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Forsy’s Father - A lewd story by Forseti Fox

Though he had started to become a little gray in the muzzle, the rest of Baldur’s pelt donned a deep, striking orange hue, not unlike the color of fallen autumn leaves. The tip of his tail and ears were a rich, dark brown, and his belly fur had a whiteness gently approaching rain clouds. The vulpine was certainly tall for a fox, but his round belly had filled out enough to keep Baldur from getting confused for a maned wolf. The old fox was far from an Archwitch, but having practiced magic from his youth well into his late fifties, Baldur wasn’t lacking in the spellcraft department. He lived in a modest magical community in the Manistee Forest of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, and like the old witches of peasant folklore, he lived alone in a cottage in the depths of a gnarled wood. The fox had visitors about as often as he saw a perfectly full moon.

Baldur’s demeanor was entirely unlike the witches of a Grimm’s fairy tale, however. He was a raucous reveler who liked to drink and smoke often; both tobacco and cannabis intermittently. He lit bonfires and danced nude in the moonlit wood, performing rituals for the old spirits that allegedly lingered in the neighboring wilderness. He was also lecherous and lewd, constantly cracking jokes of a sexual nature, and establishing his home as a haven for nudists, outside of a ritualist purple robe that he wore to keep warm in the winter months. He casually instituted a no-clothes policy. After all, most of the foxes in his family preferred a more natural lifestyle. Though the old fox wasn’t prone to having guests often, each visit was sure to develop into a debauched party that would make even Dionysus himself jealous about having not received an invitation.

Baldur also happened to be my father.

I was a much smaller fox, only coming up to five-foot-eight, and I hadn’t inherited the genes that brought about my father’s chubbiness. My fur had even taken on a yellow hue, but I’d inherited Baldur’s dark-brown arms, legs, and tail tip. I’d moved to Chicago years ago, after I graduated from college, and then I’d moved to Marquette in the Upper Peninsula afterwards, always subconsciously staying moderately close to Lake Michigan. It wasn’t too difficult to visit Manistee often, in order to hang out with my vulpine father every once in a while. I found such visits to be especially important, considering that he’d lived alone for a few decades. His only roommate was a big, old feral hound that resembled a wolf more than he did a proper dog, and Fenrir wasn’t really a conversationalist. The Norse motif wasn’t subtle.

Some of my visits ended up with naked, drunken dances around a balefire with the scant few other witches of the Manistee woods; again, most of the foxes in our family preferred a natural lifestyle. I’d almost gotten used to seeing my own father’s sheath and balls flop about mid-dance.

I was a blossoming witch myself, and found myself quite drawn to the rituals my father performed for his supposed paranormal patrons, even though such inebriated practices were more intense than those performed by the witches local to me. However, our visitations were far more relaxed more often than not. We’d linger around a dim campfire, plopping our hindquarters on a dirty log, passing a pipe back and forth, and shooting the breeze until the sun came up. We were still naked, but it proved to be far more relaxing of an evening.

For Baldur, at least, it was an entirely normal experience, free from any awkwardness. He shamelessly shot sexual innuendos towards his own son and stood proudly with his foxhood on full display without a care in the world. The old fox was a horny bastard, and wouldn’t inhibit talks of his sexual exploits with someone just because they were related. Such things were normal in his family.

I only wished that his behavior didn’t bring a blush to my face every time, or force me to sit with my knees up, in order to hide my crotch from view.

My father and I had arranged a casual visit for late October. He wanted me present for a Samhain ritual; just the two of us. There’d be naked dancing and lots of hard liquor, but the main conceit of the festivity symbolized the end of the harvest season, as well as a heightened connection to the spirits of the dead. Long lost souls were invited to partake in the dance, if they happened to be in the vicinity of my father’s cabin. It’d be an evening of celebration and remembrance before the cold paw of winter proceeded to grasp the wilderness.

We had also planned for a more relaxed evening on October 30th, however, to properly catch up before doing any weird witchcraft rituals. We’d still probably get horribly crossfaded, but there’d be a lot less aerobic exercise. I packed a light backpack and set out in the middle of the morning. The drive between my father’s cabin and mine sat somewhere between three and four hours. There was no real rush to get there before the sun went down, but I thought it prudent to spend a majority of the day hanging out with my father instead of putting off the drive to the afternoon.

I also woke up at seven in the morning in order to ride the hell out of a knotted dildo. I wanted to get any latent horniness out of my system before finding myself victim to my father’s irreverent, horny teasing.

The drive was bright and sunny. A week prior, a snowstorm blanketed the countryside of the Upper Peninsula, but the Lower Peninsula managed to avoid the dip in temperature as well as a new winter coat. That’d make the older fox witch’s no-clothes rule far easier to deal with. The traffic was minimal, and the few clouds that sat in the blue sky never parted with a single drop of rain. I managed to pull up the old, dirt road that led to my father’s secluded cottage well before three-o’-clock rolled around. Instead of asphalt or a grassy lawn, there were simply a few patches of dirt in which an animal could park their car. Everywhere else was dominated by natural woodland growth.

I climbed out of my dusty, red hatchback from the nineties to see the orange-furred fox with a churchwarden pipe held in his black-furred paw. Baldur bought that pipe a while back because it made him feel like Gandalf. Unlike Gandalf, Baldur was already naked. The wolfdog Fenrir recognized my scent immediately and bolted from the front door to the side of my car before I even realized that I had become his quarry. He leapt onto me, licking ravenously at my face. Up on his hindlegs, the feral canine was easily taller than me by half-a-foot, and probably weighed twice as much as I did. I’d have fallen to my ass if I didn’t land into my car first.

“Fenrir, down boy!” called the old vulpine, barely attempting to keep himself from laughing. “Fenrir, down!” After a second command, the massive wolfdog finally climbed off of me, though he planted himself in a readied stance, panting and waiting for an opportunity to attack once more. My muzzle was practically dripping in dog slobber.

