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Such boredom, this life of nobility. The stresses of such an existence leave me so very tired each day, all day. To look out and see commoners working in the streets, selling goods they've reaped from the land and crafted with their own mangy hands, I almost envy their mundane existence - almost.

The urges come to me more strongly than ever, and I feel I can no longer resist them. In the kitchens, I have come to lay my eyes upon a portrait of beauty, one that is male, but with all the grace, the loveliness, the subtleties of the female form. Such long hair, untamed by any standards, yet impossibly fine in its' way; I have witnessed it hanging free, but often, I see it tied back, such a waste of natural beauty. His face, easily the most lovely thing I have ever seen on a creature, male or female; though he is a fox, that much is obvious, he bears the markings, the mask of the common raccoon vermin, yet on him, it adds dignity. It makes him the ideal one in my eyes. I'll have him. I've no idea when the time will be right, but I will have that fox.

As Kimber laid down the final lines in his journal, the very object of his affections was gathering up the sullied dishes in his bedroom, where the spoiled polecat sometimes chose to eat. Many nights ago, this image of vulpine perfection had brought him dinner just as he had this very evening, and that was when Kimber, to put it into cliché terms, fell in love - though that was a misnomer. As a creature of nobility, he had no illusions of truly loving a servant, but he most certainly lusted after that fox. Watching the timid, long-haired creature gather up the cleared plate and the dirtied soup bowl, all the while attempting to be as quiet as possible - for Kimber had quite the notorious reputation among the servants for being a fussy, bossy individual - made Kimber's heart flutter. Truly, the thought occurred to him to simply bolt the door, pull the curtains over the windows, and have his way with the tod, but they would certainly get caught, and that kept Kimber from acting on his feelings. Nevertheless, there was fun to be had, even in this situation. "You there, fox!" he barked, closing his journal only when he was certain the ink had dried. The tod nearly leapt from his skin - and at the same time, he almost dropped the dishes on the floor. "Yes, sir?" he said back to the polecat, his voice quiet, timid, tiny. The noble rose from his desk and walked close to the fox, towering over his comparatively small stature. Though neither creature was athletic - in fact, they were both quite feminine - Kimber had more than a head over the subservient vulpine. "Why has the cook been sending you?" Kimber sneered, narrowing his intense eyes to mere slits, with which he examined the tod intently. "Where have the usual servants been? Hm? Answer me, fox," Kimber hissed, reaching out to clutch the fox's chin - as aroused as Kimber could be made by the fox, he certainly did keep up appearances... The tod didn't have even the slightest idea that Kimber wanted him.

"Ah, sir," the fox squeaked, finding himself uneasily fidgeting in Kimber's gaze and grasp, holding the tray of dishes tight to his body, "I was hired by the Furetti family, y-your parents, to assist the cook." Suddenly, something clicked for the fox; he realized now why the cook had been so quick to assign him to Kimber's needs. "Hmph, so I'm training for the new help, am I?" Kimber huffed, roughly unhanding the foxcoon's chin. "Tell me your name, so I might demand you by it if something were to go missing from my quarters." The tod visibly cringed, and his ears flattened against his skull, yet Kimber was also certain he saw a twinge of indignity - was this fox feisty? "Sir, I would never-!" he tried to insist, yet Kimber swiftly silenced him, clamping a paw snugly around his muzzle. "I asked for your name, fox, unless fox is what you wish to be called." Then, with unnerving calmness, he released the tod's snout. Quivering his lip as if threatening to cry, the coonfox straightened his spine, an unconscious attempt to appear more imposing, or at least dignified. "It's Deh-, Desmond, sir." Then, straightening out a little bit more, evening out his tone, "Desmond. My name is Desmond." Kimber rolled the name around in his head, wondering how exactly it would sound if he uttered it under his breath; it was a sexy name, as far as he was concerned, though he'd never once heard it before. "Desmond, I see," Kimber finally said in acknowledgment, moving back to sit on his bed, his eyes never leaving the vulpine. Young Desmond still stood there, as if his hind paws were affixed to the rug, and for just a moment, the proposition rolled through Kimber's head: lock the door and take off your clothes, Desmond. Do as I say... But ultimately, he dismissed the sissy fox with a wave. It was simply not the time, nor the place. That evening, before sleep came to him, Kimber masturbated; and in his mind, he had that beautiful fox in unspeakable ways.

