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Mrs. Robbins wasn't the type of person to see herself as a victim in anything she did. The tawny fox took responsibility for every action she took, on occasion to a fault, perhaps a byproduct of her desperate need to fit in, to be an adult, to measure up to the expectations society put on her. Barely of twenty seven years, she was certainly too old anymore to be given much leeway in the way she behaved, but in her mind she was still so very, very young and unprepared for adult life. She'd finished her schooling only recently, with a bachelor's degree in education and a master's degree in mathematics, and what had that landed her so far? Not quite a year into her position as a math teacher for Kingston Academy; a local, private high school. Its status as a private academy certainly made it loftier than at some public institution, but all the same - shouldn't she be researching? Should she be making more? Should she own a house by now, did she get married too soon, should she be.... Somewhere better?

It was a difficult question to ask herself. She was no victim, she told herself again - she wouldn't bemoan her lot in life. She'd had parents who loved her, she had friends and a good social structure, she was a dutiful student if not a perfect one. What she found to be failing in her personal life must be a fault of her own, she decided, and that's why she was sitting here in a plush office chair, behind a heavy desk after hours in her classroom. Her eyes flicked upwards towards the clock. 4:30; the main classrooms had all shut their doors an hour ago, and all that remained were the after-school extracurricular activities going on. She could hear gentle chanting of students outside of her window, from some classroom, or perhaps out in the yard as they worked in unison. Kendo, perhaps. She didn't recognize the words they said, but it sounded short, exacting, the kind of thing that a bunch of kids would shout while swinging wooden weapons down over their head and in front of them, over and over again.

Mrs. Robbins straightened her skirt absently, though she was sitting and didn't make much progress; she'd only noticed that the material was riding high. With the windows open, but her classroom lights off, it was somewhat dark, save for bright, streaming rods of sunlight peeking through the windows and slicing through the thick air in the room, throwing exaggerated sun across her lap as she looked down. Her dark-furred hands moved upwards, along her own, plush thighs, feeling the texture of a pleasant skirt, a deep slate-gray with lighter pinstripes. Up further, along her abdomen; a matching blazer was buttoned closed there, yet her hands rested there anyway. She had been a gymnast in her youth, and a cheerleader through high school and college, so when she felt just the softest paunch instead of firm musculature, she let out a soft breath. Her hands didn't linger there overlong, and lifted again, up to her breasts, cupping their weight through the material of her blazer, her shirt and her bra, and lifted somewhat. She could be proud of this, at least; heavy, malleable, pleasant. Her boyfriends had approved, as had one girlfriend, and by the gawking stares of high-schoolers and more than one faculty peer, that hadn't waned with her relatively few years. The thought made her blush, though, and she chastised herself; why on earth would she care for the approval of high-schoolers.

Her hands lifted again off of her breasts, and instead up to the back of her neck. Long, reddish-brown hair flowed down over her shoulders, and she gripped it into her hands, cinching it behind her neck. One hand automatically tugged the soft scrunchie off of the other wrist, yanking her hair through it in a long, practiced motion, then pulled it back and up through the other direction, with the end of her hair perching upwards, somewhat above her head. One high-schooler in particular preferred this hairstyle on her, and that chastising tone she'd taken with herself melted away to thoughts of that person, instead. One broad, radar-dish ear swiveled to her right, towards that window again, listening. The chanting still went on, but she was listening instead for a patter; the soft, sometimes-rhythmic, sometimes-arrhythmic stomping of shoes. The track team was outside, she knew. Seven miles, every other day, on a day just like today - the between-days were also out on the track, but those were shorter sprints. They'd have been done by now, but the pattering was still going; it was seven miles, but an hour had already gone by. Several students would've been done by now, including her, she thought, and her cheeks warmed instantly, as did the feeling between her thighs, the feeling that had reminded her that her skirt had risen a little.

