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"If I can't get this dent out, I'm blaming you!"

Yep, that's me; bitching and whining as per usual, whilst nursing my bruised tail and balking at the flattened fur where the rubber edges of the train door had squeezed together. I do feel for Klaus sometimes. That would be sometimes. Let me give you some context.

We'd just got back from a roadtrip around England and Wales, and on the return, I'd caught my tail in the tube door... again! It's alright for him! That delicious little nub just wags back and forth, avoiding all those exits and entrances. Over-zealous automatic doors aside, we'd had a blast; even though when we were in Wales, it felt as though you needed half-a-pint of phlegm in your throat to pronounce the place names! Klaus taught me that line, in two ways might I add. First, he referenced it from some British comedy show called Blackadder ; and second, from dumping his load down my throat to give me the "elocutive lubrication I so desired". Naughty boy!

So anyway, I flump onto the sofa, tired and in a mood, whilst Klaus just grins at me as he lumbers our cases through the door.

"You want me to kiss it better?"

I just stuck my tongue out at him. I knew exactly where that would lead! Klaus just shrugged and sighed with a playful smile, before pulling off his shirt over his head, and padding into our little homemade gym.

"Don't you ever get worn out with that thing?" I called through to him, my paws letting my injured tail rest beside me on the couch.

"Huh?"

Oh for paws' sake! Daft dog couldn't hear me above the sound of clinking, bench press weights; so I heaved myself up and wandered over.

"I said, don't you ever get tired of this?"

"Not... a bit." He paused in between lifts and spots, now lain naked and spread legged on the padded apparatus, "you should join me."

Klaus stopped and leant upwards, dusting off his powdered paw pads and wagging a beckoning finger at me. Now don't get me wrong, I was having to roll my tongue back into my head by this point, and those awfully tight sports shorts I'd worn all day were feeling ever more restrictive, if you know what I mean. How could I resist?! He had the boundless energy I loved, and the body I adored to the point of worship.

"You... you didn't shower yet did you?" My nostrils were full of it and, to be honest, there was nothing standing between me and having my post-trip treat.

He just grinned and shook his head, reveling in the fact that my hunched stand was testament to how sensitive I was to his gorgeous aroma.

"I lift, you sniff" Klaus laid back down and started his routine again, those powerful legs spread to allow his bollocks rest on the padding.

Hearing him say that almost made me cum on the spot. It still gives me the shivers whenever I remember it. Needless to say, I got down to it straight away, whipping off my clothes and straddling the bench to run my eager muzzle up his length. He wasn't soft for long; I made damned sure of that! I wanted the taste of salty pre, of that cooped-up vinegary musk that settled and sprinkled across my nose like tepid, particulate sex. It was heaven!

I was used to getting my way, pretty much constantly, especially when it came to Klaus's ass. So sue me, I'm a filthy fucking fox whose brain gets addled by the scent of my lover. It's true. It's like being drunk, only you're able to handle more and more of it without saturation. Unless you're like me who, in my friskiness, likes to starve myself of his tail and his sweat for days on end, before pouncing him and sniffing him 'til I blow.

This was one of those times. I hadn't got my muzzle dirty for days, and after all the travelling, I was desperate for my love drug. I clung my paws to the underside of his thighs, pushing back against him so that he would lift his hips; and oh fuck, there it was! A nose's sniff away and sweatily-wet and perfect and heavenly and.... oh fuck it, I just dived in! As Klaus grunted his way through several reps, I made his bollocks tighten with my lascivious tongue, sticking it where I had longed to, enjoying every flavor of his tight, worn and musky ass.

"Rrrr... hff hff.... Rrrr... are.. are you close?"

I think I just moaned an uh huh, before I felt Klaus put away the weight and sit up. I was so concentrated on what lay under his balls, he almost trapped my muzzle there. What a pity that would have been?!

"Let me see if I can bench-press you!"

Well, at least you know how much of a slut I can be sometimes. Fear not though; you haven't even heard the best bits. I can tell you a million stories of Klaus and I at home, humping until the sun came up; or at least, in England, until the rain came down. Sorry; couldn't resist! Let's put it this way; there are many, many paw-prints, smudge marks in the paintwork, ripped bedsheets and torn clothes in our flat that tell a plethora of dirty stories.

