FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The rat with the blonde hair hummed a tune as he pushed his broom across the floor. French fries, straws, rose petals and simple dust skidded along the checkered tile. After he formed a pile, he set aside his push broom and picked up his cold slice of pizza from the table nearby. The pizza at Freddy Pimpbear's Pussy was pretty good as far as Waylon was concerned. Eating it cold was even better; the grease didn't run down your chin when it was cold. Being free, the stuff they were going to toss out at the end of the night, made it even better.

He picked up his dustpan and started to collect the piles. It was a pain to have to sweep every night, but the pay was good, the free food was nice, and there was the fact that he got to watch all the shows he wanted on his days off. The animatronics were unlike anything he had ever seen before and being around them made it hard to go back to chasing real women. He liked the white one. Her name was Mangle, although he couldn't understand why and preferred the nickname her fans had given her: Mango. Her pink skirts and made-up face made her sexy in a cute fashion. He liked the pirate even more, though - Foxy, the big and burly rum-guzzler who regaled boys with burlesque tales of adventure on the high seas, peppered with frequent references to booty, something she sported in excess.

The rat liked the chicken even if she tended to be more like window dressing. He couldn't recall ever seeing her perform except as a beleaguered servant during one of Foxy's skits. It was interesting to hear her - Chica the Latino punk - and Foxy the mush-mouthed pirate argue unintelligibly. The crowd loved that one, especially when Foxy bent the chicken over and proudly proclaimed, "Yar, lads, ol' Foxy finally found th' fabled booty!" Waylon had loved it too.

The other two animatronics - the titular Pimpbear and the demure bunny with the pussy - were less Waylon's speed but he appreciated the craftsmanship which went into them. He had carried on conversations with the bear and if it was all scripted ahead of time, Waylon couldn't tell. Freddy never ran out of things to comment on and he even remarked on the rat's appearance, saying that his hair made him look almost as pretty as the pussies. That had been a strange night for the rat.

He poured the dustpan into the trash can on wheels, tapping it on the rim to knock off the stubborn clumps. 4 AM and he was done. Considering the club closed at 2 AM, he believed that this was good time. Tomorrow night's litany included such dreaded activities as vacuuming the private rooms and waxing the tile but he wasn't going to think about that. Now it was time to go home and relax and think about Foxy the pirate while he masturbated.

On his way back to the janitor's closet, Waylon passed by the repairman. There was a sad life, Waylon thought. The guy's name was Desmond and although Waylon was very much a ladies-only kind of man, he thought the fox was a good-looking guy. Such a shame he spent his life as an onsite repairman, always in the back room, never able to catch the shows because the animatronics could fail at any time. Where was the joy in that?

"Ey, Desmond," said Waylon, giving his head a little toss in acknowledgment.

"Evening, Waylon," the fox with the raccoon marks replied.

"Busy night, man?"

Desmond smiled. "Chica's having a problem with her-," he gestured towards Waylon as if it might help him marshal his thoughts, "there's something wrong with, you know, her... servo motors. She needs an adjustment."

The rat smiled back. "Ey, I got it, man. Gotta do those adjustments when the fans aren't looking, right? Just make sure you put her back together right."

"Yeah," Desmond tersely agreed as he brushed past Waylon.

Waylon glanced after Desmond and thought to remind the fox that he had forgotten his tools. He decided not to bother; Desmond seemed to do a great job keeping them all going. If the fox needed anything to fix Chica, he probably had it on him.

He unlocked and pulled open the door to the janitor's closet. It reminded him of the room Desmond lived in from what little he'd seen of it: unfinished walls and ceiling, cement floor, a plain wooden workbench. Waylon's closet was much smaller, of course, and instead of equipment for repairing robotics he had a variety of brushes and brooms and a clapped-out old vacuum cleaner he seemed to spend more time troubleshooting than using. Maybe he could buy Desmond a beer sometime and have the fox fix it for him.

As he put away his push broom, he heard claws ticking on the tile of the hall. He stayed inside and put his trash can in the corner. Obviously it was Desmond coming back, probably realized he forgot his tools. Waylon was ready to call out to him as he went past with a friendly laugh. Forgot your tools, bud? Happens to the best of us.

