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Disclaimer - This work is rated S (the one that comes after R) and is intended for mature audiences only. (This is a work of erotic fiction. Please do not read if it would be illegal for you to do so.)

No Time Like The Present

"So, do you have anything specific you'd like to do tonight?" The fox leans in, grin spreading over his photogenic vulpine muzzle as he straightens his bow-tie with white kid gloved hands.

"Right. Well, uhh, I was really just instructed to bid on you for the charity you see?" I lean back against my chair, feeling suddenly very under-dressed in just a decent white pressed shirt. At least most of the people at the other tables aren't looking anymore, their eyes are all fixed on the ermine on the stage as she receives the bids for a dinner with Ms. Margrove. "Mrs. Dahlia loves supporting the arts like this, but she really hates going to these kinds of events. I'm just kind of a stand in you see?" Running my hand across my chin I can feel the grit of my five-o-clock shadow. It must be obvious from miles away when compared to the dapper vulpine sitting across from me.

"I'm sure the prestigious Mrs. Dahlia wouldn't have sent you all this way for nothing. You did bid on an evening with me after all." He tilts his head in an almost canine fashion, bronze eyes beaming with something between beneficence and mischief. "Speaking for myself, I'm positive I wouldn't want to spend the night alone." He cuts the last bite of his porterhouse with the steady hands of a perfectionist as he talks.

"Look." I begin. "A movie director like you? You could spend the night with any man or woman in this place." I wave a hand slowly as I try to lay this out in as nice a way as possible. "Why don't you go have a night on the town then?"

"Oh, but my dear Mr. Saunders, we've only just met, and really, you quite intrigue me." He dabs at the edge of his thin black lips with his napkin. "Once one finds themselves constantly in the public eye, finding someone who could care less is truly a blessing."

I swallow nervously. "Look, I'm really just not into . . . you know . . ."

"What, Men? Foxes? Film Directors? People willingly sold for charity? Or this particular combination of the four?" He steeples his fingers, looking over towards me while his large orange furred ears flick quizzically.

"Well, not exactly . . . Don't take this personally, I'm just not a part of this high society stuff you know? I'm just one of the little people." I rub one of my recently purchased patent-leather shoes against the plush carpet absentmindedly.

"Then by all means, let's be off! I agree, it's far too stuffy in here." He slides his chair out and gracefully rises, plucking the napkin from his lap.

"But . . ."

"Or would you rather be stuck here for the next two and a half hours listening to the Governor trying to drum up support for her reelection?" He looks down with a sideways glance and a swish of his densely furred tail, as if he already knows the answer.

"I suppose Mrs. Dhalia never said I had to stay after the bidding . . ." Even as I speak he sidles up next to me, wrapping a black jacketed arm around my shoulders as we walk towards the back entrance amidst the clatter of cutlery and polite conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I'd have thought that the entire theater's eyes would be on us, but the bidding for a night with Penelope Margrove has just reached over a thousand dollars, which is nearly as much as Mrs. Dhalia had instructed me to bid on Mr. Foxx.

"Excellent. Let's just escape from this, how did you put it, 'high society stuff,' and find somewhere more comfortable shall we?"

That's not quite what I meant, but getting out of here does sounds pretty appealing right about now. The doorman in the back of the place opens the old heavy theater door for us as we pass through, walking out the front under the flashing marquee. I'm about to try my luck at getting out of this crazy predicament again when a aqua blue Rolls Royce comes screeching up to the curb, settling with a shudder.

"Excellent!" Mr. Foxx slaps me heartily on my shoulder as he opens the door to the spacious backseat. "Impeccable timing as always Boris." He laughs openly as he slides into the car, tugging me along behind him. There's too many people out here for me to make a scene. I am representing Mrs. Dhalia after all . . .

"Where to Boss?"

I look up, startled to see a heavyset pit bull leaning back over the front seat. He's got scars all over the left side of his face and one eye is an unhealthy looking opaque grayish color.

"Uhh . . . Mr. Foxx, I don't think this is . . ."

"Take us to the town house old man!" Mr. Foxx slams the car door behind him and I grab onto the wood paneled sides of the interior as we lurch into motion. "Don't worry about a thing. Boris here is the best driver this side of Siberia." The director turns to me calmly as we take a left turn so hard that my head bumps into the window. The sound of honking fades into the distance as we accelerate.

I guess the rich and famous all have their own quirks, but this guy is driving like a madman. "Nice car." I dust off my shirt as I settle back into my seat. Somehow Mr. Foxx manages to stay perfectly composed even as we hit a bump at what seems over sixty miles per hour, making my stomach try to jump straight out of my throat.

"It was a gift from a friend." He leans back as if in thought. "I've never been much for driving myself, but Boris here seems to do a bang-up job with it. Isn't that right Boris?"

The driver turns back with a face that only a mother could love, paying little attention as he takes a sharp right and barely avoids jumping the curb. "Sure thing Mr. F. It's the second nicest set of wheels I've ever come across." His voice sounds like someone scraping a knife through a bucket of gravel. I don't feel the need to ask what the first was, as it hardly seems like it's anything that could have been above the table, but Mr. Foxx still seems completely at ease, even like he's enjoying the situation.

The lights of the city whizzing by gradually get further and further apart as we get into the hills, taking a winding road up past a series of increasingly nice houses, and then, as suddenly as our journey had started, the car lurches to a halt.

"Very nicely done. Thank you, Boris." Mr. Foxx slides out of the car and holds the door for me. I reluctantly scootch over the padded leather seats after him. This really feels like our positions are reversed. I'm used to holding doors for the rich and famous, not the other way around.

"Thanks, man." I begin, trying my best to sound congenial. "I appreciate you getting me out of that place. I'll just get out of your hair now . . ." I scratch the back of my head as I look up in the electrically lit darkness at his three story mansion-like house surrounded by a high brick and mortar wall and a lush, almost tropical garden. He really must have cash to spare to live in a place like this.

