# Vixen Hunt 1

Author: KevinFoxboy
Tags: Alice Vixen, Animal roleplay, Bikini, Hunt, Kevin foxboy, Nudity, Prey, Scantily-clad, Vixen, pagan

#8 of HumanFox

Okay, here's another furry roleplay at the Main Line Hunt Club, a vixen this time. A bit more about the adults who wear fursuits and get hunted. Adult situations, nudity.

.

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; \* Hunting Vixens 1 \*&nbsp; --&nbsp; (c)2020 Kevin Foxboy. All rights reserved&nbsp;

  

Yip. I just wanted to tell y'all a little about my visits to the Main Line Hunt Club. A few&nbsp;

families got together and purchased some land so they could make a sort of resort,&nbsp;

and they split the land along the existing access road into a family area for pre-teens,&nbsp;

adolescents and their parents, on the north-east; and an area for adults only, on the&nbsp;

south-west.

  

The children get to learn about nature and the furry animals we have living there. Within&nbsp;

the border fences we have a lake for supervised swimming in addition to the two-foot&nbsp;

deep pool for young children, the four-foot-deep pool for adolescents, and the six-foot-

deep pool for adults.

  

Surrounding the lake are ten small one-floor cottages for small families, and three&nbsp;

rather large cabins for small children, for adolescent girls, and for adolescent boys,&nbsp;

who aren't allowed near the girls or young children. The cabins each have two big&nbsp;

rooms with six double-deck bunk beds, plenty of room for clothing trunks, and&nbsp;

windows to the great outdoors, with screens for the hot summers and shutters&nbsp;

for the cold winters.

  

The small animals get their own barn, divided up and fenced in to keep small children&nbsp;

from bothering or hurting them. They even have ramps and low stairs to the outside&nbsp;

so they can run away if they need to. They're wild, but partly tame so they don't get&nbsp;

too upset seeing people.

  

The older kids get an informal animal husbandry course where they can care for the&nbsp;

badgers, opossums, and a small red deer herd. Just don't expect to pet them right&nbsp;

away. We used to have a small petting zoo out back, but the state bureaucrats got&nbsp;

annoyed we didn't give them kickbacks, so the health department and animal control&nbsp;

got ticked off.

  

Yeah it's private property, but once we started letting people besides the owners'&nbsp;

families in, the state and local party-poopers made us stop having fun.

  

~

  

Or maybe it was a consequence of us having brown bears on the property, even though&nbsp;

we keep the children a few thousand feet away. The bears don't bother reading the 'no&nbsp;

trespassing' signs, so maybe some parents complained.

  

Anyway, the chance to learn about nature was what got me involved, first as a six-

year-old girl, then each summer till I was eleven, then my parents moved into separate&nbsp;

homes and shuttled me back and forth till I was sixteen.

  

I was really glad they let me back; I wasn't sure with all the nanny-state safety restric-

tions they had to accept "for the visitors' safety". Bullshit. Now the private tour cars&nbsp;

had to have roll bars, and they made everyone buckle themselves down with racecar&nbsp;

five-point harnesses. Like anyone would be so dumb as to try to step out of the open&nbsp;

cars if they were still moving.

  

No, strike that; anyone that dumb \*deserves\* to get injured. I'd had to learn that life&nbsp;

includes dangers to watch out for; the snooty rich assholes who had nothing else&nbsp;

but file idiot lawsuits should learn too, and leave us alone. Fewer people who thought&nbsp;

their riches meant others should serve them would improve the human gene pool.

  

My next shock was the rebuilt cottages and cabins. We're out in the woods, fer&nbsp;

chrissakes, let folks make wooden houses that blend in. But oh no, now they had&nbsp;

to be frickin' cinderblocks that look like World War Two Nazi prison barracks!

  

Some damn idiot had probably tried to pick up a kerosene lantern and couldn't figure&nbsp;

out that burning liquids are hot, so use the wood handle. Oh no, that would make too&nbsp;

much sense! It wasn't the stuck-up nincompoop's error, it had to be the lantern's fault

for burning him, and the manufacturer, and the Hunt Club owners and employees...

