you at seven? You can get some farm shots, it's extra pretty then."

She smiled. "I'd like that. See you at seven. Oh, wait. Where?"

"Right! 42 Adams Lane. GPS should get you close enough."

He stood, tossed off something that vaguely resembled a hat tip, and left. Ana watched through the window as he got into a truck that might have measured its fuel consumption in gallons per mile and drove off. She couldn't help but notice that John's jeans fitted him damned well, and the way his tail swayed called attention to a rather well-developed ass. He hadn't had that in high school, either.

Ana's gaze followed John's truck until it went out of sight. Perhaps her hometown was more interesting than she'd thought.

John was not wrong about the farm in the evening. Ana guessed there was perhaps an hour or less of light left when she showed up at quarter-til. The intervening hours had been spent investigating the town proper and taking shots for the article. She'd have to sit down and think about people to interview later. For now, she had a pad full of questions to get things started with John and a recorder with a fresh card in it, just in case. It may have been a casual conversation, but she had professional standards to maintain.

She took a few establishing shots while waiting for the clock to run out. Tress, rolling hills bathed in golden sun, the farmhouse backlit, the sort of thing that would fill out an article and emphasize the rural-ness of it. A farmhouse that looked like it could have belonged in the last century or the one before that, except for the tower next to it festooned in what looked like microwave dishes.

John interrupted her photo time when he came out the front door at five-to. "Hey there. Thought I heard you pull up. Couldn't wait on the photos, eh?" The wag in his tail took any edge out of his words. She could tell he was proud of his farm.

She smiled back at him and gave a wag of her own. "Yeah. Light's too good to pass up."

He gestured at her to follow him. "Well come on around back, see the rest of it. Ewes are soaking up the last rays, you can get some extra farm-y shots."

She snorted and followed. "That transparent, eh?"

John responded as he led her between the house and what looked to Ana like a vehicle shed, "I've read dozens of variations of that article in the last year. So, yeah." When they arrived in the back yard, he swept his arm out to encompass the view. "But here we are." He hadn't been kidding. Sun streamed over the hills, washing the sheep and grass in gold. Long shadows stretched from every fencepost and feeder, marking the green of the field with black.

Ana lost herself in taking photos, her ears perked over her camera and her tail swaying behind her. It wasn't the most dignified or restrained she ever was, but it was a pleasure to take photos of something so pleasant and simple as a landscape not torn by war, without wearing body armor or keeping an ear out for shouts of "Incoming."

When she looked up, John was grinning at her.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just nice to see someone enjoying it."

She raised an eyebrow and gestured out at the fields. "What, don't get many visitors?"

"Nope. Like I said, it's mostly just me and the ewes, unless it comes towards sheering or slaughter time. Pick up a few extra hands then, mostly kids from the high school." He shrugged. "It works out well enough. Keeps me busy."

Ana hurried to dig out her recorder. "Hey, you mind if I use this?"

He grinned. "Oh, am I going on the record already?"

"Sure, why not?" She tried out her best winning grin. It seemed to work, because he shrugged.

"Sure, go ahead."

She plied him for details about his sheep, what he got out of them, how he worked with the high schoolers, and how he generally ran his farm mostly by himself. Finally, the light had faded and they were standing on a windswept hill under a purpling sky. Ana interrupted the interview to take some shots as the sun faded behind the hills.

She smiled an apology at John. "I can't resist a good sunset."

He patted her shoulder. "Yeah, I can't blame you. But we can talk inside, where the beer's waiting."

Inside provided shelter from the wind, a table to set things on, and a couple of chairs. John's house wasn't huge, but it seemed like it would have fit a small farm family without issue. They set up shop at his dining room table, looking out its window over the dusky fields.

Beers open and the recorder set up between them, she got to the pressing question. "Ok, John, why are you here? Berkeley grad, Math, Computer Engineering. Silicon Valley and a good school, you must have had better options than this."

He eyed her for a short time, letting the silence stretch out before answering, "Yes, I had other options. I pursued them for a while. Got some good work coming out of school, stuck that out for a while. Hopped startups for a couple of years, finally landed on one at the right time. It got bought out, I was unimportant enough to let cash out, so I did. Ten years in at that point, made it through the crash."

He paused to take a swig of his beer. It was a local, German style beer, the sort Ana had come to appreciate most on a summer's evening. "Had a big pile of money and I was tired of spending twelve or fifteen hours a day in an open office plan, bragging about how much harder I worked than anyone else. Figured, hell, if I'm gonna to work hours like that, I might as well be doing something honest, not burning myself out on the next soul-sucking distraction."

