FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

3:50 AM

Meadow woke up.

To buzzing.

And music.

Bzzz!

'The sun is shining in the sky!

There ain't a cloud in sight!'

Bzzz!

'It's stopped _rain_ing, _every_body's in the play!

And don't you know, it's a beaut_iful new _day!

Hey, hey, hey!'

Bzzz!

Wha?! Mm?

Meadow yawned, blinking (or trying to; so groggy!), her nude, petite body tangled in bed sheets. Big, dishy ears swiveled, and she sighed as the noises finally stopped.

It was the 'alarm' on her mate's phone, which was now in his paw as he sat up, his ropy, prehensile tail snaking along her body.

Sensing the touch was on purpose (it usually was), she reciprocated, their tails entwining like a double helix.

Fib was a weatherman.

'Fib the Morning Mouse and his Golden Guarantee! Sunrise! Weekday Mornings, 5 to 9! Only on Channel 13!'

After breakfast and a roughly twenty-minute commute to downtown Indianapolis from their northside home, he'd get there maybe fifteen, twenty minutes before airtime? Enough to skim the latest forecast models.

"Fiiiib," Meadow murmured, shifting onto her side to face him. Her eyes peeked open. Barely.

He was a few inches taller (though, like most mice, short of five feet) and nearly six years younger. He worked out for the cameras, and was fit, lean. Handsome, with a charming smile. Practically a local celebrity! Well, at least on the B or C-list, right?

And he was all hers.

It was almost too good to be true.

Meadow knew what she got out of this, but what about him?

Aside from the (admittedly awesome) sex, he offered her financial security, social connections, lively stories and conversations. Among countless other things.

_All I have to offer is myself. _

He insisted that was good enough, but was it?

Meadow had been working on her insecurities (one of her New Year's resolutions), but they were never fully vanquished. They lurked and lingered in the background, shadows of doubt and uncertainty rising to the fore at the most inopportune moments.

Losing her parents as a child, and subsequently every _other_close relation during adolescence, had probably left her with a latent anxiety that she was going to lose anybody she bonded to, and that maybe it was somehow her fault.

If I was better, stronger, smarter, maybe I could've done something instead of being so helpless.

Welp, guess we just self-diagnosed all our problems!

Hooray!

Fib, oblivious to her stormy thoughts, plied her with sunny, physical affections. He nibbled on her golden-hued arm, tossing his phone to the foot of the bed as he kissed up her shoulder, sucking on her neck.

"Ahh," Meadow went, shivering pleasantly.

"You like that?"

"Mm-hmm."

She was unbelievably tired, almost nauseous with fatigue. But now she was horny, too? _ _

Fib giggled, delivering a sweet, little peck to her cheek as he gently pried her body off his. "I love you, too, Butterscotch." Swinging his legs out of bed, Fib sat up and grabbed his phone again. "But I gotta scurry!"

Meadow yawned so widely it almost hurt.

"There's a severe weather outlook for the _whole_Midwest," Fib reminded. "Could be some tornadoes this afternoon!"

He's like my personal, living weather app.

"I'll be home by 1, okay?"

When the morning news itself was over, his shift continued until noon, updating the station's weather blog, doing promos, attending production meetings, et cetera.

"Butterscotch?"

Meadow, nuzzling into her pillow, gave a muffled, incoherent response. Falling back to sleep.

Fib giggled.

Leaving the lights off, he stood up and gathered his underwear, suit trousers, and a button-up t-shirt. The final touch? His trademark bow tie!

Once fully dressed, he quietly left the bedroom, leaving Meadow to her dreams.

8:01 AM

Meadow shuffled into the kitchen, pink tail trailing, the tip only inches above the floor. She was slightly disheveled (in the cutest of 'bedhead' ways), naked except for a t-shirt. One of the freebies Fib got from the station, emblazed with its colorful logo.

Here comes another yawn!

She had to pause and slump against the refrigerator door while it happened. When it was finished, she turned around and opened the fridge. Blinking and rubbing her sky-blue eyes, she grabbed a carton of almond milk, rump half-visible as she bent and reached.