The very next day, Kimber found the idea of lazily snoozing in his room to be a dull proposition, especially with the cure for his boredom a floor below his feet. Slipping on an outfit that could have been considered casual, yet was still quite stuffy and dignified to the common man, Kimber wandered his way into the kitchens, just off of the dining hall. There was very little activity to be seen; breakfast had long since passed, and the cook had retired to his quarters for a time. Three servants remained; two of them, both average, female beauties, peeled and washed vegetables for dinner that evening. Desmond, without contest more beautiful than the maidens, was relegated to more menial grunt work; in this case, shoveling ashes from the oven into a bucket. Kimber smiled, yet it was without joy; in fact, it looked downright sinister, and worst of all, it was entirely fitting on him. Obfuscating his lust for Desmond, the polecat stood close by, within the vulpine's field of view; beyond a softly-worded greeting, Desmond didn't acknowledge Kimber, and for several minutes, his work continued uninterrupted. Yet, as time went by, he stole glances at the polecat's domineering, studying eyes, and he felt the weight of the noble's gaze, picking him apart and scrutinizing every facet of his performance - which was what Kimber wanted him to believe, yet in truth, he was simply ogling Desmond and thinking lewd thoughts. Very soon, the inevitable happened - Desmond dropped a trowel full of gray ash on the floor, a mistake that made him involuntarily cringe and flatten out his ears. "Please," Desmond whined, looking at Kimber with pitiful eyes, "if I've offended you, sir, forgive me. If I don't have this oven cleaned and loaded with fresh wood, the cook will have my head." Kimber was displeased with Desmond's complete submission, but he could sense the indignity in his tones and see it in his eyes - it was that reluctant obedience that made Kimber want him more and more. Kimber was dying to see the tod's breaking point almost as much as he wanted to see the beauty's naked form, but only one of those pleasures was within his grasp at the moment.

With a suddenness that frightened a momentary, promising snarl from the tod, Kimber pinned the vulpine to the wall - at once, the eyes of the two maidens were on the developing scene. After his involuntary outburst, Desmond showed only intense, debilitating fear and unease; as far as he knew, Kimber was about to have him beaten for making such an animalistic threat. With his height over the tod, it was not at all difficult for Kimber to menace him, even with his similarly effeminate body, and he took full advantage of that. He leaned down close to the vulpine's face, keeping the servant's back flush to the ragged brick of the oven. His voice, ordinarily dignified and handsome in that regard, was a menacing hiss better suited to a surly thief. "You will listen well to me, you graceless little worm," he warned, briefly baring the sharp points of his teeth to Desmond in an unspoken threat, "you have admirable nerve to look me in the eyes and address me as you do." He lifted his head so that he no longer spoke to the tod's face - instead, he chose to speak directly into an ear, though the maidens could still hear his words. "I will teach you a lesson in obedience tonight, fox. Be in this kitchen, late this evening, well past bed hour." Pulling his head back, he admired Desmond's quaking form and quivering lips, savoring the unspeakable beauty of his features, even with such fear present on them. Releasing the twink of a fox from the wall, he turned his gaze on the maidens, who were so stunned that they made no attempt to look busy - the cook had also returned, and he stood in similarly rapt silence. "None of you are to return here after dinner. My business is only with Desmond." It was a simple command, but worded so strongly that nobody would disobey him - Kimber had more than enough clout with his parents to get a servant removed, and he had in the past. He probably could have gotten one killed with a cleverly fabricated story, and though he had never done such a thing, he did acknowledge that option. All he knew for certain was that he would have Desmond, even if he had to get his hands dirty.