Ana watched him as he spoke. John had always formed strong opinions and followed them with strong action, and it seemed that trend had not abated. "So, what, you took all your money, picked up and moved back to Braeville, bought some sheep and here you are?"

He laughed, short and sharp and perhaps a bit bitter. "No, no. Well, I thought about it. Then I thought, maybe I should learn something about farming, first. I worked on some of the farms here, read a lot, took some ag courses. Retraining, you know?"

"Makes sense. Did that help?"

He shrugged. "Sure? I had more of an idea what I was getting myself into. Skip a couple of rookie mistakes."

Ana thumped her tail on her chair. "Yeah, but you still made a few, right?"

"More than a few." He snorted, then rattled his claws on the table. "But nothing terrible. And with the cash, well...it wasn't too hard to recover from some. No loans yet. Proud of that. Damned lucky, but proud, none the less."

She nodded, then gestured out the window, where they could see the base of the tower. "What about the tower? That's not standard farm equipment, is it?"

"No, but it should be. I hold a big stake in the Wireless ISP coop in town. Burned up a big chunk of my cash to really get them off the ground. In return, I get very, very good coverage out here and no traffic caps. In fact, I'm one of their hubs for this area." He grinned at her, showing some teeth. "Had to keep a few habits from my Berkeley days."

She raised an eyebrow. "Porn?"

He snorted. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He shifted in his seat, leaning on the table. "But I like fast networks, you know? HD streaming and all that. For those few hours a week I can scrape together to watch a movie or something."

"Sure."

John shifted in his seat and leaned towards her. "So what about you, Ana? I showed you mine. Where's yours? Why are you here?"

She sighed. "Ugh. It's a long story."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Ok, I guess it's not too long." She drained her beer. "So most of what I've done in my career is covering conflict. Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, that sort of thing. Not like we haven't had plenty to cover."

John nodded. "Sure."

She waved a paw vaguely and continued. "For, well, breaks, I guess, I have covered civil unrests. Riots and what all. Pretty much nobody shooting at you in a G20 riot, you know?"

"I guess that depends on how close you are to the protestors."

She snorted. "True enough. But it's not the same. No artillery, no IEDs, no drones dropping grenades. It's pretty tame by comparison."

"Sure." He didn't sound very sure.

"In any case, boss tells me it's getting to me. I tell her she's full of shit. She points at me and says, 'That's exactly what I'm talking about.' Then she says, 'I know you won't take a break, so I'm sending you back to your hometown. You come from Kentucky, right? Give me a heartland America piece. Two weeks, and not a day less.'" Ana shrugged and let out a sigh. "So here I am."

"Is that all?"

Ana's ears flicked out to the sides, then back, before returning to upright. Traitorous bastards. "I may have decked a local guide when he grabbed my ass. Twice."

"I see. I can't say as I blame you about that, though."

She shrugged, slumping in her seat. "Maybe. In any case, here I am." She waved a paw. "Now my goal: find something to write about in this backwater shithole town while nobody's getting shot or beaten or blown up."

John raised an eyebrow. "Backwater shithole?"

"Oh come on, John. Braeville, an hour outside of Louisville. You are, literally, the most interesting thing about this damned town. The rest of it's just the typical isolationist, racist shit you find in the middle of nowhere."

"Some folks, maybe, but there's a lot more to it than that, and I'll not sit here while you dismiss my neighbors out of hand." John pushed his chair back and stood. His fur stood on end, and he glared at her. "That was not acceptable." He seemed to quiver in anger. "Look, I'm going to go out and work on some shit for tomorrow. I'll be back when I'm not pissed at you."

"But, it's dark out."

He paused at the back door to stomp into a pair of boots. "We have electricity, Ana. It's not Mosul."

She couldn't stop herself. "They have electricity in Mosul, you know."

"That's my point." He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

She hit the table with her paws and yelled, "Damnit!" Absent the heat of his anger, she was aware of a sunken feeling in her stomach. She'd really screwed up. She hadn't been aware of how much she hadn't wanted to screw up until she had.

"Typical Ana, run your mouth until you piss everyone off." She smacked the table again, then grabbed her laptop bag. It took a bit of rummaging, but she found her tea stash: a small bag of loose tea and a handful of empty sachets that meant she could make good tea just about anywhere that had water.

