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As a teacher of high school English, there's not much excitement in Ray Vega's life. But when one of his students goes into heat, he discovers the need to teach a few extracurri... well. I'll let you find out, but I bet you can't guess what happens :P

Aaaaaand maybe the last of the regular updates for awhile, but here's one more to kick your weekend off! High school teacher. Vixen for a student. I'd tell you more but I don't want to ruin the surprise :P

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

"Lessons" ** by ** Rob Baird

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Pulitzer Prize-winning author, MacArthur Fellow, and youngest graduate of the Brown University literary doctoral program -- these were just three of the many appellations that would never be used to describe Dr. Ray Vega, who had stopped using "doctor" two years earlier upon his move back to town.

It wasn't just that it seemed a bit of an affectation, for a teacher of Advanced Placement English at a school with fewer than a hundred and fifty students. Or that even back in "the city," people had raised an eyebrow at the thought of a literary "doctor." It was that it seemed... tawdry, somehow. Out of place.

But then, so were those self-same students. None of them wanted to be there: it was a warm day outside despite the storm rolling in, there were three weeks left in the school year, and all of them had already taken the AP exam. It made for a group of youngsters who could not have cared less about Maya Angelou or Robert Frost, not even to extend him the courtesy of pretending.

Ray looked up from his desk to see a flicker of movement. The Australian cattle dog's sharp eyes narrowed; focused -- then he growled, inwardly, because he knew the source of the movement. "Clem," he said, sharply.

Clementina Czakowski jerked her paw back to her desk, which was where it was supposed to have been all along. "Mr. Vega?"

"What were you doing?"

"Oh. Uh. Nothing, Mr. Vega."

He sighed and got up, crossing over to her desk. "Hand it over."

"Mr. Vega?"

Clem was a sophomore, and the youngest student in the AP class. The vixen managed, in Ray's estimation, to pull off bookishness in a rather fetching way -- were she not sixteen. But even then, she had not yet learned when to push that advantage, and when to give up. "The note, please, Clem."

"The --"

"The note you were passing to Angie Page." Page glanced to him at the sound of her name, and then the rabbit turned back to her coursework, laying back her ears and trying to appear studious. "Hand it over," he ordered sternly.

Clementina's black-gloved paw lifted very, very slowly. He took the folded slip of paper, shook his head, and padded back to his desk. He knew that they were going to be unruly: they were young, after all, and they knew that the essay he'd assigned them to work on was essentially meaningless.

Was it so much, though, to ask them to pretend? "You'll stay after class, please," he told her, then turned and made his way back to the desk. And then Ray unfolded the note.

Kirk is back next week, it said at the top. This was followed by a smiling face, with the muzzle turned in a grin and little triangles drawn for ears. Kirk Butcher was in Austin, competing in some swimming competition or another; he was not in the AP class, and Ray did not think much of the work he saw from the otter in regular 11th-grade English.

The next line was written in Angie's handwriting.If you want to get his attention, you should do something special.

Special?

Blowjob! There was a lilting, innocent merriment to the way the word had been scrawled. He could just picture Angie writing it, impish smile showing her buck teeth and a teasing glint in her eyes. Angie was, in Ray's mind, a troublemaker.

And influential. Clementina had answered: I wouldn't mind having his cock in my mouth.

He looked up. The vixen was staring fiercely at an empty page. She wore a mortified expression, and her face seemed to have reddened even further. She hazarded a glance upwards, saw that her teacher was watching, and cringed heavily.

Of course, she was a teenager. Teenagers had hormones. Ray had been in high school not all that long ago, and he knew what that was like. She could be granted some slack. But passing notes was passing notes...

She just needed better role models. Page was not one of those. And what the hell was Page doing recommending cocksucking, with those teeth of hers? The vixen would be better at that anyway. Again, Ray corrected himself with a start, were she not sixteen.

By the time he dismissed the students -- it was the last class of the day -- she had not yet returned to the essay. Which, at least, was something for detention. He gestured at the blank piece of paper and, though she did not turn her attention back to it, she at least gave him a faint nod.

Ray had no particular fondness for detention. It did not serve anyone's needs well -- both of them would rather have been at home. Even his gradebook was not particularly meaningful -- the Advanced Placement test was all that any of them cared about, and that was in the past now.

Twenty minutes into detention, Clementina finally put her pencil back to the page. By the time the hour was up, she had finished, and she got up, keeping her eyes on her feet as she padded up to his desk and handed over the loose sheets of college-ruled paper. "My essay, Mr. Vega," she said.

"Thank you, Clem," he told her. The vixen's neat penmanship covered both sides of two pages, and a goodly bit of a third. Bookish, indeed, and quite studious. He took the essay, stapled it, and set it to the edge of his desk. "You had any questions about the work?"

She shook her head and said nothing.

"Doubtful. It's not like you. Ginsberg isn't for everyone, though, I'll grant you that." A roll of muffled thunder gave his commentary an unexpected, inappropriate severity. "How are you getting home?"

"Um."

"From here. You're going home, right?"

The vixen nodded shyly. "Yes, sir."

"How?"

She shuffled uncomfortably. "Walking, I guess."

The cattle dog lifted himself from his chair far enough to peer through the yellowing windowpane. "Starting to rain. Tell you what; I'll give you a ride home. Just let me get my things together, and we can head out." Not that he had many things: his laptop, a folder of notes, and the stack of essays he would probably rouse himself to grade that evening over a beer or two.

"I... you don't have to do that, Mr. Vega."

"Well. I wouldn't want to walk home in the rain," he said. To show that he was serious, he closed the lid of the laptop and stacked the essays atop it. And then, while she watched, he retrieved her note from the edge of his desk, and handed it back to her. "You'd probably best keep that."

"Y... yes, sir," she agreed, took it, and folded it over and over until it had disappeared in a tiny square.

The first of the rain was beginning to fall, but they made it to his Toyota in peace. It was the little things, Ray sometimes thought, that made his station in life clear. A few tech entrepreneurs had moved into Cannon Shoals while he'd been away at college, and they drove foreign cars too -- Porsches, mainly. One even had a Tesla, although the nearest charging station was in Lincoln City.

Ray drove a twenty year old Corolla. It ran quite well, though he opened the door for the vixen so she wouldn't see the rust below the handle. Fortunately it started on the first try, and he shifted into first gear as smoothly as he could manage. "Where do you live, anyway?"

"Um. Towards the edge of town, sir. If you take Jefferson towards the highway, it's just before the turnoff towards Oak Valley."

"Salmon Hill?" He tried to remember the name of the subdivision. It was the newest in the area, which meant that it was still older than his car, and composed of modular homes that were already beginning to show their age.

"Salmon Run," she corrected him gently. Right, that was it. It was easy to navigate the little town, and he knew most of it by heart. Five years at Brown, and he still got lost in Providence. But dingy, weatherworn Cannon Shoals...

Ray sighed. "Look, Clem. I know that class is pretty much over, but you still have to take it seriously. All the students do. I mean. I expect a little less from the others, but you're a smart girl. I'm sure you did well on the test."

"I hope so." As the rain came down a little harder, she turned to stare out the window. Their town was not the sort that was improved by rain -- it didn't make things seem fresh, or clean. Only more dreary.

He needed to change the windshield wipers -- rather, he needed to have Dave or Brit change them, over at Vic Gowen's oil shop. It was the kind of thing that he knew, even as he remarked on it, that he would forget until the next time it rained, and then curse himself for the forgetting. "Next time this year," he mused, "you oughta be thinking about where you might want to go for school."

