Dirty Little Freaks
"_ Dirty Little Freaks" _
by K.M. Hirosaki
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and all characters are copyright © 2011 K.M. Hirosaki
My boyfriend and I have an understanding, and that understanding is that other guys' dicks are going to end up in my mouth. I think he thought I was kidding when I first told him that. Luckily for me, when he discovered firsthand that, no, I wasn't joking, he was still cool with it.
It's kind of a shame he's not here right now, actually, because I bet he'd like to watch his little weasel sucking off this coyote. For a coyote, he's got a pretty big dick, or at least a pretty long one. It's slender, which actually feels real nice in my muzzle as I slide it back and forth. Also, he doesn't taste as musky as my boyfriend, which I secretly prefer, actually, but I'd never let him know that. He's already shown enough kindness in letting my indulge like this in the first place.
I quiz myself: do I remember this guy's name? Yes, I do. This time. I even remember that he works at a hospital. People sometime teases me if I can't remember the names of the guys I've sucked off, which hasn't happened as often as you might think. That is, the teasing me hasn't happened all that much; there have been times where I didn't know the guy's name and he just never asked.
My tongue draws back along the underside of the coyote's shaft, and now I'm realizing that I must be giving the wrong impression entirely.
Let me back up and start from a point that'll let you understand better.
The strong gray fox growls nice and loud. "I didn't hear that."
I bite my lip and try to catch my break. Fuck, he's not letting me get off easy, I can just tell. "Harder!" I squeal, my big ears burning as they fold back.
The fox thrusts again, and oh, wow, he is not slouching on the whole "harder" thing. I knew the instant I felt his sheath through his pants that he had a huge cock that was going to have me sore well into morning; by the time I got his pants off and saw how big he was, I was too busy thinking up all the things I wanted him to do to me to worry about how uncomfortable it might be afterwards.
His paws grip my shoulders and he hunches down over me, his weight making my palms and knees sink deeper into the mattress. This is actually a really comfy bed; I wonder whose it is?
Outside the window, I see the red and blue lights of a cop car drive past a couple blocks away. For a second, I wonder if they're coming here, but then I dismiss the thought as ridiculous. A second later, I'm distracted by the big gray fox's next thrust, his shaft so thick that it makes my muzzle hang open with a groan that doesn't fully escape my throat at first. I curl my fingers up against my palms and lower my head, trying to keep from being too loud as I keep getting fucked.
And I fail miserably. This fox is too good at what he does. He doesn't let up. He keeps on pounding under my tail, and he's so forceful and skilled and long and thick that I have just enough time in between thrusts to gasp for breath at all, and so staying quiet is totally out of the question. I squeak, I squeal, I whimper like a little bitch, because right now, I pretty much am and this fox isn't letting me forget it.
I'm not the only person who isn't going to forget it anytime soon, either. About twenty minutes later, when I'm washed up, my clothes are back on, and I've rejoined the party, more than a few people are staring at me, which confirms my suspicions that, despite the loud music and conversation going on downstairs, the sound of a little weasel getting fucked still translated just fine through the walls and the floor. Oh, well. You take that risk when you have sex in a house full of people, I guess.
Some folks shoot me weird glances. Others give me a thumbs up. One person (I don't see who it is) calls out, "Yo man, I got next!" I hear his friends chuckle, but I ignore it. I mean, yeah, I'm a slut, but I'm not that much of a slut. Well, not when I've only had as much to drink as I have tonight.
I find the liquor that's been left our for public consumption. After getting myself a big red plastic cup, some juice, and too much vodka, I'm back to party mode. I scan the crowd for any sign of the coyote who I got a ride with, or the vixen who I mostly came here to see in the first place. This is a big house, though, and people are tucked away in various rooms and out on the back porch, so I'm probably just not seeing them. I doubt either of them would have left this early.
"You looking for a round two already?"