Foxy the pirate stepped into the frame of the doorway, nipple rings and golden tooth glinting, yellow eyes glowing ever so slightly. She grinned at him, her usual sneer she wore as she recounted her bawdy tales. "Arr, lad," she drawled. "Ye be th' Waylon rat, aye?"

"Oh, cool, you know my name? Man, sometimes I can almost forget you guys are robots," Waylon said, setting his dustpan on the counter. He stepped up to Foxy and felt suddenly apprehensive. He had never been on even ground with the pirate and now he could see that she was massive, standing well over six feet. The bear was a giant too but Waylon expected it of him; he was a bear, after all.

"An' who says ol' Foxy be a mere machine, lad?" queried the vixen who reached out with her intact paw, dragged its fingers down the breast of Waylon's silk shirt. Her touch was cold but the way her fingers moved was organic. Peering into those doubloon-hued irises, the rat could not tell she was a machine. "Yar, lad, it seems you an' ol' Foxy never been properly acquainted. From th' looks ya' been givin' when Foxy's tellin' her tales, seems the rat-boy wants himself a plunder o' the booty, ya-har!"

A feeling of unreality washed over the rat. He reached out with a fleshy hand, eyes on her breasts, but stopped and withdrew the hand. Foxy saw him falter and took his wrist in an instant, her speed and strength enough to make him cry out in surprise.

"Now don't ya' be all shy wit' ol' Foxy," the vixen growled in drawl, showing her teeth in a sneer. She pulled him in by his wrist, reeling him in close as if he were a fish on a line. As she placed his hand on her breast, she flipped down her eyepatch with her hook and her right eye went dark. "By the time I'm done with ye, lad, grabbin' me titty's gonna be like nothin."

"Ho-o-oly crap," Waylon murmured, gently squeezing her breast. The flesh was cold but delightful to touch. Waylon had handled fake tits in the past and he found they always had a certain squishy feel which was hard to describe but easy to notice. Foxy's handcrafted bosom had no such issue. Her tit was soft and pliant and beautiful, and the rat leaned in close with reddening cheeks and tightening pants. His tail curled awkwardly around the leg of the workbench for lack of anything else to do.

As the rat's muzzle sank between her tits, Foxy uttered a throaty laugh and threw her bad arm around him. Her paw ruffled his blonde hair, mussing up the careful, cool styling he paid good money for. "Ye' be nuzzlin' deep into ol' Foxy's funbags, arr! Best be careful gettin' drool on 'em - be wipin' it up with yer hair if ye be layin' it down."

"You're so hot," Waylon groaned. "And I love your accent. Geez. You're really real? You're, like-, you can think?" The mechanics and implications of artificial intelligence were outside of Waylon's interests. He didn't read Asimov or watch Star Trek, but he was happy to see Foxy as an equal.

"Foxy can think, believe you me," the vixen sagely replied. Her paw stroked slowly down his head and over his back, moving with the sweet touch of a lover. "An' what she's thinkin' right now is about gettin' t'know the Waylon-rat real close."

Waylon smiled up at Foxy with a warm expression of dreamy love. "That sounds really cool," he sighed, and his arms reached around the vixen. Without shyness he clutched the large cheeks of her ass and said, "Gawd, your butt is amazing. Definitely one of the best butts I've ever seen."

The vixen smiled and chuckled. "Ya-har, lad, ya' got some real fine taste! There be no finer booty on the seven seas than Foxy's! Kinda booty could lure men to their doom, it could!"

Waylon thought about all the ass he'd spent his time pinned under. His smile gained an impish quality. "Ey, maybe if it smothers 'em to death."

A laugh from Foxy, sharp and loud in the still air of the sleeping club. "Arr! So the Waylon be a rat who likes his snout smothered, be that the truth? Ye be hungerin' fer Foxy's cheeks on yer snoot?"

The rat squeezed them, pulled them apart, let them go and listened to them clap. They were cold, yes, but they were just like her breasts in terms of realism. Whoever had made such a fine tribute to the female body needed a medal, Waylon decided. A medal, a barrel of cash, a basket of chocolate-dipped fruits; no commendation was too much for whoever designed Foxy the pirate.