This is not to say that I get bored of Klaus or our lovemaking; not a bit! It's to what he introduced me over the next few months that made me... how can I put it? It made me a better, more rounded (and filthier) lover-fox. After all, what's life without adventure?! I was in the perfect relationship for just that, not that I had ever imagined myself in such a position. I'm just a small-town American boy from the Midwest with less esteem and confidence than a Buffalo Bills quarterback!

I needed some heart and life pumped into me; hot, sticky life at that!

So to break me in nice and slow (yeah, right!), Klaus had taken me to several traditional British pubs to get used to the whole back-to-basics trend that was happening in the UK capital. Everything was so laid-back and welcoming; it truly made me feel more at ease with my adopted home and tails. There were several gorgeous early Fall evenings where we would take to a table outside, and watch the traffic (animal, vegetable and mineral) pass us by. Klaus was looking devastatingly handsome as always, with a tight shirt, jeans and shades that matched his muzzle; very swish! I opted to huddle up in true American style; I'm not used to the cold. It was a little pub in Marylebone, just down the street from the train station if I remember correctly, set away from the busiest of roads and occupying its very own corner of London where travelers from further afield could quench thirsty muzzles. The smell of hot tarmac, hoppy beers and lagers, warm wood and diesel were the overriding pictures conjured in the nose, complimenting the heat of the dusky sun to ease eyes to a snooze.

We were right next to the cellar door too, so wafts of cask wine, dried spills and cork hit you every now and again. Not that I minded. I was in my element, maw buried thankfully in a brimming lager and ears turning to every sound and sight however small. I can be so cub-like sometimes, cos' I'm not exactly well-travelled even though I do live in merry old England now. Everything takes my fancy, and this is not limited to the everyday; Klaus's poor credit card!

Anyways, I was about half way through yet another warm beer joke, when my easily distracted partner got sidetracked.

"Alfred, as I live in breathe! How are ya' mate?"

He suddenly whipped off his shades and got to his paws. I turned, mid-slurp, to see a very memorable muzzle padding along the London sidewalk, paw-in-paw with a handsome fifty-something. It was the taxi driver who had so kindly helped me on my very first day in the UK.

"Fancy runnin' into you lads!" The gruff old Alsatian, summery in a light, chequered shirt and long beige shorts, took to a warm double-pawed paw-shake with my significant other, "didn't figure you for this end a' taan."

"Ah you know me. I love to rough it."

That sly wink was almost audible.

"Alf, Dave... allow me to introduce my partner, Scott."

"I think we've already met, young fox, if me' tail and nose serve me correct."

I went bright red and my ears went swinging backwards as I gingerly, shyly shook Alf's huge, broad paw. I had the full picture at last, strung from the subtle hints that the crafty old dog had dropped all those months ago. David, his life-mate, was a smart and handsome border collie, graying down his paws and across his muzzle; but he was ever so well-spoken and just that perfect side of effeminate. We were family in no uncertain terms. I know how incredible it is to bottom to dominant, studly canine.

He recognized my accent wasn't local from the moment we said 'hello'.

"Whereabouts you from, youngster?"

"Um... Caninville, Indiana. Just off the lake." I wasn't used to being unusual. It seemed like in England as a whole, everywhere was so cosmopolitan, that an American boy gave no surprises.

"Cool. Alf and I 'ave been to Chicago, which is in your backyard I believe." He leant forward whilst his paw was still firmly shaking mine, "I can't tell you how many times chubby-tail over 'ere complained abaat the taxi service. Once a Landaner, always a Landaner, am I right?!"

And he laughed. I just smiled and nodded, because you have to remember, I was still getting used to the very thick London accents that we were encountering. S'alright for Klaus, he was born here! But I was struggling; willing, but struggling.

"Soooo, what do you boys 'ave planned tanight?"

Klaus turned to look at me with a giggle and a shrug of the shoulders, before he gazed back at Alf, his paws still sliding his shades back into the front pocket of his shirt.

"Not much to be honest. What did you 'ave in mind?"

Now, you know, I'm not the most paranoid or suspicious, or even uptight of foxes; but there was something about all this that seemed oh so convenient, and I had a feeling it was gonna' involve me somehow. Alf grinned as Klaus had asked, seemingly relishing the invite to come out with whatever evening he'd had in his head. His partner was instantly at his ear, whispering something into those thick, hairy radar.

