The Vulpine Equation
Sometimes monogamy is the hottest thing there is.
The earthy scent of chai drifted across the particularly perceptive nose of one such fox named Vincent, dweller in his own home. It had become, as he had noted to himself, a feature common to his household, yet nevertheless he was compelled to pay it attention. Clasping a finger against the inner spine of his book so that he might keep his place, his bright and curious crimson eyes searched for a source. He knew, of course, from where it arose, for in his mind it was a simple and unquestionable association he would make.
Shifting in his seat for comfort and kicking his robe to sit off the other leg, Vincent's eyes took to the room around him, and paid to himself a moment of reflection. Among exotic woods and rustic furnishings, and topped by a vaulted ceiling, he remarked to himself that it often felt somewhat lonely to sit here in this foyer that was his. He was a lover of solitude, who was routinely unfaithful with his enjoyment of people, and so beget his living situation; a common host of guests, but something of a woodland hermit just the same. He lived in a spacious cottage on a remote lake, where his ears would only hear the wind passing through evergreen and maple, and the gentlest of waves touching the grassy shore. He told himself that he liked it this way, that it was the best thing for him, and so far he hadn't found the resolve to disagree with that.
His large, vulpine ear lifted to the sound of something, a quiet rattle and clatter, the bringing together of ceramic, and soon to follow the soft patter of footsteps on tile. There was a guest in his house, and a rather common guest at that. One that he'd been familiar with for some time, time enough that she had become something of a fixture there, as had the smell of warm chai. He inhaled it and let it bathe his lungs, for it fit so well alongside pine needles and earthen must. In this particular room, the living room and the largest room of his cabin, a plethora of rosewood shelves contained books of many flavors, both in content and of scent, and thus smelled of a storied library. In a good way.
Those light footfalls crept closer, and it compelled him to look. There before him, atop a slight step up with an open kitchen at her back, was a fellow fox. A vixen, same of species, similar of age, smaller than he and lighter of stock. Wearing the brightest of smiles and bearing a pair of steaming mugs upon a serving plate, she stepped down with all vulpine grace to approach. She was a brewer of drinks, and a keeper of the todd fox's eye. It was implied that she had bedded down there, for in the early morning she wore an oversized t-shirt that hung nearly to her knees, and not much else. Vincent seemed beholden to her, taking her into his company with a warm smile. He abandoned his book to the coffee table in front of him, and graciously accepted her offering. She could concoct many drinks, all of which he held a liking to, but her blend of chai was his favorite. And as he took it tenderly to his lips, sucking down the first bitingly hot gulps, his soft hum would tell her so.
"Wonderful, as usual." Was his comment, a voice as darkly smooth as the tea itself.
The vixen beamed with foxish vagary, quite warmed at his approval. She always would be, never jaded to his compliments, and favoring a soft kiss as her typical method of repayment. Leaning in, this day would be no different, and the male fox craned to receive a peck upon his cheek, so sweet and saccharine. And he, too, would smile dotingly after her, for he never tired of her affections. As she turned, pulling her tail that lagged behind her, the female fox retreated to tidy her mess, and once more the renard was left alone with his thoughts.
He had never taken a mate, in the sense that he had never settled down. He was not averse to the idea, but thereupon would come a long list of distractions that kept him from dedicating himself that way. Vincent remained undecided as to whether or not he could tolerate the everlasting company of another, the melding of lives into one. It was better, he told himself, to take a lover at leisure, and ease his cosmic loneliness in that way. Like any male, he was suspicious of commitment, though in his case he was at least a fair bit more charitable about it; he simply wasn't willing to chance the suffering of a disintegrated union. That, and he hadn't quite found the one...and, he was iffy on kids. But more than that, he felt that he simply had not received that calling from nature yet. It had always been his expectation that the urge to be more family-minded would strike him in the face with obvious force, yet nothing in his young adult life had ever come upon him that way.
