FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Doberman looked fussily at her profile for the third time in ten minutes. The agency told her the dress was immaculate, tailored just for her, and that her client would love it.

"This makes me look like a hooker," the dog murmured, examining the side of the dress and how its split showed a scandalous amount of leg - especially her thick thigh. "I guess if this is what he likes, it's what I'll wear."

She turned, looked over her shoulder at her bottom, and thought it at least looked perfect. Brooke was self-conscious of her appearance almost to the point of neurosis, but not at an idle; she was afraid of looking foolish for her first escort gig. Seeing that her bottom was, as always, dependably heart-shaped gave her some relief.

Gazing into her own brown eyes, minding her posture in just the manner she had been coached on by the agency, Brooke purred, "Hello handsome. My name's Brooke. Nice to meet you."

The dog smiled coquettishly, showed a little teeth, batted her eyelashes. Then she moaned, "Oh, gawd, I can't do this."

Well, it's either this or stripping. College ain't gonna pay for itself, sweetheart, she told herself. In her head, her voice had a sassy, yet weary quality to it - a mistress telling her girls this is as good as it gets, kid. Brooke supposed she would rather wear pretty dresses and laugh at unfunny jokes than get covered in glitter and be ogled by drunk, depressed men.

Her meeting with the client was scheduled for nine. At half past eight, a limousine stopped outside her home on the outskirts of the city. Rather than honking, the driver got out and knocked on her door.

"Miss Lancer, I presume?" the driver - a sober-faced tiger in his middle age - politely regarded her.

"Yes. Brooke Lancer," she replied with similar decorum. She smiled, turned off the lights in her living room and locked the door behind herself on her way out.

The tiger opened the rear passenger door for Brooke. The Doberman, after carefully gathering her dress up, stepped in and seated herself. To a strapped college student the limousine reeked of cash, the galling wealth equal parts deplorable and desirable. The limousine sported a mini-fridge, a curved sofa-like seat and windows so severely tinted as to be opaque black, and it moved without so much as a tremor from the engine or suspension. She thought of her own car, a 2002 Toyota Camry whose Check Engine light never went out. The comparison was unpleasant.

Brooke rode in silence, squinting to watch the streets go by through the dark windows. When the limo stopped outside of an apartment building resembling a wedge made of steel and glass, anxiety gripped her. Her first client, how exciting, a Mr. Lankett who she knew nothing about. She expected old money and in her mind she had constructed a little portrait of this Mr. Lankett. She pictured him as a bear, middle-aged, chubby, but he wore the weight well and his finely cut suits made him attractive regardless.

The passenger door opened again. In came Mr. Lankett. Brooke was surprised and almost offended by his age. He couldn't have been any older than she was, but the way he carried himself and the suit he wore screamed money. He was a fox and a raccoon; vulpine in silhouette and hue but masked and ring-tailed. He smiled as he sat beside Brooke.

"Miss Lancer," he said, his accent southern and syrupy like molasses. "Real pleasure to meet ya. Desmond. Desmond Lankett," he said, taking her gloved paw. He kissed the back like a gentleman but his eyes, a pair of amorous jades, peered deep into her furtive gaze. "A Dobie, I see. Hope ya don't find it unsettling, miss Lancer, but I been hopin' to go out with a Dobie for a while now. Been askin' the agency for years."

"Happy to oblige," Brooke said, struggling to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She could feel her composure waning already. Her body language was stiff and cold; she pictured herself as a dead fish hanging in a store window. Loosen up, sugar, the mistress in her head commanded. You got those big tits and that wide ass. Give the little man a peek, but don't be obvious!

Brooke inclined somewhat and Desmond's gaze fell naturally - shamelessly - to the deep expanse of her cleavage, made even deeper by the pushing cups of the dress. Better. At least that'll take his mind off of how goddamn gawky you can be.

"Love your dress, miss Lancer," the southern gentleman cooed, smiling.

"Thank you," Brooke said, and tittered. "I love your-," her eyes scanned him hastily, what did she like about his boring slate suit? "I love your tail." Oh, my god, you absolute dingbat.