Her eyes cast down at her desk, at the paperwork in front of her; most of it was completed, turned in by her students. Simple assignments, by her experience, her students having been expected to analyze a formula, then to solve several problems utilizing it. Each student's names were at the top, and filling most of the blank space on the page was the formula, its proof, and the several assigned equations with missing variables that could be found using the formula. She was proud of her students, and most of them had resolved the correct answer, or if they had not, they at least had shown enough work that it was easy to identify where their mistake had happened. The paper on top, however, was almost entirely blank. The student's name was Hane Tenshi-Winters, and seeing the name written, in an exacting calligraphy, made Mrs. Robbins bite her lip. The rest of the sheet was blank, but for most, it seemed as though the assignment had simply been forgotten about. That same neat penmanship had written the formula and handsomely written its proof, but that part of the assignment was easy - Mrs. Robbins had gone over it with each class, so most students had done the same, simply copying down what she'd written on the board. Underneath that, the student had written each problem equation, but they were unsolved - completely blank, from there, with ample space for each problem to solve their solutions. Hane just... hadn't. She'd turned the assignment in this way. When Mrs. Robbins had noticed this, she'd looked up to where that girl was sitting, and she'd said quietly, "Hane, please see me after class", to which the taciturn girl had simply smiled. A familiar, acceding smile. She had not shown up after class, though, just as Mrs. Robbins knew she wouldn't. She'd show up now, after school, after Track, after there was almost no chance that someone else would be loitering overlong after classes to meet with Mrs. Robbins.

Fuck, Mrs. Robbins thought to herself.

Her classroom door opened rather suddenly, making Mrs. Robbins jump slightly, her thoughts stolen from her by the doorjamb disengaging with a kuh-junk, letting the heavy door push open. The sounds out in the hallway spilled into her classroom; a voice or two moving down the hallway some distance away, but Mrs. Robbins was most focused on the student who stood in the open doorway for only a moment.

She was tall, moreso than Mrs. Robbins, and largely among the taller girls in the entire student body, not counting her ears whatsoever. The lapine girl was barefoot, as she tended to prefer, soft-furred feet resting on both her toes and her heels, snowy and perfect. Thin, gentle black lines wrapped around her ankles at their lowest, growing slightly thicker with each concurrent ring on up her shapely calf to her knees, and then into wide, proper stripes at her powerful thighs and generous hips. A white, tiger-striped rabbit - Hane was the first such girl Mrs. Robbins had ever seen. Her eyes made a short jump from Hane's powerful thighs and up to her abdomen. She wore a white shirt, but sweated as it was, the garment did little to conceal Hane's form - well muscled, but with a rather typical lapine paddedness to it, moreso thick fur than outright thickness. The sleeves of the tee were short, and Hane's arms were on as full display as her legs were - snowy white fur again, streaked occasionally with the thick black stripes of her tigrine heritage on display here, as well. Her face was particularly lapine, as well - a short, blunted snout with lips that ever seemed just slightly parted with a hint of her front teeth just visible, her cute nose ever twitching and scenting with curiosity, upon all of which perched a wide, short pair of rectangular glasses, seemingly precarious along her nose though they never slipped. Three black stripes emerged from the sides of her jaw and down her cheeks. Her hair was snowy white like the rest of her, though on occasion, Hane took advantage of the school's relatively lax policies on hair to color it on occasion - not this time, though. It was pulled tidily to the back of her head, braided thickly, and as she tended to prefer, the braid rested on her shoulder and down her chest as opposed to bouncing behind her. At last, Mrs. Robbins locked her eyes with Hane's, and the highschooler's bright green eyes were pools of acid, like a cat's eye when light was shone on them, but these were no reflection - those orbs simply pierced her.

The heavy door shutting again once more woke Mrs. Robbins from her reverie, lips parting slightly in surprise, swallowing immediately her anxiety, and she watched as Hane made her first step. "You wanted to see me, Mrs. Robbins?" she asked, her voice soft, like a whisper, with her padless bare feet making each step without so much as a sound. That first step set her entire body into motion in a way Mrs. Robbins couldn't help but admire; not only the way the girl's generous chest bounced, restrained as it was in athletic garments but still visibly splashed, though this wasn't the jostling motion that most caught her attention. Her eyes had skipped a portion of Hane's body on their first exploration of her, and they moved back down to Hane's groin, instead. Green running shorts were snug, cut high up on her leg for comfort and ease of motion, but unfortunately that short garment could do nothing whatsoever to conceal the frightful, heaving bulge this girl sported between those thighs. She wore a supportive undergarment, Mrs. Robbins knew, and not only by its appearance; the contour was smooth, where it should have been thickly ridged, from wrist-thick root of it down the long distance to an uncut tip. She couldn't see these details, though; she could only see the heaving swell of the top of that length, and see the pair of grapefruit-like swells that it rested over the top of. As with Hane's chest, that supportive garment was wholly incapable of preventing her every step from making that cock bounce, its weight pressing it down between Hane's thighs, only to be bounced back upwards again as one soft leg pushed forwards again. The entire package shifted left, then right, then left again with those steps. Mrs. Robbins' mouth watered.