He hadn't realized how long he'd entranced himself with his own musings until a pair of hands settled down on his shoulders, and a sultry vixen slid to mount herself squarely in his lap without a lick of inhibition. She greeted him with a smile, one that he knew all too well, for it was the same smile that he'd shone to her many a time. A wry and precocious smile, one that only a fox could make, and he wielded it like a weapon. With its many breeds, Vincent could often see his way out of trouble, or directly into the thick of it, should he choose so. But never had it been turned against him, the way that she wore it, and he was suddenly struck with a pang of guilt at realizing what a dirty fighter he'd become. Nonetheless, it felt nice to concede a little bit of prowess to someone else.
He got his way often enough.
The vixen sat her legs astride, cozying to the todd fox with a charm that was inlaid in the species, expending little effort if any. She kissed him, touching her lips to the side of his short muzzle, and fluttered her ears, which was perhaps the vulpine equivalent of a batting of the lashes. He could not deny her, and pushed his hands up the small of her back, testing with calloused fingerpads against her spine, which elicited a tremor in her that he could feel. He was keen on this feedback, and continued his delicate pleasantries, until his touch turned to tickles and the delighted coos in her broke for shrieking giggles. She twisted about, slapping at his arms, and the two shared combative fox smiles with one another. The lady fox cast her eyelids low, and gave him a sensuous brush of the hips. He could feel beneath that frumpy t-shirt, she wore nothing.
"I'm convinced. You're a kitsune, and you're here to rob me of my vitals." He said, reclining and holding her by the hips at arm's length.
She laughed with mirth, putting on her most devilish look. Canting her head to the side to seem all the more lovely to him, she noted that their trysts were most certainly a two-sided affair.
"Aya, you wanted to go a third time. And by god, I was willing, but I can't force the blood back in." He said, assuming a pouty expression, searching for sympathy for the condition of being male.
The vixen flattened one of his ears against his head, and laid a kiss upon it, seeming to be unable to keep herself from lavishing these little attentions upon him. She asked, in a snarky tone, whether it was true love or not if they couldn't ride each other into an early grave.
"I'd love to find out," he said, snapping up at her chin with clicking teeth, "but unfortunately you have single-handedly exhausted my entire arsenal of protection."
At that, the lady fox's smile broadened, as if it were her proudest moment that she accomplished such an insurmountable feat. But she stole away quickly, and batted the white tip of her tail across his chin, disengaging to tend to other things and leaving him with a cold lap, along with a slightly tenting problem in his robe. He grumped, mockingly assigning her guilt, but then shed his silliness and settled in, becoming enraptured by his own thoughts.
He couldn't remember where or when they'd met. It had been a couple of years, but he could not pinpoint the precise moment when she entered into his life. At first, he'd taken her as just another lover, and thought nothing of it beyond that. His youth and virility were a volatile compulsion, and though he wouldn't say that he was disgracefully promiscuous, he had a healthy love of women. The todd fox had a knack for scooping up girls that generally shared his view on the subject, and was careful not to break any hearts. He liked the conquest of it, triumphing in his maleness with new lovers every so often, living the alpha life. But at the age of twenty-five, something was nagging in the back of his mind. Having exited out of his primary youth, he felt that maybe the time of reckless indulgence was over, and he had become somewhat bored of the hunt. The problem, however, was that he was not suffering from a case of lethargy by any means; quite the contrary, he often found his blood boiling, with nothing to cure it. Nature was often subtle with its implications, and Vincent was sometimes slow to comprehend.
Then he'd found her. And she did soothe him somewhat, for as they became familiar, he found himself bedding down elsewhere less, and less. She had captivated him more than any other, and as demonstrated by the frequency of her overnight stays, he enjoyed having her around him. All the while, he'd paid little pittance to the thought of settling down, yet it seemed he'd also never truly meditated on the fact that she was the only one who could see straight through his foxish guises and his sly wiles - a fact that made her rather appealing, in ways that no amount of physical attractiveness could compensate for. Which was not to say that she wasn't the finest specimen of female fox he'd ever laid his eyes (or hands) upon. Because, she was. He gulped to swallow; he then realized that he'd been salivating.
He blinked stupidly. How in the world was it that whenever he thought of this vixen, he became so incredibly frazzled?