A blush, then a laugh from Desmond. He pulled his tail around and brought the bushy thing close enough that Brooke could see how carefully groomed it was. "Oh, do ya? I gotta be real honest with ya... I love my tail too."

Maybe you're not such a dingbat, then. "Oh, it's lovely," the Doberman cooed. "So big and bushy and... soft-looking." She reached for it, stopped, smiled. "May I?"

Desmond chuckled. "Help yourself," he invited. "Just go with the grain."

Brooke did. She found herself loving the deep pile of Desmond's fur. Caressing him was like running her fingers over a fine-cut lawn. The fur sprung healthily back up the moment her fingers cleared it and the follicles were soft and clean. She spotted very little dander drifting away from it.

"Yer a new girl, ain't ya?" asked Desmond, smiling in a way Brooke found jaunty.

Remember, the instructional video went, our clients expect the best! No matter your level of experience, you must give off an air of confidence and decorum.

"No, not at all," the dog said hastily. She smiled at Desmond, blushed, looked away from him.

Brooke's eyes inadvertently fell to the mini-fridge. Desmond got up and took a small bottle of water from it. He twisted off the cap and offered the drink to her. "Ya look nervous, sugar. Have a sip of this."

"Oh, thank you," said Brooke and sipped the water. Where her lips touched the plastic, a faint mauve smear remained. "Er, sorry," she mumbled.

Desmond chuckled. Brooke could tell when she was being laughed at but she found Desmond's laughter only gentle, maybe even warm. She held onto the bottle, thumbs idly rubbing the frost off its surface. "I-I'm a little bit... inexperienced, yes. Sorry."

"Everyone's gotta start somewheres, sugar," the fox replied. He scooted closer to her, nearly eliminating the gap between their bodies. His smile was warm, eyes lustful. Brooke had seen the look before. Close enough to smell and touch, he asked, "Ya ever been to a fancy dinner before?"

"A few," the dog answered. "A few. Here and there." She giggled. "I, you know, I don't eat using my toes or anything..."

The fox grinned. He bumped one of her bare feet with his own. "Cute as them feet of yours are, I wouldn't mind it if ya did."

Brooke laughed a bit louder than she intended to. Self-consciously, she covered her mouth. "Oh... sorry. Sorry about that."

An arm slid around Brooke's back. Desmond was slender and soft, and the dress was so thin. Her muscles tensed. She huffed, "You wanted-, you want me to be-." She swallowed. "That kind of escort, Mr. Lankett?"

A little chuckle from the foxcoon. Incredulous, and maybe even a bit self-conscious. The arm withdrew and Brooke felt guilt instead of relief. "I been hirin' escorts from this agency fer about seven years now. And if I'm bein' totally honest, well, you'd be the first girl ain't put out."

"I-, I see," said Brooke, turning the bottle over and over in her paws. Well, sugar, if you wanna tell him, it's your call. Experienced guy like this, he's liable to pick up on it on his own anyway.

"Sex ain't exactly an advertised service, bu-u-ut it's usually expected, near as I can tell," the foxcoon said, shrugged. "And... I do tip."

Brooke resisted the urge to lick her lips. She scooted in a bit closer, put her stout leg against Desmond's. The fox looked at her with renewed interest and Brooke, feeling like a pup again, craved the approval of a man, finding it more precious than money.

For Desmond's ears only and with a submissive dip of her head, "I'm a virgin."

"Really." A smile appeared on his face, thin and coy, noticeable only at the very edges. "Guess yer savin' that for someone special."

"Not really," Brooke admitted. "I've done a few things, here and there." Her paw clutched his knee. Higher. Higher, sugar, said her mistress. And her paw slid up. Desmond's legs drifted apart. "I've never been-, I was never-."

"I think I know what ya mean," said the southern fox.

Brooke's paw slid further north. Finally she went for it, cupped his groin. Her eyes studied the action, then met his. Upon seeing his warm smile, she began to laugh. "Oh, my gawd. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This isn't-, none of this is me." She withdrew her paw, pulled away. "I'm so sorry. If you want to just drop me off somewhere, I'll just call and quit, and I'll-."

