FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Author: Tobias Foxx

Title: Daughterly Affection

Part: Chapter 1

Summary: A daughter explores her feelings for her father and more.

Keywords: furry, Mf, rape, inc

Daughterly Affection

My name is Deborah Diangelo Deverough. It's a horrible name, I know. I was

named after my grandmother on my father's side and my grandfather on my mother's

side. I'm daughter of David Michael Deverough and Jeanette Leslie Deverough. I'm a

sixteen-year-old wolf bitch, and I'm going into heat. I stand five feet and four inches tall.

My fur is dark, dark grey, nearly black, with lighter streaks passing through it along my

back parallel to my spine. A few of them meet in a cute "v" just above my tail, I'm told.

My underbelly is a lighter grey, nearly white, along with my tail tip, the bottoms of my

paws, and the palms of my hands. The grey extends along my inner thighs half way to

my knees, and the line where my fur changes from light to dark there is very sensitive for

some reason. My headfur is spiky and unruly. I don't have hair; no human ancestors to

pollute the gene pool. My breasts are "nice and juicy", in the words of one of my

boyfriends. They're a plump c-cup and fit my frame very well. I'm very well

proportioned, over all. I've got curves in all the right places and a decently full figure.

The girls at school tell me I should lose weight, but I like having a bit of insulation

between my skin and ribs, unlike those bulimic, fashion model wannabes. My relatives

tell me that I look exactly like "Little Jeanie" when she was my age. They tell me we

even smell almost identical. Looking at pictures of us both, even I have trouble telling

which one is which sometimes. I take good care of myself, like Mom taught me, so that I

can keep my figure into my later years, like she did. I eat right, I exercise, I brush my

teeth, I go to sleep at a decent hour, and I'm going into heat.

Mom died six years ago. I remember it well because it was about a month after

my second cycle. It was completely stupid and senseless. An idiot trying to rip off a gas

station shot her because she was going in the door as he was trying to go out. It

devastated my dad. Mom and I were his entire world. The two of us spent months crying

ourselves to sleep in each other's arms. They caught the guy who did it, but that was

small comfort. I was just glad no one else would have to lose their mom because of him.

After about six months, Dad finally stopped crying every night. It took me a little longer.

I think he did it because he wanted to be strong for me. He had to be, since Mom was

gone. She had been the head of the house and the breadwinner for us. Dad got a job at

Mom's old company and I saw less and less of him as the years went by. Recently

though, he was promoted. He got Mom's old job, in fact. He's been crying again since

then, late at night, when he thinks I'm asleep. I guess he remembers Mom when she was

doing it. I think he worries what will happen if some punk decides to cap him because he

is in the way, about what will happen to me and how I will deal. I know he's lonely. He

tried dating a few times, but I suppose crying out the name of your dead wife at the peak

of climax isn't exactly something a girl wants to hear. It has been almost a year since the

last time he dated, and I'm going into heat.

My friends call me "Devious", and for good reason. I've done a ton of things that

would end me up in a grain-silo-sized barrel of trouble if they ever came to light. I make

sure none of them ever do though. Dad has other things to worry about than me. He has

made an important point of keeping as much involved in my life as he can, and we talk

all the time, but I leave out the parts that I know would worry him. My school counselors

say it is repressed emotions, most likely from my mother's death, and that my behavior

would probably improve drastically if I would only talk to them about it. My teachers

tell me that my mood swings worry them and that my mode of dress makes them think I

may be troubled. So, I have some anger issues and what's wrong with fishnet shirts? It's

not like I don't wear something underneath, unlike a few of the other girls in school.

Half the female seniors don't wear anything at all most days. I know it's an accepted

facet of our society, but I was raised with other values. I may not cover up with much,

but I do cover up. You don't see the counselors hassling them. Then again, most of them

don't get caught in the boy's locker room with a cock in both ends either. I was let off

with a slap on the wrist because of "extenuating circumstances". Namely, I was in heat.

That was two years ago, and now I'm going into heat again.

I introduced myself to sex at the ripe age of twelve. It was a neighborhood tom.

He was fifteen. I say introduced myself because I was the one who initiated things.