I turn around to see a tallish raccoon standing behind him. He's got one of the big red cups like me, and he's wearing this big, toothy grin before we even make eye contact. I resist the natural urge to smirk and instead just take a sip of my drink. Yeah, I definitely poured too much vodka into it, because it takes way too much effort not to grimace, but hey, at least I don't smirk at this guy, either. "I beg your pardon?" I ask.
"Just the way you're eyeing the crowd," the raccoon says, motioning with the paw that's holding his oversized cup. "Looking to give a repeat performance already?"
I play dumb, because I want to make this guy just come out and say it. "A repeat performance of what?"
To his credit, his face never falters and he doesn't miss a beat. "The fantastic lay you apparently give," he says. "I'm surprised you didn't get a round of applause when you came back downstairs."
"I'm pretty sure I saw a few people clapping, actually," I reply. "But I guarantee you that they didn't enjoy it as much as I did."
The raccoon rolls with it. "The fox seems to have enjoyed it a fair bit. I heard him bragging to some of his buddies."
Bragging is something I associate with needing to try too hard to convince folks that something actually happened. I'm pretty sure that nobody at this party-exept for maybe the super-drunk people or the folks who were already too busy hooking up-could have missed what happened, which would make bragging unnecessary and kind of douchey. Which would bother me more if I ever expected to have sex with the fox again, but I-well, no, he's got a pretty big dick and he knows how to fuck, so I won't write that off as a possibility. Maybe I should get his number or something before I head home; if not, I'm sure he'll be at other parties at some point.
I remember that I'm in the middle of another conversation. Shit, how much have I had to drink? "Well, he certainly earned it," I say, and I take another sip of my drink because I'm not about to let myself sober up now. "I doubt anyone's doubting my satisfaction, for what it's worth."
"You weasels do squeak something terrific," the raccoon says, and fuck, he doesn't even sound snide about it. He just sounds matter-of-fact, but not in that way that total douchebags tend to, either. "If it weren't for that, I bet only the canids here would be able to tell that it was you two who'd been going at it."
"I dunno, 'horny fox' isn't exactly a subtle scent," I point out. "I bet it's still clinging to me now, even after washing up."
The raccoon shakes his head. "Nah, don't worry. Too much booze," he assures me. "And you still didn't answer my question."
"What question is that?" Now I'm not being coy; I've actually forgotten.
"If you're scanning the crowd for round two."
I blurt out a laugh in mid-sip, and the plastic cup thankfully catches that mouthful that I would have otherwise accidentally sprayed all over this raccoon. "No thanks," I reply. "I'm gonna be pretty sore tomorrow as-is."
The raccoon brings his cup up, takes a sip, swallows, and just says, "That doesn't mean you can't suck my dick."
Damn it. That's actually a good point.
I get a phone call in the late afternoon. The name that pops up isn't at all familiar, but clearly I had to have entered it into my contacts list at some point. Confused, I press the 'Answer' button. "Hello?"
"Hey." The voice is as unfamiliar as the name. "You feeling any better today?"
"As compared to when?" I asked.
A chuckle comes through the line. "Last night." There's a pause, and then, "You don't know who this is, do you?"
I try to put a face with the voice. I figure it's got to be either the gray fox or the raccoon. Whoever it is sounds upbeat and friendly and isn't already acting like I'm his bitch, though. "Did I suck your dick last night?" I ask.
He laughs again. "Uh, yeah, you sure did," he says. So it is the raccoon. "That's not why I'm calling, though. Honest."
"Ain't that a shame. As I recall, you had a pretty nice dick." Best not to tell him that I only kinda-sorta recall.
"Thanks for saying." He sounds only slightly flustered. "Anyhow, how are you feeling after last night? Did you get home okay?"
The morning is still something of a blur; last night is even more of one. "Oh, yeah, no, I'm fine," I say. I don't know how I got home, but I woke up in my own bed this morning, so that speaks for itself. "Nothing to worry about."