That's when she saw--

Fruit!

Strawberries.

Oranges were tempting, but today was a strawberry kind of day.

It just is.

_I don't make the rules. _

Paws full, she kicked the refrigerator door shut and proceeded to put together some breakfast.

Bowl of oat cereal with almond milk, a piece of toast with pistachio butter, and a heaping bowl of strawberries. With a glass of water off to the side.

Sitting on a stool nestled up to the 'island,' foot-paws not reaching the floor, she turned on the little kitchen TV with a remote. Then switched the channel over to Fib's newscast. They were on sports right now.

Baxter.

Fib's workplace 'frenemy.'

The playboy river otter had openly flirted with Meadow during some of her past studio visits. Now, he was mated to Fib's producer (a cottontail named Kendra). Meadow had watched them together at some of the award shows and shindigs Fib brought her to, and they seemed to have genuine chemistry.

While Baxter reported on the Indy 500 and Pacers draft possibilities, Meadow checked her phone with one paw and ate breakfast with the other.

Minutes passed, including some commercials.

When she heard Fib's voice, she looked back up.

"It's a sun-shiny day right now, folks!" Fib said to the audience, looking dapper and wholesome as hell, all golden and smiling with those perfect buckteeth. His 'blue sky' bowtie matched his bright eyes.

Meadow beamed and waved at the TV, even though he obviously couldn't see her.

"Temperatures in the low 70's by noon. It's not so much the heat, it's the ... you guessed it! The humidity. Very humid for May. If you feel sweat dripping off your whiskers, blame Mr. Dewpoint."

The screen switched to a 'seven-day outlook.'

"The 107th Running of the Indianapolis 500 is this weekend, and I don't foresee any issues. We'll be at seasonal to slightly-above for the weekend and into next week." He held up his furless paws. "Since I don't believe in jinxes, I'm giving it my golden guarantee!"

Now showing a 'severe weather' outlook map, Fib used his tail as a pointer. "I was leading with the good stuff because I've got some bad news for the rest of today: we are expecting some heavy storms. You'll see we're well within the risk area_._ Spring is a volatile time for weather, as I detailed in our new video 'Winds of Fate: Untwisting Twisters!' Up on our website right now!"

Meadow knew that was his submission for this year's regional Emmy Awards. He already had one Emmy (for 'Best Seasonal Weather Feature') for a winter piece called 'Throw Out the Snow, Not Your Back: A Prey Guide to Shoveling.' Of course, he really wanted to win 'Best Weather Personality,' but the primetime guys owned that.

"The whole coverage area is under a tornado watch until 9 PM."

Fib moved aside to reveal an animated radar loop. A wide storm front, filled with yellows and reds, was arcing through Illinois on its way to Indiana.

"Now, we won't all see storms, but the ingredients for funnel clouds, strong winds, and damaging hail ... " He counted the threats on his paw. "They're all there. The peak window I'm predicting for this activity? Between 2 and 6, so unfortunately this may impact the evening commute for many of you in the eastern portions of the viewing area.

"As always, tune in to Channel 13 for the latest breaking alerts. Or download our app! Back to you, Opal and JR!"

The camera switched to the center 'news desk,' where a Jersey cow and a coyote took over.

"Thanks, Fib," Opal said. To JR, she mentioned, "You know, I've heard weather folks used to get driven out of town for getting the Race Day forecast wrong!"

JR chuckled. "I'm sure Fib knows what he's talking about."

"I'm glad some of us do," Opal said, taking a subtle dig at her co-anchor while maintaining a gregarious smile.

JR clenched his jaw.

The bovine looked at the camera, reading off the latest headlines. "Hundreds of pounds of pasta were mysteriously dumped in a Central Indiana stream. Officials have been noodling over the mystery and have--"

Meadow turned the TV off.

---

10:50 AM

Ker-CLUNK!

Meadow 'oof-ed!' as she was rocked forward, the green riding mower coming to a sudden, forced halt, blades and all.