“You’re gonna need to visit more, son! Fenrir’s missed you something fierce, it seems.”

I descended to my knees and gingerly patted the wolfdog behind the ears, careful not to set him off again. “It’s only been a couple of months since he’s last seen me, isn’t that right, Fenrir?”

Baldur started to stride towards me. “You’re not thinking in feral dog years, son.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.” I had my doubts, though. Part of me believed that the wolfdog would live to eighty. It had something to do with the size.

“Didn’t take you long to get on your knees, son-”

“Dad, jeez!” A bright red blush colored my face immediately.

“I’m just saying, not a lot of sons would greet their father like that. I’m impressed-”

I laughed off the first of many innuendos and rose to my feet, throwing my arms around the pervy fox. “Good to see you, dad!” I chirped, burying my muzzle in the crook of my father’s neck. His rich, earthy fox musk penetrated my sense of smell immediately, and it took every ounce of willpower to suppress an audible whimper.

“Good to see you too, kid.” The old fox never felt too awkward about kissing his son familiarly, and planted a firm peck on the front of my muzzle as he pulled away from the hug. This time, I couldn’t keep my eyes from going wide as I struggled to find any meaningful response.

“Damn, son, getting all pent up from a little lip action from your dad? Your mate better be putting out, I don’t want to see you not getting any-”

A full-bodied, awkward laugh escaped my muzzle. “Holy shit, dad, it’s been less than a minute-”

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing.” The older vulpine clapped me hard on the back affectionately as we walked towards the cottage. “You know how it’s like with our family. None of the folks in town let me tease them as much.”

“I know, dad.” A good-natured laugh followed my words. “I’m just surprised at how quickly you get started, even when sober.”

“Oh, so you think it’s tobacco in this pipe?” Baldur laughed heartily, like a spectral warrior in Valhalla having just completed a keg stand. “We’ll just have to get ya stoned as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ve been in a car all morning.”

“Seriously, though; your boy better be getting you off-”

“Dad, he’s all the way in New England!”

“There’s phone sex! Wait- you two are still open, right?”

“Yes, dad!” The question wasn’t judgmental. My father was the same way.

“And no one up in Marquette is giving you any good dick, where did I go wrong-”

“Nobody said I wasn’t getting dick, dad!” The absurdity of the conversation boiled over, and we both broke out into hearty laughter as we crossed the threshold into the cabin. Fenrir lazily lolled behind as Baldur shut the door after him.

The cottage was a literal log cabin, and far from a prime piece of real estate. The exterior was bare of decoration, and the dusty wooden walls and gray slate roof were covered in bits of moss and lichen. The building was tiny, and really only had three rooms; a kitchen, a bathroom, and a combination bedroom/living room/storage room. Everything was cluttered with empty bottles, bits of esoteric witchcraft paraphernalia, and the scant few pieces of clothing that my father owned. None of which were properly washed. Shelves were cluttered with old books, records, and what could have been pagan knick-knacks or loose pieces of trash. Baldur at least made sure to clean up food waste and wash the dishes, lest mold start to grow, but he had to move a pawful of cardboard boxes and empty cans from the old, musty couch before two animals could ever have a chance to sit on it. Baldur’s equally musty red armchair seemingly pulled double duty as a bed.

Most vulpine homes were permanently dominated by the overwhelming musk of the vulpine denizens that dwelt within. Baldur’s home was also lived in by an enormous wolfdog that somehow always smelled wet. The sickly-sweet aroma of copious amounts of weed did little to deter the combined scent of fox and dog. Most animals would be reduced to tears immediately from the stench. My eyes only watered a little.

The old witch’s eyes squinted. “Did you not bring any luggage?”

I plopped onto the fox-scented corner of the gray, plush couch. “Just my backpack.” I tossed it onto the floor at the foot of my seat. “Not like I need to pack many outfits around here.”

“Right on, kid.” Before the fox got comfortable, he momentarily lingered in the doorway to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, definitely some water! What else have you got?”

“I’ve got beer, mead, and enough liquor to get the Pope to sleep with me.”

I let another chuckle escape. “What are you having, dad?”

“I haven’t started drinking yet. Just the pot.”

“Let’s crack open the mead! That sounds properly witchy.”

“Right on, I’ll be one moment.”

Baldur disappeared into the kitchen. Fenrir curled up into a massive ball of shaggy wolf fur in the dog bed beside the front door, a far cry from the energetic hound that pounced on me earlier. I started to remove my jacket and peel my T-shirt off over my head, making quick work to kick off my canvas shoes and pull off my socks. A brief feeling of hesitation flared up within my chest before I got started on taking my pants off, despite how many times I’d gotten completely nude in front of my father, but I let the moment pass and slowly peeled my jeans off all the same. A bright red pair of briefs was the only article of clothing that remained. I steeled my nerves and pulled them off, throwing them onto my pile of clothes and getting comfortable on the couch.

All of the sudden, the sounds of progressive rock from the seventies wafted into the living room from the kitchen. It wasn’t a song that I recognized, but the barebones guitar solo introduction, accompanied by the quietest synthesizer, indicated that the song wouldn’t be shorter than ten minutes. I quickly checked my texts, letting my friends know that I’d arrived safely, before my father returned into the living room, holding two glasses of mead in his paws with another glass of water precariously held between the fox’s forearm and belly. I quickly threw my phone onto the clothes pile and rose to my hindpaws, catching the glass of water just as soon as it fell, and only spilling half of the contents in the process.

“Good catch!”

“Yeah, no prob!” I took the second glass and found a free space cluttered on the side table by brushing food wrappers onto the floor.

Baldur patted his slightly-soaked belly. “Hope you don’t mind the scent of wet fox.”

“It can’t be any worse than the scent of fox in general.” I sipped the water, then grabbed the glass of mead, holding it aloft for a toast. My father reciprocated, chanting “To our health!” I responded with a simple “Prost!”