"Brooke, sugar, ya ain't gotta fuck me," Desmond said, chuckling. "Hell, ya tried. I'm happy with that."

No he's not, the voice warned. "Are you sure?" the girl asked.

"Listen. I got a fancy dinner to get through. It's gonna be real boring and I gotta sign some papers." He patted her shoulder; a nice, inoffensive place to touch a woman, he always thought. "So ya just eat some lobster, relax, laugh at some bad jokes... and then ya go back home and I tell 'em you were great. Ya ain't gotta degrade yourself for me. I ain't gonna pop yer cherry, less ya want me to, that is."

There it is. Told you, girl.

Brooke smiled. She wanted to take the foxcoon at face value. She wanted to do so so strongly, in fact, that she did exactly that.

"All right. I'm-, well, I'm sorry if I haven't been what you expected from an escort." She leaned a bit closer. Desmond was such a handsome fox, even if he was full of it. She kissed his cheek and withdrew quickly, averting her eyes, smiling like a little girl meeting her crush.

"Didn't have to do that," Desmond softly said.

"I wanted to do it," the Dobie tightly replied. "You're a handsome man. And you're being so nice." Even if he's full of shit, eh girl?

"Well," he rubbed his cheek, "I'm definitely not complainin' if you wanna smooch on me. Pretty girl an' all that. My mama didn't raise me to be no fool."

Brooke tittered. She swallowed, asked suddenly, "Would you be gentle?"

"For your first time? Yeah," he answered, not missing the beat of the conversation. "Ain't gonna go and," he snickered, "ask if I can stick it in yer butt or somethin' rude."

Brooke's cheeks reddened. She covered her eyes and giggled riotously. "Oh my god."

This time it was Desmond who kissed. He smooched Brooke's snout close to her lips, and when she opened her eyes he was close enough to smell and taste. Without thinking, she kissed back, her lips pressing to his, sticky dark jowls clinging together, lipstick smearing off onto him. Her mouth opened. His tongue entered. Brooke moaned for him, dropped the water bottle and sluiced his hair through her gloved fingers. A paw squeezed her breast and she moaned once more, a deep and happy coo of pleasure.

The kiss was short. Desmond kept his snout near hers. Their breath mingled together, humid and heated like a summer afternoon. "You're a beauty, Brooke. Goddamn prettiest Dobie I ever seen."

"I want it," Brooke whined. She pulled down a shoulder strap. The foxcoon uncovered her breast, pulled its plump curve to his lips and suckled on the pert, pink nub as hungrily as an unfed cub. Brooke was dry but her nipples were tender. She writhed for Desmond, hugged him close to her considerable bust. "Suck me. Suck my tit," she whimpered. "It feels so good. I want more from you, Mr. Lankett."

Your first time with some playboy paying for your company? Well if that's the kinda girl you wanna be, Brooke, but don't you go falling in love with this guy.

"More," Desmond concurred, tongue talking against the nipple in his mouth. "Mmm. More."

Desmond's black paw gliding up her thigh, fingers brushing rose-laced panties taut around tender labia. The girl tensed, huffed, her cropped ears splaying back then standing tall. "Mr. Lankett, sir," she puffed. "Ooh."

The foxcoon's knuckles slid against her sex, groping the thigh, squeezing tightly on the crucible of her groin. His tongue swirled around the bud of the nipple, tracing the tiny bumps and thick nub they ringed. "God," Brooke breathed.

Vulgar wetness under the panties. Brooke gnawed her lip, left dents in it with her teeth. Her paws touched Desmond, feeling his lithe form beneath the slate suit. He was handsome and trim and she loved feeling him, no care given to the notion that he was the client and she the product. She slid her fingers under the breast of his suit, touched him through his shirt.

The fox's lips parted. Drool rolled down the curve of Brooke's breast the same as it ran down his chin, thick and viscous and hot. He nibbled her breast and then her neck. His fingertips scraped over the textured pattern of her panties then slithered under the thin waistband. Brooke whimpered for him, tensing, arching her spine ever so slightly.