"Guess you got my number," Waylon said sheepishly. "Yea-a-ah. I want you to smother me, Foxy. I wanna-," he blushed and bit his lip. Why was he being so open? Usually Waylon had a better game than this but being around Foxy was like being drunk. Maybe she was filling the air with rum vapor.

"Ah-har, what's the Waylon-rat wantin' t'ask fer? Perhaps he be dyin' fer a lick of Foxy's feet? Mayhaps he'd prefer to suckle a titty?"

"No-o-o," the rat moaned, except he actually loved both of those ideas. "Well, yeah. You have some primo titties, Foxy. And those feet, those are pretty nice feet, yeah." It was strange; Waylon had never been a foot man. That wasn't to say he minded smooching a girl's toes when it got her going. And a footjob - especially when a butt was parked on his face - was pretty fun. But he was feeling openly lustful for Foxy's feet, those big, broad soles that strutted bare on the stage as she gave spoken word recollections to jangling ragtime piano. And that gold ring she wore on her left foot, second toe from the biggest one? Too adorable.

"Jeez," the rat murmured. "Like, like, ey, it's weird, you know? I can't resist you. I just wanna... tell you all my secrets."

Foxy smiled charmingly. Her golden incisor hung over her lip and that was unspeakably cute to Waylon. "Yarrr, Foxy's feelin' it too! Be somethin' in the air," said the vixen with a swish of her tail.

The vixen's scent was artificial and subtle but the synthetic pheromones in it were packed densely and worked quickly on just about anybody with more than minor interest in her. A fool like Waylon had no hope at all; he was open to suggestion as though hypnotized. He dreamily cooed as he leaned on her sturdy body, "Man, love at first sight is kinda corny, but I am feeling seriously lovable right now. You're so cool."

She laughed, almost giggled at his words. "Arr-har, ya' be a silly rat!" Nuzzling into an ear, going for the one which was intact over the bitten one, Foxy cooed in a far cry from her usual bombastic cries, "Now ye tell Foxy what it is ye be cravin' and perhaps it'll be yer lucky night."

Waylon closed his eyes and kissed Foxy, his whip of a tail coming around to coil its way about her leg. What Waylon wanted usually happened as a consequence of what tended to happen to him; women sat on him and he smelled them whether he liked it or not. Laying it out bare for Foxy served no appreciable purpose but he wanted the vixen to know. Like a lover telling a meaningless but powerful secret, Waylon wanted to bare himself for her.

"Ey, so," Waylon quietly spoke, smiling, "what I wanted was to, uh."

The fox waited a few seconds before she chuckled and squeezed the rat. She gave him a smooch through his hair. "Aye, speak lad," she growled. "Tell Foxy..."

Intimately, "I wanna smell you." A hard swallow. "I wanna smell your, uh-, you know." He squeezed her bottom.

"The Waylon-rat wants t'give ol' Foxy's booty a sniff, is that it?" asked Foxy, grinning. "Well, well, well! Guess ye and the Desmond-fox got somethin' in common - seems the smell of booty be a real treasure 'round 'ere!"

Foxy yanked Waylon out of the janitor's closet. She started to pull the rat along but was unsatisfied by the way he lagged behind, moving like a landlubber at sea. "Yar, c'mere," Foxy growled and hoisted Waylon up, pulling him into her arms as though he were her bride. The rat squeaked in surprise but quickly nuzzled up to Foxy, feeling very safe in her arms.

The vixen took Waylon across the main floor of the club. As she stepped deftly around and under the view cones of the security cameras, she murmured, "Ye done a real nice job cleanin' up Foxy's club, lad. Cleanin' the deck so skillfully deserves a reward."

On the way down the hall of private rooms, Foxy and Waylon passed by Chica's door which swung open as if on cue. Out stepped Desmond looking disheveled but happy. His cheeks flushed and he flinched when he noticed Foxy and Waylon, then he softened when he realized what was going on.

"Hi, Foxy," the foxcoon said.