Kimber spent the rest of the day in his room with his usual distractions; snoozing, books, and looking out the window at the town. Come dinner, it was, as to be expected, Desmond who brought his food, the very food he had seen the maidens preparing vegetables for. They sat neatly on a plate beside a very healthy portion of plump, well-roasted bird. Kimber was certainly hungry, but to see Desmond again refreshed an entirely different, much more taboo hunger. I could have you right here - as badly as I want it, I'd probably have you back on your way before that food even cooled, he thought, watching the tod intently from his bed. The polecat spoke not a single word; he simply watched. Desmond made no mistakes. With elegance - no-doubt spurred by fear of the evening to come - the long-haired servant left the food, acknowledged Kimber with a curt nod and a respectful greeting, and made to leave. "Wait," Kimber snapped, earning Desmond's uneasy gaze after an agonizingly slow turn of his head. "Yes, sir?" the tod asked, his voice not quite respectful, but devoid of any and all emotion - it didn't even sound like a question, but it was good enough to Kimber. "Put another log on my fireplace," Kimber said calmly, afterward rising from his bed. He sat at his table, where he began to gingerly pick at the meal provided to him. It was truly succulent, a mouth-watering bird that a commoner would've given a finger to have, but Kimber was interested only in the tod. Desmond bent over to set the log upon the fire, doing so with a minimum of burned strands of fur. He stood from the fireplace, backpedaled a few steps, and turned to face Kimber. On the tod's face was a decent mask, an expression that hid his fear and worries well - all Kimber could see on his muzzle was indifference, but his eyes showed that panic and anxiety. "Anything else, sir?" Kimber shook his head, and then nodded towards the door. Desmond left without a word.

Though it was the tod who returned for Kimber's dishes, the polecat had no words for the twink. He was able to retrieve them without incident or confrontation; Kimber hardly even acknowledged his presence. He was too busy thinking of what he would do with the fox once he had him all alone, and entirely helpless. What if he resists? What if he tells? What if he doesn't show up? Oh, what if he quits instead? What then? Kimber endlessly asked himself, soon beginning to fret over the subject. He'll be there, he finally told himself, sighing long and hard afterward. He's a terrified, young commoner. A step above a slave. He'll do as he's been told... Kimber closed his eyes, and he chose to nap. When he awoke, he looked out his window at the moon - he knew from its' position just how late it was. He walked past the glowing embers in his fireplace and quietly descended the stairs, past the empty bedchamber of his sleeping parents - who had left for a tiresome social function - and into the kitchens. There, standing beside the oven with it's dull, radiating warmth, was Desmond. His dress was that of the work day, the filthy apron and stuffy servants' clothing he always wore. Kimber briefly grinned, but he hid it before the tod looked his way. Behind himself, the polecat shut and locked the doors, and he did the same to the windows, pulling the curtains over them. The only light was that of a candle Desmond had brought in with him. In its' glow, shadows flitted like monsters on the periphery of the light, and the room itself was bathed in a fickle, pale orange. Desmond eyed Kimber intently; he no longer tried to wear his mask, and his face showed the same intense unease that his eyes had earlier flaunted. His lip quivered, threatening sobbing and tears, but nothing of the sort came. Kimber stepped close, now but inches away, his expression solemn. Here he is, the polecat thought, his heart fluttering, now what? Desmond folded his arms loosely across his chest, but it was not a masculine gesture; rather, it had a feminine air to it, and Kimber found it endearing. "Am I to be punished now?" he asked, his voice a hair above a whisper. "No," Kimber said in a flat, blunt tone, hesitating for only a moment. Desmond opened his maw to speak, but the polecat silenced him - with his tongue. In but a second, the silk-haired beauty of a fox pressed willingly into Kimber's slender form, and he took the impassioned kiss.

Kimber and Desmond both were inexperienced and awkward, yet they fit one another's needs perfectly; a spoiled noble with a submissive streak desperately needed a handsome, gay servant who could be feisty if necessary. Kimber had no illusions of total submission, however - he was thoroughly in control of the foxcoon, and that was abundantly clear in every facet of the kiss. His posture as he leaned over the young fox was unabashedly possessive; with one demure paw, he cupped the tod's muzzle in a manner not unlike a lover, but the other clutched an inoffensive hip. Neither creature knew a thing of sex or intimacy, and yet they were spot-on in their experimentation; Kimber lapped deep and hard into Desmond's maw, exploring every velvet inch of his tongue and the flesh of his gums, finding the points of his teeth to be an exhilarating buzz of pain every time he was pricked by one. Desmond, ever under Kimber's thumb, freely allowed the polecat's explorations - but to say he didn't enjoy them was a bold lie. He wished to admit to the noble that he'd harbored affections for him since his first trip into the creature's bedroom, but that would interrupt the kiss, and that wouldn't do at all. Kimber momentarily opened his eyes to gaze at the tod's own, yet all he saw were the vulpine's eyelids - and up close, he was stricken by the servant's fine eyelashes. He's more beautiful than I'd ever hoped, the noble thought to himself, pressing his hips intently into the fox's own; not surprisingly, Desmond already sported an erection - Kimber had had his since he woke up. The fox whimpered in overwhelming need, and as intently as he could, he tried to grind back into the polecat's hips; Kimber shuddered with a sound of sexual bliss and utter satisfaction, and he did the very same, freely grinding the throbbing, uncut flesh of his erection against that of Desmond's own. Just when he thought the fox would never make use of his own paws, the submissive creature reached down, and he untied the laces which fastened Kimber's trousers; with nothing to keep them taut around the noble's hips, they fell to the floor beneath, leaving exposed the turgid, dripping flesh of Kimber's swollen penis.