I sipped the beverage, happy to be met with a sweet flavor rich with honey, which was unsurprising, considering what mead was made from. It was pure and uncomplicated, and the older fox began to unveil the mead’s lore. “I actually got this from a local friend; he’s got an apiary, and decided to try something else with the honey. How does it grab ya?”

“I really like it! It’s very sweet, like- It’s almost non-alcoholic.”

“That’s the kicker! It’s somehow stronger than that swill you can get at a big-box store. I don’t know how, but I get knocked on my ass after only maybe… I want to say three glasses?”

I took another sip and started to feel a slight drunken dizziness, curious as to whether or not it was a genuine feeling, or spurned on psychosomatically.

“Yeah, compliments to the chef! Or I guess, like… compliments to the apist!”

Baldur laughed. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘beekeeper.’”

“‘Apist’ isn’t a word?”

“I don’t think so, son.” Baldur then flew out of his chair as though an earthquake threatened to fling him to the floor. “Shit, I almost forgot! This stuff tastes like liquid gold when you’re high!”

I leaned back into my seat. “I’ll take you up on that, if you’re offering!”

“Sure thing, kid. Just lemme fill the pipe up again. Don’t you dare take another sip until you’re stoned!” Instead of leaving the room, the orange-furred fox snagged a purple tackle box conveniently sitting beside the armchair. It contained all of the vulpine’s weed paraphernalia. A fruity, skunky scent almost beat out the smell of fox musk as Baldur grinded the weed, and it reminded me that I’d also come bearing gifts. “Oh shit, dad! It’s not too crazy, but the Storm Dog Brewery up in Marquette started selling the ten-percent reserve porter, so I snagged a six-pack-”

“Aww, son! You’re a guest, you don’t gotta be worrying about bringing gifts-”

“I’m not gonna sit back and let you spoil me every time, dad!”

“I thought you told me you had a thing for sugar daddies!”

A blush infiltrated my face once more, and I was glad to have fur obscuring it. “It’s a bit different when it’s your actual dad-”

“I’m teasing, son, I’m teasing!” Baldur finished packing the pipe mid-chuckle. “Keep letting me get you all flustered, and I’m gonna start believing you have an actual thing for your own pop.” Before I could respond, the older handed over the pipe alongside a box of comically-large matches. “Here you go, kid.”

“Thanks, dad.” I was glad for the subject change. I also shuffled my sitting position in order to obscure my crotch with the seat of the couch. The way that the old witch sat in his recliner with both arms on the sides and his cock on full display started to make things stir within me.

“Aww shit, I should have gotten it started for you, kid.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem!” The old fox had taught me how to light a pipe ages ago, and I diligently held the flame up to the herb, sucking slowly and methodically. The first few pulls weren’t potent, but by the third draw, I was able to fill my nasal cavity with a thick cloud of smoke, which sent my head into a dizzy spin immediately. I exhaled, failing to suppress a cough, and held the pipe aloft. “Here you go, dad.”

“Shit, I’ve been sucking on that all morning, son. It’s your turn.”

“Sure thing, dad.”

“That’s what she said, also.”

This time, I laughed in full earnesty. “Dad, I could see that one coming from a mile away.”

“Is that what you say to your equine gentleman callers?”

I tried to develop a coy and comedically well-timed retort, and instead erupted into another bout of chuckling. I kept on sucking at the wizard’s pipe, and started to feel a steady high in no time. “Really, though, dad. You should take a few turns so I don’t immediately melt into the couch.”

“...What?”

“Because I got too high. I feel like I become the couch if I get high too quickly.”

“Shit, kid, transformation magic’s come real far since I was a pup, it seems.”

“Holy shit. I think I’m already high, dad.”

I hadn’t noticed myself doing it, but somewhere in between the passing back-and-forth of the pipe, I’d unwound my yellow-furred legs and adopted a similar sitting position to my father, even though a little flash of red started to peek out of my sheath.

“That was the plan!” He didn’t seem to notice. “And yeah, tell me about life, kid! What sorts of adventures in witchcraft have kept you occupied up north-” I took it upon myself to sip the mead once more while the older fox was talking, and it caught his attention. “Oh, shit! I forgot, how does it taste?”

Baldur’s claim was genuine. The mead tasted like liquid gold.

“I’m literally going to cum, dad. This tastes really, really good!” My own linguistic inhibitions were seemingly starting to slip.

“Hell yeah, I’ll let Louie know!” I assumed that was the name of the beekeeper. The orange-furred fox held his glass up for another toast, even though the both of us were halfway finished with the beverage already. “To Louie!”

“To Louie!” We clinked glasses once more, and polished off our drinks respectively. The older fox got to his feet. “I’ll grab the bottle. That way I don’t have to keep getting up.”

Baldur did just that, and I simply sat on the couch, losing myself to the intrinsic melody of the guitar solo that’d been going on for about six minutes now. I also found myself lost in the weed-fueled haze, the scent of my father’s musk, and the sight of my father’s cock, and noticed that I was now already half-erect. I caught sight of my own cock in the nick of time, and managed to twist my body once more in order to hide it as soon as the older fox returned.

“Hand me your glass, son!” I tried as hard as I could to pass the glass off without untwisting my body, and instead of simply taking it, the older fox simply filled the glass mid-air, prompting me to hold my awkward position for longer. My efforts paid off, and my father sat back down without comment. “Uhh, shit. What was I saying?”

“I think we were catching up in general.”

“Right, right! How have you been? What have you been up to?”

I took another sip of the precious mead as I gathered my thoughts. “I’ve mostly been working on my apothecary work! That’s been keeping me busy the most- Well, outside of driving food delivery. My roommate’s doing well, she’s still getting herself involved more with the community. I’ve been reading books on Animation Magic, that’s been a fun little project!”

“Glad to see you’re branching out with areas of magic more. I always think it’s better not to focus on one specific school of magic.”