"I'm doing that already, sir," she admitted shyly. Her glasses ringed inquisitive grey eyes that never seemed to rest long in one place, but for the moment they were resting on him. "I'd really like to go to Stanford or American. Or maybe the University of Chicago."

A tow truck in front of them had the road blocked; he idled to a stop, and took the opportunity to turn the schools over in his head. It was a far cry from Oregon State or eh, I dunno... "Yeah?"

Clementina was a slim girl, with long, thick hair that made her look not a little like the picture from a bottle of shampoo in the right light. Someone -- Angie, probably -- had told her that she needed to start wearing more revealing clothing. The blouse, with its top buttons conspicuously unfashioned, combined with the glasses and the daisy threaded into her mane, gave a rather muddled background to: "I'd like to study international relations. I hear that they do have a good program in Seattle, except..."

"I understand," he told her, and grinned. Except that Seattle was close, too close, and she could see in her future the ability to get away. Really get away. "Have you asked Mr. Shah what he thinks?" SV Shah taught "social studies" at Matthew J. Rex, which incorporated all forms of history and government and geography.

Clem nodded, and the daisy nodded with her. "Yes! He's said he'd be willing to help. They don't really have any classes like that at our school, so I might even have to go to OCCC."

"Newport? Eesh," he laughed. "Can you drive?"

"I can't get my license yet, sir. Not 'til this summer. But I'm going to. Mom's offered to teach me."

Ray gave up on waiting for the tow truck, and pulled around them -- not like anybody would be coming the other way anyhow. "Good for you. If you need a recommendation or anything, just let me know. I'm sure Mr. Shah will help you however he can, too."

"Thanks."

"Why international relations? Why not... business, or engineering or something?"

The vixen chewed on her lip, fidgeting for a second. "I... well, it's probably stupid..."

"Nah. I'm just curious."

Clem smiled hopefully. "I just want to know what makes the world work. I kinda hope that... if you know that, then maybe you can... work to make it better. If you don't know why countries or fighting or why there's so much injustice then..."

"How can you fix it?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. You know, at the high school in Lincoln City they even have a 'Model UN'?"

"Sounds..." Really geeky, he would've said, except that at her age he'd been longing for some kind of poetry slam at Matthew J. Rex and that wasn't really much more realistic. "Fun."

"I hope."

He nosed the Corolla up and onto the road towards the Salmon Run subdivision. "Good luck. I meant what I said earlier, too. You're a good student, you just... need to keep focused. Page is a bad influence on you. You don't have to follow all her advice."

Suddenly reminded that he had read her note, Clem flattened her ears. "I know, sir. I... I don't know what... came over me. Just been feeling weird, I... I guess it's spring, or something."

"Maybe. Which house is it?"

She pointed, and he pulled the car to a halt. The rain had ebbed briefly, but she paused at the handle anyway. "Thanks for... you know. Not reporting me, Mr. Vega."

The cattle dog smiled. "Just don't let it happen again."

Clem sort of... hopped... up the steps to her house. Her feet danced, and the thick brush of her tail swayed above a skirt that was a good four inches shorter than the school's regulation permitted, and probably a good four inches longer than what her rabbit friend had wanted. It showed more than enough of her legs, though, and her nice little rear and -- fucking god damn it, Ray. He fumbled for first, hit third instead, and killed the station wagon.

Fortunately she was not paying attention.

Ray taught half of the English classes at the school, which meant that not all of his charges were in Advanced Placement, and not all of them were quite so mature. He made it through all of the ninth-grade vocab tests and most of the tenth-grade essays on Lord of the Flies before they were sufficient to draw an anguished groan from him and he dropped to rest his muzzle on the table of his kitchen.

"Ray?"

His roommate was reclining on the couch, reading a magazine. Dawn Danis worked part-time at one of the shops downtown; in the summer, when the tourists came, she would always be busy while Ray idled, but for now the leopardess had enough free time to sprawl, and to grin sardonically at the dog's foibles. He groaned again.

"That good, huh?"

He lifted his muzzle with a great effort, so that he could stare down at the paper. "It's supposed to be an essay on symbolism in Lord of the Flies. 'Simon talks to the pig head and becomes Lord of the Flies to be as to...' Christ, I can't even read this." He tried again, more slowly, word by word: "'To be as to have the author's symbolic metaphor' -- that's spelled wrong, by the way; they wrote it with the number '4' -- 'symbolic metaphor of how it is better to be King of Flies than to be ruled by anyone.'"

"How... Miltonesque."

"Uh huh." Not that the student in question would have intended that. "You've read Lord of the Flies?"

"Like, fifteen years ago."

He flipped to another essay. "Do you remember the part where 'Piggly and Ralph blow on the couch as a symbol of leadersh'... sorry, 'leader_shape_ to the musician Jack and his band'?"

"Hell of a symbol," Dawn said.

"Uh huh." Ray grunted. "I need a drink. You want to go to Annie's?"

"That place?" Annie's was listed in the phone book, and so the Internet as well, as 'Annie's Port in a Storm,' and using this name was how the regulars at the dive bar knew to kick a newbie out. "You don't need a drink that bad."

But he was a regular, despite his degree and his lack of familiarity with fishing boats. "Fine. Three Sheets?"

"I'm meeting somebody later."

"'Somebody'?" Ray lifted an eyebrow, and straightened up his slouch. "You want the apartment, then?"

"Not that kind of somebody," the leopardess said, sticking out her tongue. "Doing some design work, maybe -- new sign for Jenny's Jetsam. Want to talk terms with her and Chaz before I find a CNC place though."

"Fancy."

"Just thinking maybe we can get it done before tourist season hits."

He nodded, disliking as they all did that the town lived for tourist season. And, having nothing better to do, he repacked his essays, and stepped back outside to find that the drizzle had faded to a clammy evening chill. The neon light above Annie's door beckoned -- but then, drinking alone was awfully...

Awfully...

Awfully not him, at least not at that particular hour on that particular day, though he badly wanted it. He settled for La Cochinillo, with its garish depiction of a sombrero-wearing pig and the vinyl booths that wore their age with the grace of decaying roadkill. But cerveza was cerveza, after all, so he ordered a Corona, told old Connie Pless he'd have dinner 'in a bit,' and settled back into the routine of the grading.

Junior AP English was a breath of fresh air. Almost enough to make him forget everything else. Almost enough to make him forget Clem and Angie and their damned notes and why the hell was Kirk Butcher in Austin anyway, when he was stuck on the coast for the rest of his damned life and --

"Well, if it ain't Dr. Vega."

He looked up from the paperwork to find a stocky dog with clear blue eyes leaning against the far seat of the booth. "Oh -- hey! Fancy meeting you here."

"Just passing by. I thought I saw you -- busy?"

"Nah. Just doing my homework," he said, gesturing, and grinned to apologize for the lame pun. "You hungry? I haven't ordered yet."

The ruddy canine looked from the empty seat towards the kitchen. "Well. I'm hungry, yes, but... Mexican..."

"Can't go wrong with an enchilada. C'mon, sit. I'm gonna kill myself if I have to mark up another essay without a break."

Weighing her options, the dog sat, and Ray waved Connie over for two menus. The old lioness nodded to each in term. "Hi Ray; hi KJ. You need time, or... your usual?"

The other dog was still looking at the menu, so Ray shrugged. "I'll have the number... sixty-one. But, uh. Black beans instead of refried. And what would you recommend to pair with that? A nice Riesling? Or, no, some kind of red."

"Maybe a Corona?"

He looked at his, which was empty. "Maybe. You sure not a red?"

The waitress smirked. "How about a Corona."