Flustered, he tugged on his own ears and pulled himself up with some exasperated noise spit from his lips. He trudged slowly, weaving down a darkly wooded hallway or two, until he passed by the master bedroom and into its adjacent bathroom. Pulling his broadness in front of the sink mirror, he reached for his toothbrush, which was red in color. He liked the color red. Squeezing out a bit of toothpaste, he lathered up the inside of his mouth and worked on polishing his razored canines. It was interesting, in a word, to share his morning routine with someone else for as often as they did. One thing he'd always prided himself on was the ability to remain mysterious, even in his own home. He thought that a key element in his charm. But with his vixen there nearly every other day, he found himself woefully demystified by her, to the point that he could no longer put anything past her at all. Hell, she practically lived there, now. He worried that she would grow bored with him, for his home life was comparatively dull, yet she seemed to want to be with him all the more for it. And that was the part that perplexed him the most.
Taking a swig of water from the tap, he cleansed his maw of bubbling white and took a moment to inspect his pearly rows, poking and preening with his tongue. But he became aware of a more holistic picture of himself in the mirror, and that caught his eye. Long locks of red hair framing a modestly handsome face, but somehow he always felt lacking when he stared into his own eyes, as if they were the only holes in a mask he put up against the world. He touched his cheek. It was warm. On an off-glance, he looked downward, and saw something. It'd been there for months, but for a reasons he never quite figured out, it shone in his peripheral today unlike any other day prior.
And it was the most profound thing he'd ever seen in his entire life.
It was a toothbrush. A green one.
Nevermind the fact that his closets were stuffed predominated by her clothes. Nevermind that her car was constantly parked in his spot. Nevermind that he didn't know what half of the stuff inside his pantry was anymore. For some inexplicable reason, the sight of her toothbrush sitting there so innocuously next to his caused his mind such a lurch that he felt as though he'd taken a cosmic fastball to the head. He hung there stupidly, mouth ajar, and managed one good look between the brushes and his own bewildered mug. But the renard fox also felt something else, something welling out from the core of him, that felt all too familiar.
Years later, he would blame that toothbrush for everything that transpired that day.
The vixen was going about her usual business when the fox returned, looking quite the bit more grim this go-around with a face that sat unusually stern for such a capricious fox. He hung himself against the doorway with an arm up, watching her striding lightly about, dabbing various things with a feather duster.
Oh, good god...she's dusting...
"Aya." He said, a somewhat abrupt blurting of her name amidst the relative silence. She turned, pulling upright, and flashed a sweet smile that invited his inquiry, but continued her bustling about. With his brow sitting low, he asked of her in a vaguely casual way, some unusual timidry in his voice.
"How do you feel about kids?"
The look that he got was simply priceless.
"I mean, do you want them. Eventually." He qualified, making a less than honest effort to be more tactful about it.
The lady fox seemed positively baffled by the question, a sentiment that manifested in a petite laugh that she tried very hard to stifle. Thinking surely that the fox was joking, she nonetheless replied that she hadn't thought about it much, but adored the idea of it. As an added quip, she noted that she hadn't exactly received any outside encouragement. Figuring it a passing oddity, she resumed her tidying. Her tail, forking from her body at the middle of her hips, had the t-shirt bunched in a way that flagrantly showcased her pert, heart-shaped rump, in front of which it swayed hypnotically.
Vincent's fingers twitched.
It would only be a few moments more, before the female fox would feel a pair of hands, large and strong, emerging from behind and closing around her hips. Such a dainty thing was she, that the t-shirt she wore folded deceptively inward, and so slender was she that the todd fox's thumbs nearly linked within the small of her back. There behind her he was silent, and in her naivete she wriggled herself back to nestle her posterior into his groin. She figured it a harmless tease, for while he had a notorious lack of restraint, he also wouldn't come upon her without some manner of contraception. They hadn't made the pill for foxes yet. Their reproductive cycles were among nature's strongest. But as the fox dug in, retaliating against her grind with a firm pushing of his own, he introduced to her an insistent pressure beneath his robe that rode up the cleft of her rear, and she began to grow wary. There then came rumbling from over her shoulder a low and chorusing noise, something that would convey quite clearly his intentions - the growl that rolled from him, when he became the hunting fox.