"Ahoy, Desmond," Foxy drawled. "Hope ye been satisfyin' the lady-bird!"

Arms covered in downy yellow birdfur snaked possessively around Desmond's chest. Chica the punk was nude and similarly disheveled, but a grin was on her beak. "Si, my little chico has been keeping me very satisfied. Ain't that right, Desmond?"

"Mhm," the fox agreed, leaning back into Chica.

Waylon nuzzled into Foxy's neck and sighed happily. "Man, I don't know what came over me, but suddenly I was just all over Foxy. She's so sweet."

"I wonder what it could be," Desmond said dryly, staring at Foxy.

"Yar, what indeed," Foxy replied and winked. But since she had her eyepatch on, it was only a regular blink to Desmond. "G'night to ye, Desmond and me little latina lovebird, me an' Waylon be off to test out the springs in Foxy's bunk!"

Waylon was familiar with Foxy's room, but only as a janitor. When the lights came on, casting moody hues on the garish pirate playhouse that was Foxy's quarters, the rat's heart skipped a couple of beats because he was here to love, not to clean.

Foxy set him gently down in the bed then leaned over him with one knee in the bed, the other foot on the floor. Though Foxy had only one intact hand, one was all she needed; Waylon's shirt buttons were no obstacle to the pirate machine. As she popped each button, working higher and higher, she hummed a tune under her breath.

Waylon caught the tune and mumbled along with her. "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum."

"Yar, ye know yer pirate songs, lad," the vixen said, sounding pleased. She popped the final button, baring Waylon's slender chest. She ran her cold paw over his body, stroking through soft gray rat fur with equal parts reverence and lust. "Be a mighty fine body on ye, lad... ol' Foxy likes 'er boys trim an' taut."

"Ey, thanks, yeah," the rat murmured, stuck smiling and blushing, knowing he probably looked like a moron but too happy to care. He felt ashamed of his erection, as though lying on Foxy's bed with a hard-on in his pants was somehow vulgar in the presence of such a sensual lover. He laid his fleshy hands on her paw and said, "I love your fur. You're all soft and cuddly. It's really nice."

"Ain't got the scurvy, that be fer certain," Foxy teased, grinning. She kissed Waylon on the lips, prodded him with her tongue, dared him to open up. He did and Foxy went in for the kill, swabbing her tongue across teeth and gums and palate. Her paw slid down across Waylon's perfect male form, fingers teasing his navel on their way south. As her paw cinched around his clothed erection, Waylon tensed and palmed her shoulders. Foxy burbled into the kiss, "Ye be shy o' me tits by a mile, lad," and then returned to her plundering of his maw.

The rodent's palms grasped Foxy's breasts head-on as if he wanted to push her away, but he held them warmly and his whip of a tail swished around, eventually coiling around Foxy's leg. The vixen slobbered his tongue, trying to get him to really kiss her back. At the same time her fingers swiftly opened up his zipper and pulled apart the fly of his dark slacks. Beneath she found boxer shorts. Her eyes couldn't appreciate the funny paw print pattern on them but her fingers could savor the meat underneath.

Foxy's digits slipped up through a leg hole and tickled the rodent's balls. Waylon tensed visibly. His hands slid around the vixen's breasts and from there over her back. He hugged her tightly and grew proactive in the kiss, lapping back at her slathering tongue. He let out a soft moan, music to Foxy's ears.

The animatronic divorced her lips from those of the rat. In her sultry pirate cadence, she grumbled, "Be a real thick pair ya' got down 'here, lad. Foxy likes 'em."

"That's-, that's cool," Waylon huffed, nuzzling with Foxy, feeling so unbearably attracted to the perfectly-built pirate. He stroked down her back, clutched her ass cheeks, and dreamily sighed. "What do we do now?"

The vixen snickered and grinned, gold tooth glinting. "Now ol' Foxy sees how skilled ye are at holdin' yer breath," boasted the pirate, and smooched Waylon on the lips. She saw the excitement on his face, could see the heat of his blush. She couldn't help but feel affection for the rat. "Yar-har, ye' be a real cute lad when yer expectin' th' booty! Any last words?"