Now I'm starting to wish I did remember more about how last night ended. I mean, I remember the party, I remember getting fucked, and I remember going off with the raccoon to give him a go with my muzzle. Apparently I did an okay job, because he gave me his name and number, and I was either still conscious enough or just lucky enough that I managed to input the info into my phone correctly.
Or maybe he just did it for me. Well, either way. "But like, yeah, thanks for checking up on me, I guess," I add.
The raccoon lets out another chuckle, quiet and nervous. "This doesn't need to be awkward, you know," he says. "At least, I hope it doesn't."
"Yeah?" I ask. "What do you hope?" You don't just call a party hookup to check on his well-being. Not that this raccoon has to have an ulterior movie, but, well, yeah, I'm figuring he's got to have some ulterior motive.
"I hope," he replies, with some staunch optimism in his voice, "that you might want to hang out sometime."
My eyes blink in disbelief, even though I'm on the phone and he can't see it. "You want to 'hang out'?
"Like, grab lunch or something, or go play some pool or sing karaoke or whatever."
"You don't even know what sort of things I'm into."
"I know, and that's what I'm hoping to find out."
"I'm just some guy that blew you at a party."
"That's not the impression I got last night." Fuck, does nothing faze this guy? I mean, seriously.
I clear my throat. "What makes you say that?"
"Meet me for lunch someday this week and I'll tell you then."
"No," I say. "Make it coffee instead of lunch and you've got yourself a deal, though."
When I actually see him again for the first time since that night at the party, I remember a lot more about him. I'm surprised to find that he's legitimately handsome, and that I hadn't (just) been seeing him through beer goggles. I'm also surprised that he's not grinning like an idiot the second he sees me.
Maybe I shouldn't be. From what I recall of our interactions at the party, he wasn't a jerk. Oh, he was sure of himself, I know, but then, I was quite clearly an easy catch at that point, so I can't and don't blame him for that. And here he is, meeting me for coffee, so if he's not just expecting more free blowjobs, I'm not quite sure what he is expecting.
He buys me my coffee, which I guess makes it feel more like an actual date; to keep myself from feeling too awkward about it, I tell myself that it's only polite of him considering that he's had his dick in my muzzle. I'm remembering more about that, too, by the way, now that I'm in his presence and I can smell him. As I recall, we had a good time together.
"I have to admit," he asks me once we've gotten situated and done the introductory small talk, "I'm surprised you sounded as good as you did the other day."
"You make it sound like you thought I was going to die of alcohol poisoning." I take a sip of coffee and watch for his reaction. I still haven't figured out his game.
The raccoon smiles. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. You were sleeping way too soundly and peacefully for that." He blew on his own coffee, waves of heat still rising up from it. "Granted, you were sleeping on the floor, which was slightly worrisome, but you seemed comfortable enough."
I don't remember sleeping on the floor. I do definitely remember being in bed with this guy, though, but I don't recall falling asleep with or next to him. Come to think of it, I don't really remember waking up, either. My memories of the morning after start with me hugging the toilet, waiting to throw up but not managing to actually do it.
"If you were that concerned," I say with a playful, toothy grin, "how come you didn't try to take me home yourself?"
"Well, for starters, I didn't know where you lived. And you weren't exactly in any condition to give directions," the raccoon replies. "That, and I didn't drive to the party anyway."
I almost ask why he didn't look through my wallet and dig up my address from my ID, but I stop myself because that'd just make me sound like a jerk and not like I'm just teasing. That, and it's actually kind of gentlemanly of him to not take it upon himself to rifle through my shit just because I sucked him off. "It's nice of you to check up on me anyway." Which is true. "So, you said you'd explain why you wanted to hit me up again?" No sense beating around the bush; I want to know this guy's angle and I can only play with him for so long before he ends up outplaying me in turn.
He takes a long sip of his coffee, even though it's still obviously so hot that it'll burn his tongue. "You said something at the party," he says. "After y-after we were done and just lying in the bed together."
"Will it matter if I point out right now that I don't remember any of that?"