  

Anyone but the stupid idiot himself. Oh, please!&nbsp;

  

Ok, so I get on a rant, bite me.&nbsp;

  

~

  

Anyway, I've asked everyone at the resort to call me Alice ever since I was six. Not&nbsp;

that it's my real name, but it was the first time I was away from home for an entire&nbsp;

summer. Sorta like an actor using a stage name, and I got a kick out of everyone&nbsp;

using the name Alice.

  

So I started wondering if anyone used their real name, but I wanted people to call&nbsp;

me Alice, so it was only right to use the name they gave and not pry. At six years&nbsp;

old it was just a fun game, but they got used to Alice and I got used to their names.&nbsp;

So each year when I came back with my parents, they started calling me Alice for&nbsp;

six years of summers.

  

Then at eleven my parents broke up and I had to live with mom's little sister who&nbsp;

was adult but a bit wild. She had her own house rules and spanked me if I was bad&nbsp;

and broke them, even when I turned twelve; but she didn't always bother wearing a&nbsp;

skirt or blouse inside her own home.

  

Panties and bra were OK, and a terry robe for coverup when someone came to the&nbsp;

door. So she could hardly spank me for doing the same, or just a bikini in summer.&nbsp;

Her house, her rules; and I wasn't quite old enough to worry her about showing&nbsp;

breasts or groin hair.

  

Until I turned thirteen and sprouted. Actually my aunt still didn't get upset if I came&nbsp;

home from school and wanted to undress; she did it often enough I learned about&nbsp;

adult bodies. I guess because she was younger than Mom she didn't have body&nbsp;

image issues, and she didn't want me to start.

  

And then there were the 'troubles' every month. Without getting squicky, I was old&nbsp;

enough now to be growing up and growing out, and this was my young body starting&nbsp;

to experiment with my female fertility. I had to deal with it trying to get ready to make&nbsp;

babies once a month, until my aunt and her group of adult lady friends brought some&nbsp;

herbs and made a kind of tea that didn't taste good but did make me feel better.

  

I'd grown up hearing about the Lord's virility and the Lady's fertility, and now I was old&nbsp;

enough to find out about the herbs and the rituals. We didn't mind using aspirin or cold&nbsp;

medicine if we got sick. I even knew about boiling willow tree bark to treat headaches.

  

Anyway, so at thirteen I was old enough to meet my aunt's men and women friends.&nbsp;

As some of the more astute readers have probably surmised, they were pagans, and&nbsp;

this was their coven. They let me in as a junior member; although my body was newly&nbsp;

adult, the local, state and federal laws said I was still a child and needed them to pro-

tect me.

  

From what, you may ask. Mostly from naughty people, most of whom were men, as&nbsp;

it happens. Why not get rid of all the naughty men and make society safer and better&nbsp;

off? I just happened to know some rituals to do that...

  

So I'm supposed to trust one bunch of people I don't know, to protect me from another&nbsp;

bunch of people I don't know? I'd seen enough man-bashing movies on Lifetime cable&nbsp;

(where it's always some kind-seeming man stalking or home-invading some unguarded&nbsp;

woman or family. Usually with a guy around who doesn't believe the woman or child&nbsp;

trying to convince him there's danger. And then he's ineffectual against the bad guy&nbsp;

anyway. And don't bother trying to tell the police; they're too busy or jaded to bother,&nbsp;

or they're the stalker in disguise.)

  

OK, sure, there are naughty and downright evil people out there. But these movies seem&nbsp;

to say that women and kids are always victims, especially of others they're supposed&nbsp;

to be able to trust. And they just have to take it, until they get backed into a corner and&nbsp;

grab an impromptu weapon, attack the baddie and save their child and themselves.

  

This isn't female empowerment, it's violence born of desperation. Sometimes the&nbsp;

victim even ends up going to jail for murder. Just to shout at you that life is unfair,&nbsp;

and there's really nothing you can do, nyah nyah nyah, tune in again tomorrow.