Suddenly, the vixen was lifted, taken from her feet by hands attached to arms so deceptively powerful. He carried her through the air, pulled back against him, until she found herself tumbling, spun around to land flatly on her back with an audible thud. He'd deposited her on his writing desk, a sturdy oaken surface that she was not unfamiliar with; they'd rutted one another here and there upon it. But as the vixen laid there, staring up into her partner's swirling ruby eyes, there she would not see the same caprice and whimsy found on the male fox's face when they engaged one another. His hands, which had since pushed into the desk on either side of her, reached for her and applied their fingers against her chest, bunching the fabric into pleats between his digits. He gave a showing a teeth, pushing a hiss between them, and extended his claws into the material. With sinewy arms tightening, he ripped violently outward, slicing through the shirt to the tune of a loud and startling array of tearing noises, shredding the article to ribbons in his fists The vixen gave a feminine shriek and recoiled, drawing her legs up defensively, her creamy white bellyfur exposed and her female bits vulnerable to a canine she did not entirely recognize.
The fox looked down at her, voracity his malady. His red eyes, framed by a silhouette of red locks darkening his face, bored piercingly into her wide and unblinking greens, as he held her down by a pushing palm against her collar. There was the slightest struggle, a little wriggling in her shoulders, but he had her on a line from pupil to pupil, something that she could not wrench away from and something from which he would not give her sanctuary. His lips were tugged back, with the faintest sight of sharp and glistening whites between. All of this was plenty enough to make the vixen's heart pound, her uncertainty showing in the inability to place her hands in an appropriate spot, for in that lull she fidgeted nervously on the arm that held her prone.
Vincent lowered, bending at the waist, sending his tail high. He came down such that the breath from his nostrils stirred the fur on her chin, which seemed to scald ever more heatedly when his lips parted, and his tongue came free. He took a pass across her neck, it having opened for him with the female fox's canting head, and stroked through her fur with its smoothly textured surface, leaving a mussed and damp little trail in her pelt. It was a slow and sensuous gesture, the kind that plucked expertly upon nerves heightened by alarm. There was a stutter in the lady vulpine's breathing, as she noted nervously that it was a poor time for him to be testing fate. Perhaps she still didn't believe he'd be daring enough. But in her mind, she knew he was tasting his prey.
The fox seemed not to heed her, in fact he paid her no mind at all, for he was fixated. Every mannerism was genuine now - he would have her, and somehow she knew this to be true. As he reared up, the fox's fingers touched to the flat expanse of her stomach, pushing through its luxurious pelt, and sought south. This elicited a small gasp and a fidgeting from the vixen, who whimpered tentatively, but could do nothing to sway him. The bulk of his body lay in between her knees, and there was no preventing the fox's hand from dipping down the middle of either thigh, where he came upon her thinly-furred mound, a succulent little pouting peach for him to gaze upon and to test with his warm fingerpads. Ring and index fingers split, each slipping down along her outer folds, while that middle digit traced the length of her slit, a pink line nestled betwixt silky-furred petals. And those petals would flower for his probing finger, as it eased shallowly into her groove, rubbing upon flesh laid in waiting past fur. He would find himself encouraged by the dewy heat that he found there, an unwitting response to his advances, with a light accrual of wetness on the fox's finger. Some approximation of a vulpine purr rang in his throat, and he spoke, lustily entranced.
"This is for me." Were his stout words, an iteration of that which he would assuredly see to truth. And as he breathed in, he faltered, for there across his perceptive nose drifted a faint and familiar scent.