"Ah yeah! Yeah that... mhm, that saands good!"And now he was beckoning Klaus back to his feet so that he could pass on this 'secret' message.

I felt so left out, but in a strangely exciting way. I knew I was in good paws. There was no chance that it, whatever _it_was, would involve something I'd hate, be repulsed by or expose me to harm; unless the latter was taking a few good, hard smacks around the tail. That was always a secret thing of mine. Punish this bad little fox!

Anyways, getting a little distracted there for a sec! All eyes are on me now, lecherous grins running across each muzzle like a ripple of slyness.

"Come on sexy! We're invited to a little afternoon party." Back on went the shades as Klaus beckoned me up.

"Ooo we are? Where?" I got to my feet, taking one last gulp to finish off my drink as I did so.

"Alf and Dave do their own home-brewing. Sample a few drinks, perhaps have a takeaway. Nothin'... huge."

There was that smile again, and now Dave was repressing a giggle, holding his head against his partner's shoulder to hide his mirth. One abrupt shrug and a collective pull-yourself-together murmur later, Alf put his paw around my shoulders and we lead the way down the sidewalk.

"Caam on, fox. We got sumfink to quench that delicate, yankee muzzle o' yours."

"Oh... um, cool!" I just smiled and semi-snuggled into my new friend's possession. When he was near you, it felt like he owned everything; the space, the air, the land and the water, albeit roads and puddles. He was so overwhelmingly dominant and imposing for a short, chubby cockney Alsatian; but again, in a good way. I felt safer around him than perhaps even my own mate. Not that Klaus minded. You'll see why in just a moment.

We turned into the sunset, weak oranges and citrus-whites blinding to the tired, city eyes. The smells of fuel, tail, sweat and discarded fast food were pungent in the senses. This was all drowned out almost entirely by the sound. Paws above, the sound! Screeching, beeping, seemingly unorganized traffic that kept going and going, long into the night, was joined in its dusky chorus by the chatter of tradesfoxes, tourists and hangers-on; you know the kind! The ones that lean against cast-iron railings, wiry, gothic-types and artisans with a penchant for just wandering and pseudo-posing, wagging a tail to whomever could smell them. They'd puff away on thin "cigarettes" as you padded on by, the odour of nicotine balanced only by the smell of rich, black coffee, unwashed fur and money. I guess I should say fags , instead of cigarettes. That feels so weird to say that and not have a punch in the muzzle! But yeah, as much as they had proved a rather frightening prospect to walk past before, I felt ever so much better in the company of hardened London tail.

It's a strange light and air in the city around five or six; not quite night time, everyone heading home, the aromas of food only just about smell-able above one's own city-heat sweat. It was a transition time that brought out the curiosities, the earth-less and the earth-bound. I loved it. I could even brave saying that I enjoyed how cool the breeze had become as we neared Alfred's little home. Fancy that huh?! An American fox actually liking the cold!

It was a below-street affair, the stone staircase surrounded by black-painted cast iron, leading down to a dimly-lit door that couldn't have been any more anonymous.

"'Ere we are!" Alf pushed the door inward, before allowing Klaus and I the pleasure of being the first to sample their dark, superbly comfortable low-roofed lounge. "prob'ly not as posh as your place, Klaus my friend, but we enjoy the peace and quiet. At least in the times when I don't have my knot up 'is arse!"

"Alf honey, shush!" Dave pushed his mate's shoulder in embarrassed jest, his greying muzzle going ever so slightly pink.

The Alsatian just laughed, a deep, masculine voice that echoed about the small flat.

"Ah, you're daddy's little squealer, ain't ya?!" He padded off towards the bright white of the kitchen, starkly contrasted from the rest of their home; and it was immaculate!

A beautiful, modern room with milled stainless steel and copper, marble and black wood; it was gorgeous, and very expensive.

"I can smell wot you're thinkin' young fox" He nudged me gently with an elbow as my jaw dropped open, "my partner's a retired banker. Made 'is money many moons ago, long before you were a shiver in your dad's sheath, no doubt!"

I loved how down to earth he was. He was an older version of Klaus; it's true! Sure he was podgy and worked on the streets fifty hours a week; but he had the gumption and the balls that I admired. I hate phonies.