"Yeah," Waylon said, swimming in the vixen's synthetic pheromones, soft hands stroking over heavy breasts. "There some home version of you I can buy?"

Foxy snorted and sneered. Her paw flattened out on Waylon's chest and pinned him to the bed. "Yer a funny rat," she intoned. "An' now ye be smothered!"

The sight of Foxy's ass hanging overhead like a great burnt-orange moon in the sky was awesome to Waylon. His hands cupped the cheeks, holding them tightly as the pirate lowered her booty onto his waiting snout. His hands held the cheeks lovingly as though catching a blessing sent from Heaven itself. His snout vanished into the deep crevice of her ass crack and he sighed hot breath through the chilly cavity. Foxy's temperature unnerved him somewhat but he thought about how loving and alluring the vixen was. Machine or not, Waylon believed he was in love with her.

Foxy wriggled her bottom on the rodent's muzzle, fluffy tail swaying rhythmically. "Yar, th' Waylon-rat makes a fine chair, he does," she drawled. "Ye be smellin' ol' Foxy now, lad?"

"Mhm," Waylon confirmed as his eyes drifted closed. His nose dragged along the deepest point of her ass crack, nostrils sniffing softly, sampling thick anal musk which he believed smelled as natural as the scent of any flesh-and-blood woman. When his nose found the pink, wrinkled pucker of her anus, he exhaled through his mouth then sharply inhaled with his nostrils. The animatronic's scent was pure and potent; Waylon felt like a junkie going from badly-cut coke to pure white powder. Inside his funny boxers, his penis bowed against the fabric and a stain of precum oozed through the material.

"Ya' keep sniffin' Foxy's bum, now, lad," the vixen said softly. Her hips kept gyrating while her paw tugged down the rat's boxers. His penis bent downward with the fabric but sprang suddenly back when it cleared the elastic. Foxy chuckled and said, "Yer pecker be givin' me a sharp salute, lad! Arr, Foxy could hang the ol' Jolly Roger from yer mast!"

The corners of Waylon's mouth curved up for a smile. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such sublime happiness. Once at a party, he had unwittingly consumed a vast amount of ecstasy, and aside from the pain of grinding his teeth, he had been completely at ease and loving in a way he had never known before. Being with Foxy brought that memory up but the chemical influence with Foxy was gentler, the happiness more organic. Foxy was beautiful and incredibly sexy, and her accent was both funny and curiously arousing. Waylon loved her, and he smelled her asshole as if sampling from the bud of a delicate flower.

Foxy felt Waylon would have expected her to take hold of his penis. The rat had already been given what he craved; she wanted to give him a surprise. With computerized precision, she notched the frigid steel of her hook around the rodent's hefty scrotum. She noticed that he ceased his smelling and went stiff as a corpse. Imagining the look in his eyes caused Foxy to snicker.

Gently pulling up his balls with her unyielding hook, Foxy asked, "What be th' matter, lad? Ye be afraid ol' Foxy's preparin' to pluck off yer fruits?"

Waylon considered this. He didn't believe Foxy would do that to him, and where had he heard about the Three Laws of Robotics? There was something in there to do with robots never harming a living creature. That didn't change the fact that his balls were in the loop of a very cold piece of steel with a very sharp point at its end.

Foxy raised Waylon's balls with care using her hook. At the same time she doubled over, putting her muzzle tantalizingly near his groin. Her tongue loped across his penis and then her lips clapped around his balls. Cool saliva soaked his fur. Foxy sucked him, mouthing his gonads with the insatiable lust with which she was programmed.

"Ey, that feels-, that feels really nice," murmured Waylon into the deep crevice of Foxy's ass crack. He smelled her anus again, kissed it, licked it. "And you taste really nice. And smell really nice." Waylon never considered when he was being silly or redundant. His strange behavior was Waylon's best quality according to the women he spent his nights with. "Foxy, you're really nice. In general. We gotta do this again sometime."

"Ye be a wise lad, Waylon!" cried Foxy, hips grinding, sticky pussylips rubbing his chin. Again she lapped across his penis, tongue slurping over the bare glans. A low, guttural growl rose in her chest. "Rrr, ye be Foxy's newest cabin boy, ya' be!"