  

Female empowerment would be, as soon as you see someone skulking around&nbsp;

outside, you remember your police-sanctioned firearm safety course, reach in the&nbsp;

back of the pantry, trip the hidden catch, grab your trusty 9mm, slap the clip home,&nbsp;

\*leave the safety on\*, don't go running around with an armed loaded deadly weapon,

open the arrowslit, and yell out "go away, the three of us know how to fight, and&nbsp;

we're not afraid to kill you all!"

  

'Three of us?' you ask. You only saw one woman through the window. Run away&nbsp;

while you still can, because she's got Smith and Wesson, with a side order of Glock&nbsp;

and a ticked-off home-defense all ready for ya.

  

~

  

OK, now you're probably wondering, what the frell does this have to do with the Main&nbsp;

Line Hunt Club, and if you've read Kevin's stories about young adults dressing up as&nbsp;

vixens to be chased, or as dogs to chase, you're also confused about this one. Well&nbsp;

just hang on and keep reading; I'll get to the hunt costumes shortly.

  

My point is, one, people should have the right to defend themselves in their own&nbsp;

homes with deadly force if necessary; two, going outside to gun down someone&nbsp;

in a hoodie walking away down the street is murder, not self-defense; three, a guy&nbsp;

with dark skin shooting a guy with white skin (or vice versa) just cause he looks&nbsp;

different, is racism not justice.

  

The Hunt Club was formed by men and women who wanted to teach adults about&nbsp;

responsible handgun use. You can't pull a bullet back, so it's up to the gun owner&nbsp;

to make damn sure they know what they're pointing at, to make sure they hit what&nbsp;

they aim at and not the range safety officer, and to get used to firing, calm down&nbsp;

and not have shaking hands.

  

The gun is a tool, it doesn't have any sense, it requires whoever&nbsp;

holds it to exercise all the caution and do all the careful thinking.

  

So anyway, here I am, a girl of thirteen learning how to shoot a small revolver safely.&nbsp;

Remember, even Dirty Harry Callahan didn't go around shooting wildly, just the guy&nbsp;

running out of the bank carrying a suitcase while the alarm sounds, and he was a&nbsp;

trained cop. Oh, and he's fictional, while this revolver was real.

  

The S&W 317 chambered in .22LR is small enough to fit in my hand and light enough&nbsp;

I don't hurt myself on the recoil. I admit I'm not as strong as the men, and anyway, the&nbsp;

LR's six-grain powder, 40-grain bullet is enough to practice aiming with. Keep in mind a&nbsp;

handgun isn't held up to the eye, so you learn to adjust to your hand a few feet lower&nbsp;

and off to the side.

  

At the Hunt Club beginning shooters start with .22 short (4/19gr) in starter pistols;&nbsp;

they make enough noise to get used to without flinching. Then we move up to .22&nbsp;

long (5/19) and then .22 LR (6/30, 6/40) to really get those tin cans flying, or make&nbsp;

a real mess with tomatos. With a handgun it's also a good idea to wear a thin&nbsp;

shooter's glove - it saves your hand from getting burning gunpowder on it.

  

Now one thing they're sticklers on is gun safety. If you don't keep the chambers and&nbsp;

barrel clean, bits of unburned gunpowder build up and the gun can explode in your&nbsp;

hand! The MLHC has people certified by the USA Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Fire-

arms and Explosives to not only know gun safety, but teach others.

  

We generally want folks to give their gun barrels a quick damp mop after every six&nbsp;

revolver shots; remember the cans and veggies don't fight back, so you're not in any&nbsp;

danger, except from yourself if you aren't careful. The cleaning fluid dissolves the&nbsp;

excess gunpowder, and the wadding removes it from the barrel; I've seen new&nbsp;

shooters get surprised by how much black comes out with the cylinder open.

  

~

  

The MLHC owners separate target practice from animal hunting. They do have bigger&nbsp;

handguns and rifles the trained employees use for defense; we don't go poking around&nbsp;

the thickets or rock walls just to annoy animals. We don't often see big predators; I&nbsp;

think generations of humans bumbling around the forest scared off their prey. We do&nbsp;

take precautions with anything having a scent, including bubblegum and chapstick, to&nbsp;

keep the bears away.