"Please, be gentle with me, but touch me," pleaded the girl. It was the kind of genuine lust money couldn't buy. She was giving away raw passion. "Your fingers-," they traced the lips of her vulva, thin brown fur on wet lips, "your fingers are soft. I love them."

Desmond said nothing; he let his fingers talk for him. Slender but strong raccoon fingers which often typed parted the folds of Brooke's vulva. Humid pink flesh greeted his touch, the dog cooing with his exploration, clinging to him without impeding him. The fingers pressed into the virgin tunnel of her vagina and her muscles greeted him apprehensively. His touch was alien but not unwanted. Basic biology told her this was good and right; unfamiliarity and her status as a paid escort told her the opposite was true.

"Real wet down here," whispered Desmond into her neck, voice so faint the accent was nonexistent. His teeth pinched her neck in a lovebite. Brooke's croon brought a smile to his lips. "Ya sure this is what ya want?"

"Yes," Brooke answered, simple but emphatic. "That feels good... I feel good, really good."

"Still all nervous," he chuckled. "I can feel it." Cryptically, as though he enjoyed picking up on such bodily clues, "Lotsa things give it away."

Brooke's laugh was self-conscious, as though she'd been busted playing with herself. "I'm sure you can tell." She kissed his cheek hurriedly. "But don't stop... please keep going."

The foxcoon's fingers began to move, his digit slipping deeper into the wet passage. As though dancing with the dog, he led her to lie back on the seat as he draped himself over her in a languid dip from which he had no intention of rising. He nuzzled into her cleavage, widened by way of her heavy breasts hanging to either side. Brooke was young and perky but not exempt from gravity.

"Are you-," the dog inhaled, shuddered, exhaled, "are you going to fuck me?"

"Not here. Not enough time," the foxcoon replied. His fingers pumped her, gliding on her moisture. His thumb rested on her clitoris. "But I'mma take care of you, sugar."

"Yes. Yes, take care of me," Brooke intoned, her gloved paws combing through his long hair, making a frizzy mess of locks once laid down with professional care. She was hungry to touch and feel the foxcoon, delirious from his touch, in love not with him but the way he took from her what he wanted.

Desmond's fingers dug deep two abreast, spreading open Brooke and wedging knuckle-deep into a passage she herself fingered gingerly and not often. Her virgin flesh reacted hungrily to his digits, squeezing and beckoning the fox back in, begging him to stick more than his fingers inside of her.

"I want-, I want more," Brooke whimpered, smooching with Desmond, pecking all over his face. Little purplish smooches dotted his features. A leg curled around his back, squeezed his hips. He was shorter, thinner, easy to pull in. "Fuck me, please fuck me," she bleated, almost mad with pleasure. "Ooh my god..."

"Ain't no time," Desmond said sadly, but the fingers dug deeper, his thumb pressing and pushing her clitoris like the button it was. Kissing her now, wet and slobbery, tongues smearing together and tangling like a pair of slick ropes. Loping knots and cursive strokes manifested in their kiss, saliva running down their chins and cheeks in vulgar smears. Desmond still digging into Brooke, trimmed and filed claws scraping pleasantly along the bundles of nerve endings in her virgin vagina.

"Mmh-, mmm-mmh, gawd," mumbled Brooke into the kiss, body trembling and tense as though she were struggling to suspend a great weight. She came for Desmond, her first climax at the hands of someone else - and a total stranger at that. Her mistress berated her but she felt so good that she ignored the bitching. She suckled on Desmond's tongue as if sucking the flavor from a piece of taffy.

The wetness oozed from Brooke's loins, slight in volume but thick in consistency. Her vaginal muscles contracted around the foxcoon's fingers, released, contracted, released again. For a moment her heartbeat was sharp and labored, then it began to taper off to its normally relaxed rhythm. As Desmond pulled free of the kiss, Brooke crooned to him between slow breaths, "Ooh, my god... Mr. Lankett, you're good."