Rearing back, he looked for the sash of his robe, and as he unfastened the knot that bound him, it fell open. A landscape of red and white fur opened up to the mid-morning light, and to wide and bewildered emeralds. He was a handsome thing, with lines in all the right places, and a body made from honest physical work. But the thing that most starkly drew the vixen's attention was the risen length of fox cock that bobbed proudly in the air before his belly, a sight so familiar to her now made somehow intimidating and awesome. Vincent shucked the robe from his shoulders, letting it gather in a crumpled puddle around his ankles, clad now in nothing but his pelt.
He took her either knee in his hands, and pushed them wide. Force was unneeded, the female fox having been hushed into obedience by the presence he kept, and she let her legs out at his command, though not without a quivering breath. The renard male bent, descending with his chin to dip it down between her spread thighs, seeking out that which tantalized him so. Her sex, glistening and warm, greeted him with a slight splaying of its tight folds, inviting him to approach it. And approach he did, with the freeing of his tongue once more, casting that damp muscle along the entirety of her slit, bottom to top, and flicking across that sensitive nub at its crest. This caused her a sharp inward heave and a rigid posturing, as would the next few passes, exploring through her opening to cleanse her of the divine nectar she offered. Its taste, earthen and sweet, harkened to the scent that drove him mad, and caused him a violent shudder in his spine. He let out a noise, sounding of frustration, and pulled away with lips freshly dampened. His hands shot out and captured her hindquarters, pulling her more squarely to the edge of the desk.
That girthy erection appeared once more, soon to be encircled by the male fox's hand, upon which he would lavish a few strokes up its full length. What came next was what the vixen dreaded, but as the heat radiating from her core would speak of, craved deeply as well. The todd fox seemed disinclined to inquire of her wants, but instead came forward with cock in fist, and applied the blunt head against her womanhood. A few swabs of the tip against her groove would see it moisten and glimmer, and as he fit the first inch or so of his maleness securely at her opening, both hands would transfer to the vixen's hips. He stood before her as an unlikely Adonis, a creature of sexual strength that caused the wide-eyed female fox a great gushing, leaving her unable to persevere against. As the vixen's head shook with disbelief, Vincent rolled out some conquering growl, and with a tensing in his haunches, he drove forward with a mighty shove.
His vulpine cock lanced into her, lighting her nerves like a branding iron sinisterly designed to impart pleasure instead of pain. Her inner walls stretched to receive him, parting for the rounded head that speared into her depths, unyielding. She immediately clamped down on him on a reflex, constricting around his shaft so snugly that he was momentarily denied further entry, having sunk just a bit more than half his full length inside. With a slight shifting, the fox regrouped, and levied another thrust into her, this time not to be denied. His manhood pushed forcibly into her impossibly tight belly, until the fur 'round the base of his erection met firmly with the labial lips of her femininity. Both foxes sounded out their pleasures in tandem, as Vincent more firmly dug his fingers into the vixen's sides, while she could not prevent the needing wrap of her legs around his middle, drawing him ever closer and ever deeper, were it possible; but he had fed every inch of his shaft into her body, and she tugged upon it hungrily with her inner walls. There was a moment where neither vulpine would stir, the two of them relishing this union that settled so much more powerfully over them than any had before.
But soon, Vincent woke from this trance. With his claws dug in, the male fox began to extricate himself from his lover's vagina. This proved to be no easy feat, so tightly had she clenched him, and the delicious friction arising from his efforts caused the fur on his tail to bristle. Eventually, he'd receded so that just the tip remained within her. Then, he drove forward again, feeding her the whole of his erection once more and sending it to the deepest reaches it could touch, provoking an involuntary squeeze by the vixen's thighs. With that, he began a rhythm, fucking the lady fox with animal calculation, giving and taking all of his member at a time as he went. Every outward pull would rob her all but the last inch of his pole, where next he would sate her with its entire breadth, sawing delightfully along her wet inner flesh. In a short time, her juicing female bits would leave a fine sheen of sex juice on his cock, shown whenever he would pull himself free to meet the cool air about them. And this sheen would eventually turn to a healthy saturation, signaling the female vulpine's pleasure just as plainly as her desperate moaning, dripping along the male fox's erection onto his furred sac beneath.