So Klaus and I quickly settle in, homebrewed lagers in just the hugest glass steins cupped (just!) by grateful paws, a combined sigh of relaxation echoing around as tails hit the cushions of their gorgeous sofa. It was strong stuff! Very hoppy and rich, but tasty nonetheless. I think there were plenty of giggles at my expense that evening. They could see the expression on my muzzle as I supped at the deep amber contents with that tentative, sour-mawed look that made the beer seem medicinal. I was still struggling with the thick accents of our hosts, so I just spent more time smiling and nodding; and then I smiled and nodded at something that got everyone laughing in an evil, sly way.

Oh shit, what have I just agreed to!?

I swallowed hard as I watched Alf get up and wander back to the kitchen; and now Dave had unzipped his shorts. S'like, whoa! W.T.F man!

"You'll love it." Klaus leant over to me and whispered, grinning from ear to ear as per usual; and now he was gettin' naked too.

I can't really describe to you how equally strange and exhilarating the feeling was; but I'm guessing now in hindsight, _that_was the beer! They're crafty! They knew very well how susceptible I am in that area. I will admit that I was feeling a little sozzled, a bit spaced and dizzy, but not really drunk; honest! I'd later ask my darling, deceitful Doberman why he thought I'd have to be plastered to enjoy what was about to happen. I think he just laughed, and mentioned how cute I was when I'd "'ad a few". Bastard!

"Caam 'ere Scotty boy!" The Alsatian had come back in, almost entirely naked now but for a white mesh jockstrap, a mere shred of underwear on his imposing, bulky body; and he waltzed right over and clamped a studded collar around my throat, yanking at the leash to which it was attached, "I got sumfink for ya' that I think you'll laav!"

I was tugged into submission on the other side of the lounge, Alf sitting down with a satisfied grunt and stared at me, smiling in just the horniest way.

"Klaus 'as told me aa much you like scent an' staaf. So why daan't you get daan on those pretty knees o' yours, and do some explorin'?!" And there was another pull on the leash, bringing me gently to the floor before him.

There was another grin as Alf spread his legs that little bit more, his tail aimed straight to the carpet and his bollocks draped on the comfy, dark cushion. I turned, looking back at my mate.

"Kl... Klaus honey, are you OK with me..."

I stopped and frowned. Klaus was totally butt naked now, sitting back on the sofa with a primo seat from which to watch the action.

"Are you kiddin' me?! Go ahead! 'ave some fun Scotty, love. I'll be over to whip those shorts off in a bit anyways!" That cheeky sod! He had the perfect aim on my backside too.

I turned back, and took my very generous host by surprise by diving right on in and under. Fuck, he smelled good; but I wouldn't go as far as saying it was paradise. My dobie dog was the ultimate aphrodisiac for my nose; Alf was just convenient. Is it evil to say that? Well, I guess my vulpine instincts are starting to shine through all the more.

And I dunno... I guess for one so brash and coarse in his life, I expected Alf to be hung like a frickin' horse; thick, musky maleness that would rival anyone. But I was wrong. I was a little disappointed, but never vocalized it. My mind switched to the waft of Klaus's scent behind me, the opening of his legs, the length of dog meat raging hot and hard in preparation to fuck me senseless.

So when I'm down there, my muzzle bridge crowned by musky, brimming balls, my mind isn't concentrating on the fur or the sweat or the dark, wet patch that surrounds the most intimate pink, male muscle; not a bit of it! It's always coating the fur with black suede swathes. I'm reconstructing stomachs and loins in waves of hard muscle. I'm cutting tails short to a nub, and switching my tastebuds to home.

I can't be anywhere close to horny without the smell of Klaus, the thoughts of his body and cuteness of his ass. It just doesn't happen. Not that Alf or Dave or anyone for that matter, have to know this. I service them, they get off; then I get off after minutes, perhaps hours of daydreaming my dobie into their place.

My brain switched to connections. My nose goes crazy, apoplectic when I start linking all the gorgeous, dirty aromas of a mature dog's spread-legged loins to where he's been all day. I dug my paws into the underside of Alf's thighs, struggling through dusky, almost auburn fur to push his legs higher. Better access, better movement, better fucking smell! Oh Klaus, I wish this were you; I would've much preferred my studly mate, not that I now turn down the opportunity to sniff masculine fur and muscle.