"Fine." He grinned back up at her. "I keep telling you, you gotta get with the times. Make this a fusion restaurant, get the big food critics in over from Portland..."

Food critics would not have paid any attention to La Cochinillo, a hole in the wall that was badly in need of filling. Connie snickered. "Like you're one to talk, Ray. 'Get with the times,' huh? How's your car doing? You get it back from the shop? Dave said you were putting it off. You think that old thing's gonna make another winter? Kid..."

"Don't kid me. I'll..." He waved his paw. "Get around to it. This summer."

"Sure you will. And you, hon?" KJ had closed her menu.

"I'll have the burrito. The small one," she pointed. "But, um. More of that, uh -- the green stuff?"

"Salsa or guacamole? It's a red salsa that comes with it ordinary-like, hon. Salsa rojo," the lioness said, pronouncing the word to rhyme with mojo.

"The one with avocados."

"Guacamole, sure thing. To drink?"

She handed over her menu. "Coke, please."

"Not a Corona?" Ray asked. She shook her head, and Connie departed with their orders in hand. "Really?"

"Nah, not tonight."

The cattle dog laughed. "Jesus, KJ, like either of us got a reason to be sober?" KJ MacRory -- some kind of mutt, he thought, although people thought that of him as well -- had been a year ahead of him at Matthew J. Rex, and they'd entirely fallen out of touch when he went to college.

Now she was married to a fisherman; they had a house up in... well, Salmon Run, actually, if he thought about it. Lifers. "I... probably shouldn't."

"Driving back, then."

She blinked. "Oh. Yes."

"Yeah, figured. I live close. Just, um." He pointed awkwardly behind him, out the window. "Around the corner really."

"Nice place?"

Ray laughed, and eyed his empty bottle reflexively. "Oh yeah. 'Least it ain't too spendy. And I'm splitting the rent."

She nodded, and by then Connie had returned with their drinks. "A friend?"

"Dawnie," the lioness interjected, before Ray could answer. "You remember, George and Norma's daughter, the photographer?" He supposed everyone in the town had their own description like that. Constance Pless was the Waitress. Dawn Danis was the Photographer. Ray was the English Teacher.

Together they formed the most mundane, irrelevant of zodiacs. "Oh, I see..."

"Oh, no, hon, it ain't like that." Connie took Ray's old Corona, swapped it for a new bottle, and disappeared again.

"We're just roommates," Ray explained. "Dawn is... I mean. You know. I'm not her... type."

The canine across from him tilted her head to the side, and pondered that -- then apprehended his meaning with a twitch and a nod. "Right."

"Yeah."

She smiled. "Are you seeing anyone, then?"

He shook his head. "Don't got time, not with classes and all. And I guess an English teacher ain't exactly the hottest commodity. Not around here." KJ's husband, if Ray remembered correctly, owned his own fishing boat. It was a far cry from a 1996 Corolla with bad struts and windshield wipers that didn't.

"Oh, I don't know. You just gotta be less... self-doubting. Take some initiative." She took a sip of her Coke, and when she set the glass down her eyes fell on his paperwork. "How's teaching going, anyway, doc? Is Mr. Shavers still there?"

Ray nodded; most of the staff from when they'd been in high school was still around. It wasn't like there were many places to go. "Yep. Babs Carr stepped down as principal just before I came on, though. It was kinda sad -- I was hoping she'd be around on the hiring committee."

"Always did like you, didn't she?" KJ said with a smile. "Think you were the closest that school had to an actual student. God knows I messed up my time there."

"You and Charles graduated the same year, right?"

"Carl," she said. "And no. He dropped out."

"Did alright for himself anyway," Ray pointed out. "Ain't he got his own boat? Somebody was saying that."

"Yeah. Crabbin' mostly. Him and a couple others go for the dungies when they're in and they can get a permit. Damned state's so..." She shook her head. "Tree-huggers down in Salem."

"Ain't never seen a crab that wasn't already part of their sushi," he agreed, and cleared away his papers so Connie could set their meals before them. His enchilada, which was smothered in sauce and sour cream, was mostly grease. Why else would anyone go to the restaurant? "Anyway, I've got some good students. I get to teach the advanced class, and they're pretty good. Got one girl who told me today she wanted to go to Stanford. Study international relations."

"What's that?"

Ray realized that, in truth, he had only the vaguest idea. "I don't know, exactly. I guess it's about why countries go to war, trade agreements, things like that. Like the United Nations."

KJ rolled her eyes. "Wants to sign even more laws about where and what and how and when you can't fish, huh? God knows we need that."

He grinned, and sawed into his enchilada. At least it was tasty. Mostly salt and fat and meat whose origin he was too smart to question, but tasty. "Well, right, huh? 'International affairs? Why can't you have an affair right here?'"

His dinner partner paused sharply, fork nearly to her muzzle, and one of her ears drooped towards the side. "I... um. I didn't mean that, Ray. It's good she wants to study things. You ought to encourage that."

"It's my job," he chuckled, and followed the laugh with a long pull off his beer. "But I like her. Class of troublemakers, mostly, but... ah, it's okay. Nice to feel like maybe I can make a difference... that's what she said, too. Why she wants to study all that stuff."

"Then you keep an eye on her," KJ ordered him gently, after a second or two to reflect. "Kids like that, well... I know from experience. It's easy to get... to lose your way. They deserve better than this town. You do whatever it takes, Ray."

After dinner, he still had half a dozen essays to read, and KJ allowed that she needed to be heading back anyway. He nudged the sawbuck she laid on the table back into her paw, and though she clearly didn't want to take it he saw the flicker of thankfulness in her eyes.

Coulda been... Except not really. He'd been a rather gangly lad, and her husband was a big, heavily muscled dog who looked like he could've pulled a redwood out by the roots. Or. He had been -- Ray had lost track of a lot of people from his youth, and he realized he had a way of assuming that they looked exactly as they had at graduation; that a decade had not changed them in any way.

And after all, KJ herself was still rather cute; she'd put on a little weight, but on her body it mostly seemed to have settled in the right places. Still and all... Ray ground his teeth, cursed his dirty mind, and forced himself to be happy for the couple. Besides which, it was not as though KJ was the type to stray.

But it was not easy to find people in Cannon Shoals. Many of the people his age had already moved away, and most of those who remained were married. That left... well. His paw, really, was what it left; he laughed to himself, ordered another Corona, and settled back into the last of the papers from the school day.

Like his students, Ray was counting down the days to summer and, like them, he didn't really know what he would do with his time when he had it. Maybe head back east; hang out with his friends from college and the graduate school. That was what he'd done the year before.

But even then it had been... awkward. Because they were heading towards teaching positions in Chicago, or Denver, or Atlanta, and he was setting up for another year of Intensive English 9, which was how the school patronizingly referred to the course for incoming freshmen who could not read at their grade level. This, if he was honest, was most of them -- but the class had a maximum enrollment of eight.

So the others filtered out, and into the general student body. Of the dozen students in the AP class, maybe only four really should've been there. For the others, it was less teaching and more... triage. Yes, that was it. It was triage, and he was a --

"Mr. Vega?"

He snapped himself back from the wandering of his untidy mind. "Ah, sorry, Tyler. Yes, you're right, of course. That was a good answer."

Ray didn't remember what he'd asked, exactly, nor what the husky had said. It was the following Monday, and they were going over a few of the questions from the assigned reading of the weekend. Tyler meant well, so it had probably at least been earnest. It was not quite a pop quiz; none of it really mattered, and he went on to the next pupil. "Clementina. We talked before about how the author's perspective is a hidden but very important component of their writing. How do you think Kipling's personal experiences showed in the reading?"