Kimber thought he could maintain that kiss for anything, yet when the tod took hold of his shaft in those velvet-soft mittens and he felt the tender, pink flesh of the vulpine's pads, he slowly, involuntarily straightened his back and let the kiss end with a low, shuddering moan wavering past his lips. He'd stroked himself to climax more times than he cared to count, but feeling Desmond's paw - that soft, unfamiliar, male touch - made even the mundane action of masturbation intensely arousing. Biting his lip, resting his head against the straight-standing polecat's chest in a truly cute way, the tod slowly stroked off the handsome noble, uttering not a word to the creature, thinking not a single thought of what might happen if they were to be discovered - being intimately close to a man as handsome as Kimber was worth the risk. Kimber laid his chin between the vulpine's ears and screwed his muzzle into a toothy grimace, one brought on by raw pleasure; if Desmond were to continue uninterrupted, he thought their night would be very short, indeed. "Stop," Kimber whispered, yet his voice was laced with some reluctance - Desmond was slow to stop entirely, but the polecat didn't reprimand him in the least. Though Desmond's paw at last ceased its' slow, nearly hypnotic stroking, it continued to clutch that flesh. He pulled back to look into Kimber's eyes, his cheeks lit with blush, his eyes wide with curiosity and lust. Kimber said nothing to the fox - instead, he pulled back, finally out of Desmond's loving grip, and he stepped out of his discarded trousers. Shortly after, he let his shirt join the pile, and he was left nude before the silk-haired vulpine, exhibiting no shame in his body. "Do the same," Kimber whispered, yet he unconsciously knew it wasn't necessary; all sleeping quarters were far away from the kitchen, so as to not wake anybody with the clattering of dishes and pans, but in some way, the whispering made it all the more naughty, adding to the clandestine appeal of the act.

Desmond didn't acknowledge Kimber in the least, so excited and anxious that he entirely ignored the protocols of social structure - Kimber was similarly apathetic to such unwritten rules, but he still enjoyed his control over the tod. Silently and efficiently, Desmond shed the work apron, and soon after, he did away with his trousers and his shirt, both sullied with ash from working with the oven. Naked, he stood before the polecat, who was rendered awestruck by the tod's form. He was youthful, his coat impossibly vibrant and fluffy for the nature of his existence, and though he was slender, he was not unattractively gaunt; the polecat could see no ribs. Behind him swayed a long, carefully-groomed tail, a foxtail with black bands that Kimber had ogled before, but to see it attached to the tod's nude form made it new all over again. From the tips of his toes to the peaks of his ears, Kimber found him, in a single word, beautiful. To cap all of it off, the fox absently reached up, and he undid the lace that held his locks in a manageable ponytail - they fell behind his back like a curtain of golden silk, and Kimber licked his lips. This is what I want, he assured himself, taking a step closer to the fox.