"No, no. I won't hear of it. If the town knew that I'd reneged on my side of the celebrity auction then I'd never hear the end of it. My dear Mr. Saunders, please, allow me to entertain you." He motions into the walkway leading up to his estate as Boris gets out, rocking the car, before he opens the cast iron gate, huge burly arms tugging as if it were nothing.

"I . . ." There has to be some kind of way out of this . . .

"Yes?" his amber eyes beam back towards me, his grin hanging Cheshire-like in the cool night air. He just seems so very innocent for a man in his position.

I sigh as I walk past the gate and Boris closes it, getting back into the car and driving it over to the separate garage in a single high powered skid. "Right . . . You know, most people just go to a fancy bar with their "lucky bidder" and then call it a night. I mean, this can't possibly be entertaining for you. I'm just a nobody."

"Oh, we all are, Mr. Saunders. Just some of the more egotistical amongst our ranks have chosen to forget this fact." He opens the grand looking oak front door with one of his snow white gloved hands.

"Just . . . call me Rob . . ." I trail off as I look into the lush brightly lit interior. It looks like Fred Astaire should be doing some kind of tap dance number down the winding dark wooden stairs. There's a huge collection of gilt framed classical and modern work hanging all over the place as well, giving it an oddly eclectic atmosphere.

"Rob then. Excellent." He pulls off his coat jacket in one smooth motion and hangs it by the door. "Can I get you anything to drink, Rob?" He walks towards a mahogany cabinet and swings open the doors with a clink, revealing various labeled liqueurs sloshing around in their brightly colored glass bottles.

I hardly know what to say. Asking for a beer hardly seems like an option when confronted with a liquor arsenal like this. "Err, Whisky?" I venture.

"Scotch, bourbon, or rye?" He pulls out a pair of low-ball glasses, tail swishing behind himself enthusiastically.

"Whatever tastes the best I suppose." Shrugging, I peer into the cabinet and see nothing familiar.

"Hah! And that, my friend, is how I know you have good taste! Let's stick to the Glenlivet then. I think you'll find it to be quite palatable." He pours two generous servings and hands me my glass, taking the bottle with him and shutting the fancy cabinet with his spat covered padded foot behind him.

"Well, I don't know about that." I shrug as I take a small sip of the amber liquid. It tastes like whiskey (as expected,) but the resulting feeling is like a pleasant golden fire coursing down my throat. It leaves a light wooden flavor on my tongue as I stare down silently at my glass.

"Not bad eh?" He raises his glass to me, falling back onto the overstuffed sofa in the drawing room, amazingly not spilling a single drop before he takes a heavy gulp of the miraculous liquid.

I sit in the leather chair across the coffee table from him, glass held carefully in my lap, listening to his pleased inhalation after he swallows, twitching his whiskers as his pink tongue flickers out and licks across his lips.

"So . . ." It feels like I should be making some kind of conversation, but I really don't know what to say. "Did your parents really name you Mycroft Foxx?"

"Oh, heavens no. I was raised as one humble Hubert Quimby." He chuckles as he takes a sip from his glass. I feel compelled to do the same as he continues. "But, can you imagine 'Hubert Quimby Productions?' I certainly can't."

"How'd you come up with it then?" It's odd to hear someone so well known talking about their past in anything less than monolithic tones. Something about the way he tells the story makes it impossible not to listen.

"Oh, I've always been an avid fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. But Sherlock himself has always struck me as kind of an unsociable boob." I snort as I'm about to take another sip of whiskey. He smiles before continuing genially. "His brother, Mycroft, always struck me as the more human of the two, even if he is a bit of a layabout."

"And "Foxx?" I ask, unwinding enough to try and make a joke. He chuckles at the question, rubbing a white gloved hand over his fuzzy chin, but he answers it none the less.

"Well, in my youth I was quite infatuated with the music of one Herby Mann, possibly the only great American jazz flautist. I always thought it was a little funny to have such a reflexive name. When it came time to think of something myself I came up with this one as more of a joke honestly, but it really seems to have stuck now." He shrugs. "It feels quite strange to be composed entirely out of one's own personal fiction."

"I'm sure it does . . ." Wow. It's strange because it doesn't seem monumental at all. It's strange to think that when people call him Mr. Foxx seriously, they're missing out on the joke. Ten minutes ago all I wanted to do was get out of this place, but as we continue talking and he fills up my glass with another splash of whiskey, I find that it's more like talking to an old friend that I never knew I had.

"So, how did you end up working for the ever illustrious Mrs. Dahlia?" He leans back on the couch, putting his feet up, tail slowly patting against the overstuffed dark leather.

"Well my story's not nearly as interesting as yours I think . . ." Suddenly I feel like I'm in the spotlight. But it's hard to get too worked up when the only person you are talking to is reclined on a sofa, sipping at a glass of whiskey.

"Oh come now, it can't be that dull. Mrs. Dhalia is one of the more influential women in this town. I remember hearing her on the reruns of soaps when I was just a child. It's odd to think that someone could be a star solely because of their voice."

"Yeah, she's really swell." I sigh as I take another sip of whiskey. I don't really tell anyone about how I ended up where I am, but I guess I kind of have to at this point. "So, back when I was in school I wasn't a grade A student you know?"

"Oh trust me, my grades were less then exemplary as well." His ears turn towards me almost automatically, expecting me to continue.

"Well, I barely even showed up is what I'm trying to say." I slowly scratch the back of my head. "I had a group of friends. I mean, now I guess I know that they were kind of all assholes, but, you know, at the time they were like my family."

"One can not always choose the company they keep. That's something that I've certainly learned from living in this town." He shakes his head a little wistfully, the fur on the back of his neck scrunched up against the armrest as I scrabble around for the right way to continue.

"Anyways, we did some bad stuff. We never like, killed anyone or anything. But we'd go out and strip things from people's cars: you know, radios, whatever money we could find, or like, leather seats . . ." I pause a for a second, realizing that I am indeed sitting on a fancy leather chair even as I speak, but there's no going back now.