A smooch from Desmond and then his fingers pulled back, but stayed under the panties. "Call me Desmond, darlin. I aim to be on a first-name basis with any girl leaves stains in my limousine, ya understand."

"Oh-! Oh my god, did I really?" Brooke stammered, her cheeks red as roses.

Desmond laughed, kissed her again. "Hell, sugar, no. No. Relax... gonna go spoilin' your afterglow, gettin' all worked-up like that. Just relax."

The Doberman sat up slowly with Desmond's help. Shamefully she put away her breasts, avoided Desmond's eyes. "How unprofessional of me," she murmured. "I didn't even take care of you."

"That can come later, if yer up for it," the fox said with a wink while he rubbed her kneecap. Then he began to dab at his face with his handkerchief and a splash from the bottle of water.

When Brooke realized what he was doing, she took the handkerchief and wiped her lipstick from his face. She giggled, "Sorry about the kisses."

"Don't need to be sorry about kissin' me," the fox said. "Honey, ya got the body of a model but the self-esteem of a big girl. Relax."

"I am a big girl, kind of," said Brooke. Don't tell him that, you dingbat! her mistress protested. Brooke already liked Desmond; his fingers had already gotten her to cum. What else could she hide from him? "I used to be really chubby in high school." Her paws tugged at the dress which had been tailored just so to minimize her paunch. When pulled snug around her belly, her pudgy shape became obvious. "It's... um, it's baby fat, I guess. I try to burn it off but, honestly? I have a little problem with comfort eating."

A wry smile creased Desmond's lips. "Gawddamn."

"I'm sorry. So sorry. Really." Shame and avoidance. "I know you must be really used to supermodels, not-, not fat girls."

His paws clutched her belly. Brooke squealed at first, his touch bringing her back to the cruel pranks of other girls. Instead of pinching, his paws began to rub and caress like how he had touched her breasts and thighs. She realized with shock and amusement that he was turned on by her belly.

"Do you-?" She swallowed. "You like that, my belly?"

"Girl needs some meat on her bones," Desmond groaned, nuzzling close, kissing her neck. "Gawd, sugar, shoulda told me you had a little extra fat. I woulda called off the dinner and took ya right home." A wry look crossed his features. He began to smile, pulled out his cell phone, and thumbed through his contacts.

"Jus' a second, honey," he said, putting it up to his face.

Oh my god, you really lucked out with this guy. You don't even have to sit through a lame dinner now. Guess being chubby counts for something.

Brooke waited politely, trying not to eavesdrop, but the salient points were obvious: Desmond was so sorry but he had to call off dinner, go ahead and have the meeting without him, he'd just have to talk shop another time. Formal and polite and fast.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and touched a button on the armrest. "Larry, take us on back to Miss Lancer's house, would ya?"

"Of course, Mr. Lankett. Is something the matter?"

"Nope. Just get us there."

He released the button and turned back to the Doberman with a winsome smile. He beckoned her closer and she pressed in near him.

"Ya okay with this?" Desmond asked, curling slim arms around the dog. "I'mma pay ya either way, sugar... don't feel like ya gotta say yes."

"I want you," Brooke murmured, and wondered if that was how you said it; she thought it sounded a little silly.

He slid his paw across her belly again, growled to her, "Love how plump ya are, sugar."

"It's kinda weird to have a guy enjoy that," she sighed. "Forgive me if I'm not, um, terribly receptive."

"S'all right," Desmond cooed. He kissed her cheek. "Just snuggle on up to me, darlin, an' we'll save the good stuff fer yer place."

Traffic was more forgiving leaving downtown, soon bringing them back to Brooke's home. The tiger got out, walked around, and dutifully opened the door.

"Ladies first," Desmond said. The tiger helped her out of the vehicle. Desmond followed with no assistance needed.

"Ya go on home to the wife, Larry," said Desmond pleasantly. He fished in his pocket for his wallet as Brooke unlocked the door, looking back at him once. He tipped the tiger a fifty.