  

But without small animals just hanging around waiting to get shot and mounted as&nbsp;

trophies, the hunters get antsy and forget animals don't wear bright orange vests. So&nbsp;

the MLHC lets people get healthy exercise by putting on furry costumes and running&nbsp;

along marked paths.

  

You may think we're just kinky, or downright indecent, but you've seen men and women&nbsp;

at the beach wearing just skimpy swimsuits, and not getting complaints. I don't have a&nbsp;

problem wearing a tan-through two-piece showing my bare arms, bare legs, bare back&nbsp;

and bare middle; but the furry trim gets the men's eyes off my covered groin and cov-

ered breasts.

  

As I've said, I don't mind total nudity as long as the men don't just stare, but respect my&nbsp;

human rights. Men are allowed nudity too, and it's a social requirement for everyone&nbsp;

to undress at the south-west pond. Puts us all in the same condition, and it's OK to ask&nbsp;

someone to apply sunscreen as long as you return the favor, and limit your fondling of&nbsp;

bare skin to the lotion.

  

There's a set of hedges and low thick shrubs surrounding the public side of the pond,&nbsp;

hiding a wood privacy fence painted green, and an arm of fence inside at each gate.&nbsp;

Even if nude sunbathers walk along the fence, the preteens and prudes can't see.

  

I found out about the pond and the social nudity when I came back the summer I turned&nbsp;

sixteen. After all, I learned about the clothing-optional lifestyle from Aunt Wilma, and&nbsp;

nobody outside the house and coven ever complained, so I like to think they never knew.

  

I was a bit shocked to find out about the sunscreen fondling, because the quick glances&nbsp;

I got looked a lot like the coven rituals I'd seen. Maybe a lot of adults and almost-adult&nbsp;

teens were pagan and clothing-optional, just followed a different path in their covens.

  

Anyway, clothes were optional, and another option was the low-rise, low-coverage tan-

thru bikinis on women and girls, and the low-/low- bikini briefs on the men. All the girls&nbsp;

had seen each others' curves and the men's bulges, and of course the adults had seen&nbsp;

more, and nobody jumped on the men or women for sex. Just ask, and even when&nbsp;

someone's already busy, there's usually several luscious young willing adults of your&nbsp;

favorite gender.

  

I saw my aunt's coven rituals when I turned thirteen, and the MLHC's men and women&nbsp;

in brief bikinis when I was sixteen; and I heard about the sex but wasn't allowed to learn&nbsp;

until I turned eighteen. Since my body was fertile at about thirteen and I had plenty of&nbsp;

older women to guide me, I don't understand what the big deal was.

  

I'm getting to the skimpy-costume hunts, I promise!

  

~

  

I'd been wandering around the Hunt Club property by myself since I first came here&nbsp;

when I was six, the summers warm and the land verdant. I stayed near the young girls'&nbsp;

cabin at first, walking to the long house where the employees slept and we all had&nbsp;

our breakfast and dinner. Lunch was more relaxed, and we ate outdoors on different&nbsp;

cabins' porch steps.

  

I think I mentioned the property used to have a petting zoo, and I learned to help feed&nbsp;

the pigs, goats, sheep, cows and ponies. I learned to watch out for the tails and walk&nbsp;

away when they flagged up; and I learned where to look to tell the females from the&nbsp;

geldings and the males.

  

After a few summers I became a bit bolder, and when I learned about guns my aunt&nbsp;

bought me a .22 bolt-action rifle. I carried it around unloaded of course, it wasn't a&nbsp;

semi-automatic to have a safety switch. I carried mostly .22 short cartridges, just&nbsp;

enough of a bang to scare the foxes away, and some blanks in case I got lost and&nbsp;

needed help.

  

I like to pretend I was alone during those walks, but I realized later on that I was&nbsp;

probably followed at a safe distance by one of the older girls. I think the older&nbsp;

boys followed the younger boys, but I'm pretty sure I never imagined they'd do&nbsp;

anything naughty. The property was just too nice to risk having to leave if they did.

  

I began to watch the foxes, just playing around it seemed, teaching the kits how to&nbsp;

hunt and cuddling the vixens with their big bushy tails. I wanted to know how it felt&nbsp;

to run my fingers through their fur; and I started leaving some breakfast scraps on&nbsp;

a rock wall.