What was that_?!_

Beep-beep-beep!

Meadow turned the key to 'off,' stopping the alarm.

I've heard enough beeps and buzzes today to last a lifetime.

Removing her earplugs and pushing the steering levers to the side, the confused harvest mouse hopped out of the bright, yellow seat and got to her knees in the grass beside the machine.

The late-morning sun made her squint, but she immediately found the issue.

Oh, no.

She'd had a garden hose stretching from the side of the house to the flower beds by the street, where she'd planted hundreds of 'carousel' zinnias (so named for their pinwheel designs and bright, fair-type colors). She'd been watering them every other day when it didn't rain.

How did I forget?!

"Gah!"

Putting her paws on her cheeks, her whiskers twitched.

She'd run over the hose, and it was all tied up in the blades!

Squeaking with distress, she wriggled onto her side in the grass, trying to peek beneath the mower deck.

She pulled at the hose.

It wasn't coming loose!

She tugged again, squeaking with exertion.

So caught up in trying to fix her mistake, she didn't notice the shadow appearing next to her. A rather big shadow.

"Need help?" a feminine voice asked.

Meadow stopped pulling and rolled onto her back, looking up at the tall, rounded capybara. Her 'chill' friend and neighbor, Daisy.

The mouse, wearing blue denim 'overall' shorts with a bright pink t-shirt underneath, sat up, panting, on the verge of tears.

"Um, h-hey ... hey, Daisy ... "

The maternal rodent smiled warmly, getting to her knees beside the mouse, putting a webbed paw on her shoulder. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I, uh ... I ran over the hose. The g-garden hose." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm so stupid! Fib just bought this mower last month."

"I doubt it's ruined. Even if it were, he doesn't seem like the sort of guy who would get mad about something like this," Daisy reassured, studying the situation. "Or get mad at you."

"No, but--"

"We'll fix it! I'll tip the mower onto its side, and we'll get the hose out. Okay?" Daisy promised with a wink.

"Okay." Meadow nodded and sniffled. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Being so ... I don't know." She rubbed her paws at her face. "Girly?"

"Heh!" Daisy winked. "It suits you, cutie."

Meadow blushed, ears rosy, watching as Daisy easily tipped the riding mower up and onto its side, almost like it was nothing. Capybaras were like 'super rodents.'

"I see it," Meadow said. As Daisy kept the mower in place, the mouse's nimble, pink paws snuck into the gaps, pulling, threading, tugging at the hose. She loosened it. "I ... I think I got it. Just a little ... mmf ... " Another tug, and she got part of it free. Then another part. Then, at last, the whole thing. "There!" With a sigh of relief, she got out of the way and said, "You can lower it back down."

Daisy did so and asked, "The hose still usable?"

"Um, I ... it's got some nicks in the exterior?" A closer study. "I don't think the inner tubing has been punctured." She'd have to turn it on to be sure.

"Best wrap that section with waterproof duct tape or something, even if it looks okay. Just to be sure."

Meadow nodded. "I'll have to get some next time I'm at the store." It was supposed to rain today, so the zinnias could go a few days without watering.

Speaking of which, Daisy wandered over to the flower beds. She crouched down, pawing at the soil. "I can see 'em! Looking good! You already thinned 'em out."

"Yeah, yesterday." Meadow smiled wandered over beside the capybara. The mouse had planted several seeds in each 'spot,' and had pulled the extra seedlings once they'd sprouted, leaving roughly one plant every six inches. "I think there's gonna be ... like, seven hundred? Seven hundred fifty? I sorta lost track. It's, uh ... they should look good, I think?"

"They'll look great," Daisy promised. "Zinnias bloom for months. And attract butterflies like crazy." A professional horticulturalist, she knew a thing or two about flowers and plants. "My peonies are all in bloom."

"I saw. That color of pink so pretty!"

"Hawaiian coral," she said. "Mm, yeah, definitely pops." Skipping a beat, Daisy continued, "I also got a dozen different kinds of sunflowers sprouting, but they're 70 days from maturation, so I need things to 'fill the space' before and after."