“I appreciate it! What sorts of things have you gotten up to?”

Baldur took a sip of his mead. “Damn, that’s good- I’ve been trying my paw at botany myself. Outside of selling dope. I’ve been learning guitar. I’ve been able to communicate with Fenrir here, but only a little. Mostly, I’ve just been keeping communion with the Fell Beast of the Wood, though. Lots of bonfires.” The older fox then cleared his throat. “Been trying out online dating, it’s been ages since I got any pussy.”

“That explains-”

“Or ass. I’m not picky.”

I chuckled, trying to keep the nervous tones at bay. “And how long has that been?”

“You know me, kid. If I can’t nut in a hole once a week, I lose track of time itself.”

I was partial to a casual hookup with friends, though I wasn’t one to keep track of their frequency, nor would I turn feral without sex for a week. I nevertheless tried to relate. I didn’t want the old perv to think I was too awkward about sex. “I get it. I’ve invested in toys, though. That helps in a dry spell.”

“Yeah, but I’ve gaped my fleshlight here enough to wrap it around my gods-damned head practically.” He picked up a silicon, yellow fleshlight that happened to be casually laying at the side of the chair, just out of view, and held it towards me. It absolutely reeked. “It’s just not the same.”

I giggled like a nervous virgin. “And what do you want me to do with this information?” The toy only had one hole, with a modest bunny tail perched above. Baldur wasn’t kidding, though. I could probably fit my entire paw inside of that stretched-out silicon hole without even using lube.

I also noticed a pungent, white trail of fluid sloshing about inside, still wet.

Baldur shook the toy towards me violently as though he wanted me to take it. “Well, just- You know, I wanted to give you a word of warning. If you’re not getting laid regularly, you’re little dildo’s gonna snap off and get stuck. Trust me, I know how the foxes in this family get.”

“My dildos aren’t little.” I immediately regretted that piece of joking flirtation. The weed and mead were doing me in. Somewhere along the course of my new, cavalier demeanor, I’d uncrossed my legs.

“Well excuse me, Miss Size Queen!” My father caught a glimpse of my two-thirds erect member. “Damn, son. Sorry to get you worked up from all this dildo talk. I’ll put on some porn.”

I sank into the couch, suddenly short of breath. This wasn’t the first time that the horny vulpine offered to watch porn together; another casual pastime that the foxes of our family partook in. But as of yet, I’d always declined. It would have been a convenient way to masturbate to my dad’s cock without him knowing, but the concept still felt too risky to bear. “Nah, it’s OK, dad. It’ll go down-”

The old fox was already pursuing his DVD collection on the cluttered shelf. “You want something with just men? I know you’re not picky either, but I forgot if you had a preference-”

However, Baldur had decided to extend himself from his chair without actually getting up, and as a result, the heavy fox lost his balance and fell from his seat. He’d acquired enough dexterity not to knock anything over in the process, but his knee ended up landing on the remote, and the old, bulky, boxy television sitting on the floor came alive, revealing:

“Oh, daddy! Daddy! Finish inside of me, daddy!”

Proudly displayed on the television was a video of two rabbits fucking on a plain, white mattress. The smaller bunny was taking it doggy-style. Both had a cock, and both had the same black-and-white fur coloration, but one of the rabbits seemed to be twenty, and the other seemed to be forty-five.

The words came pouring from my muzzle without a filter. “Were you watching incest porn?”

Baldur, however, was distracted by his own malady. I was captivated by the sudden porn, and failed to notice the long, black remote having been rendered to pieces. “Shit!” shouted the older fox. “I think I broke it!”

A brief moment of clarity shone through the ocean of lust that had commandeered my intoxicated brain. “Oh, damn- Dad, are you OK?”

The older vulpine pivoted on his hips and sat cross-legged in front of the old, red armchair. My eyes went to his shaft immediately, peeking halfway out of its white-furred sheath. “Nah, I didn’t hurt myself or anything. I just broke the remote, I think.”

“Oh, dad! Dad, please! I need you to breed me!” whined the twinky bunny from the porn.

“I’m glad to hear it.” I comforted. The older fox noticed what was on the TV and started pawing at his sheath immediately. “Huh, you’re just going to jump right in, aren’t you, dad?”

“Well, I’m not gonna crawl all the way over to the TV to turn it off.” He kept stroking, even while making eye contact with me. Even Fenrir uttered an inquisitive groan from his seat.

The blush returned. The quickened heartbeat started once more. I tried with utmost force to keep my cool. “This wasn’t just some elaborate ploy to get me to finally jack off with you, was it?” I gulped as I gently gripped the base of my sheath with two digits, and gave in to the urge to fap. I tried hard to keep my eyes glued to the screen instead of wandering off towards the old vulpine witch who shared my genetic code. He was slapping at his furry sheath loud enough for me to hear each thud, and he even managed to coax his knot out every once in a while.

“Well, I wasn’t about to carry on for the next few hours with your red rocket sticking out like that. It's distracting.” It was almost as though Baldur were intentionally watching me masturbate. I could practically feel his gaze, which seemed to rarely focus back on the screen. For how much the younger bunny was pleading for it, the older rabbit was taking his time reaching climax. The older fox continued. “Damn, son. You gotta really fuck your paw. It doesn’t need that dainty foreplay.”

“Dad, if I’m gonna finish, you need-”

“I’m only teasing, son. You know I don’t mean anything by it.” The fox’s tone was sleazy and sarcastic, as though he wanted me to challenge that.

I couldn’t help it. My eyes wandered towards my father. And then they ventured southward. His bulging knot was massive, almost the size of a grapefruit, and his long, pointed cock was easily a foot long, red and veiny around the tip, though seemingly smooth for the most part. I didn’t even notice myself starting to stroke faster. My paw was quickly covered in clear precum. The sights, smells, and sounds of my lewd father pleasuring himself made me do away with all inhibition, and I even started to drool.

