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"Yer gonna rot in there."

I looked up at the man, his reminder of my crime had become irregular of late. It used to be that he'd tell me every single day, but he had grown tired of it. There must have been something going on in his life that he felt the need to be extra nasty.

"Greetins' Sheriff," I responded, "Good to see you still care."

He paused to give me the once over. The big old German Shepherd felt the need to impose his size on the little, foxy me. He was over twice my size, and he didn't want me to forget it.

"If I had my way," the Sheriff began...

"I'd be strung up by my thieving neck," I mocked his voice with a poor bass.

He sighed, then put his paw on one of the bars, "You think this is funny?"

"No," I yawned, "I find it tedious."

The dog glared at me for a moment, possibly to fumble about for the right words. He growled, opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. I watched as he returned to his desk, his stride slow, as if taunting me to say more.

Instead, I laid back in my bed, uncomfortable as it was, and let my mind wander. It didn't wander far.

A month prior, on a day that, at the time, seemed perfectly routine. I was running tables at the Salty Spittoon. I wasn't required to wear a low crop frilly dress, but the tips flowed better when the drunken idiots thought I was going to return gratitude.

It wasn't a particularly busy night, but the usuals were in and a couple other tables were full. Sheriff Dimples, and his toady occupied one of them, the other was a group of travelers. I assumed they were bandits, but their money spends every bit as well as anyone else's.

The, as assumed, bandits tipped me after every round, so I kept a close eye on them. But the Sheriff kept an eye even closer. Multiple times, I caught him giving the stink eye to them.

I had to ask him, "Please don't harass our other patrons."

He looked me dead in the eye and responded, "Keep your snout out of our business."

So I did. I gave them a wide berth, and tended to our other patrons.

This didn't turn over so well, and Dimples was pretty vocal about the "absence of any sort of service."

"I'm sorry, sir," I approached him after his outburst, "I must have misunderstood you before."

"Damn straight, you did!" Dimples exclaimed, "I'm dry."

I waited for a moment to allow him to order before deciding to ask, "What can-"

"You can get me a drink," he interrupted, "Pronto," he motioned me on.

Ignoring his hand waving, I asked, "Another Whiskey?"

"Do your job," he sneered.

I felt the back of my neck tingle, the way it did when I was in danger. I've never been much of a flight girl, a good scrap usually suited me fine. I just couldn't justify knocking the Sheriff's teeth out, so I kept my fist low and took my serving tray back to the bar.

At the bar, I met eyes with the other waitress. She gave me a pained expression, but offered no help. So I turned to the barkeep. The old turtle had already grabbed what he figured the sheriff would like and poured a couple glasses. The man knew his stuff, in his job with his speed, he had to start serving before being asked. The man was a genius, but not really important to the story. I took the drinks and thanked him.

When I turned around, the sheriff and his toady were both missing from their table. My stomach sank as I checked the table of probably bandits, but they were unharrassed. I decided to run the drinks to the table anyways, in case they both hit the outhouse... at the same time... or whatever.

At the table I found pretty good evidence that they had settled their tab and left. Said evidence was a small sack of gold scores. I tried not to grin, but without counting I could easily assume the tip portion was at least twice that of the tab.

Maybe Dimples wasn't such a bad guy after all.

Not a minute after I claimed my tip, Dimples came back in the front door. I turned around just in time to see his toady point a finger at me and croak, "Thief!"

I looked down at the sack in my hands, then back up at Dimples. My mind raced for an explanation. If I wasn't embarrassed, offended, and just plain angry, I probably could have talked my way out of the situation.

Instead I shouted something along the lines of, "What the hells was I supposed to think you left that money for?"

The sheriff opened his trap to let loose a slurry of obscenities the likes of which I, in my years as a waitress, had never heard before. In the midst of a minefield of foul language, he hid an accusation that I had stripped the coins from his person through sleight of hand... I think.

Before I knew it I was in irons and paraded to my cell.

I decided I wouldn't be able to sleep, so I sat up. My mind slowly drifting back to the present, I took account of my situation. Still hungry, still tired, still in a cell. I looked down at my dirty dress, and my white furred breasts. I used the dress to raise my tips by letting customers think they had a chance with me... but the secret was, they did have a chance. I'm a fox after all, what is a fox good for?

Gods, it had been over a month since I'd had sex. I had had droughts like that before, but they often involved furious masturbation. I sighed, wishing for the privacy to do just that.

I then realized I could hear the sheriff snoring. Was he sleeping on the job? What a miserable ass. Another realization hit me. With the sheriff asleep, and me the only occupant of the jail, I had as much privacy as I could get.

For some reason that sort of excited me. I guess I just needed relief that badly. I took a deep breath and crept over to the bars, sticking my head out to make sure the other cell was unoccupied. I knew it was, but paranoia got the better of me. The other direction I saw Dimples sawing logs. With a huff, I returned to my bed and rolled into it.

Alright, what to fantasize about? I had a decent amount of experience to draw from, but one memory sprung into my otherwise present mind.

**

A few years back, I had a patron who was "just passing through". He was a Mustang of particularly burly build. Other than an ample belly, he was pure muscle. After a few beers, he offered to buy me a round. I turned him down.

Knowing where this story was going was enough to cause me a little flutter.

Three rounds later, he tried again. The man offered me whatever drink I wanted, said he could afford the really rich imports if I wanted. So I took him up on it. I told him I'd join him after the business died down a bit. Just to keep him in the store spending money, I assured myself, but you know those stories about mustangs? I wanted to see if they were true.