"Is that what you're doing today?" Meadow asked. "Working on your garden?"

"Heh. I wish! Gotta work on other people's to keep the income flowing. I'll have to tend to mine over the weekend."

"You're not going to the race?"

"Nah, I'll listen on the radio."

"Fib got free tickets from the station. He's going, so ... he's trying to get me to go with him."

"Are you?"

"I don't know. Still deciding. The crowd is so big! Maybe he can take Rico?"

"Pretty sure Rico has tickets from his station, too."

Meadow nodded. That made sense. "I, uh ... I liked last week's radio show, by the way. About low-maintenance annuals? I listened to the podcast yesterday."

"Thanks!" the capybara said. Daisy's Flower Hour. Ten to eleven on Saturday mornings at Rico's radio station. Rico, a long-eared chipmunk, was Daisy's mate. In addition to radio, Daisy also did morning news 'guest appearances' at Fib's TV station. She was a regular multi-media superstar!

I'm the least successful person I know, aren't I?

Her whiskers twitched.

Don't start.

The mouse was a long-time secretary at a dental office. The pay wasn't terrific, but the job didn't require a college degree (which she didn't have), and it played to her skills (being organized and putting people at ease).

Daisy, standing up and clapping the soil from her paws, asked, "You have the day off?"

"Yeah, it's ... I'm down to three weekdays at the office," Meadow said. "Used to be four." With Fib's salary, she could give up the job for good, but she couldn't bring herself to do that.

"Well, more free time is good! More time to plant showstopping flower beds," Daisy said brightly, gesturing at Meadow's handiwork.

Meadow smiled shyly. "I hope it turns out."

"It will."

Meadow's whiskers twitched. "I should let you go, but ... um, can I hug you?"

"Not if I hug you first," Daisy said, wrapping up the mouse in a big 'capyhug.'

"Thanks for helping me," Meadow mumbled. "With the hose. And the flowers. And ... and everything. You're a good friend."

"What're neighbors for?" the capybara asked, pulling back, giving an easygoing wave. "See ya!"

"Later," Meadow said shyly, quickly adding, "Oh! Fib says it's going to storm this afternoon! Keep an eye out."

Daisy gave a thumbs up.

Meadow, alone again, corralled the garden hose and brought it back to the house. She had to mow the yard before it rained or the grass would get even higher and the mower tires would leave dirt tracks and--

The mouse put her earplugs back in and hopped back onto the mower, settling in the seat. She started the engine and pushed the levers, zooming forth.

1:35 PM

"Hope you're still hungry!" Fib said, taking a pan off the burner. His back to his mate, he didn't have to turn around to know she was there. His ears swiveled at her approach.

"What did you make?" Meadow asked, coming up behind him. Her nose sniffed. She'd already eaten lunch, but it did smell good.

"Gourmet grilled cheese."

"What makes it gourmet?"

"Just about everything," he insisted.

Meadow sidled up beside him and twirled a paw, waiting for an explanation.

Fib, as he plated a sandwich for each of them, fancifully said, "We begin in a family-owned bakery, with a loaf of artisan thick-cut whole wheat bread."

"It's already a mouthful," Meadow joked. "Don't be like those recipe sites."

Whenever Meadow wanted to look up a recipe, the author _invariably_launched into some ornate, treacly personal story before getting to the actual ingredients.

"Heh! The cheese is where it's at, though."

"Naturally."

"Gruyere cheese," he declared.

"Gru what?"

He held up a bag of slices.

"I saw those. I thought they were Swiss."

"A kind of Swiss," he emphasized. "A firm Swiss cheese with a creamy and nutty flavor."

"You're so worldly," Meadow said, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Fib smiled and continued with the ingredients. "You can mix cheeses. It's encouraged! Any two or three varieties. We had some cheddar, so ... a little of that. Then some diced onions. Rosemary, thyme. Brown sugar, teaspoon of olive oil. Get a little caramelization going." He did a chef's kiss. And then kissed her cheek for extra measure. "Go on! Take a nibble!"