"You still said it," he says, and no, it doesn't sound like it matters. "Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'in vino veritas'?"
"Something about 'out of the mouths of super-drunk weasels'?"
The raccoon snickers. "Close enough."
"I would think you were more concerned about things going into the mouths of super-drunk weasels."
"Like I said, this was after all that." He sets his coffee down and smiles. "You were very good, by the way. In case you were wondering."
I'm always good, but I appreciate the compliment regardless. "So tell me what I said that so moved you."
"You were all cuddled up against my, head on my chest, eyes closed-you looked pretty adorable." He picks his coffee back up. "And without even looking at me, you just kind of murmured, 'Sometimes I wish that things could always be this simple for dirty little freaks like us.'"
My immediate reaction is to start laughing, but I only blurt out a single note before I manage to stop myself. "I looped you in with that and you took it as a compliment?"
"Hey, the recipient of a random party blowjob shares some of the culpability," the raccoon says. "Especially since I outright asked for it, in this case."
"So why are you so fascinated with me if that's the long and short of the story?"
"Because that's not the long and short of it." God, do raccoons' masks really make them all this hard to read? "You said you wished that things could always be that simple, and I want a shot at showing you would that'd be like."
I'm too stunned to even form a proper response right now. My jaw drops a little, and I just kind of stare for a few seconds, my coffee cup quickly getting too hot in my little paw. This can't be for real. Has he got me on a hidden camera somewhere? Am I going to end up in some viral video over this? "You want to date me?" I asked.
He nods. "Or at least take you out on a real date and get to know you better, see if I'm right about you."
"You want to date me because of something I said while I was trashed?" I need to make sure I have this right.
He nods again. "I think you were sincere when you said it," he explains, nice and casual, as if that's all it takes. "What have I got to lose, right?"
Two nights later, we go out on another date-a real date. He pays again, and I figure, hey, if nothing else I've gotten free dinner and free coffee for a blowjob I'd already given anyway and never expected anything in return for.
The thing is, though, dinner is really nice and we get along really well. It's pretty clear that all he wants is to go on a date with me to see how things go, so I let him see how things go, and in the process of it all, I end up having a lot of fun. He's smart, he's funny, he's good-looking and I can tell that he's legitimately interested.
After dinner, I bring him back to my place, and yeah, we fuck. We fuck hard, even, really getting into it, and I get to experience all the pleasure I apparently didn't get to on our first night together. Sex-full-on sex like this-is almost always better sober, and this definitely qualifies. It's passionate and lustful, and while the scent of raccoon musk isn't the most pleasant thing in the world to me, I don't let it bother me because hey, I like this guy.
When we're done, we cuddle. It's been a long time since I've had anyone stay the night at my place, but it feels good. And as I tuck in against him, my head against his chest, I have to concede that, yeah, it is nice having him show me how simple things can be for folks like us.
Dating is weird for me. It takes a few before I'm really completely comfortable meeting up with him and just letting it all loose. Some nights, when I'm really stressed out, I hook up with random friends or find folks on the Internet looking for some no-strings-attached sex. My raccoon doesn't hear about any of this, because we're just dating, not a long-term exclusive couple, and I don't think he wants an in-depth play-by-play of me sucking off some well-hung fennec, regardless of how hot that would be.
Or would he want to hear that? He just might. I mean, heck, I know he's not a prude, that's for sure. And who doesn't like to hear about other people's sexual exploits on some level?
I decide to ask. "Hey," I say after I swallow a mouthful of beer. Brew pubs aren't the most romantic places for "dates," but it's not like we need wine and fancy forks every time we see each other.
"Hold on," the raccoon says. "Me first."
"You don't even know what I'm going to say yet." I smirk, because this has turned into something of a thing with his-with him making assumptions and playfully pointing out after the fact that he was right. This time, though, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be catching him off guard. For once.
He smiles, but then he says, a shade more seriously, "Just let me go first." I go quiet, wipe the smirk off my face, and nod for him to continue. "So, like, we're a couple, right?"