For but a moment, the two nude creatures admired one another in silent reverence - Kimber stricken with Desmond's androgynous fusion of male and female beauty, Desmond with Kimber's reserved masculinity, posture, and endowment. Kimber had somehow glanced over the vulpine's genitalia before, but now he studied it intently; all the polecat had ever known was his own penis, and so to see Desmond's vibrantly pink, knotted shaft was a surprise, but a pleasant one - he was already curious to explore that. The tod was the first to act, however - but his choice of actions was decidedly submissive, so much so that Kimber minded it not at all; the tod began licking and nibbling along the slender lines of the noble's chest, grooming him, as it were. He dwelled on the polecat's nipples when he neared them; already rendered stiff by arousal, their flesh poking subtly through the fur, Desmond lavished them with kisses and licks, making excellent use of his almost absurdly long tongue. Though Kimber took much of the grooming with composure, the teasing on his unexplored flesh brought him queer pleasure and saw him break with gentle gasps and wary moans. He was regretful to see Desmond's worshiping lips and tracing fingers moving south, yet he was deathly curious to know how those ministrations would feel elsewhere on his body. The tod seemed to have an almost instinctive knowledge of how to tease and please, for he lingered above the polecat's swollen penis and throbbing scrotum for some time, enjoying the smooth plane of the noble's stomach. He kissed and gnawed indiscriminately there, and on occasion, he dipped his tongue into Kimber's navel; it was all pleasure, as far as Kimber was concerned, and though he so strongly desired Desmond's sinning lips on a more specific part of his body, he was inclined to let the tod worship him - it only seemed fitting. Resting his paws on the back of the vulpine's head, he stroked fondly through the untamed locks of blonde, treating Desmond to affection suited better to a beloved pet than a lover - but was that so far off the mark?

Desmond spent several moments nuzzling into the warmth of Kimber's pubic fur, where his male musk was most prevalent; though a creature of excellent hygiene, the polecat's scent was irrepressible, and Desmond savored it. The tod didn't consciously realize it, but the smell of the noble's masculinity burrowed into his sinuses and made him all the more ready to mate - it saw his senses heighten, but they also dulled in a way not unlike drunken inebriation. Beneath him, his swollen, knotted shaft oozed with pre, a slime which slowly, harmlessly soaked into the stone floor. Kimber was unaware of his own scent, but as he grew further aroused, he exuded yet more of that musk; it was a vicious cycle, for Desmond found himself snuffling into that fur more and more, huffing that scent deep into his lungs, shuddering at its' potency. At last, he could take it no longer - he needed Kimber. Slowly, he pulled back, and he aligned his snout with the length of the polecat's turgid, uncut flesh, its' tip slicked with precum. Desmond first gave it a tentative sniff, and then a lick, but those were as far as his curiosities went; he hastily engulfed that shaft in the velvet depths of his hot, moist maw, consciously unsure of what he was doing, but instinctively knowing that every action was right. He sucked and bobbed, making up for skill with ferocity and persistence; Kimber made no effort to be silent or cool any longer. He clutched the back of Desmond's skull with both of his slender paws for control and domination over the tod, and he pulled his jowls up into a grimace; through his teeth, he grunted and groaned praises of taboo sex and divine pleasure to the long-haired fox.

Kneeling before Kimber, that swollen manhood rubbing lewdly against his tongue and palate, Desmond felt very right; Kimber felt much the same way. "Mmh, ngh, yes!" the polecat grunted, still doing so from behind his teeth. Slowly, but consciously, the polecat began grinding his hips; at the apex of each thrust, he pulled the tod's head deeper into his hips, forcing his slender, swollen shaft nearly past the threshold of young Desmond's throat each time. Such gratifying pleasure saw the polecat close to his climax - especially since the tod's paw had left him near that threshold. There was so much he wanted to do with Desmond, yet there was no avoiding his inevitable orgasm - and so he didn't. He resigned himself to the fact that his very first sexual encounter was to see him get off so quickly, and he felt no discomfort in that fact. It actually saw him ease up on Desmond's skull, resisting the urge to dig his claws - however manicured they were - into that tender scalp and exert the full force of his dominance over the fox. However, he was not entirely passive, nor gentle, for he began to pant and groan freely, tossing his head back as he did so, leaving the handsome, teased mane of his hair a mess. Almost audible over the noble's increasingly heated sounds was Desmond's sucking, gulping maw; he worked with all of his slowly growing skill on Kimber's oozing, throbbing manhood, but his mouth was not the only pleasure he gave the polecat. With his tender paws, the very ones he'd used to worship and please the noble, he gently clutched Kimber's scrotum, rubbing alternately with both of his soft mittens. Kimber's enjoyment of such a fond touch was blatantly obvious in his body language and his animalistic noises of pleasure and raw sex, but Desmond's muzzle was the most crude and accessible sensation of them all; that hot, moist passage, so lewdly constricting and sucking upon his swollen pride - it proved impossible to resist, and after only a few more precious seconds, he pushed his hips forward as far as he could, pressing them flush to Desmond's lips. Finally, the polecat came with a mighty, full-body shudder, and he sent a heavy, thick load of his nobleman's seed down the servant's throat; sent panting into his afterglow, rendered dizzy and lightheaded by such a climax, Kimber bent over the fox and stroked absently down his slender back and shoulders.