Vincent did not brutalize her, nor did he take her as a gentle lover. He rode her at a pace that stroked her to a feverish lust within mere minutes, leaving her gripping wantingly at his back and shoulders with her clawed fingertips. Each forward pistoning of his hips would rock her forward, causing her breasts to sway with the tempo of his fucking, and necessitating a slight tugging back by the hips whenever she would be inched too far along the surface of the desk. Her nether lips would be dragged inward when he slid inside, and be tugged out lewdly to expose more of her pink innards whenever he would retrieve himself. He thrust into, and into, and into her, touching to places she'd seemingly never knew could bring her this kind of ecstasy, and had her shortly panting and whining in sexual fervor. They were foxes, and were made for each other - her inners fit him like a glove, albeit one that might've been a half-size too small, but for that fact neither seemed to be complaining. And as the vixen's whimpers grew in volume, so too seemed to intensify the male fox's huffing.
All of this sexual energy proved to be far too much for the nubile lady fox to weather, for upon a series of cunningly sharp thrusts by the male, she felt an electric shock of scorching nerves lighting somewhere in her belly, pushing out in a radiating explosion of euphoria that seemed to expand and contract rhythmically. A frantic noise was forced from her throat, and as her eyes squinted shut, she let out a howl that reverberated across the ceiling of the living room. Her sex constricted, muscles rippling, and tugged in to milk along his shaft, hopelessly thirsting for his male offerings despite any reservations that might've remained in her more rational mind.
Vincent, on his own part, had become enthralled in that which had gripped him from the very start, a lust so primal and basic that it had overruled any practical sensibilities, commanding him to heed nature's prime directive. It was the ultimate satiation of every male urge and instinct, a satisfaction that had eluded him ever since he'd come into maturity. As if on cue, the buck fox, who had since been pounding dutifully away at the vixen's spasming sex, grit his teeth and entered into a series of loud pants, before he jutted forward and buried all of his throbbing foxmeat into her quivering snatch. As he came out loudly with a roar of sexual conquest, his twitching cock flared its swollen head out before an initial volley of thick, white-hot seed erupted forth from his tip and bathed the deepest recesses inside her belly. And there came forth gush after gush of fox cum, a copious helping of his fluids to fill what little room remained inside her until the last helpings dribbled within; the fox's male seed delivered freely into a fertile womb which had never before been filled.
The two lovers pulled heavy breaths to quench burning lungs, both spent for those moments following their mutual release. After a short recovery and regaining of his equilibrium, Vincent pulled upright and slowly extracted himself from his partner's body. A thin, silver strand of sticky sex juice trailed after as he came free from her tender folds, prompting a weak raising of the head by the vixen and a soft touch of a finger to either nether lip. There may have been a moment of apprehension in her, aware of the gravity of what had just transpired, but with her cheeks rosy beneath white fur and her chest still starved for air, it seemed suspiciously like a half-lidded, hazy afterglow. The female fox searched up through her hair, rubbing around her ears to soothe the dizziness she had come under. She attempted to sit up. In all this, she had lost track of her renard partner, who remained close by. Her reprieve would prove to be brief, for as she began her first commentary murmurings, there came those strong hands once more that caught her waist with cementing fingers. Snaring her possessively, he brought her about, lifting her in a display of strength and causing her a tilting that disoriented her as it did before. She landed upright, with her inner thighs laid to the softness of his lower belly, the fox having brought her atop him to sit astride while he laid himself to rest where she had just been. As her blurred consciousness struggled to keep pace, there came between the vixen's legs a more pressing matter, as she felt resting against that which he had just ravaged an incessant firmness, persistent and hot. He'd not softened, not even the slightest bit.
