FSE

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For all the horny dragons out there and the foxes they crave.

   Foxes.

   Cute, sassy, pouty, slutty, but especially elastic.

   And they are so much better when they think they can handle themselves around you.

   You picked out a nice, quiet coffee bar on the south side of town, open late on weekends with a special open mike night for the poetry buffs to flaunt their lyrical prowess under the spotlight. You're not there to see the struggling artist, though. You came for the wiggling foxes. You noticed that every Saturday a group of teenage, make-up slathered boys come into the bar to get their fill of poorly-written poetry and sugary sweet espresso drinks. Clad in their black clothes, they almost disappear into the dark leather chairs circling the table near the back: their headquarters of petty loathing and angst. They pick apart everything from the poets' words to their cushy, suburban life, to paper napkins soaking the condensation from their cold caramel Mochachillinos. They are in their own little world. They are never wrong.

   Most of them are canines and felines, but it can be hard making out distinguishing features from all the black make-up and clothing that makes their non-conformity that much more blended together. You do, however, pick up on a black fox, his head exposed from his random goth band hoodie with his hair perfectly styled and swept over his left cheek in a curtain of ebony. His lips are done up with similar black lipstick which makes it seem like his words puff out from a void in front of his soft violet eyes. You can tell they are color contacts, but the boy certain accessories his body well. The tips of his hair are carefully dyed a deep purple and his clothes are lined with the similar color. You can see the small glint of a lip ring on his upper lip dotted with a purple, most likely fake, gem while fishnets of matching color extend from his hoodie when he rolls up the sleeves.

   Without the baggy sweater, the boy might easily have his gender mistaken. Tight black t-shirts cling to his thin upper frame while his sleek leather pants hug his hips low just under the base of his white-tipped tail. It would be peculiar to think the boy would go to the trouble to dye his entire body black, but it would be something you could investigate yourself soon enough. Every Saturday, the fox and his friends slink into the coffee bar, place their order and settle themselves at their table like slutty witches at a coven. They openly touch and talk to each other, yammering about whatever teenage problems demand their attention and you are sure you've seen at least a few of them kiss on rare occasions, but not the fox. He seems to distance himself from the group without actually physically moving from his chair as if he were far too important to be hanging around with such juvenile activities. The others eat this up like biscotti.

    Tonight, you make your move. There would be no more watching the fox faking boredom over very real and very bad poetry, you were going to make yourself noticed. You watch him and his friends parade into the coffee bar with their usual bravado, ordering their chocolate espresso drinks and making a hasty retreat to their table just as the first set of poets begin their somber droning. You watch from your shadowy edge of the bar, eyes flashing intently under the darkened lights as you look over your fox. His ensemble isn't too different from last week's as you watch him remove his hoodie early and expose his fishnet-lashed arms leading into a short, tight tank top. His tummy is exposed shamelessly with more of the criss-crossing purple material overlaying on his soft, white fur. He watches his comrades share a single pack of Spade cigarettes, just as black and ill-tasting as their outlook and much more expensive.

   You snag a waitress as she passes and order a pack of the overpriced smokes just as the small audience around you claps for the poet finishing his long-winded recital of the word "gloom" twenty-three times. You wait for the scrawny mouse to leave the stage before standing up and making your way toward the spotlight and microphone stand. You make a point to be noticed by the teenage table, swirling your long overcoat around your body as you arrive at the stage. You know it's far too warm to be wearing such a heavy thing this time of year, but showmanship counts. You stare with contempt down at the microphone as you allow our audience, specifically the teenagers and your fox, to fully take you in.

   You've changed your scales to a dark, glossy black all over from horn to tail, even going so far as to dim your silvery hair to a duller, listless gray. You pause for effect, then pull a small, tattered book from your coat, bound in worn leather. You clear your throat and recite words in elegant, fluent Draconian. Each syllable is manipulated from your lips to the smoky air, dripping with your warm, dark voice. You captivate every single ear and eye in the building, drawing the jealous gaze of the other poets and the interested gaze of a fox near the back. As you finish recanting your recipe for a spicy beef stew, the room is too stunned to even applaud. You tuck the notebook back into your coat and make your way from the spotlight, disappearing into the nearly pitch black darkness.

   The waitress hands you your cigarettes as you pass and you tease one out from the pack into your lips, sparking the end with a thought and walking directly toward your fox. The entire table follows your every move until your pause in front of the chosen teen and blow dual rings of thick, acrid smoke from your nostrils into the muggy bar air. You lock eyes for a moment as the fox struggles to find something impressive to say for the sake of his underground popularity, keeping his lips tightly sealed shut as you run your dark, black eyes down his body. Up close, you can only smell the stench of these foul cigarettes ingrained in the boy's fur and only a hint of fur dye from his styled and swept hair. His eyes show a brightness behind them hints at the beginning of a strong infatuation of which you immediately take advantage.