The vixen looked from her reader up at him. "Um. Well. I think that his experiences definitely influenced him. Um... he was really a booster of the Imperial military. You can see that in the cheery friendship he shows in 'The Parting of the Columns' or the way he yells at his countrymen for not supporting the troops in 'Tommy.' Then you read the solemn imagery of 'My boy Jack' and, knowing that his own son had recently been killed in a war that Mr. Kipling strongly supported, I think you can see a sense of... um. Of struggle against his emotions, and the way his emotions brought him to those consequences in the real world. Mr. Vega."

"'The Parting of the Columns' wasn't in your reading, Clem."

"Uh. No, Mr. Vega. I went and looked on the Internet."

Ray hid his smile poorly, and nodded. "Fair enough. Thank you. Ms. Page, would you agree? What of the author's emotions do you see in 'My boy Jack'?"

The rabbit shrugged. "Interest."

"Interest... in?"

"In... the sea, I guess? It's about he wants to know more about the tide, and the wind blowing, and all that. It's kinda like my dad does? When he goes fishing?"

Ray blinked. "You don't detect any... guilt?"

"What, like he should know when the boat is coming back already?"

The cattle dog sighed, and ran his fingers backwards through his hair. "No. No, I guess your answer is clear enough."

And the hell of it was, as the coming minutes were to prove, that Angie's answer wasn't even the worst of them. Bored, distracted, the students offered halfhearted dissections of Kipling and Sassoon that bordered on slander. He let them go, and tried not to feel exhausted when he dropped into the easy chair in his office.

Presently Clementina and two others came to the door -- a cat named Gary and a girl named Heather he suspected of being a kangaroo, though he was not able to prove it. "Can I help you?"

Gary turned out his paws. "Our tutoring session?"

The three of them, plus Tyler if he was in a good mood, were his star pupils. He found their dedication endearing, but: "We don't have to do those anymore. The test is done. Nothing to worry about now, guys. Go enjoy your afternoon."

Two of them obeyed; the other lingered, waiting until after the door was closed to speak. "Mr. Vega?"

"Yes, Clem?"

"Can I ask a question, Mr. Vega?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"I thought you asked me about Kipling's sense of guilt because you wanted to talk about it. But how come you never did? Or, like, how he was a total racist, or an imperialist, or..."

Ray's laugh was tired, and not entirely mirthful. "Take a seat?"

The vixen did, on the old sofa he'd crammed against the wall. She crossed her legs so that, when her skirt rode up her thigh, he could see nothing but the slim angle they formed. Then she folded her paws expectantly, and tilted her head. He noticed, with an improper sense of disappointment, that the daisy was gone.

"It's kind of tough, teaching this class. I wanted to ask about Kipling, but then I sort of thought that if I did, most people wouldn't be able to answer. It would just be you and me. Do you think Angie would've had anything to say?"

Clem thought on that, and the vixen's soft laugh was almost a giggle. "I don't think she did any of the reading until you started calling on people."

"I don't think so, either. But also, you know, Rudyard Kipling comes from a different time. There was an exoticism to foreign cultures that looks quaintly racist now but was probably fondly intended when he wrote it. You see that exoticism in a lot of work from that period, too. Not always so positively."

"Like in Heart of Darkness?"

That, also, had not been part of their assigned reading; he didn't know where she'd even heard the name. "You've read Conrad?"

It was, the vixen explained, on the AP exam, and she'd been so interested by the excerpt that she'd found a copy in the school library -- not terribly surprising that they'd have it, Ray supposed; it wasn't the kind of book that was likely to have been stolen. She didn't seem concerned by its provenance -- was more interested in asking his opinion of a book he hadn't read since his own high school days.

And from there into Kipling's lilting discourse on the Khyber, and Rangoon, and all those mysterious places half a spinning, vibrant world away from the fog-shrouded cliffs of the Oregon coast. It was nearly four o'clock -- two hours past the last bell -- before he came to his senses, and ordered her home.

"Working late," Dawn teased him.

"Tutoring a student," he said, and tossed his satchel over the coat rack.

"Oh I see."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," he told her. Or himself. Or the both of them.

Heather and Gary didn't even bother stopping by, the next day. But Clem did, poking her sharp-muzzled head into his office and asking, shyly, if he might have a few minutes. This time it was about Slaughterhouse-Five and, more broadly, the bombing of Dresden in general.

It was a topic he proved to be woefully unprepared for. He brought up a few articles on his computer, and she looked over his shoulder, so that the warmth of her body was uncomfortably close to his. He managed not to lean away, although... "Wouldn't this be something you could ask Mr. Shah about? He teaches World History, doesn't he?"

"I'll have him next year," Clem said, straightening up and retreating a foot or so. This way her body heat no longer bled into his, but when he turned it was to see the silky fur of her chest, in a tightly clinging shirt that pressed the vixen's breasts together to create an enticing valley that he jerked his gaze too quickly from to be subtle -- had Clementina been the type to pick up on that.

"Ah -- but?"

"Oh. But... he's not as... as interested, you know? I just feel like there's not anybody I can talk to if I just want to... know things like that. I mean, like, even Kirk? Kirk is real smart, but, um. Not about history or books?"

"Sure, but..."

"And it seems like you like learning too, right?" She grinned -- vixens had such sharp teeth -- and leaned back into him, pointing to the computer screen. "That link says something about Vonnegut, doesn't it? In the title? I can't quite see, 'cause of..." she tapped the edge of her glasses.

Kurt Vonnegut was taken prisoner during the Battle of the Bulge. The Battle of the Bulge was fought over the winter of 1944. The attack on Dresden took place in February, 1945. Clementina's fur smelled of cinnamon and clove. Lancaster bombers. Air raid sirens. Reconstruction. The fur of her arm brushed his cheek when she pointed to another hyperlink, and it was very, very soft indeed.

"Clem," he said, finally. "Probably time to go."

She looked out his office window. "I guess. Can we continue tomorrow?"

Ray ran a very cold shower, and he ran it long -- long enough that when he stepped out, short fur plastered and disheveled, Dawn threw a sponge at him. "Thanks for using up all the hot water." And rather than correcting her, and risking an explanation, he shrugged and said that it had been a long day.

And it was only Tuesday.

Wednesday morning he arrived to find the vixen waiting for him, standing shyly by the side of his office door. She perked up when she saw him, and waved. The daisy had been replaced by a ribbon, a deeper crimson than her fur, and the fabric twitched like a tail when her perfect little ears quirked and twitched and swiveled.

"Hi, Mr. Vega!" she said. The ruffles of her skirt rippled when she bent over to pick up her backpack. She was brightly oblivious to the way this forced him to look down her top, and for his part Ray decided that it would've been worse had he seen her from the other side instead. "I wanted to thank you for staying late with me the last couple days. And before that, too..."

"Of course," he said. "You're one of my brightest pupils."

She beamed, and invited herself into his office. Ray swallowed, avoided looking at her, and opened his laptop up to check his lesson plans for the day. Clementina was not going away, though; she stood, motionless, except that when he finally turned to look at her the vixen's brushy tail waved. She held out a foil-wrapped package.

"What... is this?"

"I baked some brownies last night. Don't worry -- there's no symbolism, just walnuts." And she smiled, at her own awkward, silly joke.

Ray unfolded the tin foil. The brownie was the size of his paw, and if it tasted half as delicious as it looked the cattle dog would still have given his tongue for it. Except that accepting it was less than proper, and Clementina was less than proper, and...

"Would you like to try some?"

"I don't know, Clem..."