Beyond the nearly drunken bliss of his climax and afterglow, Kimber was once more in control of Desmond; the polecat chose to sit upon the counter - the very one the cook kept immaculately, obsessively clean - and then he called Desmond close. With the tod in arm's reach, Kimber lavished his naked form with rubs and scratches, indiscriminately and crudely pleasing the tod. Like the canine that he was, Desmond responded to such base affections with fond growls and rumbling reassurances of pleasure and submission; Kimber was slightly amused to see the tod's tail wag in response to his touch. His explorations of the tod did not remain benign and cute for long, of course; in time, he shifted his focus to the foxcoon's swollen shaft, its' erection never once waning since they began. The polecat clutched it in his soft paw, and he stroked its' alien shape with clear curiosity. Now and again, he squeezed down upon the knot, an action which coaxed a gasp or a coo of a moan from the young fox - furthermore, such stimulation was often accompanied by a squirt of sticky, slimy precum that served to sully Kimber's paw and lubricate his idle molestations. "Ooh, sir," Desmond shivered, his first words since before they'd begun - Kimber reprimanded the fox with a single finger upon his lips. "For right now, and only now," the polecat warned, slowly removing the silencing digit from Desmond's then-pursed jowls, "you may, and will, call me Kimber." Desmond acknowledged him with a slow, understanding nod, yet he said nothing - Kimber didn't really mind his cautious silence, and he returned his full attention to the moaning, cooing tod's member, shifting his gaze down to it. With one paw, he continued to stroke up and down its' length, and with the other, he teased over the pointed, oozing tip with a fingertip, the very one he'd pressed to Desmond's soft lips but a moment ago. Such touches saw the tod moan more, both in volume and the frequency of them; whether the noble would admit it to himself or not, he found himself enjoying the tod's pleasure.

Kimber ceased his more gentle explorations to spend a few moments quite roughly jerking the tod off; so involved in his work was Kimber that he bit his lip, and involuntarily, he grinned at the fox's increasingly fervent cooing and moaning, culminating in him whispering to Kimber, begging for more, even using the polecat's name - and he sounded adorably uncomfortable doing so. Had he not been more curious about other pleasures, things he'd only heard vague rumors of, Kimber would have probably continued to stroke the fox off to a climax, but he couldn't waste the vulpine's orgasm on something so trivial. He slowed, and then stopped his stroking, and only then did he remove his paw from the fox's length. "Don't stop!" he whimpered, earning Kimber's sudden, unabashed attention - first in a surprised, wide-eyed look, and then a scolding glare that saw Desmond's ears flatten in fearful submission. Kimber forgave the servant for his outburst, but only because of his own wants and needs. Rising from the counter, the noble enjoyed a moment of looming over the now cowering fox, but this was only briefly entertaining; he turned, and he bent over the counter, planting his fore paws on its' surface, bracing himself. Having offered his marbled backside to the tod, he lifted the luxurious fluff that was his tail, and he thus intently displayed his rump for Desmond. In truth, Kimber was unsure of how to ask for what he wanted - and what he eventually got from the tod was not what he had in mind, yet it turned out to be something he never knew he wanted. Desmond knelt behind his angled form and took hold of his taut ass cheeks in both reverent paws; in much the same way that he'd groomed the noble's front side, he began to kiss, lick, and nibble his way around the tan fluff of his behind. Kimber first thought to reprimand the tod - but then he stopped. I do deserve to be touched and enjoyed like this, he thought, stealing a tentative glance back at the tod, and who better to do it than this beautiful fox?