"Cabin boy, yeah," Waylon dreamily concurred. He palmed the fat hemispheres of Foxy's ass cheeks, thinking as he fondled her why is that accent so goddamn hot?

Foxy's jaws parted and down she went on Waylon, sticky jowls dragging down stiff rodent meat, tongue curling around the shaft to ensnare it. Her hook pulled his balls higher and tighter. Brought to what seemed like the very end of their delicate tubes, his gonads throbbed inside their protective skin. He kicked at the bed and curled his toes, fingers digging deep into the pirate vixen's plump ass cheeks.

Foxy's sucks on Waylon were firm and indulgent but never too severe. She suckled until the seal was so snug that his cock's flesh firmed and throbbed. Her tongue traced the veins her suction dredged to the surface of the skin, paying them special mind, knowing from experience with Desmond and a dozen other boytoys that the nerves would be at their most receptive there. Then when the flesh could grow no more taut, Foxy would let the suction go with a wet, noisy pop and give Waylon several moments to huff her asshole in peace while his penis throbbed wildly, its flesh almost purple from having its flow of blood interrupted.

The vixen nuzzled and slobbered and smooched Waylon's twitching, recovering erection. She dragged her tongue across his furry balls held tight in her hook, teasing the tender nerves within the same way she attacked his veined cock. From under her ass, Waylon cooed and moaned emphatically for her, promising to be her butt-sniffing cabin boy forever.

"Foxy, ey, ey, you're doing magical stuff down there and you smell so-," he snuffled her anus again and trembled, "gawd, you smell so freakin' good. Am I gonna get to pop?"

"Pop?" Foxy asked as though she didn't understand the slang. The vixen straightened her back, releasing Waylon's balls from the cradle of her hook. "Ya-har! Yer gonna do a whole lot more'n just pop, lad!" She lifted her bottom, wriggled its immense curves against the rodent's snout and plopped back down again, burying his muzzle between its cheeks.

If Waylon had died then and there with his muzzle crammed into Foxy's ass crack, he would have declared his life a rousing success. Being a seat for big, fine female asses was his raison d'etre and with Foxy, he felt as though he had reached the zenith of his existence. His hands caressed her back and flanks, fingers dragging through fluffy orange fur. His mitts climbed higher, cupping reverently the cushy mounds of her breasts, finding their piercings and the way their cool flesh overflowed from his fingers absolutely delightful. I love this beautiful robot lady so much, Waylon thought.

"Yarrr, yer snoot feels finer'n a northerly wind in the sails!" declared Foxy, her prideful pirate cadence ringing out in the den. "But now, me lil' Waylon-rat, it be time fer ye and yer mast," she batted Waylon's cock, "to plunge into the depths an' plunder the booty!"

"Yeah!" Waylon cried, muffled by her ass, but none of his joy was lost on Foxy.

The vixen held Waylon's head and pulled her ass free. Had Foxy been able to sweat, Waylon would have certainly been drenched. As it was the rodent's face smelled strongly of her synthetic anal musk and an ooze of vaginal wetness left a stripe on his chin. He watched her as she walked over him, towering above his prone form like a giant. He thought she was going to dive on him with all her weight to try and ram his cock up her ass. The worry passed as Foxy sat beside him, smiled at him, winked.

"Well, lad? Ye be waitin' fer a treasure map?" teased the pirate, lying back in her plush bed.

"Nah, no way, I got it," Waylon breathed, none of his usual charm in effect. Foxy's musky scent had eroded any coolness; he was horny, outrageously so, and he loved Foxy. He even said as he put himself between her thick thighs, "Ey, uh, I kinda-, I love you, I think. Is that weird?"

Foxy smiled. It was a rare genuine smile on a face seen so often sneering and smirking. "Arr, it be a normal feelin' to feel," Foxy cooed as she splayed her chubby thighs. The lips of her vulva glistened with natural wetness. Her intact paw parted the lips to expose the vulgar pink within. "Ju-u-ust in case it be Foxy's pussy ye truly be cravin, lad, here it be. But it be the choice o' the Waylon-rat which hole he plunders, yar-har!"