  

Soon enough the scraps were gone when I came back from a walk, and I never lead&nbsp;

the growing kits nearer the humans. I did wonder what it'd feel like to cuddle them&nbsp;

or let them cuddle me. I had to make do with the various breeds of dogs on the&nbsp;

property. Watching them roll over for a belly rub was rather fun.

  

I and the other hunt club guests always entered the dining room from the side steps,&nbsp;

although from inside we could see the big screened windows with wood shutters,&nbsp;

the window where the cooks passed plates of food in, and the kitchen door where&nbsp;

people who bussed tables took used plates. It was a rule that guests could take as&nbsp;

much food as they wanted, but they had to eat all they took.

  

The remaining door into what had once been an old farmhouse was almost always&nbsp;

closed. Only once did I get a glimpse of a friendly-looking room with an old-fashioned&nbsp;

pot-bellied stove, a small chimney beside a flight of stairs, a large free-standing book-

case and an open door to another porch.

  

I think the farmhouse had a lot of additions over the years; the dining room and second&nbsp;

kitchen were probably add-ons when the MLHC bought the farm. There's a rather large&nbsp;

meeting room on the other end from the dining room with a cosy big fireplace at the far&nbsp;

end, two doors to the outside, one to that other porch, and the fourth to the office.

  

That would place the office beside the porch, next to the staircase. From outside, you&nbsp;

could see a whole second floor, from the far end of the meeting room to the start of&nbsp;

the dining room; and if you took the compacted dirt road that led to the gate, just past&nbsp;

the building with showers to the switchback that led past the boys' cabin, you could&nbsp;

see the back of the house from the meeting room past the dual kitchens, nestled up&nbsp;

with a narrow path to the dirt dug out to place the farmhouse.

  

~

  

At sixteen I learned about the organized hunts the club was named after. I think I&nbsp;

mentioned the foxes around the property; almost as much opportunists as the&nbsp;

raccoons! However, they were never as much fun to chase as the ones in England,&nbsp;

and besides why spend all that time chasing little animals that never bother you?

  

So the MLHC owners decided to do something rather kinky: they had men and women&nbsp;

volunteer to sew and glue fake fur onto those skimpy briefs and bikinis, then they'd&nbsp;

run or jog along marked trails, and sportsman guests without guns would chase them&nbsp;

on horseback!

  

Actually, more recently the fake fur is sewn on runners of material that lets you drape&nbsp;

it on and run it through loops in the bikinis, around your back and curving under the&nbsp;

breasts, then between and up along the bra straps to tie at the back of the neck where&nbsp;

the head hair hides it. There're two short runners of fur on the outsides of the breasts&nbsp;

just to completely hide the bikini bra.

  

The men just go around bare-chested with their muscles flexing&nbsp;

and the sweat from running making them glisten in the sunlight... yum.

  

And then there are the cloth runners to make the legs and waist look furry. It takes&nbsp;

a while to get comfortable in just the skimpy bikinis, and the fur brushing against&nbsp;

bare skin. Oh, and the waist runner ties the fake fluffy tail on, to brush the backs&nbsp;

of your thighs and give you a thrill.

  

I highly recommend all readers to get fur costumes and go around&nbsp;

with it stroking your bare arms and legs, back belly and chest.&nbsp;

  

~

  

It's quite warm in the summers, even high up in the mountains where the hunt club&nbsp;

nestles between the city reservoir and the trees growing wild, marching up the rolling&nbsp;

hills. The view from the long house porch includes the wide open blue sky, the clearing&nbsp;

and fire lookout tower a few mountains away, the treetops and bare rock formations,&nbsp;

the working farm halfway down the mountain, the cows from said farm wandering up&nbsp;

and eating the grass so it doesn't get too tall, and the grass with its seed pods waving&nbsp;

around in the breeze coming up the mountain.

  

Then there's the family of farm workers hauling feed to the barns, and waste from&nbsp;

them. Mostly young men with their well-muscled arms, legs and chests, bare in the&nbsp;

summer heat, sitting on their animals or tractors... Yum and yip. But I digress.