“Yeah, fuck that paw.”

I couldn’t stop myself from moaning. I beat my rod hard and fast, trying hard not to pass out from the accelerating heart rate.

“You have a gorgeous cock, son.”

That took me over the edge. I hadn’t even touched myself for longer than a minute, but the comment alone brought forth three healthy ropes of cum, shooting up far enough to land across my muzzle. I gripped hard at the base of my cock, cradling the knot which freed itself from its furry confines. My moans were needy, and sat at a higher pitch than the bunny from the porn. I panted as though I’d just ran a mile, and though the orgasm relaxed enough to prevent my load from becoming projectile, a steady stream of cum poured from the tip of my cock and pooled inside of my sheath.

And all the while, the only thought in my mind was that my father looked hot, jacking himself off. The older fox then stood up from his seat, and started stroking himself right in front of me. His scent was the only I could smell.

Baldur licked his lips. “That’s real nice, son. Just keep panting like that.”

Desperate to catch my breath, I complained weakly. “Dad, I’m… I’m… I don’t know-”

“It’s OK, son. You’re OK.” The old, chubby fox kept stroking, focusing on me with a ravenous intensity. “I’m not going to ask. I want you to say it.”

My head was in a whirl. Giving into my base, taboo inhibitions brought on a dizziness I’d never felt before. The intoxication didn’t help to relieve it. But still, I feigned naivety. “What… what do you mean-”

“It’s OK, son. I could smell your cock leaking ever since you came inside. I want you to admit it, son. You and I both know what you want. Just be honest.”

I panted a little harder. He wanted me to be the one to admit his infatuation first. “Oh, dad-”

The older fox’s eyes suddenly shut, and the hint of a growl colored his voice. He was right on the edge. I wanted to take him over. “Please, please... Be my good little boy.”

A faint whimper at the end of his plea broke down my last defense. I wanted nothing else in this world than to bring my father to orgasm. “Dad, I want you to fuck me. Dad, I need you inside of me. Dad, please! Cum on me! Cum on me! Paint my coat-”

The minor rumble from before erupted into a full, open-muzzle growl, and thick, sticky ropes of musky fox cum shot right onto the tip of my nose, dripping all over my fur. The scent alone of my own father’s orgasm caused a shiver to rock my entire body, and I cried out as another forceful shot of cum escaped my own rod. The older fox kept growling, and pouring enough fluid over my face to fill a one-liter glass. I further gave into the depravity, and took the tip of my father’s cock into my own muzzle, greedily guzzling down his still-virile orgasm. His earthy, pungent taste dominated my taste buds completely, and I locked my lips tightly in order to capture every last drop. I swallowed noisily, and still, the old vulpine leaked enough fluid that it started to leak from the corner of my maw right onto the front of my pelt. Normally, I was more professional with giving my partner a clean, mess-free blowjob, but I was so caught up in a wild, passionate lust that I almost wanted to let my father stain my fur.

My muzzle was still full of cock, so Baldur spoke first, the feral growl receding. “Took you long enough.”

I gently pulled my father’s cock out of my mouth in order to respond. I was too dizzy to succeed with any comedic timing. “Oh, dad, you don’t know how long-”

“Yes, son. Yes I do.” The older vulpine descended to his knees, so that we could look each other directly in the eye. His belly pushed hard against my leaking cock. “You are the least subtle fox I’d ever met.”

I giggled weakly. “Says you-”

“That wasn’t subtlety, son. I apparently needed to be that obvious to get you to admit that you want to fuck me.”

Before I could respond, the older fox pulled his muzzle up to mine for a deep kiss. He lapped up the remaining pool of his own cum that sat on my tongue and swallowed it eagerly. “I just needed you to admit it to me.”

“Hmm, and why’s that, dad?”

“‘Cause I’ve got- fucking, I have feelings for you too, kid! You admitting it is part of the kink!”

The both of us laughed, a vulpine chittering obviously colored by the effects of marijuana. My father still sat on his knees, his body pressed against mine. The porn came to a close, as the younger rabbit finally received his father’s load.

“I’m glad to have a perv for a son.”

I let myself get earnest for a moment. “I’m extremely happy that you want to be with me like this, dad. I love you a lot.”

The older vulpine held the bottom of my muzzle gently as we locked eyes. “I love you a lot too, son.” We kissed once more, full of passion and moaning, our tongues dancing in an aggressive tango. His mouth tasted like mead, and an equally intoxicating taste not unlike a wet canine. Five seconds felt like eternity, but I still didn’t want the kiss to end as my father pulled away. “Just promise me if this ever becomes too much for you, son.”

“I can do that, dad.”

“I mean it. I was doing all that teasing earlier to get you to come out of your shell, but I want you to know that I’ll always love you, even if you decide that this is too intense.”

I gave my father a wink. “I really appreciate that, dad. And the same goes both ways, don’t worry.”

We kissed once more, this time only a brief second-long smooch. And then a second kiss followed. And then we couldn’t help ourselves, and began to properly swap spit with our muzzles locked for a span of ten seconds. “Gods, I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this.”

“I’ve been lusting over you for just as long, kid. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

I pulled myself up to my knees in order to lean against my father’s broad chest, listening intently to his quickened heartbeat. “How long does it take you to recharge, dad?” A wayward glance told me that the older vulpine’s knot hadn’t even climbed back into its sheath, but I wasn’t particularly feeling patient.

“About as long as it takes for us to set up a bonfire. C’mon, let’s take this outside.”

I cocked my head. “You want to go outside?”

“If we’re gonna fuck properly, gonna have to let the whole world see.”

The whole world was sadly preoccupied at that moment, but the Manistee Forest was all too eager to be a voyeur. That was enough to satiate Baldur’s exhibitionist proclivities.