"So the way I met Mrs. Dahlia . . . It was what, Almost ten years ago at this point?" God, it seems weird to say it. I'm ready to get kicked out of the estate at any second, but Mr. Foxx is just staring up towards the vaulted ceiling comfortably. I swallow heavily before continuing, my tongue seemingly leaden and far too big for my mouth.

"We decided that the best way to make some fast cash was to knock over some big-wig's place . . . no offense."

"None taken." He chuckles.

"Long story short, we busted into Mrs. Dahlia's house and grabbed whatever we could. The lights came on all sudden-like, and the old lady was standing there in her nightgown, hand on her cane with fire in her eyes. Most of the crew made a break for it when she started swearing up a storm that would have made a sailor blush."

I'm remembering it now like I was there. This is one of the most vivid things in my life.

"Hah. She has always had a particularly authoritarian air about her. I assume she can be quite terrifying when she wants to be." He swirls the Glenlivet around in his glass as he speaks.

"You have no idea." I laugh. "She comes tromping in at us through her kitchen wielding her cane like some kind of billy-club, and so Ricky pulls out his knife . . . Sorry, let me explain better. Ricky was always the one trying to be tricky with his butterfly knife. But he wasn't much good with it. It took him two hands to take it out that night, but he looked deadly serious, like he was gonna rush her."

"Oh my." Mr. Foxx slides to an upright position and leans in as I continue, again somehow not spilling a drop during the whole process.

"So I wasn't exactly the brightest kid, and LSD was just getting really popular then . . . but anyways, I knew that copper bottomed pans could be like a hundred dollars new, so I was tossing some into a sack when the whole thing happened and I kind of froze, but when Rick just started running at Mrs Dahlia, who just seemed like some old lady, I dunno, I just . . . I just hit him, like right in the back of the head: with a frying pan."

"My god. He didn't die did he?"

"No, no, he just fell down for awhile. But I was left in a kitchen with a wide eyed Mrs. Dahlia looking like she was gonna brain me too. I dropped my bag, then pots and pans went rolling everywhere. I don't know exactly what I was thinking, but I put my hands up like I was being threatened by the police or something."

"Well, if your description of her is accurate, I'd say her glare might be far deadlier than mere slugs of lead!" He pours himself another glass as I laugh softly to myself.

"Must be. Anyways, she called me out and asked how much I expected to make from ripping her off. I said about a hundred bucks, and she walks out of the room, comes back with her purse, and offers me a hundred dollar bill right off the bat if I'd help her clean up all the shit we'd broken while she'd called the police. I'd never seen a hundred dollars all in one piece of paper before . . . and I mean, I was standing in her kitchen with a bag full of her pans . . ."

"So what did you do?" He leans in as if he were listening to a story on the radio, whiskers twitching in anticipation.

"And so I accepted, I mean, what else could I have done at that point?" It still sounds crazy to me. "I thought she was still gonna turn me in, but when the cops came she just told them it was a good thing I'd been there to defend her. After that she basically took me in."

"What about your family though? Surely they would have missed you."

"Naw, my old man and I . . . we've never seen eye to eye. I mean, I never got to meet my mom, you know, because of complications . . . He made damn sure that I knew those complications were me. I left home after meeting Mrs. Dahlia and didn't look back."

"Ah . . . I'm sorry." It's odd to see genuine concern etched onto the the face of a man who usually seems so chipper.

"Don't worry about it. Finding Mrs. Dahlia was the best thing that ever happened to me. She's the one who made me get my GED and whatnot. I've never had a real job though. I'm just her gofer. You know, odd jobs, groceries, meetings, stand-ins, that kind of stuff.

"Well, you sound like a veritable Renaissance man!" He adopts the dramatic style of a movie trailer, waving his hand in front of him. "A Young Man from the Streets Straightens Out His Act, and Becomes the Right Hand Man of the Most Powerful Woman in Hollywood!"

"Oh come on. People aren't going to wanna see a movie about some deadbeat who got lucky." I'm looking down at my glass, cheeks burning.

"On the contrary, everyone loves a second chance!" He laughs as he stands up. "I think you have a grand and wonderful history; you just have the benefit of not being in the limelight."

"Well, the world of showbiz certainly isn't for people like me, I can tell you that much. I'm just lucky I found a job, you know what I mean?" The warmth from the whiskey seems to have seeped deep inside of me at this point and here I am talking to some big-wig director like we're on the same level. It feels kind of nice though, like the way I used to feel with the crew, but a little more on the up and up. I'm not just talking to tag along and fit in, I actually just like speaking to this guy . . .

"Ahh, I think you're selling yourself short. But I suppose I'm not going to force the issue. Perhaps someday we can do lunch and talk about a script." He mutters under his breath as he gets to his feet and paces, scratching at the cuffs of his white gloves. "These things to get rather hot, do you mind if I take them off?"

"Uhh, sure?" It seems like a strange question for a guy to ask about taking his gloves off. "You got a bathroom around here?"

"Oh yes, down the hall, first door on your right." He dances odd twirling steps from one paw to the other as he walks over to an armoire on the other side of the vast drawing room.

Walking down the hall, I look at all of the black and white framed photographs of Mr. Foxx smiling out with a bunch of famous actors, and at one point even the first lady. I remember that had been in the papers a few years ago. The strange feeling of being in someone else's all too affluent house returns as I open the door to his overly spacious bathroom, all decked out in gleaming black and white tile checkered along the floor and halfway up the wall.

I relieve myself and splash some water on my face before leaning in and taking a drink straight from the tap, then drying my head on one of his plush hand towels. A lot of people around here don't seem to trust the tap water, but it's what I was raised on, and I don't mind it much. It's been a long time since I've spent a night out, but I feel oddly at home here. His taste in décor is actually pretty close to what I see in Mrs. Dahlia's house.

Pulling the handle for the old overhead tank on his john, I open the door and make my way back down the carpeted hallway, stopping with my jaw open at what I see back in the drawing room.