Well... initiated isn't quite the right word. Basically, I ripped his clothes off and sucked

him hard then sucked him dry. I was young and unschooled, but he was a virgin, so he

wasn't complaining. About a week later, I took my first ride on that flesh pole. I took it

in the tailhole, much to his surprise and chagrin. He had wanted to take my virginity, but

that was something I was saving for the right man. I wanted to fuck, but I still wanted to

have something special for the male that finally won my heart. And again, I say fuck for

a reason. There was nothing between us, not even friendship. I had known him only in

passing until the day I gave him his first bj. I only got a week or two out of him before

his parents caught us and threw me out. I told them I was in heat, and I guess they

couldn't tell whether or not I really was, being cats. I wasn't allowed to see my fuck

kitten any more, so I moved on. Over the past four years, I've probably been with half

the males in the county. A few actually got to know me before getting in my pants, and

those became yiff buddies. I still mess around with most of them every now and then,

when their girlfriends are on the rag or they get dumped or when I'm feeling horny and

playful. In four years, though, I have never once let any of them break my hymen. The

closest any of them have come is dry humping. I was nearly raped once, but I made sure

he won't be making that mistake with any other females ever again. So, after four years

of fucking and yiffing my way through the student body, and some faculty, I'm still

technically a virgin, and I'm going into heat.

There is a common strain to all these males. One that I only recently picked up

on. They're mostly tall, black or dark furred, handsome in the classical sense, and strong

willed. Those that I've gotten close with are generally passionate, show intense familial

loyalty and love, and intellectual. I like 'em with muscles, but not so much that the

muscles choke off the blood going to their brain. What do all these traits have in

common? Every last one of them can be used to describe my father. Most of the males I

have been with were canine too: wolves, foxes, domestics. There has been a little

deviation, but diversity is the spice of life, no? I think he may have noticed as well, since

he first caught wind of my misadventures from that tom's parents. He didn't freak out,

like you might expect. He just had a very frank talk with me. He showed me about

everything online, told me to make sure I use protection unless I'm absolutely sure the

boy is clean, and said to be more discrete. I've introduced him to nearly all of the males

I've been with in one way or another. He's walked in on me a few times when he came

home early from work. We've even watched porn together a few times. Those were rare

occasions when I was down and out. He thinks sex is an outlet for my frustrations and

anger, and he's probably right. But anyways, I recently realized that all my favorite yiff

partners have more than a passing resemblance to the male that helped spawn me. I

recently realized that I'm either in love with my father or I'm in some real heavy lust, and

I'm going into heat.

And now, I'm acting on those buried desires. It's been a month since that little

epiphany hit me smack dab in the forehead, and I'm going into heat. Friday. Midnight.

The house is dark and quiet. The crickets chirp outside, and a creak sounds from

downstairs as the porch swing moves in the light breeze. Dad was in bed two hours ago

and fell asleep about an hour afterwards. He was crying again. I could hear him from my

room. It nearly made me rethink my plans, but I decided to go ahead anyways. He needs

this as much as I do. I sneak quietly down the hall, walking on all fours to distribute my

weight and keep the boards from squeaking. I've never done this before, sneaking

around the house at night. I'm nervous, almost shaking. My tail is tucked tight between

my legs and my ears would be flat against my skull if I didn't need them to listen for his

breathing. All of my senses seem heightened. I can see perfectly in the darkness as I

creep towards his room, an inch at a time. I can almost hear his heartbeat, and his scent

pervades my nostrils, mixed with my own thickening musk. In a day or two, I'll reek like

a skunk, but as of yet my pheromone production is only slightly above normal. My room

is only about ten feet down the hall from his. I could cover it in an instant, but I don't

want him to wake up, so I take it a centimeter at a time. Lift one paw with agonizing

slowness, shift my weight forward in glacial increments, drop it back down to the thick

carpet over the course of minutes, lather, rinse, repeat.

It feels like hours before I reach the edge of his doorway. My heart is pounding,

and I have to concentrate to keep from panting. Nice, slow, even breaths. I'm there. I

inch my nose past the frame, turning my head to look inside and rising slightly from my

quadrupedal pose to look over the foot of the bed. He sleeps in his fur, has since he was a

teen. Tonight is no different. It's a warm night; no need for blankets or sheets. He lays

on his back atop the down comforter, spread-eagled. Moonlight glints from the silvered

tips of his ebony pelt as he stirs slightly. I freeze, listening carefully to his breathing,

eyes closed to prevent the reflections from being seen in case he wakes. A minute passes.