  

As I've said, I grew up with a relaxed attitude towards wearing clothing, and five years&nbsp;

living clothing-optional at Aunt Wilma's home got me used to wearing nothing at all.&nbsp;

I still don't really understand why so many Americans get so upset with casual nudity;&nbsp;

and it's only the boys and men who grew up in more prudish homes who want to touch&nbsp;

my growing body and think if I undress, it has to be for sex.

  

Mind you, as I've grown up, I've seen plenty of boys and girls wearing the minimum of&nbsp;

clothing. But I was brought up in coven, and most of our ritual celebrations of the year&nbsp;

cycle are done skyclad. It's not for kink, or to squick the mundanes; we're celebrating&nbsp;

nature, so we do it /au natural/.

  

I've brought many pagan customs to the MLHC once I found a coven, and we're willing&nbsp;

to show the adults if they don't just tease us or think we're just having orgies. It's on&nbsp;

private property, but we still observe mundane decency laws by excuding those under&nbsp;

eighteen from the skyclad rituals.

  

I think the animal costumes are a way to sneak respect for nature and animals into&nbsp;

people's lives. We pagans don't purposely annoy those who want to hunt, and we don't&nbsp;

toss animal blood on them to offend them, like PETA activists do. What we do is try&nbsp;

to teach hunters to respect the animals' sacrifice, not treat killing as a right. We're&nbsp;

way past the times when so many animals threatened people's farms.

  

~

  

As I've said, I'm frequently nude in the adult half of the club property, or wearing a&nbsp;

bikini when I do housework. I've been living at the MLHC long enough I want to give&nbsp;

something back, and the property does need quite a bit of maintenance. Now if you've&nbsp;

never seen an eighteen-year-old woman scrubbing the cabin floor, c'mon over as a&nbsp;

guest at the property.

  

I don't mind men watching me with a cart carrying a pail of hot water, floor cleaner&nbsp;

and big sponge, with a bikini or nude, down on my knees bent over, working up a slight&nbsp;

sweat on my exposed curvy body. In fact I rather enjoy them wanting to look me over,&nbsp;

see how my body moves, appreciate my skill at covering the floor area.&nbsp;

  

I must admit, what with the nanny-state regulations on building, the cabins are painted&nbsp;

to try to hide the ugly cinderblocks. Inside, the paint fills in the rough cinder, and the&nbsp;

linoleum floors are easier to scrub clean than the old wood floors. And they're easier&nbsp;

on my knees and those of the other cleaning staff. No splinters now.

  

I make sure to wear a bikini when the cabins are occupied, just in case adults or&nbsp;

children aren't used to seeing nude eighteen-year-old young women. I don't actually&nbsp;

mind hiding my groin or restraining my luscious breasts. Two cups surround my&nbsp;

curves, gently holding the curves outside, under and especially between them; and&nbsp;

the cups are held around my chest as well as between them.

  

And the bikini bottom covers my hips, groin and rump, so I'm decent even for the&nbsp;

prudes. As I've said, you've likely seen more skin on public beaches, it just looks&nbsp;

like the men and women are wearing practically nothing. The tan-though material&nbsp;

is actually tough enough to get pulled on a bit, and it's doubled in panels covering&nbsp;

the front, under the neath, and behind.

  

Even the men's interesting bulges are covered, and held up in their support. I've gotten&nbsp;

more appreciative of their muscular bodies as I've become an adult. My feminine curves&nbsp;

are held from bouncing even as I scrub the floors, supported held out as offerings to&nbsp;

men. I get a giggle out of the mundane's struggle between their male curiosity and&nbsp;

society's prudishness.

  

"Don't look. OK look, but don't touch. Well touch, but don't enjoy." I call bullshit; in my&nbsp;

coven, none of the men or boys - or women or girls for that matter - ever touched me&nbsp;

or any of the children inappropriately. They had plenty of older girls to look over, hug&nbsp;

and kiss, casually touch, lick, hold, caress and fondle.