With an impish giggle, the vixen broke off a piece, and handed it to him. "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it." Ray looked up sharply, and she tilted her head in surprise at the suddenness of his movement. "The Picture of Dorian Gray?"

"Why are you reading Oscar Wilde?"

"I got bored. Mom and dad both work."

He nodded and, as it would've been rude to do otherwise, he took the piece of brownie and popped it in his mouth. The rich taste of chocolate flooded his senses, filling his tongue, and when he bit down to crunch a bit of walnut between his carnassials the dog decided that there was little better than a brownie to offer stalwart defense of hedonism.

"You like it?"

"It's magnificent, Clem," he told her -- truthfully -- and poured out a little coffee to wash it down with. "Are you going to have some?"

She produced a plastic knife from inside her backpack, and sliced another chunk off. He watched hungrily as the blade sank through the stiff crust to the dense, moist chocolate below -- catching on a chunk of walnut that offered the mischievous promise of subtle flavor...

Then she leaned across his desk to grab a paper napkin, and before he could stop her the vixen's fur was in his nose. He caught the scent of cocoa, now -- and then of something else, dark and earthy and before he could decide what it was he knew, as a tightening warm ball in his stomach, and he jerked himself back. "Clementina -- sit down."

Startled, the vixen pinned her ears and drew back, leaving a trail of napkins across his computer. "Mr. Vega?" Her grey eyes were wide behind her glasses.

"Sit."

Carefully, she sat, and clasped her paws together in her lap.

How the hell had he missed it? All the fucking signs... "Clem, you're going into heat, aren't you?"

She blinked. Once. Again. Then her little black ears disappeared, and her fur seemed to darken with a blush spread across her entire face -- whiskers quivering, eyes averted. "I don't... know..."

"How long has it been?"

"A... awhile," she admitted. "I... I guess..."

"Go see nurse Bridgman." He tried to be as gentle as possible, but now that he knew what was going on Ray's voice carried the strain of trying to ignore it. And when she hesitated, he spoke more firmly. "Right now, Clem. I'm not kidding."

She nodded, shaken by the tone in his voice, and when she was gone he let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in. Christ, yes, that did explain what had been going on -- even the note, now that he thought of it, which was otherwise rather out of character for the demure young vixen.

And it made things a little easier for him, too. After all, it was just biology, and he could scarcely be faulted for that. Neither could she! And now she could go down to nurse Bridgman, and the tigress would give Clem something to tide her over, and a prescription, and that would be the end of it.

Satisfied, for the most part, he cut another piece of the brownie off, and then folded up the rest of it to give back to her -- though it had been such a kind gesture, and he thought fondly of her for it. Still, it wouldn't be entirely seemly...

And the most important bullet was dodged. He did not think that the vixen was especially enthusiastic about what she had to do, but it was her responsibility and it was a lesson that she needed to learn. And when she came to him, after class, it was the first thing he made certain of: "Well?"

She knew what he was referring to. "The nurse gave me something for it."

"And it helped?"

The vixen nodded. "Yes, Mr. Vega. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I don't know. It makes me feel a bit... strange? I don't like it."

Of course, he did not envy her, any more than he had envied his sister or his girlfriend in college who had alternately barricaded herself in her dorm room and resigned herself to the pills. "But you know you have to take them, right?"

"Well..."

"No," he said flatly. "You have to. I'm not going to have you disrupting the class over this. The other girls manage, and you will too." As a peace offering, he showed her the foil-wrapped brownie.

She took it only long enough to unwrap it and break it in half. Handing him the larger piece, she took a careful seat. Her ears were back. "I just don't like the way it makes me feel. I don't see why I should have to..."

He tried to think of a tactful way to explain that she had to because he was not going to be the only one to have problems with self-control if she did not. Clementina was, after all, rather easy on the eyes... and the clothing did nothing for her modesty. The clothing which, he now realized, was some percent Angie's doing, and some percent Clem's subconsciousness. "It's just part of being an adult," he settled on. "Like getting your driver's license. Or like filing your taxes. You're going to have to do that, too, even if you don't really want to."

The vixen took the daintiest bite of the brownie, and then licked her lips before continuing. "I... guess."

She did not sound convinced. And she was not in the mood to discuss Heart of Darkness, so after the brownie was finished he sent her on her way. And chalked up a small victory: a few more days and she would be over it, and two weeks after that she would be gone for the summer and Ray could get back to the business of pretending that he had no urges to suppress.

Thursday began auspiciously: no early visitors to his office. There would be one more test to give, he decided, and wrote up the prompt over a grilled cheese sandwich from the cafeteria -- Clementina was sitting with a couple of her friends, and didn't seem to notice his presence when he ordered the school lunch for the day.

Auspicious.

His classes, too, went well. Even the AP class, which was at the end of the day and naturally restless, presented no difficulties. Ray put on a short video about the life of Tom Wolfe -- the students always liked the more radical personalities in English literature -- and settled back to plan his evening.

No drinking; that was another temptation he managed to fight back. For once, no homework to grade either. He would go home, hope his Internet was up to playing some video games, and get to bed early. Perhaps see what Dawn was up to, though he imagined the leopardess would be watching one of her British sitcoms or doodling for the design work she'd committed herself to.

Yes, yes. He listened idly to the video playing, white noise in the background. It ended a few minutes before the bell, and -- not one to stand on principle -- he dismissed the class early, ordering them to collect the essay prompts from his desk as they filed out.

Clementina lingered, as he'd half-feared she might. "Can we talk, Mr. Vega?"

At least she'd settled on blue jeans. Her shirt was still a little tight, but nothing he couldn't ignore. "What's going on, Clementina? Feeling better today?"

Her ears flicked back, and she shook her head. "No."

"The medication?"

A nod. "Mom gave me something stronger."

And to the credit of either nurse Bridgman or Mrs. Czakowski, he could at least no longer smell the vixen from behind his desk. "That keeps it under control?"

Another nod. "I really hate it."

If he regarded her more carefully, the vixen did look rather miserable. Even her hair seemed to have lost a little of its luster; her grey eyes stayed downcast, and her thick brush twitched only at the tip. The cattle dog frowned slightly. "Well... you are fighting biology, I guess, aren't you?" And you couldn't really do that.

"I wish I didn't have to."

He took a deep breath, and sighed. "I know. I can't really give you any advice. Shouldn't you be talking to your mom, or the counselor, or..."

Clementina's eyes darkened even further. "They don't understand. Nurse Bridgman is like a billion years old and... and mom doesn't have time 'cause she's tired from work when she gets home and I..." Her ears twitched, and the vixen sniffled. "It's just not fair..."

"No," he agreed. "It's not fair. But it's something you have to take responsibility for. When you're in that... that state, it. It produces certain... urges. That a lot of people are going to be susceptible to. That's not fair, either -- putting them through that. Particularly when... I mean, the way you've been dressing lately, for example. It draws a lot of attention."

"Yeah, but boys are just... dumb, anyway..."

"Not just boys," Ray told her.

Clementina tilted her head, and looked at him with dawning realization. "You mean, uh..."

"I'm not just your teacher," the cattle dog said softly. "I do also have a normal... libido. And a nose."

She swallowed. "I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, Clementina. I'm sure it's tough for you."

"But... you wouldn't... I mean... you're not like Dorian Gray, either." A pause, and a shy smile that for a moment was a little of the old, upbeat Clem. "Right?"

"Right." This was at least partially a lie. "But even still, it's best not to... create that temptation, do you follow? I know that it winds up tempting you, too."

This admission did not cheer her. "So you're saying if I didn't..."

