Dreams
Hey evryone, this is my latest story. Thanks for all the support for my last story, and I really hope you enjoy this one as just as much.
The fox sighed and threw his briefcase onto the sofa. It had been a long day, and he was looking forward to relaxing and loosing himself in his thoughts. He cracked open a can beer and sat down, grateful to get off of his feet. He stared at the wall above the T.V and let his mind drift away; he allowed it to explore, to fly and to dream. Dreaming was a huge part of the fox's life; dreams could tell you all the things about a fur that they may never tell you.
Dreams told you a fur's deepest desire, dreams told you who that fur loved, liked and hated. Dreams, he was once told, can tell you more about a furson than following them for thousands of years. But some furs are different, they only dream of misery and despair, about bringing pain and bringing suffering onto others. These were who he looked for, he was a psychologist. But his gift did not lie in the ability to read between the lines, his ability lay in his ability to probe the mind, literally ... through dreams. Freud may have been able to interpret dreams, but this fox could enter the mind and watch them. Sometimes he would even take part in the dream, asking the fur to explain what or who things were, or helping the fur to accomplish something. He wasn't cheap, but then again, who is?
Sadly, his 'gift' meant one thing for the fox, his ability to leap into other fur's dreams meant that he could not have any of his own. Every time he fell asleep, he would only be able to enter other's dreams. He tried and tried to dream his own dreams, but he never could. When he was young, this lack of imagination had plagued him, he could never 'picture the scene' when he read a book, or 'drift away' while he listened to a beautiful piece of music.
The fox gave up, he had been sitting for only 2 minutes but it was no use, all he could see was wall, nothing came to him. It was a fruitless quest, the quest for a dream. Only one good thing had come from his so called 'gift' and that was Michael, a beautiful otter who had been a client a while back. When he had come into the fox's office, he had been incredibly nervous and when the fox had sent him to sleep and entered his dreams he had found out why.
The otter was confused about his sexuality, he was fantasizing about a male and female standing before him, both willing him into bed, but he stood frozen, torn between the two. The fox had spent a few sessions with the otter, and after the third, the otter's dream had changed, instead of a nondescript male and female, there stood the fox (the otter made sure the fox was well endowed in the crotch area) and a female wolf, who, the otter later explained, was the bride that had left him at the altar. When the otter woke up, he became very embarrassed and had completely closed himself off to any conversation. He did not talk for the rest of the session. When the session ended the otter had practically sprinted out the door, and that was the last time the otter visited. But, the fox had found Michael's dream one night and ever since then, he would join Michael in his fantasies. Tonight was another of those nights.
The fox crawled into bed and switched off the lights. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to seeing Michael again. As he drifted away into a deep sleep, he tried to imagine where Michael's dream would take him, but all he could see was black.
********
The fox awoke with a start, he stretched and looked around. He was standing on a beach that stretched as far as the eye could see. He looked out to sea, and was greeted by a beautiful sunset; it was a magical combination of oranges and reds. A shiver ran up his spine, this is what he loved about dreams; never in a million years would there be a sunset as beautiful as the ones that exist in your mind's eye. Suddenly he realised that he was no longer in his P.Js. Now he was wearing a red satin shirt that gently caressed his fur, and a brilliant white suit. He smiled; he really liked that otter's fashion sense. The fox turned around and saw a wooden table with two candles burning, illuminating the face of a handsome waiter.
The fox walked over and sat down on one of the chairs and waited, it did not take long. Michael finally appeared, as though he had entered through an invisible door painted into the sunset background. He was wearing a subtle dark grey suit with a black shirt. The otter looked around nervously causing the fox to smile warmly, the otter's innocence every time he entered the fantasy always lifted the fox's spirits. The otter had dreamt this dream a million times, but he never seemed to remember, and so he was always nervous and shy. The fox stood up and walked up to the otter before he hugged him gently. They stood in that warm embrace for a minute or so before the fox released the otter and said tenderly
"I'm so glad you came, I knew you would. Come on, the food is nearly ready."
The otter and fox sat down and picked at the bread from the basket in the centre of the table. The fox stared at the otter as he took tiny bites of the freshly baked bread, perfect as always. The otter looked up and caught the fox's eye.
"What is it Doc, is there something on my face?" He brought his hand up in preparation to wipe, but the fox reached over and held the otter's paw.
"Michael, please call me Harvey, and I was just admiring you. You look beautiful tonight." He fox leant over and kissed the back of the otter's hand, before releasing it. The otter was blushing enough for the fox to notice the red through the deep black of the otter's fur. The food arrived and they dined on a succulent starter of a Tomato Roulade, followed by a perfectly cooked Beef Bourguignon, and finished with a luscious Passion fruit Bavarois.