Mr. Foxx is hanging his shirt up on an antique looking hat stand next to him. His pants are placed neatly folded into the one of the drawers of the armoire. The only thing that he's still wearing are the strange white leather spats that he has strapped onto his wide paw-like feet.

"What are you . . ." the words pour out of my mouth before I can really think about them.

"Hmm? Oh, as I said, these kinds of things get rather stuffy after a long day." His tail flicks side to side as he bends down and pries off one spat and then the other, now completely naked. Well . . . he's still covered in a plush layer of fur: glossy burnt orange on his back with white on his belly and a darker brown at the ends of his extremities. But I'm not sure if this counts or not.

"Oh, I just thought you meant the gloves . . ." I mumble, having no clue what to do at this point. It feels like I've wandered into some star's dressing room unannounced.

"Ahh, sorry for being unclear. If you'd like I'll put them back on then?" He turns towards me and pauses, leather padded hand resting on the side of the armoire.

"No no. I'm sorry. I'm just not all that used to uhh. You know, I've never really had any non-human friends . . ." I feel like some kind of creep as I say it, like I've been hanging out with the good ol' boys or something. It's hard to stop looking at him though. Really the only thing that's been revealed other than fur is the odd whitish furred animal looking sheath that rests between his legs. I'd heard that vulpines were different downstairs, but it's kind of startling to see it in the flesh. Is this sudden nudity a normal thing, or just another one of Mr. Foxx's eccentric tendencies?

"Oh, no worries. I just don't want to make you uncomfortable." He closes the drawer and turns around, padding lightly on his feet back towards the center of the room. "If you don't mind me saying, it seems like you must not get to go out on your own all that often."

"Well, yeah. I keep myself busy you know? No use in getting back into trouble. Mrs. Dhalia took the trouble to pull a creep like me out of the gutter, so there's no use in diving right back in." I never really have had to explain this before, but the words actually sound correct for once as I say them.

"Just because you are out and about doesn't mean you're just suddenly going to return to a life of crime, surely! There are all kinds of people and establishments that would love the patronage of one as refined and plain-spoken as yourself." He waves a finger in small circles as he speaks, as if conducting an invisible band.

"I guess I'm just not that kind of guy . . ." It's not something I've really thought about much. Mrs. Dahlia has given me something to do, and I've gotten pretty good at doing it. It's not like I really need much more than that.

"Well, when was the last time you were in a relationship then?" He scratches his furry chin as he asks the question.

"Say what?"

"I don't mean to be a pry, but when was the last time you were in a serious relationship, or even just went to bed with someone you liked?" He leans back in the chair, perfectly relaxed as he speaks. I feel like I should be offended or something, but it's hard to be when a question is asked with this amount of genuine curiosity.

"Well, it's been a long time I guess." I look down, scraping at the carpet with my feet.

"So . . . months? Years?"

I take a second to think of what to say, and can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I could lie, but there doesn't really seem like it would do me any good right now. "Like . . . never I guess."

His ears turn towards me as his head pulls back slightly. "Really? What about a particularly deep kiss, or even just getting a little handsy at the movie theater?" His head turns to the side quizzically and one of his clawed fingers taps against the side of his muzzle.

"No, and no." I feel like I'm back in the spotlight, and my heart is racing as I just don't feel like I belong here. "I've just never really had the time, you know? It's not a big deal really . . ."

"Well, and feel completely free to say no here . . ." He begins, slowly, looking up as if he is suggesting ordering a particular dish off a menu. "Would you like to?"

"What?" I'm trying to follow his logic.

"Spend the night with someone. Namely me." He explains.

"Uhh" The question catches me off guard. I rub at the stubble on my neck as I stammer.

"Sorry." He waves his hands in front of him. "If that's not your cup of tea then let's just forget this whole little episode." He laughs a slightly nervous laugh: a side of him that I haven't seen before.

"Wait . . ." I find that I've spoken the word before I know what to say next. "I guess I wouldn't mind that . . ." I hazard. Looking up towards him and shrugging.

"Hah . . . Are you sure? I really don't mean to force you into this." One of his fuzzy ears cocks up at a strange angle as his beneficent amber eyes lock on to mine.

I really don't know what to say. Romance really just hasn't been something I've thought about much, much less with another guy, or a vulpine for that matter . . . But, he makes it sound so normal, not some grand ado or sinful indulgence but . . . just something one might do with . . . friends? "Yeah. I mean, unless you don't want to . . ."

"Well, heh." He regains his composure, walking towards me slowly with his tail swishing about behind him. I can see the muscles bulge beneath the plush fur of his thighs. "Excellent. Then you are really in for a treat I must say. It's only ever your first time once you know?" He winks and leans towards me.

"Uhh, what about Boris? I mean, shouldn't we at least move back to the bedroom or something?" I find my breath coming out in short quick bursts, just short of a manic chuckle. This is just so surreal.

"Oh don't worry, he stays in the caretaker's house on the other side of the garden, and the maids only come on Tuesday and Friday. We could go upstairs to my room though if you'd like . . ." The corner of his almost canine muzzle pulls up in a good-natured smirk.

"I guess we don't have to worry about it then . . ." I pull at the collar of my shirt, trying to cover up my embarrassment. He walks towards me slowly and I'm about to ask him what he's doing when he pushes his furry chest up against me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, and presses his muzzle in towards my face.

I can feel his hot breath against my skin a second before his slippery hot pink tongue laps out, sliding across my lips with a warm and then cool pressure as his ears fold back and his tongue pushes into my mouth. I wrap my arms around him awkwardly, feeling the supple satin-like texture of his fur as his tongue scrapes over mine. Panicking that I'm doing it wrong, I notice the slightly salty taste of his vulpine mouth while trying to copy what he's doing, pushing forwards and licking past his pointed white canines, feeling the oddly ridged top of his mouth before he pulls back.

"Rob . . . Rob?" It takes me a second to realize that he's talking to me. "You don't have to hold on quite that tight.