"...I..." she started, talking at first to that pronounced bulge, before she managed to blink and look up to Hane's eyes. She found herself surprised that the high-schooler had closed the distance so fast; from her seated position, the shorter, older fox had to look up quite a distance to see into those acidic eyes. "...Yes, but I had asked you to come immediately after the period had ended," she said simply, swallowing. Hane smiled yet again. A familiar, acceding smile.

"I didn't think we'd have the time to thoroughly go over the assignment," she started, Mrs. Robbins watching closely as one of Hane's hands very casually moved to the front of those running shorts. Her thumb tucked into the waistband, the weight of her hand pushing it down very slightly - just enough that her teacher's eyes could stare at not quite an inch of inky, black flesh jutting from the soft pubic fur at her groin. She kept talking with that smile on her face. "I thought you'd prefer to see me after school, instead. Just like last time."

Mrs. Robbins had grown accustomed to Hane's exacting calculations in everything she did, despite never quite deigning to tell anybody else just what it was she was going to do. Sometimes this worked in her peers' favor; students would often scramble to join Hane in a pairs assignment, solely because they could rest assured that the entire project would be completed to satisfaction without their input whatsoever. On the other hand, it was on occasion a liability, just like now. Mrs. Robbins couldn't find the voice to correct her, though. Not with that in her eyesight, yet again. She could smell Hane in such a proximity, not that she would've needed to; Hane could fill a room with her presence simply by being within it for long enough, but with such a small garment covering her immenseness, with the afternoon heat clinging to her fur and her sweat following her like a field, Mrs. Robbins could only smell Hane, and it burned her brain, just like it had the first time. Her sinuses were flooded with tigerbun, and her body reacted in exactly the way Hane knew it would, the way she knew it did the first time, with warmth in her loins and her thighs pressing together firmly. "...Hane," she started, but Hane didn't wait for her to finish her thought.

"Shhhh," the highschooler said. "You don't correct me anymore." Hane's hand pushed down at her shorts again, her thumb having captured her underwear as well. "Pull me out."

"Sorry," Mrs. Robbins said, her cheeks burning deeply, not only for the sight and the smell, but in her own embarrassment - why the fuck would she apologize for speaking out of turn to a highschooler...? Though the answer was right in front of her. This was why, she thought to herself, as she obediently moved those small, dark hands upwards. One hand gripped the band of her shorts, finding the material dampened with sweat, and she pulled it downwards maybe six inches... and that still wasn't enough to fully uncover what it was this girl was packing. The other hand lifted up instead, gripping around that wrist-thick cock. It was hot to the touch, overtly pulsing, and as she fished out inch after inch of that immense girldick, its scent grew prominent, too. When at last its uncut head flung itself free of Hane's shorts, it was accompanied with a sudden, soft pattering. Creamy, transparent pre flowed from that tip like a broken faucet, and each splak to the floor made the fox's ears tip backwards in pure, utter submission. Hane smiled again.

"You're wasting it," she said simply, and her teacher responded appropriately - she opened her mouth, she lifted that heavy dick, and she rested it on the bed of her flat tongue. The precum found somewhere else to flow, this time, down the central fold of her teacher's tongue, straight to the back of her throat. Hane let out a long, relaxed sigh of satisfaction, and her cock lurched with similar pleasure; growing harder, and for a surprise for any first-timer, growing longer. Hane spoke again. "You wanted to talk about your assignment, right?" she said, to which the fox could only nod. Her lips closed around that cock, and though her eyes were up at her mistress, they were dizzy; unfocused. The smell of her stink had reverted her. She wasn't a teacher - Mrs. Robbins, the young, but promising new professor of mathematics. She was a slut. She was servicing a highschooler without hesitation. Not in this moment, anyway. Everything else had been the hesitation - asking Hane to show up after class, in the vain hope that she might actually do so, in the interest of ensuring there was a scant five minutes between one class and another, no real opportunity for Hane to hypnotize her with sixteen inches of fuckstick, no worry that she'd have to spend another half an hour in the restroom draining herself of that potent, tar-thick sperm Hane had filled her with every time before she could finally drive home and face her husband without looking and smelling like the thirsty whore she was. Now, though - now it was far too late. She was an animal, and she was starving. Mistress would feed her.