   You tug the small, black cigarette from your lips and hand it down to the fox. He stares at it like a holy relic handed to him by a god before softly snatching the cherry-flavored tobacco between his thumb and forefinger and taking a deep drag. You smile and offer your hand next. The fox looks to his comrades for reassurance and they glow with intense envy. He slips his small, soft paw into your hand and you stand him up, leading him back with you to the secluded row of tables along the back of the room. You can feel his pulse in the palm of his hand as he follows your every step like a lost child, the Spade cigarette dangling from his lipstick-covered lips. You settled yourself behind the corner table in the booth and pull the fox in right next to you.

   You casually lean back into the corner with a soft mutter of Draconian from your lips restricting what little light there is from escaping your private area of the coffee bar. The private shroud of shadows is unnoticed by the young canine as he takes another kiss from his cigarette. After a minute of silence, the fox manages to form a compliment to your lyrical talents. You chuckle and ask him his name. He starts rambling something that sounds like a painful mix of Lovecraft and Tim Burton before you push the cigarette back into his lips and invite him to try again. He blushes as he realizes he is no longer among his easily-impressed friends and mutters a quick...

   "Fenwick..."

   You offer him a warm smile and compliment him on the name, seeming to soften the blow of his secret identity being revealed so quickly. You strike up a steady conversation that pulls more and more words from the fox's mouth through the "mm's", "uh's", "like's", and "y'know's" that so frequent his speech, occasionally brushing your hand over his hair or his leg as you casually regard his body up close. At first, the fox clams up to your close proximity, but as you turn the conversation to more racier grounds, the vulpine easily loosens up. Soon, you have one hand around the fox's waist while the other shares another Spade cigarette between the two of you. You coax him into telling you about his friends and even the few with whom he had "experimented." Your subtle touch and dominant body language ease more and more information out of the infatuated teen and soon you have him telling you about his first kiss with his friend Marty, the time he had watched Kevin and Terry make out at the back of the Ravens concert, and even the loud moans of his older sister's boyfriend as he jerked him off one Sunday night.

   Every word of his stories draws the fox closer to you, your claws gently digging into his slender hip and your breath can soon be easily felt on the side of his neck. Fenwick turns a bit squeamish the more your words heat his black furry neck, but your firm presence (and grip) keep the boy from retreating from you. You glance around the coffee bar to make sure nobody can truly make out either of your bodies in the dark before you stealthily pop the button on his tight designer pants. This doesn't go unnoticed and your goth fox politely asks you to stop. You ignore him with a short chuckle and easily slip your hand under his pants and underwear. He startles again, but instead of pushing away from you he pulls closer to your side, nervously looking around the bar now as you molest and squeeze his young, quickly stiffening foxhood.

   You watch Fenwick's demeanor quickly melt from pensive to pleasureful as your smooth, scaly fingers stroke his length, a soft shudder bringing a whimper to his lips right as you carefully turn his chin and taste them. You can feel the soft nudge of his lip ring against you as your muzzle parts and flicks your serpentine tongue into his warm, inviting mouth. Fenwick returns every bit of affection you suckle from his lips as his body trembles under each teasing stroke in his cramped pants. With a bit of manipulation, you free the goth boy's aching erection and stroke him fully in open. His nervousness renews as you tease his sensitive tip with your thumb, locking lips with his moist muzzle and feeling him trying to resist your erotic embrace. He manages to wriggle away from your kiss long enough to get a few words of worry out before you silence him again and bump up the speed with which you stroke his cute fox boy cock.

   Pre begins to drizzle your forefinger and thumb as you make out heavily with your goth boy. You break the lip lock long enough to coax a sheepish moan from those soft, damp lips while musing out loud how much of a slut he must be. His cheeks heat up, but he cannot find the words to refute you, simply squirming in the booth as your steady stroking gains momentum. His breath grows sharper and you can feel the soft twitch of his cock with every tug of his fingers as the boy braces his paws against the table. You lean back and watch him writhe with delight in your grip, arching himself from the booth slowly and biting his lower lip as he shuts his eyes. The first soft rope of pearly white cum from his cock lazily shoots up against his flat stomach, soaking his fishnet and the fur underneath before being joined by another glob right next to it. You can feel the warm pulse of each sticky load jolt through his stiff foxhood before it squirts out across your fingers and down onto his pants. He squirms deliciously and each twitch of cum is accented by a soft yip of pleasure from his parted lips.