Desmond was again running on instinct, fueled by the polecat's musk. Despite the fact that his rump was immaculately clean, it was still an area from which the noble exuded his unique, masculine scent, and Desmond, being the sensitive-nosed canine that he was, found himself susceptible to that. Indeed, seeking more and more of it, he bravely went for the source, forcing his snout between the polecat's cheeks, bumping his cold, damp nose to Kimber's puckered, virgin entrance, coaxing a gasp and a wavering moan from the noble. That grinding, chilled nose was enough of a pleasure to see the polecat's spent shaft growing hard with blood and arousal once again, but the reverent, if not sloppy licking that Desmond began was an unspeakably fine sensation, leaving Kimber groaning in unsure but deeply gratifying sexual bliss. He draped his tail over the tod's head and involuntarily pushed back, craving more of the tod's shameless exploration, and getting just that. Desmond clutched the polecat's hips in his tender paws and lapped hard and with a distinct lack of discretion. Kimber's puckered, quivering tail hole, the tender, lightly furred base of his tail, and the polecat's similarly furred perineum were all prey to Desmond's aimless, slobbery licks, and it was all pleasure that saw Kimber huffing and grunting as though he were on the verge once more. Though he was far from it, he knew for a fact that he would be getting off at least one more time before their encounter was over. "Uhn, keep licking like that, Desmond," Kimber whispered, and nearly whimpered; it was so unlike the polecat to abandon all composure like so, but he simply didn't care.

Kimber felt as though Desmond's licking had gone on for hours, as though the sun would soon rise and the candle had melted down to its' base, but mere minutes had passed. Either way, he needed something more, something different - something final to cap off all of these new pleasures and put an end to the night. "Desmond," he quietly began, his voice quaking, "enough, stop." There was an obvious reluctance in his tone, but in a strange way, he was also eager - there was one more thing he wanted, and he wasn't going to wait for the tod to figure it out. As Desmond pulled back, yet stayed submissively upon his knees, the polecat whipped around in a blur and momentarily transfixed the tod with his intense gaze; so vivid was the burn in those noble eyes that Desmond thought he'd earned the polecat's wrath, but it was quite to the opposite. Kimber shoved Desmond to lie back upon the cool stone floor, and he straddled the vulpine hybrid's hips. Kimber knew not the specifics or the finer points of what he was about to do, but, like Desmond, he was going with his instincts. All he knew for sure was that he liked Desmond - he didn't know if he liked men in general, or if he simply liked the tod because he looked like a girl. Desmond's sexual magnetism was the only thing he was certain of. Reaching down beneath himself, looking down at his actions in concentration, the noble clutched the servant's knotted meat, and he descended with his behind. As Desmond's shaft slid between the cheeks of Kimber's behind, both creatures' faces lit with blush; when that pointed tip pressed against the moistened entrance to his behind, Kimber groaned, and Desmond shivered. Kimber slowly lowered himself with his legs, first hissing and wincing, finding that initial discomfort almost enough to deter him, but not quite. It didn't take that pain very long to give way to only pleasure, and when that moment came, both the noble and the servant moaned with sexual gratification; when Kimber's newly-stretched tail hole kissed up to the throbbing, swollen bulk of the vulpine's knot, they both gasped, yet Desmond's was far more reserved than Kimber's. There, in that very position, Kimber stayed as he was; he braced one paw against the floor, but with the other, he stroked over the cloudy, white fluff of the tod's chest for comfort - the contact brought him none, but Desmond's cooing and moaning did.

Kimber felt an almost dizzying rush of emotions and thoughts, but to feel Desmond's warmth - both against and inside of his body - somehow soothed him. Everything seemed very right, and so he began to bounce upon the vulpine creature. His technique was in dire need of practice, yet neither virgin creature realized it; Kimber moaned and panted at the feeling of Desmond's member, and inversely, his very snug, hot anal passage brought the tod insurmountable pleasure. Though the servant blushed and grimaced, Kimber could see the pleasure in his eyes, and it brought a tiny grin to his lips. It was nearly imperceptible, noticeable only at the corners of his mouth, but it was there. Despite his enjoyment of the act, both sexual and impish, Kimber was at a loss for words - not that he thought any were necessary. Becoming more content in his rhythm, the polecat bunched himself over Desmond's writhing, panting form, and he once more took the fox in a heated kiss. The noble couldn't help but blush when he tasted his manhood and his seed on Desmond's breath, yet it didn't put him off - in some way he couldn't quite reconcile, it aroused him, and it saw him kiss the fox even harder. He lapped over every inch of the twink tod's maw, exploring more voraciously than the first kiss, and, true to his arousal, he bounced harder and more desperately on Desmond's shaft. With each descent, his tail hole slammed down into the knot, stretching out a little bit more each time; Kimber only unconsciously knew that he was trying to knot himself on the tod.