It's good that I don't have a mouthful of beer at this point, because otherwise I might be obligated to perform an actual spit-take. Which, okay, that's not fair, because it is a legitimate question, I suppose. "Of a sort, sure."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Just like that, the raccoon's face goes unreadable. Sometimes just talking to him feels like I'm taking part in a job interview.
There are probably a million wrong answers to this question. I pick one that I think might be right. "Well, I mean, we're not not a couple. We're definitely a 'thing.'"
He narrows his eyes at me. Now I can read his face, and his face is saying that I need to pick my answers more carefully in the next few moments. "A 'thing' as in we're boyfriends, or a 'thing' as in, yeah, sometimes we fuck?"
This one's easier to answer, but harder to say. "Well, closer to boyfriends, I'd say." I smile to show that I don't actually have a problem with this. "I mean, like, if you want to be boyfriends, that is."
His eyes soften up a bit, and he starts smiling again. "I'd like that a lot, yeah." He takes a sip of his own beer, and if he were some sort of canine, I could easily picture him wagging his tail right now. "I'm glad I was right about you."
"Right about me how?"
"About you being a nice guy."
I laugh. "I like to think that it was pretty obvious from the get-go that I was a nice guy. I mean, come on."
The raccoon laughs, too. "Okay, well, yeah. But like, aside from that, too." He signals the passing waiter for another two beers. "So," he continues, tapping his claws on the table. "You were saying?"
"I was?" I think back. "Oh, right, I was." My little ears flick as I lick my lips. "So, the other night, I was sucking off this fennec, and he-"
"You were doing what?" The raccoon's jaw looks like it's about to unhinge from his skull.
"Yeah, no, it wasn't the other way around, honest," I explain. "But yeah, he's this friend-well, acquaintance of mine. He's really short-except for the ears-but he's got this really big dick, and so it looks even bigger on him. So as my muzzle slides back and forth along him, I occasionally pull off to tell him how big he looks, and those huge ears of his just go beat fucking red, and I almost thought I was going to get him off just from the flattering dirty talk."
The raccoon smacks his lips a few times. "I... wow," he says. "That's... certainly something to say."
"Aw, I'm pretty sure no one heard," I say. Then I take a quick look around and flash him a wink. "I mean, unless there are any fennecs here I just don't see."
I still have fennecs on the brain after that dinner, so after I part ways with my boyfriend (aw, hey, I have a boyfriend now), I go off and swing by my fennec buddy's place again.
"Twice in the same week?" He raises an incredulous eyebrow at me when he sees me at the front door to his apartment.
I smile. "Well, I was just thinking," I say, clasping my paws together behind my back, "you only got to experience one end the other night. Feel like a shot at the other?"
He looks at me, and I can tell that he's trying to decide whether or not this is all some trick or joke. Then he tilts his head aside and takes an appraising look at my backside. I turn my hips to give him a better look.
"Can't see any reason to say no to that," he says. As he ushers me inside, he murmurs, "God, you're just about the horniest weasel I've ever met."
I take that as a compliment, and not ten minutes later, there we are in his bedroom, me on my paws and knees, face getting plowed into some awfully comfy pillows while this big-dicked fennec drills me from behind.
"Oh, wow," the raccoon-my raccoon, I remind myself-pants heavily. "You really are really good at that."
Slipping my muzzle back up along his length, I lick him clean and pull my mouth off. "I should hope so," I reply. "I make a point to get lots of practice."
He looks back down at me with a tired, post-orgasmic smile. "So it would seem."
I get back up and crawl up onto the bed alongside him. Gone is that sense of dull ennui and listlessness I'd felt from him just minutes ago. Being the attentive boyfriend I am, I couldn't not do my best to cheer him up. I feel good for having succeeded.
We snuggle for a bit, and I remember what he said about a couple weeks ago, about what I said about wanting things to be simple. Simple is nice. It's good to know when someone's down and when a good old fashioned blowjob will fix things. Simple.