Puttering around John's kitchen to make tea gave her something to do while she thought about the exchange. She should have realized John would be sensitive about the town. Hell, he'd moved back when he certainly didn't have to. She had to admit, it had been a fairly rude thing to say. She'd seen the beauty in dozens of tiny towns around the world, but somehow she couldn't see anything about the one she grew up in? And what would Ana have thought of what she'd said? Probably cuff her upside the head and tell her to get over herself.

As the tea steeped, she watched John work through a window. The farm dog had put on a light in the shed and she could hear him grumbling to himself as he moved things around, though she wasn't sure exactly what he was doing.

John was another thing she had to be honest about. She certainly hadn't come back looking for anyone, but here she was, standing in his kitchen, watching him work, and realizing that she was more than a little attracted to him. He'd grown a lot of confidence and he'd clearly grown intensely passionate about doing what he could to make something good out of Braeville. It was admirable, the sort of thing she'd been impressed by in folks she'd met through her reporting. That he had grown into his body and clearly picked up muscle through farmwork didn't hurt one bit, either.

Her phone told her the tea had steeped long enough, so she brought the pot to the table with a pair of cups and poured herself one. She hoped John would take a peace offering Afghan Mint tea. Whether he would or not, the tea always calmed her. She settled back at her laptop and eyed the article she'd been poking at. The article was going to need a different direction.

John came back in a while later, announced by the door opening and closing in a much more sedate manner than before. It couldn't have been very long, because the tea was still mostly hot in the pot.

Ana stood, mug in paw, her ears tucked back, and her tail close to her side. "John, I fucked up," she announced.

He was in the middle of kicking out of his boots and stopped as her words caught up to him. He looked at her for a moment, said, "Yeah," and went back to getting out of his boots.

When he'd accomplished that, he gave her a longer look. He seemed to soften, but before he said anything, his eyes lit on the pot on the table. "Did you make tea?"

She nodded. "An Afghan mint tea. My emergency stash. Can I pour you some?"

John moved to sit at the table across from where she'd been sitting. "Sure."

She poured his mug, topped off her own, and sat down. "I'm sorry. It was unfair of me to knock on the town like that. I know there are good folks here doing their best to make it the best place it can be."

He nodded. "Thank you." He picked up his mug and sniffed at it. "Nice. The mint isn't too strong." He took a sip. "Oh, but it comes through in the palate just enough."

Ana smiled at him. "Thanks. I got a lot of practice making it."

John grinned back. "Oh yeah? You learn that in some backwater shithole with no redeeming virtues?"

She coughed and flicked her ears back, lowering her gaze. He had every right to throw that back at her, and she had to admit, it stung hearing someone else say it. "Uh. Well, yeah, pretty much. Except they made great tea and were very hospitable."

John sipped his tea, raising his eyebrow at her over the mug.

She sighed. "Yes, I see your point."

He reached out to squeeze her paw on the tabletop. "I'm glad. I've enjoyed having you here, and I'd hate to think you'd become a stereotype."

She chuckled. His paw was warm, and it gave her a bit of a thrill. "Mm. I try to keep an open mind, but you know how it is. Blindspots, right?"

He nodded. "Sure. So long as you're working on them, eh?"

"Eh? You got a Canadian girlfriend I don't know about?" Ana thumped her tail against her seat.

She heard John's tail thump in response. "No, we covered that already. Just me and the ewes, and they won't put out for a ratty farmdog like me."

She snorted. "Ratty? Hmph! Shit, John, I'd do you." She sucked in a breath as what she'd said caught up to her. "That was my outside voice, wasn't it?"

John coughed and took another sip of his tea, but his eyebrows and ears told her plenty.

Her tail twitched and her ears went through a few iterations of forward, out, back, and forward again while she pondered her next words. She settled on blunt. She was best at those.

"So, John, you interested?"

He coughed, then took another sip of tea. A long one. Suspiciously long, and his ears were telling their own stories of uncertainty and discomfort.

Ana watched him intently, fighting down the urge to back out of her words. He was a big, strong dog -- quite strong, she was sure -- and he could say yes or no as he pleased. She shook herself briefly. Asking the question had opened the door to a whole bevy of thoughts about the dog across the table.

Finally, John set his mug down with an over-loud thunk and drummed his claws on the table for a few seconds. His ears finally settled down. He grinned, flashing those bright eyes she'd know so well, if not quite like this. "Yeah."