"Thank you, Mr. Lankett," Larry spoke. He and the limousine were out of sight before the front door closed behind Desmond and Brooke.

Brooke could barely wait to pull Desmond into the bedroom of her small, but cozy townhouse. She kissed him before the twin-size bed, her paws sliding under his suit jacket. Desmond in turn grasped her bottom, groped it through the dark dress. Brooke moaned to him over the tangle of their tongues. A single climax had not sated her; Desmond was what she wanted, Desmond deep inside of her.

She broke out of the kiss with a shudder. Her paws felt down, went to his groin. "I want you to have me," she whispered, as if concerned someone might be listening. "Please."

He smiled and pulled down the straps to her dress. It slid down enough to bare her breasts again and again he brought his mouth one, began to suck it. Brooke moaned and slid his hair through her fingers.

The suck was short, only a tease. Brooke didn't mind. She pulled up the dress, up and off. Wet panties clung to her mound. She looked to the foxcoon for guidance and got it when he coaxed her to lie back. Then he stood over her and undressed calmly, but expediently. She watched eagerly when he lowered his pants, baring briefs. She giggled at the sight of them, expecting something more ostentatious than tighty-whities.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Desmond snorted, grinning with good humor.

"Sorry," Brooke said, still giggling. "It's cute though."

He pulled those down too. His penis was small but hard, its length three inches and some change. Uncircumcised but stout, its release caused Desmond to say, "I know, it ain't real big."

"I don't mind," Brooke earnestly said. "I-, I bet big penises hurt anyway."

"Oh, god," Desmond groaned, started to laugh. "Just hush, girl."

"Ah, sorry, so sorry," the Doberman groaned, covering her face. "I didn't mean to make fun of you."

The foxcoon knelt on the bed, leaned over Brooke, nuzzled her breasts. Their shape was perfect, round and plump but not too big. Her belly was better, the so-called baby fat giving her a well-fed look the foxcoon found alluring. He pulled down her panties.

"Y'know, Brooke, I ain't no virgin, but I ain't never popped no girl's cherry before, either," Desmond said, gazing upon her face lit by the soft glow her reading lamp. "Makes us both first-timers in a way."

Brooke's chubby thighs parted nervously. Her vulva glinted with its wetness and her fingers briefly grasped his small, stiff penis.

"I didn't think my first time would be like this, but I like you," she quietly told him. "I-, um. I trust you."

The handsome foxcoon laid atop Brooke, body smaller but older, thinner and firmer. He held his penis, guided it to the heated lips of her vulva and pressed carefully inside. His foreskin glided back, permitting his pink glans to spread her open unobstructed.

Brooke bit her lip, whining for the southern fox with the small penis. Her arms curled around his back, holding him close as the virgin passage of her vagina welcomed him inside. There was the pesky virginity stopping him from slipping in further, the membranous wall separating her from sexual maturity.

Desmond kissed her neck, nibbled her chin, growled to her, "This part's gonna hurt, hon."

"Do it, just get it done," Brooke commanded.

The foxcoon thrusted forward and broke open the Doberman's hymen. Brooke cried out in passion and pain, tears stinging her eyes until she blinked them away, wiped them off with her paws.

"I know, sugar, I know," Desmond cooed, then peppered her face with kisses.

How would you know exactly? Brooke's mistress voice thought to ask him. Brooke smothered the voice back, imagined holding a pillow over its head until the struggling stopped. This was her moment to enjoy herself if not with a man she loved then with one she at least found very attractive.

Brooke's fingers felt down Desmond's back. She kissed him in return, the last smears of her lipstick coming off on his face like the faded final pages from a printer. "Fuck me," she whined. "Fuck me, Desmond. I'm your girl."

"Ya sure are," he said and started to buck his hips. More pain as his cock broke down the last of her hymen, pushing apart the thin membrane. Blood rolled down his penis but was inconsequential to them both. A pleasure Brooke had never known ran high, so unlike the clitoral orgasms she had given herself in the past; vaginal sex felt good even with the lingering pain of losing her virginity. She would do this again, she was sure of it.