The sun was still high enough in the sky to herald daylight for a few hours, but our enormous fire threatened to outshine the heavenly body all the same. My father didn’t opt for a proper long behind his house, but instead built it next to a small clearing in the woodlands. There weren’t any patches of proper grass, wild or otherwise, but the natural plants of the forest floor often penetrated freely into open bits in the clearing. There was only a firebit, a few tables, and a shed that looked as dingy as the cabin. The late autumn air was far from warm, but the smoky blaze kept my nude body warm enough. My father was about to make me feel all the more warmer.

I sat on an old, massive log. The top layer had been carved and sanded down in order to make a proper seat. The scent of burning wood and falling leaves gently made their presence felt. I’d always been a musk enthusiast, but I wasn’t about to complain about the naturally pleasant odors of the forest. While my vulpine father gathered the necessary kindling and fuel for a bonfire, I simply sat and smoked the pipe. Fenrir stayed behind, having fully fallen asleep a few minutes ago. Baldur wanted to take care of the fire himself, and simply wanted me to get higher and higher before our ritualistic lovemaking began.

“I seem to remember you telling me you liked sucking feet and drinking piss,” spoke the older witch as he rearranged logs. I bashfully recalled the drunken conversation a few years ago where the elder Baldur spent a few hours coaxing that information out of me. “Anything else get you off?”

I answered in a mellow, hazy drone, “Gosh, there’s a lot, dad. You can’t do wrong, though. Just do what you like.”

The larger fox chuckled sinisterly as he came over, reaching down to squeeze my ass. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, son.”

I casually brought my free paw over to my fathers white nutsack and gave it a gentle squeeze. His red cock was already mostly erect. Only the knot hung around in its sheath. “You’d be surprised.”

“Just speak up if anything ever gets too much- Matter of fact, let’s have a safe word. How does ‘Mordor’ sound?”

I giggled as I lifted myself up from the seat in order to get on all fours. “Why am I not surprised that you went with the nerdiest option-”

“There’s no instance where Mordor can be regarded as horny-”

I pouted and crossed my arms. “Dad, that’s literally where orcs live.”

“Ehh, shut up and let me fuck you, kid.”

One simple command was enough to snap me back into my superbly horny headspace. I readied myself in a doggy-style position, close enough to the fire to keep warm, but not so close as to scorch myself. The soil underneath me was wet and muddy, and it didn’t take long before my paws and knees were caked with dirt, but I didn’t mind. My father plopped his erect vulpine cock onto my arched back, right above where my tail started.

And then he began to piss.

At first, I was taken aback. The way that my father kept going on about needing a hole to fuck, I half suspected that he’d skip foreplay altogether and dive right in. But the old fox was more of a perv than I warranted. Hot urine spilled over my back, and shot far enough to start leaking off of my shoulder. The raunchy, bitter scent dominated my sense of smell entirely, even with the smoky fire directly next to me, but I moaned and groaned in ecstasy all the same. Baldur wasn’t just sprinkling a little urine on my back just for the sake of marking me, he was fully emptying his entire bladder onto my back. “Good fox,” moaned the older vulpine. “Not even a single complaint. Bet you were dreaming about letting your father piss on you.” The older fox seemed to have drunk multiple liters of fluid that day. Thirty seconds passed, and the torrent of fox piss didn’t show any signs of letting up. He’d obviously had enough water to prevent the scent from getting too acrid, but the bitter, stinging aroma or recycled alcohol was hard to miss.

And I couldn’t help myself from pleading further. “Dad, please! Let me drink you!”

The older vulpine chuckled heartily, a twinge of a growl stuck in his throat. He slapped his meaty cock against my ass a few times and put a pause to his stream of urine. Without saying anything further, the fox eased his way towards my front and slid his member into my open muzzle, resting it gently on my vulpine tongue. I didn’t want him to have to hold his bladder for long. Baldur made sure to rest the tip of his knotted cock into the middle curve of my tongue before slipping the entire length down my throat. He wanted to make sure I could properly taste him.

The strength of my father’s bitter urine was nothing compared to the strength of his taste. My eyes immediately began to water, and my gag reflex threatened to spasm despite my experience with watersports; the old witch’s piss was potently sour. But I still managed to swallow, even slurping at and swishing around the hot fluid before immediately pulling it from my taste buds directly. Because my father kept his foxhood at such a shallow depth, I couldn’t keep from spilling a bit of piss out of the corners of my mouth. The high pressure of the elder vulpine’s stream of urine certainly didn’t help. But I was already covered in enough of my father’s wizz that it hardly mattered if any more dripped from my mouth onto my arms and chest.

“Messy little bitch, huh? I thought subs like you were supposed to swallow every drop.”

The old fox didn’t stop urinating while he made his teasing remarks, so I couldn’t bark back a response. A urinal isn’t supposed to talk back, though, so I simply shivered and moaned from the humiliation of the situation. My father’s remarks were interspersed with satisfied sighs and feral grunts. My own cock hung freely, fully erect at this point.

“Fuck, kid. I think I’m about halfway done?”

I almost gagged instead of gasping, seeing how my throat was already full. Baldur had been pissing for far longer than a minute, and even though half of his fluids were soaked into my yellow fur already, the amount of fluid that he shot into my stomach started to make it feel very, very full. But once again, my delicate maw was too stuffed in order for me to properly form words, so I kept on eagerly drinking bitter piss and relishing in the fact that there was far more to come.

Just then, my father was tired of toying with my taste buds. He proceeded to shove the entirety of his length into my throat, so as to prevent any more spilling. Hot urine started to fill my stomach up directly. I even started to gag on his thick cock, but the older fox countered by grabbing the scruff of fur behind my neck and keeping my head in position.

“That’s a good kid, just drink your dad’s piss ‘til he’s empty.” The big bully’s constant teasing was doing the trick. I was made to shiver for a minute straight, even despite being next to a roaring fire. “Good luck kissing anyone after this. No way you’re going to hide the fact that you’re a father-fucker with how well I’m marking your throat, son.”