  

What's important is that they ask the woman first, and get her informed consent before&nbsp;

touching. In my coven growing up, and now in my MLHC coven, boys are taught respect&nbsp;

for female fertility, as girls are taught respect for male virility. It's the Lady's and Lord's&nbsp;

gift to humans, and to avoid conflicts, we have self-respect and social customs.

  

~

  

Ok, now I've mentioned the skimpy bikinis and briefs, and the furry trim that lets us&nbsp;

pretend to be biped animals to run around and get chased. I've read Kevin's stories&nbsp;

about the full furry costumes; and the hunt club operates year-round, so we don't get&nbsp;

too sweaty running around fur-clad.

  

Now if you've never worn a fur-trimmed bikini or briefs, I suggest you get out more,&nbsp;

because I can assure you it's a fun activity. Or come on over to the MLHC and run&nbsp;

along one of the marked trails wearing thin shoes and fur trim, either chasing some-

one or being chased. Or even by yourself or in one of our exercise groups.

  

After you get comfy in the fur trim, why not get kinky and try one of our full fur-suits?&nbsp;

I personally enjoy dressing up as a vixen, with that sexy bushy fake tail giving me a&nbsp;

thrill by swinging and brushing up against my mostly bare rump and thighs in the bikini,&nbsp;

or waving back and forth in the motion harness when I wear the full suit.

  

The Japanese have done some interesting work with animatronics, and the look of&nbsp;

surprise when a fursuiter walks up with a full furry face mask, the ears swiveling and&nbsp;

the mouth opening and closing as he or she talks, is really quite gratifying. I do enjoy&nbsp;

my sexy female curves accentuated by the close-fitting fur costume, including the&nbsp;

support bra showing the shape of my breasts.

  

Go ahead, look, touch, enjoy. Just don't squeeze too hard; they're real, not just silicone&nbsp;

fakes. Frequently I dress up as a vixen, but I've also been a dog bitch of various breeds,&nbsp;

and sometimes a badger or pine marten. Oh, and maybe a weasel or ferret. Dook, giggle.

  

Sometimes a guest will ask me about the costume, why I don't wear padding to smooth&nbsp;

out my chest, because actual female animals have nipples as mammals, but not the&nbsp;

nice curvy breasts we humans have. Have they ever tried breathing in a tight corset or&nbsp;

breast straps?!

  

Ok I admit I often wear padding around children or older adults who might object. I don't&nbsp;

want to give kids nightmares seeing storybook characters with sexy bodies, but I've&nbsp;

never gotten complaints, just surprised questions. Only parents seem overly sensitive,&nbsp;

but if you've seen that Disney mermaid lady with just seashells, you'll wonder what the&nbsp;

hoopla is all about.

  

Sometimes for the MLHC adults, I'll wear a second or even third bra under the fursuit.&nbsp;

With six breasts sized C (my real ones), B and A, and then another pair of nipples, I can&nbsp;

really look like a biped furry female. Authenticity, don'cha know.

  

Some of the MLHC folks are looking into special-effects fake chests with six breasts&nbsp;

and eight nipples to have under the full-body fur suits. I've even worn multibreasts on&nbsp;

public beaches, making sure a one-piece swimsuit covers my chest. I've never gotten&nbsp;

a real complaint, just 'what kind of a freak are you?!' comments. And lots of stares,&nbsp;

mostly from men who might have a breast fetish.

  

I think Kevin explained how the MLHC fursuits work; how the hemp weave is loose&nbsp;

enough to let heat out, strong enough to hold the weight of the fake fur, and the thigh&nbsp;

pieces end in flannel cuffs to fit the leg pieces so there's enough slack we can fold&nbsp;

our knees, without being too baggy when we stand.

  

We started out wearing biped suits with separately-stitched torso, arm and hand, leg&nbsp;

and foot parts, with cuffs to cover them being fitted together. When we got outsiders&nbsp;

interested in the costume hunts, folks worked out foam shapes to fill out baggy legs&nbsp;

to make them look digitigrade without being heavy and pulling the material.