I uncurl my hands that had pulled into fists around his hair as I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks. "S-sorry." I stammer, panting as I realize that I've just botched my first kiss.

"No no. Don't worry about it. There's nothing to do wrong here. Just relax and enjoy yourself." He pulls his furry body close again, sniffing in at the nape of my neck with his cold black nose. "Besides, for a first kiss, you have a lot of potential. Let's see if you've learned anything hmm?" His words turn into a rumble as he presses in again, and we kiss. For real this time.

My hands rest on his furry hips and he reaches up one paw-hand and caresses my cheek, black whiskers tickling the other side. We explore each other's mouths in a slow drawn out process that sends shivers down my spine as I feel the slightly rough surface of his tongue twist and lick expertly around my jaws while his hot breath pants against me.

This time we both pull away at the same time and he smiles at me while I grin like an idiot. I have to admit, I liked it . . . a lot.

"So do you always hang around in your house naked?" I ask. Now that the ice has been broken it's a lot easier to try and be funny.

"Indeed. You should try it sometime." His hands slide down across my body, catching in the loop of my belt. I can feel small tugs as, with remarkable dexterity, he undoes the buckle and pulls the leather back, snaking around me until it comes loose and he tosses it aside. His thumbs press against the bulge of the erection I wasn't even aware I had as he unbuttons my fly and lets my pants fall down around my ankles.

Not knowing what to do with my hands, I let them rest on the velvety top of his head in between his ears that flicker when I brush against them. I can hear him rumble almost like a cat when I stroke them, and so I rub the large fuzzy points between my fingers as he gingerly tugs down my drawers as well.

"Now then, let's make sure that you're nice and comfortable." His sly face grins up at me as he presses back against my hips, making me flail a little as I fall into the plush arms of the same cushy leather chair from before. The leather feels odd against my bare skin, and my exposed cock wobbles as I crash down, making me suddenly aware of just how exposed I am.

"Should I . . .?" I stammer out, feeling oddly out of place.

"Not yet. You'll get your turn to do something in a second." His panting muzzle leans in, huffing hot air as his cold nose pushes against the cleft of my legs just next to my balls. Slowly, his pink slick tongue slides out with warm strength, scraping against my inner thigh and then tracing up towards my testes. My cock jerks, painfully hard as his whiskers brush past it.

"Oh, god that's . . . Hmmmnngh." I close my eyes as his wet pink tongue slides up the side of my cock from base to tip. He pauses there, licking out tentatively at the head of my member, a clear string of saliva connecting us for a second before it snaps with a small cold sensation. But he doesn't stop there, looking up with his smiling burnished eyes as he licks his chops suggestively.

There is a second where I'm nervous as he opens his mouth and reveals his rather sharp looking vulpine teeth. But then he leans in, engulfing me and I can feel my dick slide between them, encased in the writhing hot silky smooth interior of his mouth. My knuckles on the armrests of the chair go white as he sinks down over my shaft until his black nose huffs against my crotch and his whiskers tickle my skin.

I can't help but moan out wordless pleasure as he bobs his head slowly, sliding up and down, grinding my cock against his ridged palate. I can see his tail whapping against the floor behind him in an almost doggish way as I feel a clenching pressure building up in the pit of my stomach. My breathing is coming out in ragged shudders as he lays his leather palms on either side of my spread legs and slowly drags himself up and off my shaft one last time, leaving me quivering, needing more like I never have before in my life.

"Wh- Why'd you stop?" I pant out, feeling the need to reach down and finish the job myself.

"If this is your first time, it would be a shame to let things end so quickly." He smiles as he stands up slowly and walks a few steps back towards the sofa, tail swaying in graceful arcs that draw my attention towards his hips, letting me just catch a glimpse of his taut furry testicles.

Turning around, he falls back against the couch with his tail between his spread legs, revealing his entire vulpine package, with a pointed reddish prick of flesh just poking out the end of his white furry sheath. "Consider that a sample." He raises a foxish brow and strokes a paw-hand against his white downy belly enticingly. "And a lesson."

It takes me a second to realize what he means as I swallow heavily, getting up to my feet and stumbling a bit. I pry off my shoes and socks, leaving my crumpled pants behind before taking the few steps towards him awkwardly, my throbbing cock still coated in cooling fox spittle. I kneel down with my knees on the Persian carpet and look up at him. "I'm not sure if . . . I mean, I've never done this before."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be a natural. There's really not much to it." He reaches down and takes one of my hands in his, guiding it towards his furred package. "It just takes a bit of stimulation to get things started." Pressing my hand against the base of his sheath, I start kneading the flesh gently. It's surprisingly soft and his ears flicker in delight as he watches me. "There you go . . . Mmmm." His body stiffens and his feet stretch out on either side of me as I rub up towards that pulsing crimson prick which presses out further as I stroke his sheath.

"Those aren't off limits either." He guides my other hand towards his tight fuzzy balls. I cradle them gently, squeezing them just a bit as I wrap around the pointed head of his cock with my fingers. That makes his tail jerk around as he lets out an animalistic rumble of pleasure. "Oh my. You _do_learn fast." He grins, leaning back with a wide smile on his lips.

"I'm sure you have some idea of what the next step is hmm?" His voice almost purrs as I lean in, heart racing in my chest. Up this close I can smell him, a strange light fresh scent that must be the soap he uses mixed with an almost peppery odor that's nothing like I expected to be. The red pointed rod of his penis is still swelling out of its animal sheath as I lean in and tentatively press my tongue out, licking up the side of it.

It's more of a sensation than a taste, like that feeling when you lick a little cut healing on the inside of your lips or the end of a battery: Electric. I slide up towards the tip, my vision lost in the soft tones of his fur: off white and earthy orange. Lapping up again towards the oddly chiseled tip, I taste a saline drop of thick pre as it leaks down the side of his shaft. For the first time all evening, Mr. Foxx is speechless.