   You pull him to you in another deep kiss, more openly exploring his muzzle while your fingers smear the hot, sticky mess along the goth fox's spent shaft. He shivers with oversensitivity, shaking against your embrace, but warmly suckling at your moist tongue when it passes over his muzzle. You feel it's time to move on and unceremoniously unzip your slacks. You turn the lithe fox toward you, suckling your fingers of his bitter sweet boy cum before turning to share the taste with him via your lips. Fenwick doesn't seem to mind the cummy kiss and leans up into your lap to deepen with his fox tongue darting and toying with yours. As his paws rest on your thigh to steady himself, you manage to sneak your hand into your pants and tug out your impressive member before brushing it against his arm. You smirk to watch his eyes widen and slowly turn down toward your lap as your free hand gives the back of his head an encouraging shove.

   The fox is overwhelmed by your size, blushing hotly as you run the thick tip across his cheek and make him squirm in your lap. He seems hesitant at first but after a moment of studying the long, thick dragon meat before him and getting a few breaths of your seductive scent the fox finds himself unable to keep his warm, wet tongue in his muzzle. He slips to his knees just under the table and presses himself between your legs as the fox boy softly laps up the underside of your cock. You lean back into the booth and grin as you watch every short, teasing slurp of that pink tongue glide over your curved ebony length. You give him a soft growl of approval and brush his black and purple hair from his face to watch him worship your cock with his warm lips and tongue. As he reaches your tip you are fully hard, a look of obvious intimidated fear gleaming in the little fox slut's eyes that momentarily replaces his lust. You fix his stage fright with a heavy hand on the back of his neck, inching your tip past those cute lipstick-covered lips and into his tight, wet maw.

   You don't need too much encouragement after that as Fenwick's natural, slutty urges take hold. He bathes your cock with his tongue, moving his paws to gently squeeze your base and keep you pointed down his small muzzle as he silently slurps down your length. You let him take his time and become familiar with your length, occasionally catching him glancing up at you as he suckles your broad shaft. He hides his gaze shyly behind his hair as you flash him a toothy grin, growling deeply and giving the back of his neck a squeeze as you sink him further down. You can feel him squirm nervously between your thighs for a moment as your long, fat cock nudges the back of his throat, letting out an amateur choke from around your thickness that is like lustful music to your ears.

   You compliment the boy on his eagerness to worship your cock before tugging him back up and watching the soft sheen of saliva glisten in the dim light from where his lips almost made it halfway down your length. You allow him a moment to regain control of his throat then press him back roughly down your erect dragon cock. Despite being better prepared for your impressive thickness, he still muffles a small, cute gag against your length as his paws grip your slacks. Again, you pull his head up but immediately bring it back down and repeat the motion, watching and listening to the teenage fox suckle at your length and struggle to wrap his moist black lips around it. You watch when his muzzle sits poised at your tip, his eyes looking pleadingly up at you before you watch him inch your stiff, black meat back between those luscious lips.

   You've seen that look before and know exactly what he would be begging for if you ever allowed him off of your cock. So, you oblige him without a word, snarling softly as his wet muzzle drools slick boy saliva down the rest of your exposed cock. You don't even have to glance underneath him to tell that his stiff little erection has immediately returned as the tight slurps from his lips grow in intensity around your fat length. You slowly remove your hand from the fox's head and smirk to watch the boy bob up and down your dick without guidance, his muzzle making the sweetest slurping sounds as his warm, pink tongue slathers your cock with his own natural lubrication. You take the moment to lean back in your booth and cross your hands behind your head, watching the cute little goth boy worship your cock and never remove his lips from the tight seal his sucking creates against your hot meat.

   Just as you feel the soft telltale twinge low in your stomach, you ease the eager boy up off your cock with a sloppy, wet slurp. He keeps his muzzle open, not a spec of his lipstick smeared, with just a bit of saliva dripping from his lips onto your thick erection that has already been thoroughly lubed by the eager little fox boy's sucking. There is no more second thoughts or hesitation in Fenwick's violet eyes, you can only see the lust soaking his intentions now. He quickly gets back to his feet as you pull him up, shuffling those ridiculously tight pants from his hips and pushing the table away with your foot. You rise yourself and, in doing so, press the little eager fox chest-first onto the flat surface. Fenwick probably still hasn't figured out the shadowy barrier blocking all this action from the other patrons' view, but the horny little fox doesn't seem to care either.

   You rid yourself of your pesky slacks, letting them slump to your feet as both your hands lightly squeeze the delicious fox rump presented before you. You note the purple and black striped briefs hugging the fox's waist, his perky erection dripping from the top of the waistband and grin as you test your flat palm against his firm backside. You receive a satisfying ~slap~ when your hand connects with his rear, seeing the hint of a jiggle from the blow and hearing a sultry yelp pop from Fenwick's lips. You snicker and softly tug the striped briefs down over his curved rear end and let them hang tightly around his mid-thigh. You paws grip the white and black rump exposed before you as you grind the underside of that thick, throbbing dragon cock against it, delighting in the soft moan from your goth fox's lips as he leans onto the table. You tease him softly, groping each firm butt cheek in your palms and watching his hips wiggle as the fox thoughtfully keeps his tail raised to expose his inviting tailhole. You take your time sliding your slick, fat dragonhood between his firm cheeks until your tip nudges his tight puckered hole, causing him to tense up and bite his lip with anticipation. As you glance up and take note of his poised, shuddering expression, you grip the goth fox's rump tightly in your hands and pull him down onto your length.