  

~

  

When I turned eighteen, the MLHC staff gave me a birthday party, which I sort-of&nbsp;

expected, and the costumers gave me my own vixen fursuit, which I hadn't. Oh, I'd&nbsp;

been in on the group discussions, and the folks seemed to listen to my ideas, but&nbsp;

I'd thought it was just to make all our costumes look more authentic.

  

When I say "red fox vixen", you probably have in mind a small, four-footed animal.&nbsp;

Please remember that fox animals are vulpine, not canine, although both groups&nbsp;

are canids. It really shouldn't be a strain on people's brains to learn the scientific&nbsp;

terms for taxonomy, or remember the differences.

  

In addition, there are several species of actual foxes in a few genera, including&nbsp;

/Dusicyon/, /Urocyon/, and my fave, /Vulpes/. I hereby present (giggle) my friend&nbsp;

Cindy as an example of /Urocyon cinereoargenteus/), the gray fox; and by the way,&nbsp;

if you're looking around the MLHC grounds for her, be sure to look up in the trees,&nbsp;

because this sexy vixen likes to climb wearing her complete fursuit including claws&nbsp;

on her footpaws and handpaws.

  

Oh, and you'll often find Steve in his gray fox todsuit, either on a nearby tree limb&nbsp;

or up another tree. They seem to enjoy hanging out together, even if animal vixens&nbsp;

don't usually give their tods the time of day unless they're in season or raising kits&nbsp;

together. Both tricked out their fox costumes with furry heads and lower jaws that&nbsp;

move with their wearers, as well as swiveling ears.

  

Oh, and don't forget the oval eye pupils, 42 teeth in their sexy narrow&nbsp;

snouts, no black 'gloves' or 'socks', strong claws and black tail stripe.

  

It was a few years after I got my vixensuit and started walking, jogging and running&nbsp;

along the MLHC's marked trails that I really got into the thrill of being a hunt girl. I&nbsp;

know, I'm over eighteen now, and my body's been adult for years, but I don't really&nbsp;

mind being called 'girl'.

  

It's just a custom, and I'm called 'woman' unless I'm wearing fur. Even if I'm scrubbing&nbsp;

cabin floors in just my bikini, I don't mind 'girl' because I am in fact obviously female,&nbsp;

and I want men to know it.

  

In the five summers since I was here at six years old, I saw the staff carrying surveyers'&nbsp;

equipment and rolls of colored plastic striping. They would walk around the forest&nbsp;

marking pathways in green, yellow, red and blue; and tie the plastic around trees after&nbsp;

measuring out, oh say fifty to a hundred feet.

  

I knew enough to leave the markers alone, that they weren't meant as toys. I figured out&nbsp;

the colors marked trails for beginners, intermediate (yeah I knew the big word, even if I&nbsp;

had a little trouble pronouncing it), and advanced role-play hunters. In the evenings the&nbsp;

staff was quite willing to talk about their work, and I was one of the few non-employees&nbsp;

to ask about it.

  

Blue was for expert hunters, beyond advanced. These people didn't even need trodden&nbsp;

paths among the trees; they could keep up a run, even up and down hills and stone&nbsp;

fences, just looking for the hundred-foot markers. And that went for both the hunters&nbsp;

and the hunted.

  

It took a long time for me to get that skilled, and I was a guest before I went on staff,&nbsp;

taking my time each day to work out the landmarks and avoid the dangerous false&nbsp;

steps. I realised there were one, two and three mark paths at each skill level, making&nbsp;

twelve marked paths for hunting.

  

I also knew some paths ran along the stone fences quite a distance before crossing,&nbsp;

and sometimes ran along the other side too. These 'beginner' paths were easy to run&nbsp;

or horse-ride along, but with enough changes of scenery to avoid boredom. I started&nbsp;

to enjoy running along, flipping my fake foxy tail up at the crossings to show the red-

and-green scarf tied on, to help the hunters follow along.

  

The fact that flipping my tail was slightly crude, and showed my furry rump and thighs&nbsp;

briefly covered by the skimpy bikini, was a source of amusement for both the hunted&nbsp;

vixen and the mounted hunters. It was a tease to show what they'd be allowed to run&nbsp;

their fingers through, should they catch me and thus win the hunt.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/214l03K1
Part of the series HumanFox
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