"If you didn't what? Take your medication?"

"Yes." She nodded. "That it would cause problems. I... I don't know, Mr. Vega, I think I could deal with it. I mean... better... better than I can deal with being on the meds... I could definitely deal with it better than that..."

For being so good with Kipling and Conrad and Wilde, she was very slow at apprehending his meaning. "It's not you dealing with it that's the problem," Ray said. "This close to the end of the year, everyone's got a lot of nervous energy, and... well. You know how that class can be when it gets rowdy. But I tell you what, okay?"

Clementina lifted her muzzle to look at him, and her ears perked hopefully. "Yes, Mr. Vega?"

"If it really bothers you that much, I can excuse you from my class, at least. You can stay home and deal with it on your own terms."

No doubt this wasn't the compromise she wanted to hear, but it was the only one he could offer. And the cattle dog did, after all, feel a little bit guilty: it wasn't really anything the vixen had wanted, just something that the vagaries of biology had thrown at her. And at a terrible time -- another couple of weeks and nobody would've noticed, if she could manage to keep to herself.

But in the end, it didn't matter what was right, only what would happen if she decided to throw herself into the sea of raging hormones that was an eleventh grade class just a few days from the end of school. Kirk Butcher, her otter beau, would have to deal with it on his return... and that, Ray Vega did envy.

And knew, and couldn't rouse himself to caring, that he should not have.

When he saw her again it was the next day and she had decided to come to school. The skirt was back, and that was an ominous sign. It came halfway down her thigh, and then stopped, sharply, framing slim legs just where her black fur met burnt, blazing orange. Those legs ended in knee-high boots that were a little warm for spring. The effect, when she tapped the heel against the floor, was to draw one's attention first to her feet and then upwards, to the ruffled skirt and then to her blouse.

The blouse was snug, and clung to her deceptively womanly figure, with her breasts filling the garment perfectly. Every inch of her clothing was designed to hint at what it was hiding. And the hibiscus in her hair was matched perfectly to the summery blouse, and to her vermilion fur.

He suspected that she had lapsed. But what was he to do?

Delay the inevitable as long as possible. Rather than distributing the essay prompts himself, he ordered Angie to do it, and the rabbit obligingly took the papers from his desk, handing them out to each of the students in turn. Damn it, Clem. He could see Tyler fidgeting already -- trying to focus on his work, even as his leg twitched and his pencil twirled aimlessly between the husky's fingers.

Ray worried his claws against one another. Click, click, click. Then Adrian Wyatt, a graceless fox who sat behind Clementina, knocked his pen from his desk, went for it too quickly, and tumbled in a heap onto the floor between the rows. His stammered apology appeared to be meant for everyone, not just her, although it had not -- really -- been his fault.

Deprived of any options, the cattle dog sighed and raised his voice. "Get back in your seat." Then -- raising it further: "Clem. Go to my office, please." She quirked her head, and he narrowed his eyes. "My office, Clem."

Splaying her ears, the vixen nodded nervously, gathered her paperwork, and slunk from the room. This would not calm Adrian or Tyler, at least not immediately -- but at least he hoped it would keep things from getting worse. Click, click, click.

During his years at Matthew J. Rex before, as a student, how often had he stared at the clock, willing it forward? Now he was doing the opposite. He was going to have to talk to Clementina, of course, and he had no real idea what to say. Nor, if he permitted himself some honesty, did he know how he was going to control himself. Opening the window, perhaps.

No, a stiff drink. That was what he needed. He would not have been the first teacher at the school to self-medicate in this fashion.

The bell to let out class rang, and he accepted his students' work distractedly, bidding them a pleasant weekend in a voice that bordered on outright mumbling. His thoughts were elsewhere, trying to structure what he would say.

Clem, it's not your fault, but. Or -- wait. No, better: Clem, we need to have a talk about what we can do to manage this. The talk should've been coming from her mother, but apparently Mrs. Czakowski was not quite as on the ball as he'd hoped. This hasn't been easy for anyone...

He nudged the door to his office open and the thick, heady scent of the young vixen hit him with all the force of a Union Pacific locomotive and none of the subtlety. She had settled into his easy chair; her legs were clasped together and she hunched forward, paws clasping her knees. At his entrance her ears perked. "Mr. Vega, I --"

And his script abandoned him. "What the fuck were you thinking?" the cattle dog growled.

Those adorable soft-black ears went back once again. "I -- I th-thought I could handle it for one day and..."

Every time he took a breath his muzzle was filled with the vixen's heat. And every time it worked deeper into his brain -- past the talking part, and the thinking part, into those primordial neurons that had very simple desires, indeed. "I told you," Ray said, his voice dark. "It's not about what you can handle. Get up, Clem; you're going to ruin my chair."

She stood, and lowered her muzzle towards the floor while keeping her eyes on him. "B-but Angie said it w-w-wouldn't be that bad and I should... should..." Then she saw the expression on his face, and trailed off.

Ray took a few steps closer, and now that he was no longer holding it he heard the door click shut behind him. "Angie Page is an idiot. An idiot, and a dumb slut of a rabbit who doesn't have to care that the class is three quarters canine." He was standing right in front of her now. "What did you want me to do, Clem? What did you want me to have Adrian do?"

"Well... he..."

"He wanted to fuck you." But then... wonderingly, realizing it even as he spoke: "But that's what you wanted, isn't it?"

She blinked wide grey eyes, and looked up at him. Too-innocently. "Mr. Vega?"

Far too innocently. No, she knew what she was doing. He'd explained the effect she had directly, and even the oblivious foxgirl would've understood that. How else to explain why she'd come to class in the depths of her heat? How else to explain the short skirt that drew the eye to her lovely-slim legs and the sensuous tail that waved, and curled, and beckoned?

With a quiet growl, he slid his paw behind the young vixen, and felt for the firm swell of her rump. She was hot and soft beneath his fingers -- everything he'd known she would be -- and when he groped her Clem's ears flicked and her eyes widened further. "Mr. Vega?"

"Yes... I blamed Angie, but then... you're a bit of a slut yourself, aren't you Clem? You could've taken your medication..." He worked his fingers down until they found the edge of her ruffled skirt, tugging it upwards so he could trail his claws through the silky fur at the back of the vixen's thighs. Fondling her again -- he'd been so wrong. She wasn't a girl. She was a woman, after all, with a woman's voluptuous curves and a woman's urges. "Could've at least worn something more modest. If this wasn't what you wanted..."

Clementina glanced past him towards the door of the cattle dog's office. She put a paw on his chest, pushing him back gently. "I should just... just go, sir..."

"No," he said sternly. "You're staying, Clem. It's time you learned a lesson about consequences."

"I don't... I don't think I should..." She shoved harder, with all the strength she could muster. But there wasn't much of it, and after all she did want him, didn't she; why else would she have come? Or stayed?

He batted her paw away, and shoved her back, down and onto the couch -- she gave a little shriek of surprise and then he was _on_her, pinning her into the cushion with his shoulder. The young vixen struggled a little and Ray bit down on her ear, bringing her squirming to a halt as his fingers felt for the buttons of her shirt. "Stop," he growled. "I know you have these urges too. Don't fight it. Don't fight me..."

Now when she tried to push him away it was with her body trapped and his solid weight above her and the attempt was even more weak and ineffectual. And the buttons of the vixen's blouse yielded anyway when his claws sought them, pushing the garment wider and wider until the last catch released and her breasts spilled free, the flesh heavy in his paw, nipples stiff and erect with the desire she was trying to deny.