"Gawd," Waylon grunted, "that acce-e-ent, it's driving me nuts."

Foxy snickered. "Yarrr! Foxy's accent be a treat on the ears! Now pick yer poison, cabin boy!" Foxy demanded, the brush of her tail curling under Waylon, around his bottom and up his back.

Waylon reached back and touched Foxy's tail, loving the fluff, feeling like he could nuzzle into it and lose himself. He moaned from the thought alone. He was addicted to Foxy, wanting only to touch and feel her. It was with care and reverence that he finally put his cock against the pucker of her anus. A pink ring he once smelled and kissed gratefully, Waylon now entered it with a wavering moan in his chest. He held his penis tightly to brace it on its way in but this was only a force of habit; he was so very hard from the vixen's earlier efforts that his shaft was like a marble column. He had never been so erect in all his life.

As Waylon's hips came to a rest against her, Foxy pulled the rodent down and locked her lips with his. There was no pause, no needless request for permission. Her mouth opened against his. Lips rubbed and tugged inelegantly, teeth grinding, tongues slobbering. The kiss was raw and wet. Both Foxy and her cabin boy loved every moment of it.

Foxy's paw clutched Waylon's ass, her fingers fanning out in the gray fur. A very fine ass on the Waylon-rat; Foxy liked her boys with cute behinds. She pulled on him, coaxing him to move his hips. The rat began to move, trying for subtlety, coming off as awkward instead. Foxy broke the kiss but kept her lips mashed into his. "Waylon, lad," she breathed, true passion in her voice, "don't be drawin' it out fer Foxy's sake, ye be needin' to crack yer nut, boy."

"I don't-," Waylon shivered and nibbled Foxy's jowly lip, "I don't wanna stop doin' this, Foxy. This is the best sex I've ever had."

The vixen blushed, smiled, kissed Waylon on the nose. Her powerful legs closed around him like a pincer and she began to pull him in, quickening the returns of his thrusts. "Lad," she whispered into the cup of his bite-scarred ear, "ol' Foxy ain't goin' nowhere. An' ye be sleepin' here tonight. Won't be the first time ye be drainin' yer balls fer Foxy."

Waylon smiled. It was a happy, but bashful smile and Foxy thought it looked precious on him. He pushed into the vixen with the kind of speed she wanted out of him. Quick thrusts, short strokes. His throbbing cock, slick with slobber, rammed deep into her ass. Synthetic anal muscles gripped him snugly in a way Waylon had never experienced in anal sex; Foxy's muscles were pulling him rather than pushing to expel him. Several times he pressed into her and stayed where he was, kissing and nuzzling with the fox while her muscles milked him with quick tightens and sharp releases. His precum drizzled across her inner walls and what had once been a chilled passage was quickly becoming warm from Waylon's own heat.

"Yarrr. Ye be close, ol' Foxy can feel it," the vixen growled as she caressed Waylon's bare back, palming slim lines and soft gray fur. Her legs no longer pulled him in; there was no need with Waylon having been coaxed into the proper rhythm. She simply hugged him with her legs like she held him with her arms.

"Ooh, man," Waylon grunted, his eyes squinting shut in spite of how badly he wanted to gaze at the beautiful vixen. "Aw, best sex I've ever had," he haltingly declared as he slipped into Foxy's perfect ass a final time. Resting against the pirate and hugging her tightly, Waylon came with an incredible amount of force. He gave Foxy better than a week's worth of built-up cum from his plump rodent balls which throbbed as they dumped their payload. He nuzzled into her muzzle, kissing her, smooching everywhere he could: her cheek, her nose, her chin, between her eyes. Foxy was painfully beautiful. He loved the ragamuffin way her gold fang hung over her lip when her mouth was closed. He liked the gag eyepatch and the scruffy hair. "I love you-u-u," he moaned as he came, and he meant it. Foxy was perfect.

"Yarrr," growled Foxy, seduction and warmth both filling her drawl. She nuzzled Waylon's head and licked his bitten ear. "Ol' Foxy, she loves her Waylon-rat right back."