Two. Nothing. I release the breath I was holding in a soft sigh and ease my body into the

room, standing fully. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, inhaling his scent as I

run my hands down my body to smooth my fur. I force myself to relax, slowly working

from my muzzle downwards. I am ready for this, I want this, I need this. I need to know.

The last bit to relax is my tail. I stroke it as I pull it forcibly from between my legs. I

look back at it as I encounter a bit of wetness. Droplets glisten in the fur of my brush,

and I give it a few wags, watching them sparkle as they fall. I'm nearly dripping. The

thrill of this forbidden encounter, the adrenaline, the excitement, the scent of my father,

and the verge of estrus have combined to cause my hungry little virgin love box to

salivate like never before. It is hungry for the cock that gave it birth.

My hands snap up to clamp shut on my muzzle as a nervous giggle escapes. All

my work at relaxing is completely undone. I watch my father, wide-eyed and tuck-tailed.

He does not stir. I give myself a small shake and let my eyes wander. He has big paws.

You could say they're oversized, even for his six foot and some odd inches frame, but

I've always thought they were just right. I remember when I was small I'd try and walk

around in his pawshoes. He has gone without those affectations for the past few years

and his pads are starting to roughen up now. He keeps the nails nicely trimmed and

blunted. No sharp tips to catch in the carpet or scratch up the hard wood. I cannot help

but lick my lips as my gaze travels upwards, following each line and curve of those

muscled legs. He runs every morning before work, coming home smelling like he hasn't

showered in a week. Sometimes I take his shirt afterwards while he is in the shower and

hold it to my nose to bask in his musky aroma. Had I thought about it, I may have

realized things sooner. My eyes skitter from sculpted calves and thighs to his taught

abdomen. What lies between is for last. The fur of his stomach is dimpled slightly by the

definition of his muscles, a six-pack barely outlined in his dark coat. On his chest and

limbs it is more noticeable, valleys of darker shadow between hills of pitch. He is not a

body builder, but nor does he allow an ounce of flab to desiccate the temple of his

statuesque form. His face. His head is lying on its side, facing towards the window. His

head is blockish, but not overly so, soft in the right ways to make it seem perfect, eyes set

to either side of a wide yet sleek muzzle, nose perched at its tip, thin lips parted slightly,

the tip of his tongue protruding from between them. He was made to make females fawn

over him. He should have been a film or rock star instead of a homemaker.

And now... I allow my eyes to finally fall on the prize. He has a great package.

I knew that before, but looking at it now, I really take it in. Two heavy balls stretch his

thinly furred sack, pulling it down to lie against the covers. They are nearly as big as the

ones on the only equine I ever slept with. One and once was enough for me. I lick my

lips again as I wonder if they hold as much as that horse's did. His sheath is plump.

Three fingers thick and about as long as my hand, pulled up against his stomach. He's

got twelve inches of wolf meat stowed away in that thing, I know. I saw him jacking it in

the shower a few times. I realize that I have a finger half buried in my leaking hole, my

palm grinding lightly against my clit. Thoughts flash through my mind of taking that

hard rod into my virgin cunny, of being impaled on that throbbing shaft and tied to his

softball sized knot. I pull my hand away before I go much further. I lick my juices from

my finger, murring softly at the sweet flavor. I love the taste of myself, even more than I

love a nice thick load swelling my cheeks. My eyes continue to wander, and I find them

trailing back down those muscular legs then back up to his face and there they catch. I

caress each line and curve of his beautifully handsome profile with my gaze from where I

stand, soaking in the details. I find myself wanting to stare into those amber eyes as I

ride him, wanting to see my love for him reflected back at me, wanting to kiss those thin

lips of his, lock muzzles, battle his tongue with my own while never losing eye contact,

cuddle with him afterwards, feeling him hold me, his breath against the back of my neck,

whispering sweet words to me. So... love. I'm in love with my father. Damn... I was

hoping it would be plain old lust.

