The Forest
#3 of The Path
Okay, guys. I put some F/F action in this one. I ran out of spaces to put descriptors, but there is a lot going on in this one other than just what's at the top. I've been working on this one for a few hours now, and I think it's ready for publication. By the way, I suggest having a pronunciation key handy if you're not familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet. Here is the best site I've managed to find for it: Russian (Cyrillic) alphabet and pronunciation. As far as I can tell, Omniglot's a pretty respectable site overall for this kind of thing. I know! There is no such thing as Russia or Russian in this wholly fictional universe. I figured it would be a good fit for the setting, though. Something else I did differently in here was fool around with time a little bit. In any event, thanks to all of you for your wonderful encouragement. It would never have gotten this far without your input.
As usual, some of the contents herein may be offensive to some readers. Discretion is advised, particularly if you're using your parents' machine. If you are indeed underage, I am supposed to tell you not to read this. I am not ridiculous enough to think that this is going to stop you, but I have to be responsible and stuff. You know, when I was your age, I was actively roleplaying as a hermdragon, and I was completely convinced that I had invented the idea of unbirthing. I've found that, no matter what you've come up with, someone has probably already done it. Oh, well.
Hoping you will enjoy;
Sigma Prime
The great mansion was protected on all sides by ancient forest. The woodland itself was like a single, living organism in its unity, and it might have consumed the world were it not held in check by occasional forest fires and the odd blight. Near civilized lands, this was quite purposely limited mostly to blight, simply due to the inherent disadvantages of having one's house engulfed in flame. Consequentially, much of the surrounding forest was choked in vines and multifarious undergrowth. In some areas, these deadly parasites had chiseled open glades amidst the endless expanse of trees, and their own growth was scrupulously held in check by sun-loving grasses that would, in time, find themselves being carefully tended by the tenacious incisors of local fauna. Its labyrinthine corridors, rife with false trails and dead-ends, had poor Sasha on the verge of tears.
" Tobias! To-BIIIIIII-ias!!" she called. She suspected he was long gone by now, but worry for her child had driven reason into a tiny, isolated corner of her mind. For once, she had been drunk with her own self-pity, rather than cheap wine, but Sasha was coming to realize two important things about this: 1) curiously, it was actually slightly more pleasant, and 2) it still didn't do much to improve one's judgment. After washing her face, she had stepped out of the downstairs bathroom (which would more properly be called a "water closet" in any part of the world other than the incredibly huge archipelago that accounted for nearly half of Luputonia's geography) and realized, to her horror, that she had no idea whom it was that her child had been running away to. Under the influence of alcohol, this would have simply made her angry and led to more drinking and some amount of brooding. As it was, the vixen had simply pulled on a wrinkled t-shirt and a worn pair of slacks, deciding once and for all that she was going to find this agency and give him or her or them a very serious piece of her mind. It had taken only fifteen minutes for her to get completely lost.
Sasha cursed bitterly as she slipped in a shallow patch of wet clay, falling to all fours in the muck and getting the stuff smeared all over her front. Close to crying again, she crawled forward out of the gray mash and, once she had found something resembling solid ground, she surged back to her feet. As she rose, though, there was a sickening tearing sound. She cast about, and she realized she'd caught her shirt on an unnecessarily thorny vine that had been laying close to the ground. This really just isn't my night.
Sasha was also developing a cynical suspicion that her son's fairy castle was some secluded thicket and some imaginary friends. She had never encountered this "Eric" before, and she had never really seen any true evidence that the boy even existed. She realized that all she really knew was that her son had been disappearing almost every evening, and, like some stupid fool, she had been allowing it to persist instead of being a proper mother to her child.
In spite of knowing she probably deserved all of this and more, though, she fumed angrily over what she was being put through. Now, let's see: chores for a month, house arrest for the remainder of his natural life, depriving him of his laptop...by running it over with the car...Ooooh! This could get fun! Her spirits buoyed slightly by her attempt to make light of the situation, Sasha forced a grimace and picked her way onward in search of her only son.