"Good," she announced before reaching across the table and grabbing his collar to pull him in for a kiss. His lips were warm against hers, and she pushed her tongue into his muzzle with little resistance. He tasted of mint and dog and she found she could go for a whole lot more of that. The dog recovered quickly and braced one paw on the table, while the other found her cheek, cupping it, pressing warm, leathery pawpads to her fur. His tongue sparred with hers briefly before finding its way into her own muzzle. That was fine. That was a start. She wanted a lot more than that inside her.

After what was perhaps an entirely reasonable amount of time for one kiss, and entirely too little for her tastes, their muzzles parted. She was panting, just a little, and he looked like he might consider being winded after a couple more sessions. Fit bastard. Not that she was any slouch in that department, but John probably still had her beat.

Ana fixed the farmdog with a serious look and let out a quiet growl, one paw on the table and the other on his collar. "John, you got condoms?"

He chuckled at her, but shook his head. "No. Last batch I had expired."

Ana shook her head in response. "Oh, John, that's two kinds of a shame." She stood, releasing him, and rummaged through her bag until she came up with a couple of foil packets. She held them up. "You do fit a standard, right?"

"Uh. Yeah? Last I checked." He had stood up, himself, and she could tell his pants were getting tight. Deliciously tight, from where she stood.

She let her gaze linger on the contour of his crotch, then looked him in the eyes and grinned. "We're gonna check again." She stepped up close to him, and with her free paw, reached down to give the bulge in his jeans a squeeze. There was a most satisfying hardness under the denim. "Now, your bedroom, yes?"

John simply growled and nodded. He kissed her again, quick and rough, and one of his paws found her ass to give it a squeeze through her own jeans. It was a strong grip, and the way he curled his fingers to press his blunt claws into her rear told her plenty about his level of enthusiasm.

He wasted no time, and she had to scamper to follow him up the stairs and to his bedroom. It was a simple space, a queen bed dominating it in a simple, wooden frame, a closet to one side of the room, and night stands on either side of the bed, one with a lamp and a book and a cable, the other bare. The lights were out, but the curtains were open and light from the moon which had just come up spilled across the space, giving it a stark, cool contrast.

He reached for the light, but she pulled his paw to her side instead, remarking, "No, this is plenty. Hell, it's romantic, even."

The dog's paw squeezed her hip, and the other slid back to find her ass again. He pressed his muzzle to the side of her neck and growled, "Is romantic what you want?"

Ana tipped her head up and shuddered, feeling her ears tuck back at the delicious sensation. She slid her paws up his front, pulling at his shirt and fumbling with his buttons; they were a lot more difficult from the other side. Still, she had his chest bare soon enough, and ran her fingers through the short fur that hid his muscles. "God, no. I want you to bend me over that bed and fuck me silly."

John's enthusiastic growl was the only thing she remembered between that and being pushed face-first onto the bed, naked at last. She curled her tail to one side and looked back at him over her shoulder with the best come-hither look she could muster. It must have been enough, because John, in all of his tri-colored, short-furred glory had the condom on in record time. He planted a paw on her ass, and the other was guiding his length into her just a moment later.

He paused at first, as though he was trying to take it slow, but she growled her frustration and he got the message. The farm dog pushed into her, letting out a groan that matched her own as his point spread her and his shaft filled her out. Her walls offered no resistance, and she could feel her wetness in the fur of her thighs. He paused again when his hips ground against her ass, short pelts mingling as she rolled her hips back to grind against him.

Ana stretched herself out across his bed, arms reaching across it and her paws curling into the sheets as she savored the feeling of him inside her -- warm and hard and wonderfully alive. She squeezed around him and let slip a moan that he matched. The wolfdog's ears were pinned against her head as she pushed herself up, arching her back and tipping her muzzle upwards until John's muzzle was next to her own. He withdrew and gave a slow, smooth thrust and she moaned again, feeling his body slide against hers and within hers.

A paw slid up her belly and cupped one of her breasts, the warm leather of his pawpad rough against her nipple. He squeezed, gently but firmly, and she shuddered in response and pressed herself forward into it. He drove forward again with his hips, she pushed back to meet him, and together they found a rhythm.

Ana found herself wanting more, even as she felt as though, on some other night, she could move like this with John for hours. It was a warming, gentle heat, where she wanted raging fire, explosion, breathlessness. She reached up and behind her to curl her fingers into the farm dog's scruff, giving it a squeeze as she panted to him, "God yes, John, but, more. Fuck me properly, dog."

He got the message, and she was driven forward, losing her balance and falling into the bed again. The dog grabbed her hips roughly, the tips of his claws digging into her flesh through her pelt, blunt points that elicited an approving growl from her. The way he drew back, then drove into her with long, confident strokes elicited something more primal, a panting, growling moan that couldn't quite settle somewhere.

