First Time for Foxes
_[Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car](%5C)
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We were eighteen, and he didn't know any better than I did. My parents had gone out to dinner and left me alone to my own devices, which usually meant starting a fire in the fireplace and curling up with a book and a something hot to drink. But that night I was having a friend over, another fox who had come into the school one day just transferred from another in the district, and I liked him immensely, immediately. It wasn't that we had too many congruent interests, and while it did help that he was terribly cute, I think mainly I spent so much time around him because he was the only person I wasn't shy around. I'd still stammer, and he'd still stammer, and we'd both blush, but I still never felt uncomfortable around him. I think it was all because when I blushed, he'd blush too, and when I'd suddenly be struck too dumb for words, so would he suddenly lose his eloquence. It was reassuring. It didn't take a psychology degree to figure out why I started inviting him over, every time one of my insecurities popped up, and I felt vulnerable, just looking at him made me comfortable with myself once again! I was stuttering, and there he was stuttering too, and if the way he did it would be so cute... I'm rambling, but he's a good subject to get lost in. His body was lithe, short, and always his limbs and arms seemed to be bent in just the most perfect, graceful curves. To see that fox sprawled on a couch was a thing of beauty! His shirt peeking up just over his pants so I could see his belly, and a trail of dark fur under his belt.
Yeah, it's your typical we-were-high-school-virgins story.
I could barely tell him I liked the way his name rolled off my tongue, how was I supposed to tell him I was gay? I wasn't worried he'd react badly, he was much too sensitive for that. When he would greet me at the door, wrap his arms around me, press our cheeks together in a slight but warm embrace, and ask with subdued enthusiasm how I was doing, I'd realize the guy wasn't capable of feeling anything but trust and affection. It was too perfect. How could I tell him I liked him? It wasn't as if I was madly, passionately in love. High school romance is a thing entirely separate from love, and maybe that's why it felt so goddamn good. I didn't have to think about love and dating and marriage and growing old: I could appreciate him right there and right then, without concern for how long we'd be together, without concern for if it'd ever fade. I could simply sit across the table from him, stare into his eyes, and be in bliss for just that moment knowing that I was in the presence of purity, beauty, and compassion.
That night, right! My parents left, passing me and my new friend an almost suspicious glance, and we were all alone by a crackling fire. I was picking through a book of poetry, and he was simply lying on the couch, with his arms above his head and his legs splayed out, and I can remember enjambing the lines of my poems with peeks at his crotch. He turned over, and I gawked at his ass, full and round like you wouldn't expect to find on such a slender body, his bushy red tail wagging back and forth so slowly, with such self-contentment. He wore a grin on his muzzle, slight and careless, his eyes shut, and I remember rubbing myself. If he turns around, it turns into a scratch, the hand comes out of my pants, and he suspects nothing. An excellent plan, right? So I sat there, admired the way his elegant back seemed to flow from his shoulders down to the dimples just above his ass, where his shirt had ridden up and I could see the soft red fur underneath. I squeezed my sheath until it started to feel full, and I could feel the fabric of my underwear against the tip of my cock. My heartbeat sped up immediately when his gaze turned to meet mine, and the way his curious eyes seemed to lock onto mine instantly, I was frozen, hand in pants. I was out of myself, had no sense of what he could see I was doing, and it took me a moment to realize what his saucer eyes and deep blush meant.
My dick burrowed out of my pants like it was claustrophobic. I only looked down at it, betrayed, and stammered an excuse. I don't remember what it was, I only remember that it was incredibly, incredibly urgent. Syncopated syllables piled out of my mouth like tossed cars in a train wreck, and all the while my dick just got harder and harder, my knot even beginning to fill out, all because I kept looking from my bulging member - which I tried in vain to hide under my tight shirt - and back to his smiling face. He was smiling! It didn't make me any less frantic in trying to land on an excuse, but it did pull the strings of my lust for him and made the problem all the worse. He was quiet if only because he couldn't have worked in a word between my apologies, but he did laugh from time to time, and it was too much. Even still, the way he had sat up to see, the curves of his slender body taunted me, and the growing bulge in his pants, my eyes stopping there on each trip from my own dick to his face... I got up and ran to my room.
His soft knock came a moment later. He didn't say anything, but he did knock again, and I opened the door, and he hugged me, and he pressed his cheek to mine, and then I kissed him. I kissed him, it's important to say. He pressed our cheeks together, he told me in that one gesture that everything was okay, but I interrupted to press my lips messily to his. I pushed him against the door and my pants fell to my ankles and my tail wagged in overjoyed jolts. We never said anything, never really confessed our feelings. I just started kissing him, and then he started kissing back, and then we were sucking and nibbling at each other's lips and wrestling our tongues and we realized that teenagers only express their love via long monologue on television shows because on TV they can't show all the information and emotions that are shared by simply pressing someone against a wall, assaulting their lips, and feeling them return it.
My hands gorged on his body. Oh, his fur ran through my fingers for the first time, the first time I'd ever rubbed anyone's fur like that, letting this soft hairs tickle against my palm in wide, irregular circles. I sunk my hand into his pants and squeezed his ass, spread out my fingers over the velvet fur on his full cheeks, and I squeezed. I squeezed his ass for a minute, then paused as I tried to think about where this was supposed to go next. What do I squeeze next? What do I kiss next? He was already sucking on my neck, and his hand cradled my balls as the other stroked the base of my tail. But he was a virgin, too, and the way his lips wandered from place to place seemed to say he was just as unsure as I was. I squeezed his ass again. I liked it so much the first time, after all. His pants dropped soon, and then we were both standing in just our shirts, the collars on each a little bit disheveled.