His arm tightens around me. "Hey," he says, muzzle snuffled into the shell of my ear. "Can I ask you something?"
I'm surprised that he wants to talk so soon after getting off. I mean, it's not like he's a girl or something. "Sure," I murmur, rolling away so that I can look him in the eye. "What's up?"
He smiles, and I get the impression that it's three-quarters honest, one-quarter forced. "That thing you said last week," he says. "You know, about you sucking off that one fox?"
"Which one?" I ask.
His teeth pinch into his lip. "You said it was a fennec."
"Oh, yeah, him," I say, grinning broadly. It's very easy to remember him against my tongue, underneath my tail. After a quick indulgence in those memories, I say, "What about him?"
I start putting together a list of more vivid details to share with my raccoon in case he asks, but instead he hits me with, "So, this happened, like, in between some of our dates? When we'd first started?"
"Uh-huh," I say. "I'm trying to remember which night, specifically, it was."
"No, that's okay," he tells me. "I was just making sure that I had the timing right."
I nod. "Don't worry; he's not going to steal me from you or anything." The things he said the other night while fucking me affirmed that his feelings towards me are anything but romantic.
My raccoon presses the end of his snout against my forehead, and we both close our eyes. "I guess we weren't really 'official' then," he mumbles.
"Yeah," I respond. "One thing about me is that other guys' dicks are going to end up in my mouth."
He leans back some and looks me in the eye. "Really?"
"Well, yeah, clearly," I say, my smile wide and bright, my tongue running over my sharp little teeth. "Besides, I gotta make sure I stay in practice for days like today." My paw reaches down to grope at his spent shaft.
He squirms and lets out a one-note chuckle. "I guess that's one way to look at it."
"Never let it be said that I don't look out for the people close to me." I give my raccoon a kiss on the cheek. I bury my face against his chest, cuddle up close, and smile warmly to myself as I feel him sigh with contentment.
The air smells of musk, alcohol, and smoke that's not just tobacco. Part of me wonders how the canids aren't nauseous. Probably a lifetime of having to get used to it, I figure.
Next to the door leading to the back porch there's a cooler. I open it up, fish through the ice, and grab myself a wine cooler. The cap comes free with a quick twist of my paw using the hem of my shirt. It's not completely cold yet-guess I showed up a little early-but it'll do. I take a few long sips and relax against the wall, checking to see if there's anyone here I already know or might want to know.
Several folks ping in both categories: there's a skunk in a half-shirt and tight shorts that looks mighty fine, a mongoose I remember from that one big party over the summer, and a meerkat who looks suspiciously like some guy I randomly hooked up with a few months ago, but I can't be sure if it's really him or not.
I stay camped out by the cooler so that I can down my still-kinda-warm drink fast and replace it with a second one. While I'm bent over to grab one, I get a smack right on my ass, and I let out a yelp as I fall partly forward, my paw sinking into the ice. That, of course, makes me squeak again, and heads turn as I hop back upright and look to see who my playful assailant is.
It's the gray fox from the last party, the one who so expertly fucked me into submission and let the whole house know. He's looking just as smug and doable as he did back then, too. "Hey, cutey," he says. "Sorry. Saw that cute butt of yours and couldn't resist a brief repeat performance."
"Wait until I've had a few more of these," I say as I hold up my wine cooler. "Then we'll see about repeating a whole bunch of things." This house only has one story, though, so it's doubtful that we'd be able to get everyone to hear this time. But hey, not every time can be a crowd-pleaser.
The fox sizes me up. "I just might take you up on that," he says. He pauses to take a sip out of his big red party cup, then says, "Oh, hey, so they say that you're with what's-his-name now. You know, the raccoon?"
I nod. "Uh-huh. Been dating for a few weeks."
"Is he here?"
"No," I reply. "I told him there was a party, and he said he'd rather just have a quiet night in."