I pulled up the hem of my dress and felt myself through my bloomers.

Even drunk as he was, he was a perfect gentleman. He asked my permission before making advances, which I gladly gave. I don't really remember what we talked about, beyond the fact that his jokes were absolutely hilarious.

I ran my fingers up the thin cloth, feeling the slightest bit of wetness.

I remember being so tipsy that I flat asked him if he wanted company that night. No hints, no suggestive dialog, just laid my cards on the table and watched his eyes widen. He stated that he must have misunderstood me, so I repeated myself, "Would you like bed company tonight?"

I felt a little blood rush to my cheeks, either embarrassed by the memory or flustered by the situation I was in.

I took him across the road to the inn. We were both rather inebriated, but we were still functional enough to walk. The innkeeper handed me keys to an available room, no questions asked. The Mustang raised an eyebrow at me, so I waggled mine back at him.

I let my paw slip under my bloomers.

I tried to make a show of untying my dress and letting it fall to the floor. I got a humored neigh in response. I turned my backside to the man to slowly slide down my bloomers to give him a vision of my fluffy red butt.

I let my fingers dip into my growing wetness, letting out a sigh.

When I turned around he had already let out his dick. It was huge. I didn't know if it would be too much, but decided better of saying anything. I didn't want him to be worried about my safety or comfort. I wanted him to ravish me.

I moaned in delight, then caught myself, putting my other hand over my mouth.

"Little too late for that," Dimples taunted.

I turned around, and, to my horror, I saw the German Shepherd staring at me with a knowing grin. I searched for words to say, but I couldn't find them.

"No ma'am," he laughed, "Can't have any of that."

He already had his handcuffs in hand as he reached for his keys. I knew if I tried to resist, I'd just be making things worse, so I assumed the position and let the sheriff come into my cell. He took each of my wrists and clasped iron around them. My hands safely fashioned around my back he gave me one last little chuckle and started back out of my cell.

I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the frustration of not getting off. I needed relief. I needed a dick in me.

"Hey assmunch," I spat, "Be a man for once."

Dimples turned back to me and growled, "What did you say to me?"

"I said," I reiterated, "You're a pansy."

The sheriff took a step closer, "You can't talk to me that way."

"Then do something about it," I sneered.

It took him a moment to consider his options, but apparently his decision was to slap me in the face. With my hands cuffed behind my back... and the fact that he was over twice my size... the blow took me to the floor.

I spit a little blood before taunting him again, "Yeah, real manly. Hitting a defenseless woman. Your mother must be proud."

So he kicked me in the stomach. Pain shot through my system. At that moment, I began to regret my decision, but damn it, I couldn't let the bastard win.

"You-" I began.

Dimples grabbed me by the neck and pulled me up to my knees, "You really want to see how much of a man I am."

"I've seen-"

He slapped me again, full rage, "No. No more talk."

"How-" I tried.

***

He turned me around and bent me over my bed, "I'm in charge here, I'm the lawman, you're the thief."

I heard the sound of a belt unfastening and dropping to the floor. I tried to look back at him, but he forced my head to the bed with one hand and pulled my dress up with the other. I felt his blunt claws scrape down my bloomers, and was startled by the chilly air on my wetness.

"Ready for this?" He laughed, "Not that that changes anything."

I tried for a taunt, but he slammed into me with full force. No thought of my comfort, no worries about my safety, no complaints from me.

I could feel his full length inside, forcing a whimper from my lips. He wasted no time pounding me with wild abandon, one hand holding down my head and the other pulling my tail.

"No witty..." he breathed, "No witty comebacks?"

I couldn't help but moan. He knew what he was doing. Probably thought about it every time he came in to insult me. He must have planned this.

I felt a hot bit of flesh colliding with my pussy, too big to make it in. Gods, he was going to knot me. He was so much bigger than me I really didn't know if I could take it. His dick was already painfully large, but I wanted it so bad, I needed it with every fiber of my being.

"You enjoying this," he spat, literally spat on my back, "slut."

I won't lie, I was enjoying it. I wanted him to use me, to abuse me, to take all that I was and...

The front door opened, and someone walked in.

My brain went into panic mode. I was apparently being raped and now there was a witness. With him holding my head down, I couldn't see who it was. If it was his toady, he'd probably just enjoy the show, but if it-

His knot, now fully swollen collided with me for the last time. I could feel him trying to push it in. Who cared that he was twice my size? He was going in. I screamed, letting the whole world, and our voyeur know exactly how much it hurt and how much I loved it.

The stretch was painful, but he made it in with an audible pop. My senses left me in a sea of pleasure that couldn't be adequately described. I came, oh gods did I, and so did he. I was filled beyond what anyone should ever be forced to receive, and even with his knot some oozed out.

My limbs turned to rubber noodles and I flopped uselessly to the minimalistic bed. The sheriff breathed heavily above me, still stuck inside me. Still proud of his dominance and his grin could be heard in his voice.

"Hope you learned your lesson," he chided.

The voyeur finally took the chance to say something, "What in the hells are you doing?"

Apparently Sheriff Dimples was unaware of our visitor, as he jerked up, still tied to me, and stared slack jawed at the man. Dangling from Dimples' manhood, I finally had a chance to see who it was.

It was the mayor.

Long story short, I was to be released that day. The mayor himself came to do the honors. But the precarious position he found us in cost the sheriff his job. In fact, as soon as his wang deflated, they locked him up.

I got offered my job back, but I decided to skip town. I needed a fresh start, somewhere else. Especially with kits on the way.