"Of you or the grilled cheese?" Meadow asked.

Fib giggled.

Meadow, smiling, picked up her sandwich. Sniffing, she sank her buckteeth into a corner. Her eyes lit up.

"What do you think?"

She chewed and swallowed, taking another bite. "Very good."

Fib waited for more.

"It's so, uh ... savory!"

Fib, beaming with success, began to eat his sandwich, too.

4:05 PM

"Should the sky be that color?" Meadow asked nervously, standing on the back porch. The checkered flag decorations she'd strung up were whipping in the wind.

"Mm?" Fib asked, out in the backyard, looking up and around and taking photographs of the clouds with his camera.

"It's green!" she exclaimed obviously. "That's bad, right? It_feels_ bad." She fumbled for her phone, checking the weather radar. "There's a huge line of storms coming! There's a severe storm--"

On cue, the warning sirens sounded.

A chill ran down Meadow's spine upon hearing the piercing, wailing sound. It reminded her of air raid sirens in World War footage. A dark promise that something deadly was about to rain on you from above.

"Just like I forecast," Fib said, a boyish smile on his face. "Golden guarantee? More like 'stone cold gold.' Ha!"

Meadow's whiskers twitched.

"A green sky doesn't mean 'automatic tornado'," he quickly assured. "But it is a little rare. And creepy!"

"Fib ... "

"The cloud layer is extra thick, loaded with water droplets and ice particles, and the light is at a lower angle ... mmhmm, that would do it. It looks like a doozy, doesn't it? Feel the change in air temperature?" His tail whipped about with excitement. "It could produce a funnel."

Lightning endlessly forked across the sky, moving sideways.

"Ooh!" Fib quickly snapped a few shots. "Hah, wow! I think I got some of that."

"I might only be a country girl, but I was always told if you could hear thunder, you could get hit by lightning." Meadow's knees wobbled, and her teeth chattered. The air was suddenly cooler. "Y'know?" she said, having to speak louder to be heard in the wind.

"Look at the height of this cumulonimbus!" he said, unworried about potential electrocution.

Meadow, grinding her buckteeth, knew he was in his element. Fib had told her he'd done some 'storm chasing' back in his college days. She could easily imagine it.

Weather fascinated him, and here it was: the weather-iest weather of all! Brewing, percolating, full of elemental fury.

The green color in the sky was quite sickly, now. Dark and brooding, the clouds stirring.

Meadow pointed. "Is ... is that rotating? Is that a funnel?"

Fib perked, giving a quick check. "Oh. No, it's normal."

"Fib ... come inside," Meadow begged again, clinging to the wooden porch railing. Flooded with adrenaline, she backed up to the house, fumbling for the door.

"Just a sec!" he promised, snapping a few more photos. You didn't get a chance to capture a green sky very often! "Wish we were in a more wide open area. Imagine the vistas!"

Meadow's pulse raced. Throat dry, she tried to speak. The words got stuck. Her eyes watered, and she stammered squeakily, "P-please ... I'm ... I'm s-scared!"

This snapped Fib out of his bubble.

His mate's fear.

Fib turned, saw her face, and scurried to her. His camera around his neck, he ushered her indoors. "Let's get to the basement," he said calmly, taking control.

As soon as they got inside, the hail started. Marble sized, bouncing off the house and coating the yard, front and back.

As they went down the stairs to the basement, Meadow sniffled and blurted, somewhat incoherently, "I ... I ran over the hose with the mower." Sniff! "When I was ... the lawn? And ... and ... but Daisy helped me fix it." She coughed, whiskers wet with tears.

"Shh. It's okay. No big deal," he promised, taking her to a couch. Their basement was a semi-usable living space, with a cozy 'entertainment' room and then all the utility equipment (including a washer and dryer) and storage in a second room to the side.

"You scared me," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry, Butterscotch."

"I can't ... I can't lose you, too. I ... " Meadow quivered while Fib put his camera on a coffee table and turned on the TV.

Channel 13.

'Breaking Storm Team Coverage!'