I pull my hand away from slit once more as I find myself walking slowly over to

him. I kneel by his head, resting my chin on the edge of the bed. His breath wafts over

my muzzle as he sleeps, and I breathe it in, closing my eyes, imagining feeling his breath

against me every night. I have to pull my naughty hand away from myself yet again. My

devious streak inserts a few ideas into my already addled brain. Slowly, gently, I trace

my damp fingers along the line of his lips, slipping them in slightly, giving him a taste of

his daughter, then trace over his nose, freezing when he gives a few sniffs. His tongue

flicks out to lick my finger, and he mumbles something. I almost bolt from the room, but

something holds me there. He does not wake. Now. Now, now, NOW! If I'm going to

do it, I have to do it now. Gently, gently, I ease an arm upwards, a millimeter of

movement at a time, until his wrist nearly touches the post of his headboard. I tie it there,

then move around to the other side, repeating the process. I slip back down to the foot of

the bed, spreading his paws to tie them as well, then slooooowly, slowly, slower even

than I had come down the hall, I ease myself onto the bed, lying flat against it,

distributing my weight as I ease onto it, making sure not to jostle him. After another

agonizing century, I have my entire body curled up between those sleek, muscular legs. I

glance at the clock beside his bed. It says 12:23 AM. I wonder if it's broken. I ponder

momentarily whether I should begin with some foreplay, but no. I have to be sure. Do I

want him or just his cock? Only one thing can answer that.

So, I go for the gold. I place my paws against the footboard and press against it,

propelling me forward, my silken fur sliding easily over the comforter. I stop pushing as

my nose butts up against those massive orbs. I simply lay there for a few minutes,

inhaling the musk of those laden spheres of wolven fertility. My tongue slips out to

tenderly caress them, trailing lightly over one then the other. He mumbles in his sleep,

shifting slightly, one leg pressing against me. I freeze again, but only for a moment. I've

gone too far to stop now. And so I take one of those tasty plums into my mouth, suckling

like I did at my mother's teat, though I'll be drawing forth something a bit different from

this particular fountain of life. It doesn't take long before his strong, masculine musk

seems to double, triple, quadruple, and I can see the leaking tip of his shaft poke free of

its furry hideaway. I continue to tease the heavy sack that seeded my mother's womb,

one hand sliding gently along his inner thigh until I can grasp his emerging shaft, stroking

it tenderly as it rises to full erection. As the last of his twelve inches slides free, not quite

hard, but propelled outwards by that hard bone inside of it, his deflated knot just free of

his sheath, I move to stage two. My lips encircle his dripping head, and I lap up every

drop of the salty pre that oozes forth. That's one thing I've always loved about sleeping

with a canine. They're so productive; as long as they're aroused, I've got a never-ending

fountain to drink from. I can't take him all the way, though. His head hits the back of

my throat with four inches left, and I couldn't get him in my throat without sixty-nineing

him. I don't want to do that because it would require too much shifting, and also, I don't

want him to come in my mouth. I want to save all that glorious spunk for where it

belongs. So, instead, I lightly bob my head along what I can fit in my muzzle, letting my

tongue slip past my lips to caress the remainder. I don't do it for long, just enough to get

him fully hard and throbbing, every vein pulsing with blood, just how I like it, because,

as I said, this isn't what I really want.

No, what I really want is to have him inside me, hilted, knotted, shaming my

talented fingers with his sheer size, driving me over the edge- I stop myself once more,

pulling my fingers from my sopping cunt. I can't help myself; I want him so bad. So, I

pull my head away. I plant my hands on the bed beside his hips and pull myself forward,

sliding my body up to cover his. I pause momentarily as his shaft presses against my

chest, fitting perfectly between my breasts. I can't help but give him a few pumps

between those plump mounds of flesh, coating them with his pre. But only a few. More

can come later, but for now there are more pressing needs. I slip my hands more forward,

setting them near where his chest meets his stomach, and I use them as a fulcrum to shift

the rest of my body. Ten years of gymnastics comes in handy now. I pretend I'm on the

horse and shift my weight onto my hands. The bed sinks beneath my weight, but still my

father doesn't stir. Slowly, slowly, I bring my body to hover over him, supported only by

my arms, legs spread to either side to help maintain my balance, my body almost

perfectly centered with his. I bring my knees down so that I kneel over his waist, my legs

outside of his. As I lower myself, that throbbing hardness between his legs presses

against my rump, and I almost lose my balance. I want it so, so, so bad it hurts. I can't

wait any longer. I have to have him. I'll die if I don't have him. He'll probably kill me

for doing this, but I'm beyond caring at this point.

I'm already in position, his shaft between the cheeks of my rump, his oozing tip

pressed against my tailbase. I raise myself, sitting straight up, hands resting on my

thighs, centering my dripping sheath over his dripping sword. I want so badly to touch

him, to guide him in, but I restrain myself. There is no need for it. Like I did when I was

a young child, but in such a different way, with such different feelings, I sit on my

father's lap. I cannot help but gasp as his throbbing hardness seems to slip right into me.