The fox looks confused for a moment, but shakes it off. "So is that offer just now really still good?"
"I wouldn't have made it if it weren't, silly."
After another second of weird silence, the gray fox cracks a smile. "Ah, I get ya," he says. "Yeah, let me hit you up later. Assuming you don't get nailed by anyone else before I find you."
That makes me laugh, mainly because I can't fault him his concern.
I don't end up getting nailed by anyone else. It's the gray fox who finds me first, just over two hours later, when I'm good and drunk and he's good and hard. He drags me into one of the bedrooms off of the back hallway. Again, I don't even know whose it is; all I know is that I get thrown onto my back atop the bed, and then I've got a fox straddling me.
His dick is already out-wait, no, his pants are off completely. His thighs bear in against my chest, and one of his paws strokes my ears while the other grabs hold of the base of his dick. He smears his drizzly tip all over my snout as he growls and pants. "C'mon, bitch," he tells me. "Suck it."
Not that he needs to tell me. I play coy for a little while longer, though, fencing my muzzle against his length, getting that musky drizzle all over my fur and whiskers and the end of my nose. He gets more insistent, I get more faux-reluctant, and finally he claps a paw on the back of my head and forces my snout down onto his dick.
I groan, which makes him groan, my lips buzzing against his flesh as he sinks it into my mouth, sliding it against my tongue. I expect his fingers to loosen up, but they don't; he leans further forward and tugs me closer inward, and he doesn't stop until my nose is pressed right into that musky fox-fur in his groin. Once, I nearly choke and sputter, but only because I'm a little drunk, not because I'm bad at sucking nice, big dicks like this one.
The fox growls something to me, and I can tell that they're words but I don't parse them as anything but an order to keep sucking; since he doesn't smack me in the face or anything, I assume I got the gist of it right. My heart is racing, and the space between my ears is pounding with delight as I suck and nurse and tug with my lips and push with my nose. The flavor of fox soaks into my tongue, mostly towards the back, but occasionally dragging right along the midline. When he plunges back in, I push up to make the tip of his shaft drag along the roof of my mouth.
I barely feel the strain against my stomach as the big gray fox starts to rock back and forth, actively fucking my snout. My nostrils flare as I do my best to inhale and exhale in time with his awkward but forceful trusts. The sound of saliva and panting fills my ears. I'm lost to the moment.
From behind my closed eyelids, I'm hit with the sting of bright light. I wince; the fox barks in alarm. Opening my eyes, I see the door to the hallway open, framing a silhouette. It takes a second or two for that silhouette to congeal into familiarity. It's my raccoon.
"Hey, sweetie!" I call out, the gray fox's dick smacking me on the chin as I lift my muzzle off of it. I feel drool cling to my fur; I'm pretty sure it's mine. "I didn't know you were gonna be here!"
As the fox above me squirms and tries to shift off of me, my raccoon hovers in the doorway. "Well, when you didn't answer my texts for the last two hours or so, I eventually figured you weren't coming over to my place, and guessed that you were probably here."
He's so smart. I try to smile at him, but I'm not sure he can see it in the relative darkness. "Yup, here I am!" I call out back. I'm also partially obscured by the gray fox, so maybe he can't see me all that well, either.
The fox's weight shifts off of me as he slips onto his knees next to me, his tail curling around to occlude my view of his dick. "Oh, dude, I'm so sorry," he says to my raccoon. "He said it was cool, honestly."
"Oh, it's cool," the raccoon replies. "I don't see that it's my business at all whose dick he sucks."
He's gone after that, leaving me and the fox to our privacy, which is nice of him. It takes me a few minutes to get the fox hard again; he tries protesting for a while before my muzzle eventually shows him I mean business after all, and a few minutes after that, he finally gets back into it again.
I'm so glad that my boyfriend and I have this understanding, I think to myself as I brush my soft lips against the gray fox's knot. What did the raccoon call us? Dirty little freaks, I think it was.
Yeah. That describes the two of us just fine.