The afternoon meteorologist, a buxom, fiery-orange vixen, was gesturing and pointing, the maps behind her showing lightning strikes and then zooming in on areas of possible 'rotation.'

Fib sat beside Meadow and put an arm around her. "You're not going to lose me."

_That's what everyone says. But it'll happen eventually. One way or another, through life or death. _

Fib nuzzled her cheek, one eye on the television. "No official tornadoes yet, see? The worst is going to the north. Just a bad storm."

Meadow nodded, ears swiveling as she heard heavy rain pattering the house. The sound momentarily eclipsed by a thunderous boom! The power flickered but stayed on.

She rubbed at her face, trying to dry her eyes.

"I got you, Butterscotch," Fib cooed, wanting her to feel better. Waiting for any sort of verbal confirmation that she was. "We're gonna be okay. We're safe. Yeah?"

Cheeks burning, she whispered, "I'm sorry ..."

"For what? This is my fault," Fib insisted.

She hid her face against his chest, not denying that. But he wasn't a 'normal' mouse. Surely, he knew that? "You're not afraid of anything ... " Not storms, being in the public eye, not failure or death. "But I'm afraid of_everything_."

"No, you're not."

"And I cry at the drop of a hat." Daisy had told her being 'girly' was cute, but why couldn't she be one of those strong-willed, kick-ass girls instead of ... well, instead of herself?

"No, you don't." He ran his fingers through her head-fur.

She nosed his neck, challenging, "Name one thing I don't fall to pieces over."

"You weren't afraid to try my new grilled cheese recipe!"

This made her smile. She lifted her head, paws wiping at her face. "That's ... that's different. That doesn't count."

"You said 'one thing.' That's a thing!"

"Why would anybody be afraid of cheese?"

"Have you ever had spicy pepper jack?" he posed.

Meadow stifled a giggled. "How spicy?"

"Ghost pepper jack."

"That's not real."

"It is!"

"And you tried it?"

"At a station function, once. Didn't read the labels, put a slice on a cracker and bit in. Took me half an hour to recover. Luckily, it was only a nibble. If I'd eaten the whole thing, I wouldn't be here today!"

Laughing, Meadow cuddled up to her mate.

"You don't need to apologize," he repeated gently.

"It's a reflex," she said, recalling she apologized to Daisy earlier in the day, too.

"If I get carried away, you just have to tell me?"

"I try. But I ... I love your enthusiasm, your optimism, your ... " She looked at the TV screen. "I don't want to be a wet blanket."

"You won't be."

"Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm." Brushing their whiskers together, Fib suggested, "If you really want something to apologize for, you'll have to do something naughty."

Her ears blushed, making eye contact.

Fib grinned.

4:19 PM

Fib, lounging on the couch, leaned back with a huff.

Meadow?

Was on her knees on the carpet, between his open, naked legs (his clothes on the floor with her).

Her gold-and-cream head obscured his loins. She bobbed and twisted. This way and that, ever mindful of her buckteeth. Because of them, she had to take him into her maw at an angle instead of straight-on, which led to his glans pushing against the inside of her smooth, wet cheek.

"Ah! Ah, yeah ... " Fib, a lazy, happy look on his face, hunched forward to put both his paws on her head, gently fingering and rubbing her ears.

Meadow blushed, shivering hotly as her sensitive lobes were touched. She pulled her head back, lips in a ring around his shaft. Leaving just the tip inside her maw, she swirled her tongue all over it.

"Oh. Oh!" Fib gasped, eyes closing. "Ohhh ... "

Meadow knew when Fib was about to lose it. Knew the sounds, the expressions, the tension in his body. He was close. She eased up immediately, pulling off his cock. It stiffly twitched, dribbling clear droplets from the tip.

Fib, panting, licked his lips. Swallowed. Then panted some more. "Mm ... gosh, you brought me right to the edge! Mmm. Ooh." He looked at her with burning lust. Fib was an ultra-sweet gentle-fur, through and through. But when it came to sex? His dominant nature came out. "Now, get up here. I want your pussy," he said plainly.