Again, I almost cum on the spot. I stop as the head of his shaft hits my hymen. Barely a

third of him is inside of me, and already I feel fit to split. I sit there for several minutes,

clenching and flexing around his cock, his pointed tip pressed against the symbol of my

virginity, his pulsing shaft spurting pre to help coat my tunnel, though my own fluids do

that well enough without help. I'm so wet, I can see my nectar running down his cock

when I look down, coating his sheath and balls, slowly matting the fur. I reach down to

grip and stroke the rest of his shaft. I want him awake when I finally complete this

incestuous copulation. I begin to ride him, moving at the same leisurely pace with which

I slipped onto the bed, rising until just his tip is inside of me, then pushing downwards

until he hits my hymen once more. By fractions, I increase my pace, by milliseconds of

time. He begins to mumble as I speed up, reaching the point of actually bouncing the

bed. I'm so hot, burning inside, barely holding myself back from simply ramming myself

down on that full, pulsing knot, locking myself to him, squeezing that cock within me

until it bursts and fills my womb with its gift of life.

His head turns towards me, finally waking, eyes blinking sleepily as he mumbles,

opening wider as he recognizes me, whispering, "Debbie?"

I can't blame him for his confusion as I release his shaft, resting my hands on my

thighs once more as I continue to ride him. He tests his bonds, grunting as he tugs at his

arms and legs, his entire body tightening when I clench around him. My head is thrown

back as I ride, whimpers and moans slipping from my open muzzle, so close, so, so close

I can taste it, feel it burning up through my aching tunnel to seep into my uterus where

my eggs lie in wait for him. I look back down at him, meeting his bewildered gaze, and

smile, though it is tinged with sadness. I nearly cry. He's so confused, and I'm sure he

doesn't want this, but I do, I need this, I have to have him inside of me.

"I love you, Daddy," I whisper as I rise for the final stroke.

I slam myself down as hard as I can. My toes curl. My fingers dig into the flesh

of my thighs. My muzzle opens in a scream as his shaft spears through my hymen,

stretching the rest of my virgin tunnel, tearing it I'm sure. I cum, so hard I see stars, so

long I'm not sure if I'm even still awake. I don't even know where I am any more. All I

feel is that rock hard pole that impales me, throbbing, spurting as my walls milk it. I can

feel the head of his shaft kissing my cervix, and still his knot does not touch my entrance.

As my vision clears, I look down to see his strained expression, eyes clenched tight, body

tensed as it arches upwards. I glance back a smile softly. His toes are curled as well.

But my mission is not yet complete. I have not yet taken all of him, nor has he spilled his

seed into my womb. I wait until he relaxes, until his eyes open once more and he speaks.

"Wh-" he stutters. "What are you doing, Debbie?"

"Loving you, Daddy," is my reply.

Any further questions are cut off by the rise of my hips. My tunnel grips him so

tightly I can feel my flesh clinging to his shaft as it withdraws despite the lubrication of

his pre, my copious juices, and the blood of my torn walls. It feels almost like his shaft

was trying to pull my womb down closer to it. My body is most certainly reluctant to

release its hold on that hard, fleshy pole. I rise until just his tip remains within me then

lock eyes with him once more. My hips slam downwards. I can't help the whimper of

pain as the pointed head of his spear bashes against the entrance to my inner sanctum. He

tenses again, body surging upwards as I fall, his body aiding me even if his mind is

unwilling. I rise again and fall once more, and again, and again, his body tensing each

time, driving his shaft up into my plummeting body, battering against my cervix,

weakening it with each blow. Again I cry out, screaming as pain shoots up my spine. I

felt his knot pressed against my nether lips. Finally, it is almost done.

I hold myself there for a while, accustoming myself to the feel of his thick cock

within the deepest reaches of my body, grinding my hips against that baseball-sized bulb

of flesh at his base, tightening myself around him every few seconds. His teeth are

clenched against the moans I know want to escape, his hands curling into fists then

releasing only to curl once more. I can feel him trembling between my legs, and I

wonder if it is from pleasure of our mating or the pain of my betrayal. When it seems he

is gathering his senses, I know it is time to continue. I don't want him to have time to

think, to speak, to stop me. As much as it may hurt me to... to rape him like this, and I

understand that it is rape, it would hurt more to stop, to leave our copulation incomplete.