"I was busy, as you know," Hane continued, tipping her head back as one hand lifted up, resting on Mrs. Robbins' head, between her ears. Her fingertips rubbed gently, scritching there along her scalp. "The student council's preparations for this year's student gallery... They're running behind. I was only able to take notes, before.... Oooh, fuck yeah, that's a good girl..." Hane interrupted herself, and her fucktoy could only feel immense pride for it. She throated that length, rather all at once, her nose bumping suddenly into the sweaty fur of Hane's groin while those sweltering cumtanks pressed against her tongue. This was her only chance, really, to deepthroat her - once Hane was fully hard, attempting to do so would only be painful. She couldn't show up to school tomorrow with a 'sore throat' this many times in a single semester.

"...Mmm... Before I had to finish those preparations. You're.... Fuck.... You're going to make sure that doesn't show up in the gradebook, right?" she said simply, tilting her head down again, smiling that very same smile to her little dickslut, her tongue revealing itself to run slowly along her lower lip before her lips pursed. Spit roiled out from her lips, forming a small sphere before she pushed it from her lips, and it fell - splak - onto her favorite little fucktoy's face. Mrs. Robbins didn't even blink. The spit impacted her forehead, and simply ran down her face, until it smeared over one eyelid. Only then did she shut that eye, viewing her mistress only from the other. She could only nod to that suggestion - it seemed useless to say no now - and she began to swallow with earnest.

"Good," Hane said with a smile on her face, and without any further warning, she fucked Mrs. Robbins' throat. Just like she did every time. The woman's eyes showed Hane all the concern that was going through her head just then. 'I can't breathe', 'It hurts', 'You're too big' - but Hane replied the same way she did every time. "You'll be fine," she said, and with a wet plap, her grapefruit-sized kitten-factories impacted the underside of Mrs. Robbins' jaw, then again, and again. The distention of the woman's neck was extreme to say the least, but Hane knew, by now. A throat and a neck can stretch far more than many give themselves credit for. Certainly, she'll be a little hoarse tomorrow, but that's a low price, really, for the pleasure they inevitably take from it. They certainly beg for more before she's done with them, that's for certain. Mrs. Robbins couldn't beg just then, though - the only sounds coming from her were the sudden, wet gags and coughs as that oversized girlcock punched its way deep into her esophagus, all as Hane's erect ears simply tipped forward. Gods, she loved this sound. "Glk- Hlk- Ggggllllk-" That's the fuckin' stuff. Each impact of those heavy swells to her jaw grew steadily more wet, every retraction of her dick from that throat dredging up another syrupy sheet of spit and precum both, coming down the woman's jaw and splaking against her anew.

For a mercy, the rumors regarding lapines were true in one sense; ferocious lovers they might be, with a libido to rival and overcome anyone's stamina, but any individual session was a rapid rut. Which was good, because Mrs. Robbins feared Hane wouldn't have pulled that cock out of her throat and let her steal a breath until she was done with her regardless of how long it took for her to hit her peak. Once Hane hit her stride, it took her only a few long, powerful, headache-inducing slams into that throat before her lips peeled back and revealed that more than just her stripes suggested her tigrine heritage. Those teeth were not a rabbit's; not besides the front teeth, anyway. There were canines for piercing, and deep molars for crushing and tearing. That was a carnivore's set of chompers, and when Hane's eyes narrowed, then finally shut, it made for an extraordinarily intimidating visage.