   The tip pops past his tight entrance and you are treated to a soft, girlish squeal from Fenwick's lipsticked lips as you watch inch after inch of your thick shaft disappear between his white-furred rear end. The fox is stretched to his limits and soon past them as you slowly work your hips forward, his moans turning into heavy whimpers as every last inch of your thick, ebony shaft is firmly rooted inside of your little fox boy's ass. With only a few inches to go you pull him by his hips and slam the last of your length inside of him, hissing deeply at his tightness and listening to his own soft groans from being completely filled out. You offer the little goth slut little time to adjust, immediately moving into a slow, but deep rhythm, pulling out only a few inches before grinding yourself back against his furry little butt. Fenwick rocks against the table and yelps out sharply with pain, then pleasure as your thick cock pulls and stretches his insides.

   You place one of your hands at the fox's neck, holding him into the wooden table as you lean over him and pound his ass over and over again, huffing for breath and listening to his soft, begging whimpers. His ass squeezes you with every thrust like only a fox boy's can, drawing longer and faster slams of your hips against his upturned backside as you lean over him with a snarl. You make his cheeks burn with the filthy words you hiss into his ears, his body rising up on his toes from the ground to push back against your thrusts with as much momentum as he can muster. Your sharp teeth find his neck and draw an unexpected yelp from his lips while you punish his tight little ass with each thrust, filling him over and over again with hot, thick dragon dick and ensuring he won't soon forget the feeling.

   After a few minutes of feeling his writhing, furry body beneath you, you stand back up again, surveying your work and watching your cock slide out from between his white cheeks before sinking back in with a slutty moan from the fox's lips. You keep your paw on his neck to pin him to the table while hammering his tight ass faster into it. Your panting grows into rapid snarls of pleasure, growing deeper and more menacing while his moans and whimpers of pleasure turn submissive and begging. The sloppy, lewd sound of your cock spearing his tight, young ass provides a nice rhythm for each breath from your nostrils, working toward filling your foxy prize with something to really remember you by.

   With a sharp grunt, your hips lock forward, grinding his body into the table and shaking slightly with your roar of pleasure as you explode with delicious release deep inside of his bowels. Each grind of your hips unloads another hot, sticky blast of cum inside of the lithe fox boy's ass, not daring to let a single drop slip past your shaft while you feel his walls squeeze and tug at your length. Fenwick releases his own gasp of pleasure as your hot, throbbing length pushes him into a second orgasm splattering directly to the floor. For the longest moment, your muscles flex and your grip nearly stabs your claws through the boy's soft flesh while your cock gushes with pulse after pulse of sticky dragon cum, covering his walls and drowning the goth fox in the thick warmth. Your teeth unclench and your grip relaxes, leaving several small marks on his hips from where your claws dug through his fur as you let out a deep breath of release. The fox boy pants against the table, his legs trembling with pleasure as you pull him back to a sitting position in your lap.

   You take the time to firmly suckle and make out with the fox's neck while he shivers and clenches around you at each playful bite. All the while, you work his body back up your cock, another spell mumbled into his neck ensure not a single drop of your hot, thick seed will spill from around your shaft. As you pop the lithe fox up off of your tip, Fenwick seems to snap from his post-orgasmic daze, curling his tail between his legs and hastily looking around for someone else in the restaurant to notice the two of you. He seems surprised to find all eyes forward concentrating on some bat reciting an ode to the color mauve. He glances back and you only grin, catching his lips with yours and gently toying with his tongue.

   Your lust sated, you plop the fox boy next to you on the booth, carefully tucking yourself back into your pants and waiting for Fenwick to do the same before standing and making your way toward the exit. The teen catches your arm just before you breach the shadowy barrier and he pulls you back for one more deep, sensual kiss, his lips warmly caressing yours while his paws hug tightly around your waist under your overcoat. You smile and break the kiss with a sly grin toward the young fox before passing through and breaking the stealthy spell around the two of you.

   On your way outside the door you feel the small pack of Spade cigarettes in your coat pocket and frown in remembrance at their horrid taste. Just as you tug them out and hover the pack over the trash you notice a bit of writing on the cover. It's a phone number. You glance over your shoulder toward Fenwick's table. He is bashfully waving a finger at you as he lights up one of the black cigarettes in his lips, setting the brand new pack down on the table for his other goth friends to share. You smirk and replace the empty Spade pack into your coat pocket, taking your leave into the night.