He took a step back. She was sprawled obligingly on the couch. The parted edges of a sky-blue shirt framed thick white fur that he knew he was going to have to run his fingers through -- feel it soft and plush beneath his touch as he groped for her fur-downed breasts. Her hair spilled like black ink about her head and even though she was free to go she didn't move. Just watched him.

"I'm not... sure this is right, is it, Mr. Vega?" she finally asked, when he moved back to her body and his fingers hooked into the waistband of her skirt. But she didn't try to stop him.

Why would she have? She needed the same thing he did, Ray told himself. "Of course it is," he grunted, pulling her short skirt off and over her thighs. And her panties with it, the thin fabric clinging wetly for a half-second before he worked it free and rolled it down along muscular legs matched perfectly to her flawless young body.

He slid his paw up between her legs and just before he found her crotch she tensed reflexively and pressed her thighs snug to trap his fingers. "Mr. Vega -- Ray -- please, what are you doing?"

"What did I say about fighting it?" he asked her in a bubbling growl, and wormed his fingers up and inwards against her squeezing protests.

"But I've never..."

Even committed as he was, drunk on her scent and the sight of the gorgeous vixen, that brought Ray up short. "Never what? What about you and --"

"No, sir. N-not yet."

A grin spread over the cattle dog's muzzle. "Oh, Clem," he said in a slurred growl. "Clem, this is going to be perfect... open your legs."

"Why?" The hungry look in his sharp eyes did not seem to reassure her.

"Because I'm your teacher, and I told you to. And because if you fight me, I'll do this anyway. Be a good girl, Clem."

She paused, and pinned her ears for a moment, but relaxed anyway. Grunting his approval, he brought his paw up until he found wetness, and the foxgirl jerked under his touch. And whined, when he slowly slid a finger over her soft, slippery wet lips. He did it again, teasing her until his fingers were sodden and he could dip one blunt digit just inside her hot, needy young body.

"Shhh," he murmured. Laying himself over her chest, with his knees still on the floor, he nibbled her ear again. "Clem, you are just so... perfect." He added a second finger, stroking to either side, caressing the lips of her moist sex. "This is why you didn't want to take your meds. You needed someone to do this. It's okay, Clem..." She shuddered as he pushed his finger deeper, slowly, taking his time exploring her.

He pressed his thumb against the seat of her pussy, just above the little nub of her clit, squeezing gently as his fingers worked into her and grinning to himself at the way she jolted and gasped hotly. He nudged his muzzle into her throat and inhaled deeply. Cinnamon again, and vanilla -- just as well, for he fully intended to devour her.

Now the vixen was squirming and pushing her legs against the arm of the couch, sucking her breath in shallow gasping pants. He pumped his fingers faster as she trembled and bucked, and muffled his growl in the soft fur of her neck. "Let it happen, Clem... be a good little bitch for your teacher..."

She gave a grunting, hoarse, adorably incomprehensible non-answer and then locked in place. Completely tense, her back arched and her face scrunched up, eyes squeezed tight. He felt her spasm and quiver on his fingers, rhythmic jolts and twinges in the soft flesh of her young sex, and when he pulled them away he felt fresh wetness spilling between her thighs to stain the well-worn cushions of his couch.

When she finally relaxed, her expression was something more blissful and giddy, and her eyes had softened. "Oh, Mr. Vega," she whispered.

He was already undoing his khakis, pulling them down -- kicking his shoes off urgently, practically tearing his boxers away. "See, Clem? You see what you do to people? The power you have..." The cattle dog's stiff cock bobbed freely, and he got up carefully, joining her on the soft cushions, pushing her legs apart. "But it's going to get so much better, my lovely Clementina..."

The vixen's eyes were fixed on his erection, swaying between his legs, as he guided himself to her. They both gasped at that first contact, and she swallowed with sudden nervousness. "Mr. Vega I'm not sure -- I don't --"

"Shh, shh, shh," he whispered to her. "This is how it's supposed to be. Your whole body's begging for it, Clem..." And with a strained groan he slipped himself into her slowly. Hot -- tight, clenching, sodden heat as she opened up around him. Resistance, and tension from the young foxgirl as his pointed tip found and slowly parted the barrier of her virginity.

He crushed his muzzle to hers in a kiss that muffled her sharp cry as he pushed in smoothly, all at once. And he groaned out, helplessly, as her pulsing cunt clasped to him, seizing around him with the little keening whine he heard escaping from her. God she was tight. Hotter than he could even have imagined -- he nearly lost himself right there, and was grateful for the excuse to hold still until, slowly, she calmed.

"Better, Clem?" After all that was how you were supposed to be made a woman -- deep in heat, wanton and begging beneath a nice strong canine like... well. Himself. He'd had to do it. Take the initiative, wasn't that what KJ had said?

"I feel so... full..." Her long black fingers slid between them, and he felt her brush the fur of his crotch. He pulled himself back, just a little -- she was so sopping wet that even with the snug fit it wasn't so hard -- and she circled the base of his cock with her fingers. Squeezed him. Let him throb wetly under her fingerpads as he slowly withdrew from her, until just an inch was left. "That all goes inside me," she murmured wonderingly. "Do it again..."

With another fluid push he sank back inside her, the vixen's pussy enveloping him in comforting warmth. Slick, wet velvet clinging to him as he thrust into her lovely young body in long, deep strokes. She was tighter than anyone he'd ever had, and by the fifth or sixth time when her gasps were met with gentle humps of her plush hips he knew, knew he was doing the right thing.

Couldn't argue with biology.

He fought to keep his breathing under control but it was already becoming strained and heavy. Clementina, too, was panting -- the foxgirl's eyes first went unfocused, then half-lidded, then she closed them completely and her tongue hung limp like a dog's. Now and then he felt claws push into his crotch; she was teasing herself with her fingers, nudging, circling her clit in deeper and more insistent strokes in time to his thrusts.

"Ray," she whined. "Mr. Vega, please, a little faster -- oh -- oh yes -- yes!" she shouted it breathlessly when he complied, pounding himself into her now, harder and harder. Another shout, strained -- a high, almost canine whine and then she clamped down on his cock again and there was a slick squelch when he plunged into the hilt and held there. She was grasping at him, squeezing him like a wet, warm fist with her back arched and her teeth bared and her ears back and sweet god, Ray thought, why did I try to fight this?

He couldn't move again until after her peak had started to fade, and by then the cattle dog's knot was swollen enough to make itself known. The jolting aftershocks tensed the squirming vixen every time he forced the slick bulge past her lips, and every time he tugged it back from her. Now her claws were in his sides, tugging at him, and the fourth or fifth time he worked it firmly into her he felt her kick and writhe again and her wail of passion was unmistakable and every bit as intoxicating as the thick musk of her heat filling the room.

Her clenching spasms as she came on his cock were enough to trap him -- her wet folds grasping the solid knot to hold him deep -- and when she could speak again she mumbled up to him thickly. "What's -- whassthatmistervega..."

"Remember -- your health class," he said, and tried to thrust again although it was difficult. No room to move, and now every bit of warmth and friction threatened to be the last one, the final straw. "When canines mate..."

"So you can breed me?" she asked. It was so desiring as to be rhetorical, and then to remove any confusion she hugged him down, and close. "Please, Mr. Vega... do it, make me yours..." He thrust into her sharply and she gasped, nodding urgently, guiding him like an unbroken horse in those last yearning urgent bucks where his resolve was gone. "Yes, Mr. Vega -- oh god!"