Swallowing heavily, I run my hands through the plush fur of his thighs, mussing it up as I crane my neck in, feeling the throbbing hot flesh of his shaft brush against my lips before I take it into my mouth. It twitches as I run my tongue along the underside, and the salty taste gets stronger as I suck gently on the oddly marbled skin that pulses out further and further. I don't know what to do exactly at this point, so I just slowly rock my head, pulling back and pressing forwards, feeling his fluffy tail writhing, brushing occasionally against my own still needy erection.

"My lord. You're like an oral virtuoso." He pants out. I gag a little as I stifle a laugh. "As a purely human phenomenon, might a recommend that you blow slightly?" One of his paws rests heavily on top of my head, mussing up my hair as I try his recommendation.

The light pressure makes it easier to slide along his cock, and I feel his claws comb through my hair in thanks as I bob slightly faster. My eyes are fixed on the furry roll of his sheath that seems to be swelling before my eyes. Slowly, I see a strange twin lobed bulge of flesh pressing out at the base of his shaft, pushing and throbbing as I look down at it.

This is weird.

Pulling back and taking a deep breath I look up at him, squinting in confusion. "Is that . . . normal?"

That makes him laugh, his whole body shaking as the musical sound fills the high ceilinged room. "Standard equipment for all vulpines I'm afraid; a gift from our foxish ancestors. I didn't mean to startle you." He winks down at me.

"Ah . . . No. It's fine, I've just never seen one before." I feel like I'm back in grade school in the strangest of ways.

"Hah, Well, there's a first time for everything!" He doesn't miss a beat as he rises to his paws. "Speaking of which, now that we are both properly hot and bothered, why don't we take your initial advice and have a change in venue?"

He's surprisingly fast on his feet as he makes his way over to the stairs, leaning back against the railing with his hip cocked to the side, strange carmine knotted member jostling in sharp contrast to his white fur. "I've got a surprise for you upstairs." He winks, swinging himself around the banister and stepping up the stairs, hips rocking and tail swinging with every step.

I pause there for a second a blink a few times. It really feels like I'm in some kind of dream, but just looking at the tip of his tail disappear up those stairs makes something inside of me boil in the best of ways. Grabbing a cushion from the edge of the couch, I hold it against my groin as I dash up after him, bare feet padding against the smooth polished wood of his staircase. I know it seems stupid to cover myself up at this point, but old habits die hard I guess.

Upon reaching the second story, I see just the orange black and white flash of his tail darting into a bedroom as I hurry quickly towards it, my shirt, the only thing I'm still wearing, flapping against me. The wallpaper seems like something out of the Victorian era, but I don't have time to stop and look at anything as I turn into the doorway. The room is immense, but I hardly notice it as I see Mr. Foxx lying on the edge of a king sized bed, fidgeting around with one of the drawers to his nightstand.

"Uhh." I stammer, not quite sure what I am supposed to be doing at this point.

"Here we go." He rolls over quickly, holding a small silvery square of plastic in between his fingers. "Come on in, the water's fine." Patting the bed next to him, he laughs as he slides his feet off the side. "And you don't have to keep the cushion, or the shirt . . ."

Letting out a nervous laugh, I drop the pillow and sit next to him, close enough that I can feel his soft fur against my legs. Unbuttoning my shirt seems to take longer than it ever has before, each button a stubborn puzzle in my hands. It feels like I'm making a fool of myself as I struggle out of the clinging cotton and toss it to the floor just in time to see him unwrapping the bright crinkling square.

"I'm sure even someone as innocent as yourself has seen one of these before." I nod as he carefully removes the glistening bit of pale rubber: a condom. I gulp as he grins that fox-in-the-henhouse smile. "Well, let's just make sure you know how to use one properly." Of course I knew how a rubber worked, but as it turns out, this was not some kind of sex-ed pop quiz.

Leaning in, the soft fur of his arms rubbing against my bare stomach, he presses the cool rubber down over the head of my still turgid member. I suck in air through my teeth, as my cock jerks at the sudden contact. "Ahh, cold . . ." I shiver a little, surprised at how it feels.

"Yes. The ones that are all ready to go often are." His paws gingerly roll the tight condom down over the head of my cock, suede pads rubbing against my most sensitive flesh. "But you don't have to worry about that for long. I know of a way to keep you nice and warm." He unrolls the rest of the now clear tightness down over my length. It feels oddly snug around the base of my cock, and I reach up and touch the edge experimentally. My skin looks very weird pressed tight against the thin membrane as if it were squashed against a very thin circular window.

"Heh . . . Feels a little weird." I shift my weight on the edge of the bed.

"It does make it feel a little different I'll admit, but I feel like I'd be doing you a disservice if we didn't develop some _good_habits." Mr. Foxx accentuates his words with a gentle squeeze of my balls. "Now, if you'll just slide up on the bed here, I think we're just about done with all of this preamble." He looks towards me with an comically hungry expression that makes me laugh.

"So, do your evenings always go on for this long?" I say as I slide myself fully onto the surprisingly firm mattress.

"Oh, it depends I suppose. Some people like it to be a little more straight forward than others." He flops back on the bed and runs two fingers around my ankle slowly. All of this teasing is driving me crazy, and although I don't know exactly what it is I want, I want it soon. "Personally, I find that it's just more fun when you have to work for it a bit. _Really_focus on what you want." I notice that his own crimson vulpine cock is still rock hard as well as his paw slides up my legs, tickling the whole way. "Besides. It's not often I get to spend the night with someone as handsome and down to earth as you."

I can feel the heat in my cheeks as I look to the side. I don't know what to say. All of my breath comes out in something between a cough and a laugh. "I can see how a guy like you makes so many friends . . ." I smile back at him as he crawls along the bed towards me on hands and knees, tail swishing behind him in an amazingly suggestive way.

"Oh, I make a lot of acquaintances, but one can never have too many real friends." I can feel his fur tickle my toes as he passes over them. His eyes stare forwards at me, luminous and sincere as he straddles my body, knees resting on either side of me as his tail flicks against the insides of my calves.