Rita giggled and squirmed delightedly under the petting and merciless tickling of her mistress. It had been a long night. Rita had just served as a special guest speaker at a seminar regarding the bioethics of Vulpine breeding, and she had been surprised at how well her ideas had been received. In fact, it had turned into a very lengthy question and answer session that had gone on well after she had finished with her presentation. Usually, she only addressed this issue to mixed crowds of abolition centrists and renowned geneticists. Today, though, she had received her warmest response yet from some of the world's top breeders. Centrism was becoming widespread in all spheres of society's upper quadrant, but it was a heart-stopping surprise to find such support amongst career breeders. She and her mistress had been hiding out in one of the side-rooms ever since, originally on the premise of discussing the speech.
Mistress Galina rubbed Rita's vulva gently, illiciting a moan from her slave. The fox had been given to the Stoat twelve years ago, a tiny fox cub not even weaned from its mother's breast, as her tenth-year birthday present. Her family had always been odd that way: it was really a Lupine idea to celebrate holidays at all, and most of Mustelidkind held the belief that these traditions were still based upon the primitive superstitions from which they had been born. Her mother had approved highly of Rita from the outset, having heard that she came from a long line of particularly exceptional Vulpines. "When she's old enough, I might have her trained to serve as your tutor," she had said. She had made good on that when Rita had reached the age of eight, having already having exhausted the local library and begun making her own contributions, and Galina had quickly learned a high regard for her servant during the first year of her post-secondary education. For the past ten years, though, from since she had first begun demanding sexual satisfaction from her slave, nothing had ever made Galina as happy as when she saw her submissive, little pet's body wracked in mind-numbing pleasure.
Galina playfully tickled her pet's juicy ravine with her high-polish clawtip, bringing more noises from the vixen. Even though Galina was accustomed to the partial emancipation sometimes awarded to exceptional slaves like Rita, it was very weird to come overseas to see Vulpines wandering around fully clothed and uncollared. It seemed like such a shame to cover up those bodies. This would be allowed in the Civil Republics, to be sure (unlike those terrible places where Vulpines were purposely treated with contempt), but, in her part of the world, Vulpines had been bred primarily for beauty for many centuries, and their bodies were proof against great extremes of weather. Even those who had earned partial emancipation rarely wore more than their slave collar and their purse. At that thought, she began to strip her own clothing off, slowly unbuttoning her shirt with one paw while continuing with her attentions with the other.
Rita smiled warmly as her mistress's bountiful breasts came spilling out. Ever since Galina's cub had been weaned, Rita had been draining them at least once every evening, keeping them firm and full through use. This constant attention had caused them to grow to be incredibly large, making Galina an imposing and intensely feminine creature. Rita put her paw over her own tummy to feel the tiny, living thing moving inside her. Soon. As if to teach it how, she leaned up to take her mistress's nipple in her mouth, holding and kneading the breast gently in one paw, and she began to slowly dine on Galina's milk, savoring and pleasuring in it as it splashed and spurted against her palette. As always, her owner's milk was deliciously creamy and rich, and the young vixen suckled on it like a newborn kit. For the past year, this had consisted of the majority of Rita's diet, for Galina was producing evermore of it as her body became accustomed to living for two. Soon, Rita would be allowed nothing else, and Galina would be eating for three when her slave bore her first cub.
At the feeling of her possession's mouth against her tit, Galina's paw began shoving itself with force into Rita's sex, her digits becoming well-lubricated by the natural juices of her little vixen. She applied firm pressure to her servant's most sensitive areas, and her own crotch had become so moist that little spots of moisture were beginning to show through the denim shorts. To keep from having to change clothes later, Galina stopped for a moment to pull them off, stripping herself of her panties as well and leaving herself clad only in the green, linen blouse out of which her endowments hung with pride. With the rest of her sex now out in the open, Galina reached down to begin fingering it as her other paw dug deeply into her pet.