She shuddered on the bed, her paws curled into the sheets again as she lost herself in the sensations. The bed creaked under them, but better still she could hear John panting and his fur sliding against hers and the lewd, wet noises of sex. She was awash in the scent of it, too, canine lust steadily overwhelming the normal smells of the room, leaving a simple statement of her need and his.

John's need was making itself felt as his knot began to swell. His breath hitched the first time the bulge caught at her sex, and she gasped briefly and squeezed at it. He shuddered above her, and his rhythm changed to shorter, sharper thrusts. The dog ground his hips hard into her, burying his knot where it belonged, and then he simply rutted against her. She squeezed as it swelled inside her, and it was done. He was tied, and she shuddered at the way the bulb of it filled her entrance, a clear statement of his intent to breed her properly.

His pace quickened, and the short, sharp jerks of his hips tugged that knot inside her. John lowered his muzzle next to her ear, and she could hear the shortness in his breath as he announced, "Fuck, Ana, I'm gonna cu-- ahh!"

He beat himself to the punch, and she could feel his cock throbbing within her and the twitch of it as he spilled his seed inside her. Even though she knew the condom was there, it was a deliciously natural feeling, being bred by a hot, well-built dog, and the better he was one she found she had feelings for.

John's peak, alas, was not her own, and even with the tug of his knot, she wasn't quite there. She turned her muzzle to one side and reached behind her, one up to grip his scruff firmly, holding him atop her, while the other slid between her thighs. She gave his balls a fond squeeze, then set to finishing herself off. It was a matter of moments before the fires inside her found their own peak, and she panting as they surged and crashed through her.

She may have howled, she wasn't sure and didn't care. What mattered was that, as she came back into herself, she was aware of the warmth and weight of John above her, his breath in her ear, and his scent filling her nose. Moonlight spilled over them, cool and silver, contrasting the warm glow she felt inside.

Morning sun had flooded the room by the time Ana awoke. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and found that she had forgotten to charge it. She was, frankly, impressed that she'd remembered to put it on the nightstand, given how the night had gone. Blinking her eyes to clear them, she recalled she'd done a little tidying when she'd gotten up in the middle of the night: her shirt and pants and underclothes had been kicked into a single pile by the nightstand.

The bed, alas, only contained her, but the mussed sheets next to her were evidence enough that she hadn't slept alone. Her nose told her even more of the story, for John's scent lingered in everything around her and the scent of sex had yet to dissipate, despite the central air's best efforts. She stretched, writhing comfortably in the bed, and grinned. That was a far better night than she'd had in some time.

Noises from outside encouraged her to get up. She thought briefly about getting dressed, but who was there to see, but John and the sheep? Ana stood at the window and grinned at the thought as she basked in the sun. Few things were better than warm sun on bare fur.

She watched John leading the sheep out for a few minutes, then made her way downstairs. She could use a shower at some point, but it could wait, and it was a rare opportunity to lounge nude. Her laptop was still occupying its place on the table, and she flipped it open, then followed her nose to fresh coffee.

She grinned as she poured herself a cup, admiring the darkness of the liquid -- no weak coffee here. "Ah, John, better all the time." The nose was rich, and the flavor matched. She wasn't sure anywhere in town would serve something better.

Ana had chewed through some of the morning email and made progress transcribing the prior evening's recordings when John came through the back door again.

She turned around in her chair, draping an arm on the back, and grinned at him, naked as he'd left her upstairs. "Hey there. Get the girls where they need to be?"

The farmdog paused, then returned her grin. "Uh, yeah. You uh...you're naked, you know."

She patted herself down. "Oh damn, am I? Sometimes I forget, you know."

He snorted and walked over to her to give her lips a lick. "I see. Not complaining, mind you. Not a bit."

She grinned and reached up to grip his scruff and hold him down for a longer kiss. He carried the scent of the fields on him, but faintly. "Good. 'Course I think you're overdressed."

"I really do need to be dressed most of the time."

"Shame."

"On the other hand, I could probably do with a shower." He stood and gestured to himself. "Y'know, now that the girls are out for the day, so I can do errands or whatever."

Ana fished another foil packet out of her laptop bag and held it up. "Care for some company?"

John's grin was not even a bit innocent. "Absolutely."

Ana had to admit as she followed John up the stairs that she was starting to see that the town had something to offer, after all.