The evening had gone perfectly; the sunset had remained frozen in time, bathing the couple in orange and red. As they let the food settle, they idly spoke about the mundane things, life, work, friends, they spoke about each other, and about the fox's favourite subject, dreams. The fox didn't really listen though; he knew most of the answers off by heart now. The fox just sat and observed the otter as he spoke. The way the otter's eyes lit up when he talked about his dream of becoming a doctor. The way he smiled when he reminisced about his childhood, and the way his face dropped when he moved to the topic of parents. When he was 16, his father had lost too much money to the wrong kind of furs. They had come during the night and killed him. His mother had tried to stop them, so they killed her too. The otter blamed his father entirely for the deaths; it had come up many times during their sessions.
After the couple had been sitting for a while, the fox stood and took the otter's hand.
"C'mon, let's dance, and don't say you can't, because I know you can"
The otter couldn't refuse; he grinned broadly as a band appeared from nowhere and began to play a slow, beautiful waltz. The fox led the otter to the centre of the dance floor and got into waltz position with the otter. The pair turned gracefully as the music seemed to fade into the distance, and before long, the two were dancing in absolute silence, both felt a warmth that flowed through them. The fox moved his right hand down to slowly squeeze the otter's firm behind.
The otter closed the gap between their bodies and soon the whole dream world was lost, the fox could see through the corner of his eye that the beach had disappeared; they seemed to be floating through a brilliant bright white room. The fox moved his muzzle closer to the otter and pulled him in, kissing him tenderly, savouring the otter's taste. Their tongues entwined as they slid over and under, exploring each other's mouths.
They broke the kiss and the fox saw that they were now standing in a luxurious bedroom. In the centre of the room was a four poster bed covered in rose petals, next to the bed was an ice bucket with a bottle of Clos du Mesnil 1995 Champagne. The fox looked out of the window and saw a wonderful panoramic view of a mountain range, the peaks were perfectly formed, forests trailed about half way up the mountain before bare rock and snow covered the rest.
The otter, meanwhile, had moved over to the bed and was opening the champagne. The fox sauntered over to him and pounced on top of the otter, trapping the bottle between the otter's legs. The otter squirmed as the cold glass pressed against his thighs. He sighed in relief when the fox finally moved the bottle away.
"Champagne is best served cold my love; let's let it stay in the ice for a while longer. I know what we can do while we wait."
The fox moved his muzzle down the otter's and they met in a passionate kiss. The fox broke it quickly and removed his jacket and threw it into the corner of the room, he did the same with the otter's jacket and shirt. He could feel his erect nipples brushing against the satin of his shirt, he moaned in pleasure, as the soft material caressed him, adding to the pleasure. He stared at the otter's torso, there was some definition on his chest and stomach, but otherwise it was pretty flat, and that was the way the fox liked it.
The fox lent down, and beginning at the base of the otter's neck, slowly kissed his way down the otter until he reached the nipple. He encased it in his muzzle and suckled softly, occasionally biting it to elicit a murr from the otter. As he sucked, his left hand moved down the otter's body, caressing the smooth fur on his front, and snaked under the waistband of the otter's trousers. The otter was not wearing any boxers and his cock was throbbing gently in the fox's paw. He rubbed it gently working his way up and down the shaft in slow rhythmic movements.
The fox felt the otter's paws come to rest on his head and gently push him downwards, wordlessly begging for the fox to use his muzzle for something else, the fox took the hint and used his right hand to work the trousers down the otter' legs. The otter squeezed his legs together so the trousers could be removed more easily. When they had been thrown away, the otter spread his legs, allowing the fox to fit between them.
The fox nuzzled the otter's balls, taking in the sweet aroma. Then he shifted himself up slightly so that the otter's cock was just pressing against his lips. The fox then pressed down the cock with his muzzle without opening his lips. The otter moaned in frustration and pleasure as his cock was gently pushed back. The fox could feel the resistance gradually build, until suddenly he parted his lips and allowed the cock to enter his muzzle. The otter gasped as his cock was suddenly encased by the warm moist cave of the fox's muzzle.
The fox began to move up and down the shaft, occasionally biting the otter's shaft tenderly. His hands lightly cupped the otter's balls and massaged them as his muzzle worked. Then he took the cock out of his muzzle and licked the tip of the otter's shaft. The otter moaned in pleasure, the fox just smiled and continued to lick. But this was not enough for the otter; he put his hands on the back of the fox's head and held it there as he began to hump the fox's muzzle. The fox didn't fight him and allowed the otter to continue, it didn't take long for the otter to finish. He trusted harder into the fox and suddenly arched his back, he cried out as the warm jets of semen were pushed out and hit the back of the fox's mouth. The fox swallowed the sperm greedily, enjoying the taste.