Rita began to whimper in pleasure as her mistress so vigorously fingered her sex, blushing crimson and suckling all the more eagerly at her chosen breast. Her cheeks burning hotly, one paw reached around to stroke her mistress's full, round ass, digits digging and reaching for her tailhole. As the two gasped and whined in pleasure, Rita finally drained one breast, letting out a cry of need as she turned her head and began her work on the other one. Over the course of this, Galina's movements became increasingly erratic and frantic as she pawed at her pussy and that of her pet fox, writhing and trembling in place with her eyes tightly closed and her maw open in pleasure. Rita's occasional gasps and moans developed into continuing sobs of ecstasy, and she suckled and licked desperately at her mistress's breast. This all led to a quaking, jerking, joint orgasm that rocked them both as they unleashed feral screams of release.
"Girls! GIRLS! We have a situation, here! We need Rita's medical expertise, and we need it immediately! There's been an injury! Don't bother cleaning her up, Galina. Just get whatever gear you brought along, and come. We need you to hurry!"
The two looked up in surprise, finding their dear friend, Luna, standing there in the doorway, looking in no mood to be polite.
"I believe that the knot has gone down sufficiently for it to come out, sir."
"Let's wait a while longer. I don't want him injured any further, and he seems to have stopped crying now."
"Do you think he's in shock, sir?
"Let's hope not. Are you okay, Tobias?"
"Yah. Feels good, kinda, I think. Hurts too. Where's Eric?"
"Tobias, I think you should know that you're bleeding a little. We won't know how bad it is until we have gotten Fetch's knot out of you, but we've sent Eric downstairs to get some help. I didn't want him to see too much of this."
"Tell him it's not his fault."
"Eric will be just fine, Tobias. We really need you to relax, though, bud. When you're not flushed, you're looking very pale. Just take it easy for us, okay?
"Okay, I'll try."
"I don't think it's going to go down any further, sir."
"Okay, Dmitri. Tobias, here's what I want you to do. I want you to sing for us, Tobias. Just to open up your lungs a little bit. It'll get some circulation going, so I can get this thing out of you."
"What should I sing?"
"Uhhh..."
"..."
"??? ??????, ??? ?????????." (Dark eyes, passionate eyes)
"...Umm...oh-chee cheer-nyeah?"
"...??? ?????????."
"Oh...uh...oh-chee strast-nyeah. Is that right?"
"Good, young sir. Your voice is very talented, by the way. Did you know that, young sir?"
"Okay, now that was a blush. You're doing great, kiddo. You're almost loose enough we'll be able to get this thing out of you. Keep him going, Dmitri."
"Yes, sir. Now, young sir, here's the first half of the first verse. Ready, young sir?"
"Uh-huh!"
"Hold still, Fetch. Damn it! He's all tense again! STAY!"
"??? ??????, ??? ????????? /??? ?????? ? ??????????." (Dark eyes, passionate eyes /burning and splendid eyes)
"Oh-chee cheer-knee, oh-chee strast-knee...ummm...that was, ah..."
"??? ?????? ? ??????????."
"Oh-chee skoochey-yeah?"
"Close enough, young sir. Now try with me."
"Okay."
??? ??????, ??? ????????? (unison)
??? ?????? ? ?????????? (unison)
??? ????? ? ???, ??? ????? ? ??? (Dmitri)
?????, ?????? ??? ? ? ???????? ??? (Dmitri)
"Almost. Keep going, Tobias. You're doing wonderfully. I think it's coming loose."
"Young sir, your voice is perfectly beautiful. Let's try to go through it together a few times. Are you ready, young sir?"
"Uh-huh! This is fun!"
_ ??? ??????, ??? ????????? _ ("Dark eyes, passionate eyes")
_ ??? ?????? ? ?????????? _ ("Burning and splendid eyes")
_ ??? ????? ? ???, ??? ????? ? ??? _ ("How I love you, how I fear you")
_ ?????, ?????? ??? ? ? ???????? ??? _ ("Verily, I espied you in an ill-starred moment.")
"It's out! Okay, Dmitri, let me help get him loaded up into your arms, alright?
"Easy, there, Tobias! Don't try to move around on your own yet. Easy.
"Okay, Dmitri, are you ready? Tobias; are you ready?
"Good! Okay, Dmitri. Hold him very steady, and let's get him downstairs. Let's find out if Eric's managed to find anyone who can help. Come on! Let's go."