As she pulled a feeble breath into her dry throat, driven to shudders by this realization, the fox used his hooking claws to drag her body both down and forward, guiding his turgid flesh against her slit, jolting overstimulated nerve endings as he slid wetly across. Synchronously, his powerful hindquarters would thrust upward, such that his member would cleave tightly between lips that had been slightly widened by his ministrations. After a few rounds, the fox ordered her up to her knees with nails that sharply coaxed, and beneath her his vulpine pride rose to jut from his groin like a blunted spear. He quaked with another strong animalistic growl, one that the vixen could feel in her legs, and aligned carefully to return the swollen head of his maleness to her entrance. The female fox waited on him helplessly, subject to his fancy, but perhaps most worrying to her being the slow welling of arousal tingling in her insides, so far out to sea yet, but building all the same. With little ceremony this go-around, Vincent called her hips down with a rough tugging of the fingers that seized her, and she would fall down upon, around, and over him, a generous helping of foxmeat rushing up into her voided inners with a wet squelch, prompting a breaths to be exhaled from lips mouthing out pleasures. His through gritted teeth, and hers from a maw laid open in perpetual bliss.
Then they moved, the female commanded to rock upon him by way of legs already exhausted with sensation, and the male a series of steady revolutions, rocking up in long ellipses that sent the vixen's head swimming. His cock, pulsing to the beat of his heart, rubbed exquisitely against new and freshly stimulated places within, causing the lady fox a great and spine-numbing shiver. She was suddenly aware of a need coming over her to touch herself, forcing hands hardly of their own volition up through a forest of fur on her belly to work over her pertly bouncing breasts, along her collar and neck, finally entering into a hopeless tangle with her hair which she tossed about freely atop a head that fell back with uninhibited, fluttery sighs of delight. Despite all unnerving precursors, she rode him willingly, and in no time had commenced a strong downward retort to the forceful contrary thrusts from below, an act that saw to it she would receive the greatest portions of his tumescent cock. With that lusty fire beginning to smoulder in her again, feeling as though it had just moments ago left her through her toes, she felt creeping upon her that which she could only guess was the same lascivious delirium that had stricken him. She bounced, rocked, and ground to him, legs propelling themselves towards a cogent climax, every angled union between them pushing the electric nub of flesh that was her clit careening against his intruding maleness, which shone with a coat of ambrosia that she dribbled onto him. The male, down beneath, would huff from his nostrils as a feral fox, rudely penetrating his vixen mate with sharp thrusts and snug stretchings of her delicate cunny. Racing toward his own orgasm with a ferocious yen.
When release found the vixen this time around, it struck as suddenly as lightning, coming upon her so unexpectedly that it forced from her throat something resembling a shriek broken into sputtering pieces of unequal volume and pitch, that eventually made way for a howl as she threw her head skyward. Her inner muscles contracted once again, which in turn caused other major muscles to tense as well, producing a stiff female fox trembling joyfully atop a fleshy pole that split her so wondrously it nigh robbed her of her sanity. And Vincent, he did not lag, for just as if they were bound in sexual empathy, his own climax came roaring after, causing powerful tremors in his thighs, that which the female fox would feel when he dragged her down to full impalement on his cock. His shaft jumped, swelling inside her with an eminent right to occupy her belly, and there within gushed another serving of vulpine sperm, healthy and potent, warm and thick, and the vixen's womb drank greedily of it, her muscular tuggings welcoming his seed inside her most intimate depths, while the fox split his clenched jaw with a growl so loud that it nearly shook decorations from their hangings.
Once more, there was calm between them. The female fox's fingers had balled into the mane of fur on the fox's chest, claws having been inserted into the flesh beneath out of passion unchecked. When her muscles no longer contracted so stingingly rigid, she found she could not relax them gradually in groups; rather, all at once, the integrity of her arms and legs collapsed, and she eased to her side to slump limply from her male partner, pulling free from the fox's shaft with a slick splurt. If there hadn't been quite enough of the fox's fluids pumped into her to show after their first coupling, it most certainly made itself obvious the second time around, as from her slightly distended lips flowed an abounding of his male broth, white and milky, dripping down her rear end so crudely. The female fox labored in her breathing, incapable of any continence to speak of for a minute's span, until finally she managed to push herself up on her elbow. She shuffled to the edge of the desk, leaving a small trail of sex nectar behind, and very gingerly touched her footpaw to the carpet beneath, putting in an honest effort to avoid buckling on her weak legs. Trudging forward, she laid a hand against the column doorway to the kitchen, hazily seeking out a washroom, wanting to clean up.