The otter's orgasm finally subsided and he let go of the fox. The fox got up so that he was kneeling, panting slightly, he said:
"Now it's my turn." he smiled and he lent down to kiss the otter. The otter kissed back, his tongue moving all around the fox's mouth to try to pick up even the faintest taste of his seed. He never got the chance though, the fox was getting impatient, he desperately needed a release, and he flipped the otter over and spread his legs to reveal the virgin tail hole (the fox knew that the otter was not a virgin, but for some reason, the otter always made sure that he was). The fox lent down and licked the small pink ring, eliciting a gasp from the otter, the fox couldn't hold it in for much longer , he was getting desperate, he raised his head, a trail of saliva trailed up and broke, and dropped onto the bed sheet. The fox positioned himself so that the tip of his cock was touching the otter's ring, and then he gently pushed in. The otter whimpered but pushed back slowly and soon the fox's member was fully encased by the otter. The moaned hungrily as he slowly pulled out and then slowly pushed back in, letting his saliva spread over his cock and make his movements smoother.
The fox steadily sped up his movements, working himself into a rhythm. His thrusts became harder and harder and soon he was ready to tie. He bent down and gently bit the otter's ear
"I'm going to tie with you" If the otter heard him, he did not show it, the otter was in a far away place now, somewhere filled with pleasure. The fox smiled at this, a dream within a dream. The smile widened quickly as the fox pulled out for the last time before thrusting forwards as hard as he could, forcing his knot into the young otter's tail hole. The pleasure was immense and he released his seed inside the otter, he howled in pleasure as he finally found the release he had desperately needed.
*******
The fox woke up and looked at the window. It was morning. He rolled over to wake up Michael, but all that was where the otter should have been was a cold pillow and some undisturbed sheets. The fox's smile disappeared and he looked at the clock, 7 am, time for work. He rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom for a long shower. After a quick breakfast, the fox left his apartment.
He arrived at his office about an hour later, traffic had been terrible. It would have been quicker to walk. The fox was not bothered though, the seemingly endless traffic queues had given him time to think. Was it right for him to invade that otter's private thoughts night after night? Dreams are one of the few things that no one will find out about unless you tell them. When you are in a dream, you are in your own world, a world where people act as you want them to act, a world where things work like they should, where every action doesn't have to have a reaction. A dream is your private space, a space that no one should have access to without your permission.
He had decided, he was going to find that otter. It wouldn't be hard; he had his name, his personal description, pictures. The only problem would be where to start.
********
It had been a month since he had started his quest to find the otter. The fox was sitting on his couch, the piece of paper in his hands shook gentle as his sobbed. He stared at the paper, as if willing the words on it to change, to admit they were lying, that this was all a big joke. But this was no joke, and the words did not change; the otter had committed suicide over a year and a half ago. His suicide note read that he could not stand being torn between the two sexes. Beneath the description was an address for the cemetery in which he was buried. He had no surviving family, so he had been buried in a pauper's grave outside the city. The fox stood and wiped the tears off his face, he picked up his jacket and walked out of his apartment
The fox found himself sitting and staring ... and crying again. The gravestone of the otter was in the middle of a mass of gravestones. Many were unkempt and some were crumbing, those that still stood were either covered in graffiti or moss. Michael's gravestone stood out as the one new stone, it proclaimed his name to anyone who cared to look. The fox had been sitting there all day. He had called in sick at work so that he could visit, and have time to greave. How could his love be dead? How could the one part of his life that kept him sane be dead? How? But that was it, all his hopes had gone. They were as nonexistent as his dreams
The fox stopped sobbing, do the dead dream? He stood suddenly as the realisation hit him, the dead don't dream! All those nights that he had spent with Michel were in his own dreams. He ran to the gravestone and kissed the top.
"Thank you Michael," He wept "You taught me how to dream"
-Epilogue-
Jenny and Josh sat in the café and watched as the homeless fox sang about the dream he had last night. His dulcet tones relaxed them; it was as if his words were wrapping them in a warm blanket.
"You're right, he is really good," Josh said as he took a sip of coffee, "Why didn't he sign the record deal?"
"He said he didn't need money, he said that all he needed came to him at night when he was asleep."
"Ha, what a nut job, it's probably for the best that we didn't sign him."
"You say that, I did some checking, a couple of years ago he was one of the city's best psychotherapists. But one day, he just up and left, sold all his possessions, gave the money to charity and then he ended up sitting over there. He's been living in that alley for a year now." She pointed to an opening between two sandwich shops. Josh crinkled his nose at the thought of sleeping next to a dumpster filled with rotten food. He drank the last of his coffee, stood and put on his jacket.
"The guy must be nuts to give up a gig like that. He's crazier than his old clients, he probably lives in his own little dream world."