We made it to the bed, him on his back, because I threw him there. He uttered a slight, hushed grunt as we fell together, and his breathing was starting to get slow, deep. Right in my ear, too, since then I was working on his neck. A sudden urge hit me like a sledgehammer and in one quick moment he was sitting against the headboard, and I was above him, placing the tip of my cock to his lips. He tasted me first, slurping me from knot to tip just to get the flavor on his tongue. Hell, I didn't know what dick tasted like any more than he did, and I studied the strange, satisfied expression on his face for clues when he wrapped his lips around my rod and began to suck gently, tentatively, his enthusiasm building quickly and steadily until he was taking me deep into his muzzle. I humped his muzzle, though I wasn't sure I was supposed to, but it felt good. I made him gag once or twice, and stammered an apology that he was too enveloped to answer. I had a firm grip of his hair, and was actually starting to pump into his mouth, and he could barely keep his lips wrapped around me, but he tried, goddamnit, he didn't complain for a second, he only held onto my thighs and braced himself for me to thrust again.
I turned him over, finally, and buried my nose under his tail. It really did happen just that quickly, too. I moved about as jerkily and awkwardly when I humped him, and again when I started darting my tongue into his hole with trepidation, but the transitions between the two were smooth as silk. He moaned, his slight body twisting through him in visual, competing waves. He grabbed onto my sheets and moaned and his tail brushed against my forehead. His shirt was bunched up against his shoulders, and almost all of his graceful back was exposed, the slim little valley in the middle flowing like a river through it, my nose between his two stupendous cheeks. I kneaded his ass, pulling the cheeks apart so I could get deeper inside, almost up to my nose. And then I couldn't resist, I fucked him. I slid up on his ass like I was on rails, so smooth, and the moment I had the tip of my cock against his hole, and he was writhing on the bed below me, his arms above his head, and for the first time I seemed to move fluidly. I put a hand between his shoulders, used the other to hold his hips, and pressed gently. I thought, When does it pop open? Harder? Will I hurt him? So I pressed a little harder. Will I hurt him? I pushed forward with my hips, and he yelped as my cock sunk into him, a few inches immediately and a few more in a slower grind as the tight hole resisted against me. My head swam with emotions, and my body felt tingly and hollow, and I had a sensation of not being in control of myself. My knot was already pressing between his cheeks, and he was was panting and grunting. I pulled out a little until he relaxed, and went slower again, very slowly, wanting to thrust forward again but going slowly, until my pulsing knot was against his ass again.
And then I fucked him. He asked me to, I could hear between his moans and groans and grunts and gasps, wedged quickly between, "harder - oh god - you're too big - no don't stop!" His tail was bent over his back, and the white tip grazed against his neck, still in the mussed collar, as I thrust into him. I made the bed shake, and what I lacked in innate rhythm, I made up for by bracing myself for short, powerful bursts of deep, hard pumps until I fell back into a slower, easier to manage pace. Slowly, I found a groove, and I became more confident. I reached underneath him and grabbed his bouncing cock and stroked it in my paw, a few strokes for each thrust, but evenly timed, like playing a beat. And it it did make a beat, the constant sound of my hand slapping against his heavy balls, and the interspersed bass thump of of my hips against his soft cheeks. I don't know if I was moaning before, but I was certainly moaning then, and this is what I said:
"I want to knot you," and I pressed the bulge against his hole, as if threatening to do it immediately.
"Are- are you supposed to?" he asked.
"I don't know..." I admitted. "Do you want me to?"
He didn't answer, he simply groaned and pressed his face into his arms as I fucked him deep. And I didn't know! I only knew I wanted to knot him. Would I break him? Would I have to marry him? I had no idea about what it all meant, I just knew I wanted to feel myself as deep inside him as possible, and have him wrapped tight around me.
"Just relax," I told him, right in his ear since I was bent over his back then. I pressed my throbbing knot against his hole and drove, slowly, steadily, just as when I'd entered him the first time. He groaned and grunted, his gasps getting short and staccato and alarmed. I tried to say another reassuring word, but it only came out as grunt, and I rolled my hips forward and sunk into him, and he was tight around me. His balls slapped against mine, and he let out a startled shriek. I had little movement, then, but I jabbed anyway, kept up all the motions of my earlier robust pace even if the actual thrusts were meager. But they were certainly deep, and he moaned, and his thick, stiff, dripping cock throbbed in my hand.
"I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum," he said breathlessly, and I could feel his dick beginning to pulse in my fingers, and I could feel his ass squeezing against my bulb, warm and tight, in waves, milking me, and I said "me too, me too!" I began to fill him just a moment before he shot onto the sheets. His whole body seemed to tighten around me and squeeze me, all the while his terse grunts came with every shot. The cum stained the sheets in a large, damp circle that only got bigger as he dripped slowly, drained. And well, of course by then I was practically out of my mind, and was pressing him down into the bed, into the mess he'd just made, trying to fuck him with all of my body if I damn well could. I blew my load inside him like letting the cap off a high pressure hose. I remember I had the base of his tail firm in my hand, and squeezed it with each shot, filling him and fucking him still until his ass was messy and full of my seed. And then I collapsed into the mess I'd made, too, and we simply laid together, panting.
It took awhile before either of us came to. I was still hard inside him, but I liked it. I was enjoying the musky scent coming off him and the steaming warmth rising from his body. And, I think, he was enjoying the feeling of my chest rising and falling against his back, because he came to time his breaths with mine, as if he anticipated them.