"Flattery will get you everywhere." My face spreads in to a kind of manic grin as my pulse races. He lifts his hips up and reaches back with an adroit paw, squeezing against my member gently as he rubs his ass against it. I can feel the muscles tensing as his tail wags about in anticipation, getting slick and warm as the lubricated tip of my condom clad cock rubs against him. His crimson member still jostles not so very far from my face with it's distinctive musky presence as he shifts his weight.

"But the truth always seems to get you further." He looks down and winks before he leans back and I feel his anus clench and resist for a second before my slickened member pushes into him. Sucking in air through my teeth, I can't even process the sensation as his whole body clenches around the head of my member firmly.

I grip the comforter under me with white knuckled fists as he sinks a little lower. The sensation is so smooth and molten hot as he squeezes around me in short erratic bursts, the base of his tail pulling up while the tip tickles my toes. His hand lets go of the base of my cock as he begins to rock himself, sliding up and down, a little lower every time as his vulpine member swings about and he slowly licks his chops with his long pink tongue.

Almost like operating on instincts I didn't know I had, my hips start thrusting up, pushing further into him and matching his rocking pace. "You know." His words come haltingly, pausing with each heavy motion. "For a rookie. I think. You've got. This down." He reaches forwards and grabs my hands guiding them onto his orange furry hips.

"I-I've seen." I gasp out as he contracts around me. "A lot of movies." I'm almost fully inside of him now. His control seems amazing as we thrust together, rocking the bed with our ministrations.

"The censors. Must be. Getting soft . . ." He laughs for a second before relaxing, letting himself fall back onto me as his words cut off into a startlingly loud animal yipe.

Stopping suddenly, I look up at him with wide eyed concern. "Are you alright!?" I ask, leaning forwards slightly. I didn't know that it was possible for a vulpine to blush, but the fur around his cheeks ruffles up as he looks down at me sheepishly, his furry weight resting on me comfortably as he clenches around me again with a series of quick tugging bursts of energy, making my cock twitch on the precipice of something glorious.

"Sorry." He pants sheepishly. "It's a fox thing." He wriggles his body against mine, and I can feel his velvet furred testicles resting against my belly while his rocking becomes faster, tighter motions that rock both of us together as his cock leaks out a thin stream of clearness that runs slowly down the side.

"That's . . ." I groan out as he engulfs my shaft in a salvo of tugging contractions. "Adorable."

That growing feeling of perfectly uncontrollable pressure builds up in my gut as our motions become desperate, soaked in the pleasure of each other's tight proximity. My hands grab firmly around his foxy hips as his tail gyrates wildly and my balls begin to tighten and seethe while his hot passage squeezes around me fitfully.

The pleasure is enough to make me see stars as I fall back against the pillows and feel my cock tense, arcing up and spilling forth hot jolts of maleness that I can feel splashing tight against my cock under the condom. I moan and writhe, toes clenching together as I feel what must be the most mind shattering orgasm of all time.

It just seems right at this point as I reach forwards with a hand, combing through the soft whitish fur of his belly before wrapping around his cock, slick with his own vulpine lust. My fingers slide down it slowly. Mr. Foxx let's loose another animal yap of pleasure, but neither of us stops this time. I can feel the hot flesh of his cock jerk in time with the squeezing of his ass around me as my hand slips down around the curious pulsing swollen base of his animal member and he screams out in wordless bliss while his carmine cock begins to jerk and spatter out hot dollops of vulpine seed that splash down on both of us while we strain together in a perfect union of reciprocal pleasure.

I have no clue how long it lasts as we squeeze and rock together, his warm soft weight pressing down on me over and over again. Eventually, we both end up in perfect warm stillness punctuated by the occasional tug of exhausted flesh as I slowly release his tight knot of flesh and he slides up and off of me, leaving my rubber-clad cock feeling cold in the still air of the bedroom.

With a theatrical twist, he flops down beside me, and we both just lie there for a second, our breathing the only sound as we both catch up to the present.

"Well?" He asks, his rich voice cutting through the silence.

"I can see the appeal." I smile as I look up above me, seeing figures in the textured ceiling as if it were made of clouds on an overcast day.

"You should try it more often then." I can hear the humor without even seeing his smirk.

"I think I might." There's a comfortable pause in our conversation, and I don't feel the need to fill it right away. "You know, I haven't had a cigarette in years, but suddenly, I feel like I should be having a smoke."

"Well, before you return to that particular habit, we should probably get cleaned up." He slowly pulls himself off the edge of the bed, stretching like a cat, a yawn opening his black lipped muzzle wide. "This stuff can be a little tricky to get out if you let it set in . . . Well, on fur at least." He looks down at the soggy patches on his chest and belly.

The rest of the night passes by in a flash as I learn the intricacies of getting clean with a rich Vulpine film director. His large glass walled shower makes it easy for us both to get in, scrubbing each other in lukewarm water at first (as he claims that anything hotter makes the stains harder to get out.) I giggle at first as the water soaks in. A wet vulpine looks about half as large as a dry one. He turns the nozzle on me when I do, and we both have a good laugh.

The only real soap is an industrial looking bottle of something that looks a lot like shampoo and there's not a washcloth in sight as I suppose they wouldn't do much to a body covered in fur anyways. But I have enough with just my hands and a pair of smooth helping paws to get me feeling freshly scoured as we eventually turn up the heat a little.

After the shower I'm most surprised by the chrome looking section of wall with various holes and dials it that turns out to be a full body dryer. It seems almost like I'm in a science fiction movie, but Mr. Foxx claims that they are hardly unusual for vulpines to own. The thing makes a lot of noise, but I have to admit, it does feel pretty nice, and although I ended up dry in about a minute, it took him quite a few more to fluff back up into his normal plushness.

He rakes some talc through his fur with a wire brush, and we both retire to his bed, wrapped in each other's arms with enough warmth so that we don't need a blanket while we have a lazy conversation that slowly meanders towards the stillness of perfectly content slumber.

* * *

I wake up with the light from the window filtering in. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and realize that the silky warmth nestled next to me is not just an overly affectionate blanket. The whole world is wrapped up on the bed with me as I lay back and listen to his slow steady breathing.