The old fox then bucked his hips forward once more, his groaning shifting suddenly into a full growl. His stream of urine started to let up, after two solid minutes. But just because Baldur was finishing up didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to treat my throat gently. He practically began to deepthroat me, not for the simple sake of keeping his piss inside, but also for the sake of cutting my breathing off completely. I was fully making out with the perverted vulpine’s musky white sheath, and his knot even threatened to slip its way into my muzzle the more that my dad pushed. I was gagging and choking, and even though the torrent finally tapered off, the fox kept his cock deep inside of my throat for just a little bit longer, eager to show me just where my place in the hierarchy stood.

Even without receiving explicit instruction, I fought hard to keep his member in its position, fighting the urge to pull back despite uncomfortable stretching of my throat. Tears began to flow freely. I gripped uselessly at loose clumps of mud, just to focus the pressure somewhere else. Baldur simply kept his cock lodged inside of me, not even bothering to fuck me. I could feel it throb and leak. Even though he was finished pissing, I could feel the additional dribbles of precum start to leak into my stomach. The orange-furred vulpine’s growling receded, and his proclivities towards mocking returned.

“Good kid. You don’t need air. Dad’s got everything you need, right here. Just gag on that cock for me.”

I’d lost track of whether half of a minute had passed, or half of an hour. Dizziness began to creep in as a result of the lack of oxygen, and certain spots in my vision started to get splotchy and hard to discern. I continued gagging and uselessly spasming against his cock in the futile attempt to get any air. My moans were pathetic and whiney. The vulpine’s slimy, bulging knot was now fully exposed and bumping into my nose, and its potent musky aroma swamped my weed-addled nose to the point where I couldn’t even remember the scent of anything else. And still, I didn’t budge from my father’s cock.

“Fuck, kid. I know I promised I’d fuck your ass, but I’m almost tempted to knot your velvet muzzle. I love the way you choke on me.”

I fought hard to keep consciousness, adamant on letting my father choke me until he had his fill. Tunnel vision began to sink in, and my knees started to buckle. The fact that I was still crossfaded didn’t help me wrestle my consciousness back tactfully, but even despite that, I kept in position. It wasn’t as though I could pull back considering my father still kept a grip on the back of my throat. But graciously, just as I was about to slip, the old fox slowly pulled his thick, red rod from my throat. I gasped hard, collapsing onto my chest, heedless to the dirty, piss-soaked mud that started to cling to my white chest fur. I was on the verge of wheezing, but it didn’t take long for me to find a regular breathing pattern again.

“Damn, kid. You held your breath for almost two straight minutes.”

As I responded, I pulled myself up, once again positioning myself on my paws and knees. “Thanks, dad.”

Baldur wasted no time. He slinked back around towards my back end and lined up the point of his cock. “I almost choke you out on my cock, and you thank me for it? You’re more perverted than I am, son. How’s the piss taste, by the way?”

My plan to respond snarkily was thwarted as soon as my father grabbed tufts of my ass fur and started to slide his wet member into my hole. I opted to give into the humiliation and respond honestly, not bothering to hide my blush. “Really, really good, dad- Ah, fuck!” My hips rocked forward, responding naturally to the new intruder sneaking up the back door. I audibly heard liters of piss slosh around in my stomach.

“Bitter as hell, I bet?” The dirty talk didn’t distract the older vulpine from hilting my tailhole in one thrust, finding little resistance along the way. Only his knot remained, pulling at my anal ring, but considering the fact that it was now unsheathed, it was only a matter of time before it bullied its way inside.

“Gods, dad. It tastes so good!” I once again clutched at the wet earth to try and brace myself against the thick cock inside of me. “I want to be your urinal, any time you want!”

Baldur then proceeded to move his paws up past my hips and lean the weight of his torso into my back, as though he were a feral fox himself. He crept his muzzle up to my pointy ear and whispered low. “Right now, all I need’s a fleshlight.”

And then, he proceeded to fuck me as though his cock were a high-speed train and my hole was a tunnel with only an inch of clearance.

He jabbed into my inner bits hard and fast, and I yelped out just as quickly. But the older vulpine was crafty; he gripped at my body hard enough that I couldn’t even creep forward even an inch in order to alleviate the stretching. My father growled, drooled onto the back of my neck, and fucked my hole without any inhibition. It was as though he were possessed by a being that never knew a lover that wasn’t utterly subordinate to it.

I returned the favor by keeping still and whining loudly. A hiker from a mile away could have heard my needy moans. The combination of my father’s speed and girth blurred the lines between intense pleasure and stretching pain, despite my experience with large toys. His knot kissed the ring of my hole over and over again, as though it were intent on marrying it. The older fox made sure to utilize his entire length with each thrust, and the extra three inches put my tiny dangling cock to shame. Feeling such a massive length poke at my insides didn’t stop my tiny dangling cock from leaking like a faucet, however. And considering that my father was more intent on poking into my bladder than he was my prostate, it wasn’t just precum that leaked. Baldur tightened his pseudo-feral grip, and picked up with his intensity. We were high and horny, and fucked without a care in the world.

Both of us lost the need for proper language. My pathetic whines harmonized with the older fox’s feral growls, and that constituted all of the communication we’d need. The sloppy noises of my hole sucking on his urine-soaked shaft made for the perfect accompaniment. We fucked like animals; father and son, free of the inhibitions of polite society. We took full advantage of each other’s pleasure, and relished in the debauched taboo that permeated throughout our incestuous mating. I almost wished we were filming. I wanted the world to see that I was a father-fucker.

My knee-fur and paws were soaked in mud. My father fucked with enough intensity that I needed to brace myself by pushing into the dirt further. The fire roared and crackled, and the heat of the blaze combined with the heat of each others’ passion to make us sweat profusely. The overwhelming stench of masculine fox musk almost overpowered the ripe scent of fresh fox urine. My vulpine parent fucked my hole with full abandon. It hurt and stretched and felt utterly divine all the same. I didn’t even feel the urge to touch my own cock. With a few more minutes of my father fucking me with the speed of a jackhammer, I was sure to shoot my pitiful load all over the soil between my legs.