Eric hated himself. He had a loathing for himself that he never knew he could have for anyone or anything. All of this was his fault. He knew it. Once the emergency was over, both of his fathers would know it. Worst of all, he feared this was going to somehow ruin Nana Tonyena's party and get all the people who'd come from so far away upset, and that would be all his fault, too. Worst of all, his friend was hurting right now all because of him.
Eric caught a few stares as he went streaking naked through the great hall, looking for someone he could tell this to. He couldn't tell just anyone, partially because most people present didn't speak any Western Canid. He couldn't find Bobby anywhere, though he kept searching. Eventually, though, he found Nana Tonyena. She'd know what to do. She was smart, and she knew everyone here, too. She'd be able to help.
"Nana Tonyena! Nana Tonyena!" he shouted to her.
Luna looked down at him, seeming to take a moment to really take in that her son's stepchild was speaking to her. She set down her wine glass and knelt down, managing to look kindly and maternal through her drunken haze. "Yes, Eric? What is going on?" she said. She was feeling concerned for the little child, who, besides being unnecessarily ill-clad, seemed to have been crying. She really liked Eric, after all.
As the child tearfully confessed the entire chain of events to her, burying his face in her arm in mortification and trying his best not to sob, she tried to recall from memory whether there was anyone on the premises at this moment who would be up to helping with the situation.
Sasha screamed with pain and rage as a branch from fallen tree limb, its leaves long since whithered away, dug into the waistline of her slacks and poked into her pelvis, neatly plucking the button off of the loose-fitting pants as it attempted to drive itself home. Crying with frustration, the vixen pulled them down to attempt to examine herself in the glow of moonlight that filtered down through the upper branches of the surrounding trees. To her intense relief, very little external damage had been done. The place ached, though. That will teach me against not wearing any panties. She hadn't thought to pull any on, though, not thinking she would be gone for longer than it would take to retrieve her son and utter a few sharp words to an inconsiderate neighbor. She hadn't thought that she would get lost in this woodland. Growling with annoyance, she pulled herself out of the slacks and hung them on a nearby tree, glad that they were ratty, old hand-me-downs leftover from her college days. Just for good measure, she tore off the last shreds of her shirt, which had done nothing for the entire search but catch on vines and branches. Now free of such distractions, she could move a little bit more freely.
She was confident by now that her son's tale of a huge mansion out in this wilderness was nothing but a story, and she knew that she would find him hiding in a little thicket or grove somewhere with their dog and perhaps a few imaginary companions. She smirked as she remembered how she had done the same thing when she was his age, sneaking off to read or play by herself rather than playing and sharing naughty secrets with her friends. That had been how she had preserved her virginity until she was old enough to care for the child. She had spent her days studying and paying attention in school instead of chasing after boys, and this was a habit that had made her subject to a few vicious whisper campaigns. In the end, though, it had turned out to be worthwhile, or at least it had seemed so until she had lost her job and reputation. Now she wished dearly that she had bothered to learn some of the shmoozing and flattery that had so disgusted her when she was young. She had learned a little too late that book smarts wasn't all there was to the world. She also realized that those tools were exactly what they had seemed to be when she was a child: they were weapons, no less capable of cruelty and hurt than the blade of a knife. Through painful lessons, she had learned that such tools were necessary for one who wished to protect herself and those she loved.
Just as that thought left her mind, a breeze brought a scent to her snout. She got to her hands and hind-digits and crawled slowly upwind, lifting up her muzzle to attempt to catch the scent again. Fetch. She realized she should have thought of this before. Dogs left scent markings to chart their trails, and the odor of their urine was unmistakable. It contained intense pheromones that had been sculpted over millions of years to dig their claws into the canid mind, eventually rendering it cooperative and submissive unless one was very strong-willed. Most female and some male canids, though, also found it to be incredibly erotic, and feral urine (stronger by far than that of non-ferals) was widely used in perfumes, colognes and aphrodisiacs.
So it was that Sasha crept forward, naked, scratched, badly bruised and smeared with filth, keeping her nose close to the ground and sniffing like some feral animal. She would occasionally lift up her snout to take in a draft of the chill air of late autumn. Her son was out there somewhere.