Meadow nodded submissively, desperately undressing. Arms up. Tugging, kicking. Away her clothes went. Only in her undergarments, she got back onto the couch.

He helped her get completely naked, the two mice squeaking as Fib gave her more commands.

"Doggystyle," he decided. "There you go ... ah, yeah. Yes!" He groped her ass.

Meadow, head lowered onto the arm of the couch and backside raised, squeaked!

Fib, fingering her pussy, used her own wetness as lube to rub her clit.

"Hah, ah!"

Fib chuckled. "Move your tail, Butterscotch. It's still in the way."

Meadow swerved it aside, loosely curling it around his neck and shoulders.

"Good girl."

There was no ceremony. They were mates, and they'd done this hundreds of times over the years. If not more? Probably more. So, he just lined up and pushed into her. All the way. To a swift, easy hilt.

Meadow whimpered, her sex now sheathing his own, their fused genitals wet, hot, sensitive. Wonderful.

Fib grinded against her, pulling back to deliver a second thrust. His big, fuzzy balls slapped against her pink, pouty flower. "Uh." He did it again. "Uh, unff!" Now rhythmically humping her, he gripped her hips. "Oof!"

Meadow closed her eyes, relishing it. Being driven into, filled by his five-and-a-half-inch cock. Oh, what it was doing to her! The things it was making her feel! She craved more. More!

And he gave it.

How many people in his viewing audience wanted this? Wanted him? Wanted to be in her position right now? Hundreds? Thousands? And here she was, his mate, the sole recipient of his most precious gift.

There was a certain thrill in that.

"Oh, ohh ... " Fib's head twisted about, tail whipping. Paws reaching under Meadow to grab at her tits. "Ohhhh, fuuuck!" he cried, slamming into her pussy. Slumping onto her body, chest on her back. Ejaculating a split second later, he flooded her womb with his seed, squeaking with incoherent animal pleasure.

Meadow, a paw reaching under her body to furiously, clumsily rub at her clit, whimpered as she felt him lose it.

So hot.

Oh, gosh!

Even in the throes, he huffed in her ear, "Cum ... cum for me, B-butterscotch."

"Mm, mmm!"

"That's it! Do it!"

Her walls tightened, clenching, then rippled in outright spasms as she finally squealed in orgasm, making him wetter than if he'd stayed outside. "Fiiiiib ... "

"Yesss!"

"Ah, hahhh!"

"Good girl," he cooed hazily, rubbing and nuzzling her body, burying his nose in her nape, breathing of her. "My girlie girl."

Meadow, head swimming with chemical bliss and afterglow-infused emotions, replied, "Yours."

"Mmm. That's right. Always and forever. In this life and the next." He kissed her neck. "I'll never leave you, Butterscotch. I love you so much."

Meadow, getting choked up, managed to reply, "I ... I love you, too."

The words seemed almost too simple.

Shouldn't she say more? Do more? Be more?

But, oh, what they'd just done! The fierce, raw intimacy of it, how it made her feel? And the sound his voice so sweetly in her ear, dripping with genuine care?

It all finally came together to convince her, at least for the moment: you're good enough.

She may have been 'naughty' just now, she had no intention of apologizing.

Meadow smiled happily.

Fib carefully pulled out of her body, leaving a dripping, gooey mess. There was a reason they'd gotten stain-proof furniture. He rolled Meadow over and touched his nose to her cheek. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"The storm passed," he whispered. "We're in the clear."

She blinked, looking aside. Sure enough, the television was no longer showing breaking weather updates. It was back to normal programming. And the din of rain upstairs had stopped.

It was almost dinnertime, too. They'd need to go upstairs, shower, put together a meal. In addition to checking on storm damage in the yard and cleaning that up if there was any. General 'adulting' tasks.

It can wait.

Hugging him to her body, Meadow rubbed his back and gripped his rump. And asked lightly, "In the clear? Is that your golden guarantee?"

Before capturing her muzzle in a tender, passionate kiss, he murmured, "You know it, Butterscotch."