"Yeah, yeah," Brooke panted, not even aware she was speaking. "Ooh yeah. Good." Bucking back into the foxcoon, petting him, squeezing him with arms and vaginal muscles. Feeling down around his ass, touching the cheeks, thinking herself so naughty for daring to enjoy touching a man's behind. Desmond was handsome and sexy, everything she hoped for in her first time, and his accent made him adorable. "Talk to me," she crooned.

"Yer a damn fine girl, Brooke," Desmond spoke, huffing to her. "Gawd, yer real good." He nuzzled her, nibbled her neck. Her scent, thin and well-bathed, drove him wild. Her virgin vagina was a raw pleasure men dreamed of but to Desmond the pleasure was hardly vulgar. He just liked Brooke, might have even loved her if the sex had been led up to by weeks of dating and other sweetness. As it was, he could only speak to the girl's friendliness and how ill-suited she was to escort work. No girl who got this passionate could last long in the field.

Desmond hunched over Brooke, his pumps quickening. The Doberman rolled back her eyes and cooed for the southern fox. Her breasts heaved with her quickening breath, belly shaking from the repetitious thrusts. Again and again she felt across Desmond's back, feeling over taut sinew and soft fur, thinking the foxcoon to be incredibly handsome and sweet and kind.

"Good gawd," grunted Desmond inelegantly. He lapped over a breast and into her cleavage, then up her neck before he kissed her lips. His tongue buried itself in her maw and her tongue slathered right back, the fox and the dog taking from each other, or rather receiving as they both contributed to the lovemaking. Desmond shuddered, tensed, and came. His loins pushed flush to Brooke, his bushy crotch kissing the smooth-furred plane of her pelvis. His cum spurted into her in four discrete ropes, each coming on a sharp flex of his penis.

Brooke took the semen gladly, welcoming it into her virgin loins with a coo and a squeeze on the foxcoon. That she was on no birth control did not cross her mind; she didn't want to think of such details yet, sex was what she wanted, sex and love. Desmond was handsome and sweet, had made her feel beautiful and now loved, and she loved him back with feelings much more concrete than what the foxcoon felt inklings of. She reached between her body and his, began to rub her clitoris greedily. Still she kissed Desmond, sucking his tongue as he lapsed into laziness yet still offered his maw to her.

The Doberman's orgasm was not clitoral; she only nudged herself over the finish line with that last bit of stimulation. She trembled as she came, thick legs closing around Desmond's back in a pincer as her vaginal muscles tensed all along the foxcoon's penis. Brooke eased from the kiss with a moan, slobber coating their lips and bridging their maws like a glinting web.

"My-, my god," Brooke bleated, nuzzling Desmond. "That was something else... you were so amazing."

"Aw, just a little somethin," Desmond chuckled, sounding tired. "Ya feel good for yer first time?"

"I came," the Doberman said warmly. "I came thanks to you."

Desmond smiled, kissed her softly. "Ya know what we need now?"

Brooke said nothing but tilted her head quizzically.

"Need some food now. Gone and blew off dinner, then burned all these calories," he laughed.

She giggled with him but said, "I'm too tired to go out again."

Desmond tried to pull away from Brooke but the girl held him close. He wasn't about to deny her a cuddle after her first time. "So we order us somethin. Ya mind if I use yer phone?"

"Oh, not at all," she said, sounding and feeling tired. She barely reached her phone on the nightstand, had to pinch at its bottom edge and drag it closer. Eventually she grabbed it and passed it to him.

The fox called what he promised her was a little Italian place he knew of, said they had the best stuffed manicotti she'd ever eaten. Then when the food was on its way, he nuzzled her, kissed her again - a brief meeting of lips compared to their earlier passion.

"I don't wantcha, uh, goin' an' gettin' the wrong idea, but I like ya a lot, Brooke."

The Doberman blushed. "I know what you mean... it can't work between us. I know that."

A smooch. "Friends, yeah? Yer a real sweet girl."

"I would love that," Brooke quietly replied, eyes drifting shut. Her true, budding love for the foxcoon, she kept to herself.