He'd pushed in deep and her blasphemous oath met with a desperate, loud grunt from the canine as he gave in and let the pleasure take him. His cock jerked and throbbed as he pumped his warm doggy cum into her in spurt after long, hot spurt. "Clem," he breathed into her throat. "Oh fuck, Clem... oh my little bitch yes, fuck, take it, that's a good girl -- " another grunt as a new wave of bliss seized him and the week of tension and temptation flowed into her in sticky waves.

She cooed gently into his ear and stroked his back as he filled her, flooding her tight passage. Nuzzling and pleading for his seed until he was done, until the spurts had weakened and he was just twitching softly inside her. He tried to roll off of her, and she hugged him tightly. "No... stay, please..."

Clem was warm and comforting beneath him and the command was easy to obey. He sagged into her body, and her soft pelt, and let his hips rock slowly to urge his potent seed deeper into the vixen's womb. "Clementina," he sighed, in a tone of voice that added all kinds of possessive oaths after it.

"You wanted me," she murmured, and he felt her fingers on his back, drawing errant shapes. "Didn't you..."

"I needed you on your pills because I..." he trailed off, and now that it was all done he let the admission wait for a sated groan as he realized what he'd done. "I knew I couldn't control myself. So hot... god, my wonderful vixen... I've wanted to fuck you for... months..."

"You're not supposed to want that," she pointed out.

"Hell with it," Ray said. "You're old enough to have known better if you didn't want it yourself..."

Clementina blushed heavily. "Sometimes," she whispered -- she was whispering, although they were alone and the school was no doubt long deserted. "Sometimes I... I'd think about... you. Instead of Kirk. What it was gonna be like..." And the blush deepened.

The cattle dog lifted an eyebrow, and then he pressed his muzzle to hers in a kiss. He pulled back, thought about answering -- then went in for another kiss, deep and lingering this time, lips warm and soft and sticky as they met... and when he finally let her go and she smiled hopefully up at him he returned the smile easily. "And how was it?"

"A little scary at first. But... I don't feel so bad about my heat now," she giggled. "If it makes you do that... was it what you were hoping for too? Mr. Vega?"

"So much better..."

She licked his nose. Then his muzzle more broadly. Then she kissed him, since he'd set the example. "Did you think I'd let you cum inside? In health they said we should use something. I... I was gonna ask you to pull out but I'm glad I didn't." A helpless, elfin smile. "You feel nice and warm... do you think you got your pups in me, Mr. Vega?"

"Hmf. I... I don't know."

"Do you think you should try again?"

Now she was just teasing. Growling, the dog wiggled his hips back and forth until his knot could slip loose, and his cock dragged free from her with a lewd slurp. "Get up if you're gonna be like that..."

"Up, Mr. Vega?"

But she managed it, although she was a little unsteady. Wobbled. Caught herself on his desk, with her bare rear to him -- rump pushed out, tail flicking. How she should've been all along. Ray grunted, and sat up himself. "Stay."

Clem obeyed, like a good girl, and with a pleased growl he got himself behind her. Spread her legs, found her sopping heat easily, and pushed in with one deep, forceful thrust that she met with a rough-edged bark and an obedient shove of her hips back and into his.

If he'd thought the urgency would be any less the second time the cattle dog was mistaken -- just being inside her again was more than enough to bring a growl to his parted muzzle and a swift, harsh cadence to his thrusts. Grabbing for her rump, he pounded himself swiftly into the vixen as she sagged forward and grabbed desperately at the far edge of the desk. In this new position he felt himself working deeper, his cock squelching through the mess of his earlier release.

It wasn't the only sound: she was trying to stay quiet, but even still her muffled vulpine yips and barks filled his tiny office and had he not been consumed by his need to claim the vixen he might've feared discovery. But who would be able to argue? He gave himself into fucking her -- his thrusts rough and sharp, shoving her into the desk until it groaned and quivered and screeched its agonizing way across the tile floor.

No words, but sound and plenty of symbolism: their mating was swift and feral and his arms encircled her possessively as he rutted into her. Wild. Panting into the back of her neck, nipping at her to bring forth those little yips and yelps that rose in pitch until she was just squeaking, her claws raking at the wall --

And then a strangled wail and she was bucking on him, trembling in the throes of her peak -- squirming, shoved so full of cattle dog dick that his swelling knot bulged her lips out around him. He relished the wet pop as she yielded to him, knowing it was close, trying to get himself stuck -- and then it happened, and he snarled his triumph into her flattened ears, letting her know that he was about to fill her again, to claim her body for his own, to mate with her like their kind was meant to do...

For a few aching, breathless seconds more he kept up his pace. His knot kept him from pulling out and he used the leverage to fuck her as hard as he could, as the burning, aching desire swelled up in his loins until he lost all control. Until he surrendered, and his thrusts went all hurried and erratic and needy and then with a groan he was cumming again, jetting his seed into her a second time to make sure she was absolutely filled with him.

Absolutely. Filled. His paws clutched the vixen's waist to hold her against his jerking hips and he bit down on her scruff so she'd have no doubt about who she belonged to in those final, delirious moments of release and tense energy. His strength seemed to flow into her with those jolting spurts and when he fell back and tumbled into the sofa she was ready for him, falling easily into his lap.

She let him recover in silence, although she squirmed herself closer and the stimulation sent a shudder through his dappled body. Then she turned, the hibiscus flower in her hair dragging over his cheek, and smiled sweetly. "Was that what you needed? Was I a good little bitch, Mr. Vega?"

"The best," he gasped. "Oh, Clem. My star pupil..."

"I didn't think this was going to happen... I thought you were gonna yell at me..."

The cattle dog's stubby fingers petted her, stroking through the fur of her belly where his seed was working its way way deeper inside with every breath they took. How it's supposed to be. "I did yell at you."

"At first," she nodded. "And -- and then again, just now... you snarled real loud..."

"That's what happens to people when you're in heat," Ray told her. "Had to teach you a lesson. You learn it?"

She nodded, and rolled her hips again, playfully. "Mm-hmm..."

And that was the heat talking, too, and perhaps he knew that. Ray let her have her fun, though, until his knot had finally subsided and he carefully pulled himself from her. "Take your meds, though, Clem. Next time."

"I don't need Saturday school?"

He chuckled, and before she could pull her blouse back on he took advantage of the opportunity to run his fingers down her bare frame again. "Maybe not."

But maybe. After she left, he realized that he had not gotten her to suck him off. He doubted she had much experience, and he wouldn't want Kirk Butcher to wind up disappointed. Although Ray had really ruined her already for him, with his canine endowment -- hadn't he?

So why not? And what else would he be doing with his weekend? Taking the initiative, yes, he could manage that. He cracked the window of his office, and hoped that the smell would've dissipated by the time the janitor came.

There would be regrets. Even in the euphoric daze that still trickled through his veins he knew that there would be regrets -- later, when he was back at home, bottle of beer in his paw. For now, he hummed brightly to himself as he packed up and made his way outside.

And stopped short.

Someone was sitting on the hood of his car. He was most of the way to the Corolla when he recognized Angie Page, fiddling with something on her cellular phone. The rabbit looked up when he approached, and smiled at him. "Hi, Mr. Vega."

"Hello," he said, carefully. "Why are you on my car?"

"Waiting!" She slid from the fender to her feet, and the look that she favored him with was very mischievous indeed. "For you, Mr. Vega."

"Why."

Angie spun her phone in her paw, catching it and regarding the gadget with a smirk. "You know. This phone has a microphone? And a recording app? You wouldn't believe the kind of things you can record... or overhear..."

The canine frowned. "Such as?"

"Get in the car, Mr. Vega," Angie grinned, and showed off her white buck teeth and her best, most devious smile. "I think we need to talk."