Desmond's paws came to rest upon Kimber's hips; though quaking with newly-awoken sexuality and reverence, they squeezed and kneaded, seemingly encouraging the noble's riding. Kimber was nothing but responsive to Desmond's touch, and in addition to riding yet faster and falling harder, he found himself sucking in the vulpine's maw; their kiss made any number of lewd noises, yet neither the noble nor the servant seemed to care. Even the very real risk of being discovered was of little importance. Again and again, slamming his fine rump down with greater speed and less care by the second, Kimber's tail hole was spread further open by the throbbing, pink bulk of Desmond's knot, and for once, he became aware of the pain. It shook a quaking noise from him, one that was not quite a moan or a whimper, but it left him wanting more; there was no stopping the polecat. He broke off the kiss, leaving Desmond's lips and his own linked by a gleaming, short-lived tendril of saliva. They panted in one another's faces, sharing breath as freely as they shared gazes and fluids. Desmond whimpered nothings to the noble, and though Kimber uttered a great many vocalizations, none were articulate words; so lost in pleasure was the noble that he could only groan, grunt, growl, and pant for Desmond. All he wanted - really, the only thing he desired - was Desmond's knot. Inexplicably, he somehow knew what its' purpose was - to bring them close in the most intimate fashion - and with one last shove downwards, a mighty effort of all his strength and weight, he found that bulbous mass wedged inside of him. Kimber nearly let loose with a pained cry that would have awoken the entire household, but he bit down on his fist. He bit with such unconscious force that he drew blood in a dozen places, but that pain was negligible compared to the momentary pang of agony he felt in his behind - but like the penetration itself, it very soon gave way to incredible pleasure, more so when Desmond's squirming, whimpering, and huffing gave way to a protracted, quiet moan and a messy eruption of a climax. The tod's seed covered Kimber's virgin walls, warming him to his very core, leaving the noble and servant as close as any two individuals could ever be.

Kimber realized only one thing could make the moment perfect. He clutched his swollen, dripping pride, and he furiously masturbated. It was the masturbation he reserved for the times when Desmond was most prevalent on his mind, and so it was not at all inappropriate. With his dominant paw, weeping with blood from his stifling bite, he brought himself to a second climax with astonishing ease; the pleasure he gained from Desmond's knotted shaft and the taboo sullying of his behind left him very close to that threshold, and with but a little help from his paw, he came. With a climax just as potent as his first that night - perhaps it was even more virile - he came on the effeminate vulpine's chest and neck. Though there was little contrast between his semen and the white fluff of Desmond's front side, the mess was certainly there, and the fox savored it with a cooing moan and a reverent, stroking touch upon Kimber's chest. Kimber rumbled with pleasure, both sexual and otherwise, for he enjoyed Desmond's worshiping touch as much as ever. Kimber cuddled the fox very close when the high of his afterglow wore thin; when the tod's length receded into its' sheath, they cleaned one another's bodies, and they retired to their rooms. In the servants' quarters, Desmond was questioned by the awoken eyes of the two wenches with whom he served in the kitchen; they so clearly wished to know what had befallen the tod, but he avoided their gaze. Not an admission of guilt, it instead painted a picture of a freshly-beaten and humbled servant - and that image would do just fine. Desmond slept soundly that night, as did Kimber, though the polecat first sat down to scrawl out a fresh journal entry, with the events still fresh in his mind.

At last, that handsome fox was mine. To feel him against me, to be inside of him - and to feel the opposite, it was amazing, more so than I'd ever imagined possible. To feel such closeness with another man, I do not think my family would approve - but Desmond does. I have no illusions of being emotionally close to such a lowly being, but I must say that he understands me. At least in that regard, he is as I am.

I shudder to think of the consequences of being caught in the act, but I must have that fox again...

When the ink dried, Kimber closed his journal, and then he put it away in its' usual hiding spot. Just as Desmond slept soundly that night, so did the noble; unlike past nights, he had no desire to masturbate while thinking of the silk-haired fox against his body, for he had lived that fantasy. With a rare, happy smile, Kimber nestled into the soft warmth of his bed, and he slept.