But then the rest of the world comes crashing back, causing me to sit bolt upright.

"What time is it?" I ask, patting around the bed for my clothes that are not there.

Mr. Foxx rolls over and raises his arms, yawning wide enough that I can see each an every one of his sharp white teeth. "I don't know . . ." He blearily reaches towards the bed stand and turns the antique looking wood paneled radio towards him, looking at the front, which to my embarrassment turns out to be a clock. "Nine thirty-ish." His ears cock this way and that as he shakes his head. "Why?"

"Aw, damnit." I roll off of the bed, landing on my feet with a thud and scooping up my fallen shirt. "Do you have a telephone that I could use? I need to be back at Mrs. Dahlia's half an hour ago."

"There's one downstairs in the kitchen." He shrugs, pushing himself up against the headboard. "If it's really urgent."

"Yeah, sorry." I race out of the room and down the stairs, finding my discarded clothes and pulling them on in a haphazard manner, hopping from foot to foot while I cinch up my pants. Hurrying past the stairs towards the kitchen, I see a gilt rotary phone there mounted to the wall, glinting int the sunlight that pours in the multiple bay windows overlooking the city.

The dial on the phone seems to spin in slow motion as I pull in the number for Mrs. Dahlia's private phone, almost wincing as the last number clicks in and I hear the phone begin to ring in the receiver.

There's a muffled click "Hello?" Her voice is still melodious, even after a good thirty years out of the business.

"Mrs. Dahlia? It's me, Rob. Sorry I'm running late. It won't happen again. I'm gonna call a cab and get there as soon as possible." I know that I'm talking too fast, but I haven't been late in at least five years. It feels like I've broken some kind of sacred trust.

"Ahh, Rob." I can almost feel her eyes appraising me over the phone line. "Did the charity auction work out then?"

"Yeah, just like you thought it would. I made the highest bid . . ." As I'm speaking, I hear soft footsteps behind me and see Mr. Foxx walking through the kitchen, still naked in his own fashion. As he hears me speaking he waggles his ears towards me in a suggestive way, and I choke trying not to laugh into the phone.

"How excellent. So I take it you're with Mr. Foxx then?" She asks with her perfectly measured tone.

"Err . . . yes." It's no use lying to her. I learned that a long time ago.

"Well, how was it then? I assume you two really hit it off." Her voice sounds oddly matter-of-fact about this.

"How did you . . .?" I feel a flush rise to my cheeks. There's a clatter behind me as I look over my shoulder. Mr. Foxx has adorned himself in a red apron (and nothing else) and has taken down one of the pans from the rack. I notice that it has a glintingly clean copper bottom to it.

"I've spent years in this business. You know that I've learned to read people Rob. You two seemed like you might enjoy each other's company." This is not a side of Mrs. Dhalia that I'm used to seeing. Admittedly, there are times she tells me I should be out meeting new people, but I've never seen her be quite this straight forward about it.

"Uh . . . right." I try to gather up my thoughts as behind me Mr. Foxx opens up the ice box and places few things on the counter, humming to himself slightly. "Well, I'll be out there as soon as the cab comes. Should only take twenty minutes or so."

"I'm sure Boris could drive you." Mr. Foxx chimes in happily, dropping some strips of cured bacon into the pan with a hiss.

I sigh. "Make that about ten minutes . . . If I make it there in one piece." I grumble under my breath.

"Robert Townsy Saunders." She begins sternly. "If you arrive here any sooner than two-o-clock I'll drive you back there myself. I'm not going to be around forever you know? You haven't missed a day of work in ages. You need to get out in the world, meet people, have some late night escapades." Her voice insinuates exactly what she means by that. "So you just enjoy yourself and I'll see you when you get here. Don't hurry."

"Are you sure?" I stammer. "I don't want you to . . ."

"I'll manage." She cuts me off with her flowery satin voice wrapped around the strength of corded steel. "Oh, and could you pick up some milk on the way when you do eventually come?"

"Yes?" I hazard.

"Good. Have a good morning then dear." And with that the line goes back to blank crackling static.

I don't know exactly what to do with myself at this point. It feels like I've rushed out the door only to come crawling back on my knees, but Mr. Foxx doesn't seem perturbed at all.

"So, I assume that means that you have time to stay for awhile then . . . Townsy?" He turns around and raises a brow with mirth in his eyes.

"Wait, you heard all of that?" I turn around in disbelief.

"These ears aren't just for show you know." He turns back towards the stove and tends to the bacon and eggs as he talks, tail twirling as he moves his spatula.

"Well Mr. Quimby I suppose there's nowhere else I really need to be." We both laugh at that. Walking over to the small table by the window, I look out over the seemingly distant city, feeling the warmth of the sunlight on my skin. "So where do we start?" I ask, awed by the sudden vastness of the world before me.

"I'd recommend with breakfast." He dishes up the simple fried eggs and bacon on two separate plates, walking over and setting them on the table between us, dropping a fork next to mine with a clatter. "It's hard to enjoy life on an empty stomach."

"Well, it's as good a place as any." I look up at him and see the morning light filtering through his radiant fur while he sits down across from me. For the first time I can remember, there is something that I really want to be a bigger part of my life.

"So . . . barring another auction, when can we see each other again?" I ask, slicing into a fried egg with the yolk still runny.

"Well, Sunday through Wednesday I'll be on location filming I'm afraid, but Thursday night's conspicuously empty. Say . . . seven-o-clock?"

"Alright." I pause, feeling that I should double check with Mrs. Dahlia, but after a call like that, I know what her answer would be. "Let's do it."

"It's a date then." He smiles his mischievous grin as I shift in my seat at the term. "Until then, do you have any interest in badminton?"

"I've never tried it before." I reply with a shrug.

"I think you'd enjoy it. And anyways, for trying something new, there's no time like the present."

Nodding, I look up into his amber eyes. "You know, there really isn't is there?"