Alf had been out in the heat. He'd been working hard for hours, sat on his tail in the warmth of his taxi cab. He'd been thinking and dreaming about coming home and getting his end away with a naughty, slutty variant of his own mate; me! If it's one thing I love, it's surprises; _and_the fact that I have that day in, day out. Eat your heart out Alf, just like I'm eating ya' tailhole!

It wasn't a chore. I guess I just wished that I was lubricating Doberman dick, whilst others watched our passion.

Nothing can match us. Nothing can replace the feeling and searing, almost-alcohol hit of being in Klaus's naked shadow.

Do I want to be used and told what to do? Do I want to be someone's bitch? I dunno. Maybe. I'm not exactly sounding like I hate it, am I?

Klaus is to blame for this too! But perhaps, blame is too harsh a word. It's something I always wanted. I wanted the confidence to fuck around, fool around with handsome, kind and intelligent tail; no strings ('cept maybe a g-string or two), just downright dirty fun long, into the night. My teeth nipped and ripped at that jockstrap, the soaked, faintly ureic aroma of his all-day underwear, made me all the more confident. The naughtiness of his under-tail availability, the fact that he could just pull down his pants and any lucky fuck could get under his appendage, was just one more push for building fluids, ready to erupt and make a glorious mess.

I didn't want Klaus to come over "in a bit" to take my pants down; I wanted him right then and there! It could never be as good without him.

"Fuc....fuckin'... get the fuck over here, and take me!" I snarled as my damp nose started to trace the epididymides of each tempting bollock, bouncing and bubbling inside as I heard Alf moan his deep-throated approval, "not... not gonna' make him blow until you make me!"

If they were gonna' play rough and naughty, then so was I, paws damnit!

"Heh heh, you got a right one 'ere, Klausy boy!" Alfred shuffled to sit up a little, directing my eager, tender nose to run the length of his pretty mediocre but more-than-functional, five-inch underside; the drip of precum, throbbing purple veins and aching potential in his edging were all positives, believe you me!, "goin' at it like a real eager beaver!"

"Oh man, you're spot on, mate." I could hear Klaus approach, closer to me now, the heat of his dick radiating and wafting in tense, tangible waves to hit my ass; and like an auto drawbridge, up goes my tail. I know where I want him, "you should check 'im out when he's wiv me. Goes to town like it were beaver, if you know what I mean!"

"You're the swing both ways kinda guy, Klaus. Leave me a willing boy-fox, a can o'beer and my musky tail, any day. I ain't goin' fishin!"

Hmm... crude, but lovable. Remember that when I finish this little sordid (but fun) tale. Alfred was a true London dog after all. Please don't send me letters of complaint, ladies.

Anyways, I'm growling my way through pent-up anger and frustration at not being skewered like a kebab. Sure it wasn't a true spitroast, but my buried muzzle was coming to the point of no return, as was my aching ass. Alf had turned up the pressure, turning on his haunches and kneeling front to the back of the sofa, his thick canine butt in my face, tail strewn between my ears as I munched and moaned; and fuck me, Klaus was still teasin'!

Then I felt it; off came my shorts, and that cool breeze hit my tender undertail. And now that familiar pinching pain of thick Doberman knob pushing into me was all that rocked my body, above even the beat of my heart. I cried out loud, unable to believe my luck today, scraping my muzzle side on across the alsatian's willing buttocks, mouth and nose full of crazy-good scent; it was really happenin'. Paws above, it was like being in the back room of a strange, undercover version of an all-male strip show. Another of my sinful dreams.

Oh no, this isn't the way out. Oh no, it's the dressing room of several ripped, horny, post-show dobermen. Oh goodness, I lost my clothes!

You see where my mind wanders? Can you blame me? I'm there being pummeled by my lover and his friend, whilst gradually losing touch with reality to the point where there's a puddle of pre and cum the size of Lake Michigan beneath me. I was so hard, it hurt. I was so bedazzled, I forgot everything and just enjoyed each deep thrust that Klaus offered, and each nuance of a well-worn, aged canine's musk.

I think Dave blew first, the smell of his orgasm riding out over the smell of his mate's ass and the distinctive body odour of my favourite doggy dog, doggying me like it was his last day on earth! Someone made a joke about his trigger-dick, whilst my ears swept back and caught the soft, wonderfully pleasure-squish of lubricated cock entering and exiting me at pace. I was ready to finish off, have the control that I think they so wished I would imbue.