And so I rise once more, taking a tight grip on him with my knees, reaching down to

tangle my fingers in the fur of his hips, gathering leverage for the last step on our

journey. I lift myself to his tip once more and hold, poised on the precipice. If I continue

from here, there is no turning back. I look into his eyes yet again. I find tears filling my

own as I take in his pleading expression.

"I love you, Daddy," I whisper.

And then my hips fall, driving downwards with all the force I can muster, aided by the

pull of my hands and legs and the unwilling upward thrust of his pelvis. I come to a

jarring halt as his knot slams against me with jarring force. I can feel my teeth rattle. I

know my poor nethers will be bruised in the morning and sore for days to come, but I lift

myself and drive downwards once more. Each meeting of our hips is a sledgehammer

blow to my pussy, causing my walls to clench even tighter, soft grunts and whines falling

from my lips, and I can feel another orgasm building each time my tender clit is crushed

by his rock hard flesh. I feel myself spread slightly each time, my entrance stretching in

miniscule increments, spreading to accept the monster I am forcing against it. Slowly,

slowly, I widen until a fifth of his girth stretches me each time, a quarter, a third... And

then it will stretch no more. I am too tight. I continue to try, crying softly, knowing it is

futile. My body has reached the limit of its elasticity. Again my determination and

certitude are tested, but I do not falter. Instead, I pull myself harder against him. We

meet with enough force to jar my teeth in my skull. And then I feel the first sharp spurts

of pain as I begin to tear, forcing myself to accommodate him.

My entrance is a ring of fire, drawing forth whimpers and whines with its burning

heat. When I can take no more, I drop myself one final time, my grip on him tightening

both inside and out, my inner walls milking along his shaft, drawing him deeper, as my

hands and knees pull at his body to pull him upwards into me and myself down onto him.

I swear I can hear the final rip as his knot slides into me. It seems to be in slow motion. I

can feel every millimeter of that bulge as it pushes into me, every vein, every beat of his

heart pulsing blood through that slick, burning ball of flesh that splits me open. And then

it is fully inside of me, and my world goes dark. All sense is obliterated by the

overwhelming power of my orgasm. Time, space, place, purpose, being, nothing has any

meaning in this realm of pure ecstasy save the coal that fills me and the burning splashes

and spurts that coat the walls of my womb. I feel it fill and overfill, stretching to

accommodate the torrent that flows forth, bathing my eggs in life-giving seed. My

normally flat tummy slowly bulges, taking on a softly rounded countenance, much as I

hope it soon will, swollen with squirming pups as now it is swollen with his squirming

sperm.

I can hear his heartbeat. I lay against him, my ear pressed to his chest, fingers

twined in his fur. I can feel him still pulsing out his seed within me. Canines are so

beautifully over productive. He will probably remain tied with me for an hour or more,

as large as he is, as powerful as he is. I ripple a contraction along my tunnel just to feel

his shaft flex within me. I can feel it throb against my inner walls. I can also feel the

tears that trickle down my cheeks and the sob that suddenly chokes my throat.

"I love you, Daddy," I whisper once more. "I'm so sorry... I love you."

My hands trace blindly up his arms, undoing the bonds that hold him, then

slinking back to cover my face as I realize the terrible thing that I have done. His arms

encircle me, and he strokes my headfur and back, shushing me as I weep against him,

staining the fur of his chest darker with my tears. Eventually, I quiet, laying there atop

him, shuddering with the continuous ripples of ecstasy each time his shaft pulses within

me, tears still leaking from my eyes.

"It's okay," he soothes. "It's okay... Debbie, shhhh, it's okay, baby.

Everything's okay. Daddy's here for you."

He places a finger against my lower jaw, gently turning my head until I cannot

help but meet his gaze, eyes locking with mine and I burst into fresh tears as he speaks.

"I love you too."

I cry openly as his lips press against mine, muzzles splitting, tongues dancing

against each other, an almost feral battle for supremacy. I pull away, still crying, looking

down at him, then fall against his chest once more, fingers grasping his fur almost

viciously as I hold myself against him, his arms encircling me once more in a tight hug.

"I love you too, baby."

_As always, leave comments and criticisms below. I don't think I'll be turning this into

a series, but I might make a trilogy if I get good feedback._