But a hiccup threatened my building orgasm. “I’m gonna cum, son!” If I knew anything about the genes my father gave me, I knew that neither of us were particularly skilled in the stamina department. We fucked quickly and came even quicker. But Baldur was a vulpine, and his orgasm hardly meant that the rapturous stretching at my tailhole would cease. It didn’t take much convincing for my greedy hole to swallow up the fox’s knot once he put his mind to shoving it inside. But regardless of how much practice I’d had with knotting, I wasn’t going to be quiet about it.

“Fuck, dad! Fuck, breed me!” I clench both my paws as well as my hole. I held my father inside of me with the strength of a vice.

“I am, son! I am- Hnng!” His words transformed into a passionate growl, and his seed began to shoot into the depths of my hole. Even though I felt the older fox empty his nuts onto my face only an hour prior, I was surprised to feel the amount of fluid now pumping inside of me match the prior orgasm in volume. What Baldur lacked in stamina, he made up for with potency.

The older vulpine maintained his grip on my hips, but it hardly mattered. The fox’s building knot was sure to keep itself safely tucked inside of my tailhole without any chance of pulling out once it deflated. I squeezed hard on the orange-sized bulb, but soon enough, I felt my body convulse on my dad’s pulsing cock without even trying to squeeze it consciously. I wanted to milk him completely. I wanted his girth to rock me into a proper anal orgasm. I wanted to feel him shoot my own siblings into me as deeply as he could possibly manage, and I didn’t want a single drop of cum to leak from the fox’s tip after I finally let him pull out.

Growling receded into panting, and panting finally receded into language. “Gods-damn, son. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

I almost repeated the sentiment, but Baldur already made clear that he was aware of my incestuous crush. So instead, I raised the stakes. “Fuck, dad. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“Oh, baby! Tell me how badly you need your dad’s cock. Keep squeezing it!”

My body convulsed once again around the fox’s knot without me even willing it to. “Dad, I need your cock more than anything. I want to be your own personal fuck toy. I want you to make me marry your cock.”

“Oh, baby! You’re draining my balls dry. Keep talking dirty with your dad.”

“Dad, fuck! I want you to take me out in public and fuck me for everyone to see. I want you to tattoo ‘pervy little dad=fucker’ on my ass, so that anyone who uses my hole knows that I let my own father stretch it out first. I want you to knock me up with siblings, dad, and I want them to inherit your cock when they grow up, so you can raise an entire family tree inside of me!”

The elder fox surrendered a lusty moan, and shivered in the process. His shivering in turn caused my body to respond in the exact same way, and it didn’t take long for my little foxhood to start dribbling proper cum, even though I’d reached orgasm a half hour ago. Hardly enough fluid leaked to fill even a thimble, but the cascading, orgasmic pleasure flowed up my spine all the way. I clenched even harder, and whimpered as though Baldur had his muzzle on my windpipe in addition to his cock in my ass. The air was thick with the scent of piss and sweat and fire a sex, and I was reaching a second orgasm, all at the behest of untempered fucking, courtesy of my own father. Baldur didn’t even mention my orgasm by scent; it would have been impossible to make out among the other more potent aromas, but he felt the tell-tale shake of my body all the same. “That’s a good son. Just let it out. Let your father milk your prostate.” I wouldn’t be surprised if the horny fox got me to cum again before the tie was through.

With other father-fuckers, there usually came a post-sex conversation after the initial lovemaking experience regarding boundaries and comfort, and the nature of a sexual father-son relationship in general. I, on the other paw, knew my father, and I knew myself. I knew for a fact that I wanted to feel my father’s knot tied inside of me for the rest of my life. “Dad, please keep fucking me like this. I genuinely love you like an actual lover, I think…” Embarrassment ended up catching up, if only for a moment. “At least, I think-”

“Oh, son. I agree completely. I want you just as much as you want me. Permanently, if you’ll have me.” The horny apple didn’t fall far from the horny tree.

“Gods, please, yes, dad! I want to be your lover- in earnest.” The pervy older mammal moved his grip up towards my shoulders, and instead guided my body to a new position. With a fluid motion, we were now spooning in front of the fire; me as the little spoon, naturally. Even though the inebriated fox tried to be careful, he couldn’t keep his massive knot from tugging at all the right spots, and I dribbled another shotglass’ worth of my own seed before we were comfortably in position. Baldur then kissed the top of my head, unable to reach my muzzle in this position.

“Baby,” started my father, “I’ll make sure to treat you right as long as I live.”

I giggled and wiggled back into the hot, furry mass of white fox fluff that sat on top of my father’s chest. “Thanks, dad. I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“Hmm, I don’t doubt it, kid.” My father then met my chuckle with a heartier chortle that vibrated like an earthquake. “If your puma doesn’t mind, of course.”

I penciled in a mental note to remind my mate that our relationship was now technically polyamorous, but I knew he wouldn’t mind much. The puma probably had many different uses for two foxes at once, “He’d be ecstatic, actually!”

“Wonderful. Then it’s official, son? You’ll let me be your boyfriend?”

“I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend for the longest time, dad.”

“I know, baby,” he nuzzled the top of my head once, “I know.”

We giggled, relishing the fire, the company, and the long-awaited admission of attraction. The sun was high, and the tie was sure to last for twenty-five more minutes, but I’d have given anything to bask in that moment for all of eternity. We’d found perfection, sweating in front of a fire, locked in each other’s embrace, high and drunk on substances and ecstasy, and leaving our lust all on full display for all of nature to bear witness.

“I love you, dad.”

“And I love you too, son.”

And that’s the story of how I fucked my father, who is now my boyfriend.