"Here... You fucking... Go..." Hane's breaths hissed through her teeth, and Mrs. Robbins felt those balls tuck upwards the instant before that entire length swelled. It already pinned her tongue to the floor of her mouth, but moreso as a thumb-thick knot of molten hot sperm raced up her cumvein and erupted straight down her throat. That first heavy pulse made her stomach feel full in little more than a heartbeat - like tar piling into her stomach, bypassing any swallowing reflex or agency she had in where it went, and she already knew that she was in for the long haul. Overhead, Hane could only tip her eyes back, lips parting, tongue lolling out just a little bit, another little salvo of spit falling off of her tongue and onto her teacher's face, not that she had the remaining sense of self to feel anything about it anymore. Mrs. Robbins' brain turned to mush just as quickly as her belly slowly started to swell. The splsssssssh- splsssssssh-splsssssssh of each rapport of cum was audible to her, ears flicking with each repetition, until all at once that monster of a breeder was pulled out of her throat mid-way through. Already she felt like she'd swallowed a gallon of that heated cream, but Hane wasn't done, not by half, and when she yanked that ebony fuckstick out, Robbins got to see it in its entire glory. It had gone into her mouth soft, but it came out ferociously stiff - a slight upwards curve ensured she could see the monstrous belly of that beast, thicker slightly near its tip than along its center, though it was like her forearm regardless of which section of it was there. The inky flesh disappeared at her groin, giving way to the gentle, downy fuzz of her pubic fur, and underneath it that vast pair of balls underneath. It was covered in a layer of short fur, with a few stray stripes there as well, though the whole mass of it was matted down with spit, sweat, and precum, all in equal measure. Mrs. Robbins' first breath came deep and desperate, and with it she inhaled the taste of that heady cum, burning her senses all anew and making her aware that a strand of that creamy sperm was flowing down one nostril. She could only make a haggard snort as her eyes looked up, watching as her mistress dropped that fat fuckstaff right across her snout, eyes crossed to stare at the yawning cumslit before it erupted again. The next heavy lace of cream bisected her face perfectly, a long white line that fired between her ears, and from the soft leathery splat, hit her chair behind her - and then from the solid splak behind even that, the arc hit the floor behind her, too. Another dozen spurts, coating Robbins' face in a lewd veil of hot cream, each spurt thick like rope candy, hot and fresh from this bun's oven and ruinous to Mrs. Robbins' expression.

As Hane's orgasm finally waned, her hips still slowly writhing back and forth, dragging her cock up and down the teacher's face, she let out a little giggle. "Phew... I needed that one," she said simply, her hand reaching forward and resting on Mrs. Robbins' head again. "Clean me up like a good girl," she instructed, and without further waiting, she simply pulled her fucktoy's muzzle and nose straight into the thick cleavage made by those oversized cumfactories. Mrs. Robbins could do nothing but obey, and not just because Hane's hand wouldn't have let her go - it was all she wanted, now. The heat in her loins wouldn't let her ignore her superiors' desires, because it wouldn't let her go until her own heat had been cooled. It should've been her husband's, but it wouldn't be, this time, she knew; it would be Hane's cum that would hose down the furnace of her pussy. Her nose inhaled deeply, burning her sinuses again with the cum that had already erupted there but she didn't care anymore, and her tongue lapped and buried underneath that heavy sack to taste and savor the sweat from the deep crevices beneath. Hane looked sidelong with a satisfied, but somewhat neutral expression, her ears falling backwards again. The light continued to filter through the windows, but on the second floor, she wasn't concerned about the possibility of prying eyes looking in - the blinds were drawn up in such a way that peering up at this particular window would yield nothing, though Hane herself could look far out across the sky and see the horizon of the little town she called home, feeling the sun's warmth fall on her chest and heat her shirt through to her fur underneath. The feeling of the woman's lips along her balls and underneath the root of her cock made that vast member flex, and despite her recent climax, it stayed stubbornly hard - another inconvenient truism regarding lapine libidos. Quick to rise, quick to pop, but one's just never enough for them, as it happens.

Hane's eyes were drawn to the heavy, wide desk in front of her with a slight, soft buzzing. Her teacher's phone. It wasn't a particularly new one, for some reason - Mrs. Robbins wasn't all that much older than her students, but there was something rather old fashioned for the fox, so the sight of an old flip-phone merrily buzzing across the desk seemed appropriate to her. The teacher herself almost didn't seem to notice it at all, and as the tigerbun looked down, she saw the woman's eyes slightly rolled back behind narrowed eyes. She could practically see the little heart-bubbles rising up off of her hair, so preoccupied was she with tending to her superior's every whims, and Hane just smiled, rolling her eyes. She reached out to take the phone up herself, flipping it open, and seeing "Mark" across the entrance, with a little heart after it.

"Mr. Robbins?" she said quietly, looking down with a not-cruel-but-how-could-it-not-be-cruel smile, which focused the woman's eyes for just a brief moment as she looked upwards towards the display Hane pointed down at her. She didn't nod, but her eyes looked past the phone immediately, up to Hane. There was a pleading in that expression.... But not such a plea that it'd stop her fervent work. Hane snickered a little bit, and clapped the phone shut, ending the call as she tossed it forward across the desk. "Stand up," Hane finally said, "and bend over."

Mrs. Robbins did so. The call wouldn't be returned for another hour.