"Ah, there 'e goes" Klaus half chuckled, half-grunted as he watched Alf twitch and grit his teeth, his bollocks draining away to splash right across my nose, "you... hff, hff,.. you really got a drenchin'! R...ready for... unf,.. for another?"

I waggled my butt, pressing myself back to the hilt of Klaus's dick and snarling over my shoulder. My paws were sodden, my muzzle dripping in thick, tepid, off-white semen, and my tongue.... well I couldn't resist sinking back between Alf's thighs and having one last lascivious poke at his sweaty tailhole. I could hear him squeak and whine in as adorable a way as he could muster, letting go of yet more of that true, gritty English spunk as I took the chorus of pleasure into my head. I had already climaxed once; one sniff of that wet tail was enough for me. But Klaus was sure to give me the seeing-to that I had apparently been gagging for.

"Rrrrrrr... there... you ... go, bad fox! Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh" He held his head back and howled, pummeling me once, twice, thrice more, before filling this vulpine sandwich from the other end. If Alf's liquids had missed so gloriously, my ass was pumped full to displace any feeling of being left empty by the whole experience. Felt so fucking good!

I think we just remained in that position for minutes afterward, enjoying the sore afterglow and scents of satisfaction. The terrific smells were joined by the happy panting breaths of the males I had serviced, allowed to use my body for their own thick ends. I'm terrible! The night wasn't even really over at that point either. Dave had suggested that we all shower together, before ordering dinner, and hoo boy was that some extra-curricular fun that I hadn't counted on. Feeling helpless whilst totally barefurred and surrounded on all sides by the maturity of canine masculinity, is just the best. I didn't know where to put myself. I just let Klaus nip and kiss at my throat, making me arch as Dave this time took it upon himself to position his re-hardening dick at my cum-lubed tailhole. The water was just the perfect temperature, the attention so all-encompassing and the pleasure just so much more than my already very drunk mind could take.

I honestly can't remember if Klaus got sloppy-seconds on my ass or not. I kinda hope he did. He'd said that both Alf and Dave got off again whilst watching him plough my ass. Needless to say, I was in the shower back at home for another half-hour or so trying to clean my rump of clumped, dried spunk. My muzzle needed a scrub too, deliciously stained with sweat from nose to eyes. I had dived in deep without fear of drowning.

"We should do this again." Alf had declared, running a towel over his ears and shoulders, as we had stood on his doorstep, ready to depart into the muggy London night.

Giggles, nods and stumbles later (that was evidently our best form of concurrence at the time, considering all the Chinese food was layering against high volume hooch), Klaus and I padded off towards the bright lights.

A piercingly strong coffee at the all-night café on the Marylebone Road shook me from nose to tail and back again, Klaus smiling softly as he took his own delicious, green tannin medicine at five quid a pop! Paws above, things here are expensive. Don't get me started on gas either; or "petrol". I'm getting better.

Everything was in sharp context once more. The warm feeling inside, the cuddle of my mate's paws about me as we sat on those high stools around the very edges of the café; it was the end to a strange, but most exciting day. My tail felt complete, full and ever so sore; but it was worth it. We stayed there for a couple more hours before braving the walk back to our flat.

I kinda wanted to see the sunrise, a mellow, apricot beam of birthing day to provide its false shadows to all the advertising billboards, cars and security lights. The first strike of sunlight was so beautiful in an industrial way, leaving me with my cup at my muzzle in awe.

"I feel so accepted" I just murmured that, staring with contentment straight into the sun's first heat, the last dregs of my coffee lukewarm on my palette.

"You've always been, honey." Klaus nuzzled the side of my neck as he got back to his paws and adjusted his mid-length jacket, "you just never had anyone to show you."

He beckoned me back to my feet, or rather helped me down from my chair; man, those things are high! Like climbing into an SUV! Polystyrene cups were left, caffeine-stained and damp on the wooden shelf, accompanied only by our vague scent and the scrunched up paper napkin to dab away at those times when your muzzle leaks! You know what I mean.

Walking back through the chill, blue-skied five a.m was just so beautiful, passing by the almost-blue leaves of naked, sleepy trees in Regent's Park, before diving down to meet one of the first tube trains of the day.

Klaus whipped my tail inside the carriage just in time too.

"Almost!" He giggled, lingering a kiss on my muzzle bridge as I breathed a sigh of relief.

My tail had seen enough punishment for one day.