She wouldn't get any further than that, as a short moment later, there ominously laid a pair of hands up her thighs, locking with a relentless strength at the widest arc of her hips. She gasped, and dared a glance back with a woefully pitiful look, to find the fox standing firm behind her. Save for a few tousled locks, no part of him seemed haggard in any way - least of all, the imposing rod of flesh that lay pointed toward her, ruthless and insatiable, throbbing anew with sexual vitae. As she was pressured by a hand at her back, the poor vixen gave a pathetic little whimper.
Yet, at the same time, the male fox found her willingly arching, pushing her rump out, and presenting. He felt her shaking, anticipating. He did not disappoint her.
~
There were leaves on the skylight. It was Vincent's way of knowing that fall had come, where his home darkened just enough that he would take to burning candles, enjoying the stately air it fostered. These days, he was the one that bustled about from one chore to the next, neatening this and straightening that, making his house liveable. He was never particularly messy, but he felt a responsibility to keep things situated. Responsibility as a whole had become his theme, in fact, and a general curing of his lackadaisical ways. He'd always worried that the transition from careless youth into a life of obligation would strangle him, but it seemed the change was a bit more harmless than he'd thought. A tea kettle whistled at him from within the kitchen. He hurried to it, stepping lightly with his foxish trot, and pulled it from the range. Into a mug went the boiling water, along with a handmade tea filter filled with some fragrant blend of herbs and ground things. The room slowly became smitten with the smell of chai, his favorite tea. He never made it as well as she did, but he thought he brought some justice to it, and with that he retreated back into the living room.
On that sofa that spanned the back wall, there sat the vixen, sunk in sumptuously and splendid. She wore his robe, a common thief of his things, and looked rather smug for it when he arrived to hand to her the brew. She blew the steam across the dark surface, and chanced a few shallow sips, it still too hot to fully indulge in. The fox nestled at her side to sit, seeming all too willing to burden himself on her behalf. It was a change from those coy games he played. He was always very proud of his vulpish nature, a student of the species, but it was only recently that he had discovered just how multifaceted a fox could be, and that it wasn't an abandonment of himself to walk down another road for a while. The past year had been a pleasant growing experience. He looked to his vixen companion, and brushed cheeks with her, giving her a very animal gesture of affection.
"It's a nice day today. Want to go for a walk?" He asked, cheery.
She kissed him, and kindly remarked that she'd rather stay cooped up where it was warm, with her favorite boy. She never had to press buttons to get him to smile, he'd ceded all foxish games to her. He'd attained something much more significant, in his eyes, and it was all part of the vulpine equation.
"They said exercise would be good for you, Aya." He teased, dragging a finger down her cheek.
Following after it with her teeth, she only laughed, and said that she could get plenty of exercise right there in the house.
He cracked a knowing grin, and prodded her on the nose. "Ah-huh, well, they also said rest is part of it, too."
Vincent hadn't done much in the way of excitement in a while. No night prowls, no mischief making, no impulsive spending. It would be incorrect to say that he had calmed down, for he was still quite a strong-willed fox. He'd simply been given focus. And currently, that focus had him pinned against the cushions, swinging her leg over to trap him under her straddling thighs. She sat herself down with a firm plop, and dusted her tail about behind her, such an alluring feature of hers was it. With her hands skillfully toying on his chest, she quietly reminded him of the little deal that they had made just a couple of months prior.
His small smile lasted another few moments, before it faded away. It was replaced by something more staid and genuine, characteristics he no longer felt hostile to, and as he wet his lips in a long circle, his voice descended in pitch.
"Ah, deal. The one where you complied, so long as I made love to you every single day like the first, until medical science told me to stop?" He asked, exercising the trait of being decorous, which he had come to enjoy.
There was something heavy in the way that she looked at him. As she flattened her ears out and pressed a wanting kiss onto his lips, the todd fox delicately roamed his fingers across the robe's velvet plush, following the slight curvature of his mate's belly.
She'd begun to show.