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On the Other Side

By Laz Briar

. . .how did he get here?

Fuzz filled his mind. His eyes were blinded by bright, dizzying light and his frame ached. Not from pain, but from a strange, exhausted sensation, like his body was taxed in every sense and muscle only to be relaxed again. Like he had been pulled apart and reassembled in oceans of something. But what?

More importantly, where!?

Coen pushed himself up, his palms tickled from blades of soft grass and earth. Soft grass!? Wait, what? That wasn’t right! He was supposed to be in the library, right? Looking at a picture. Damn, it was hard to remember, his thoughts and memory were muddled, like an invisible weight hung over his recollections. Was he hurt? No, didn’t feel that way, no doubt his body would be screaming at him if that were the case. He didn’t feel right, but he didn’t feel wrong.

Coen shook his head, forcing himself to stand. His palms traced the ground and he felt grass. Grass? What? Yes, as he straightened, he was somewhere he didn’t recognize at all. Before him were long, cradling steps of stone, overridden with racks, age, and vine. In front of the steps was an arch made of scarlet wood, various tied knots hanging off its front with unfamiliar script emblazoned across it like a banner. A forest enveloped the landscape, stretching off in the distance, surrounding the locale while flickering petals of pink and white danced in the wind, jumping from trees like silent dancers.

He gawked. “What the hell!?”

He blinked, over and over. This had to be a dream, right? Or some kind of vision brought on by a bad trip. But he didn’t do drugs! Or maybe now he did? What else could explain this?

The subject of his total confusion was, essentially, the temple. High on the steps, resting on hill with pious judgment was an arched temple, a building spanning centuries. He said the temple because he recognized it from the painting. Kurasaka, the painting said, and following that “Where She Watches.”

He was just admiring it, that’s all! Looking at the painting back at the library. Then he blinked, and there was a great light and now, somehow, he was standing before it. What the hell? How!? Stranger still, everything felt so real and alive. A gentle breeze touched the air, the sweet honey scent of blossoming flowers wafting across his nose mixed with the loud hiss of summer cicadas. The sky stung Coen with a marvelous blue, and were he not trapped in some sort of. . . dimension, he might feel at peace.

But he was trapped in a dimension. Or a painting. Or both! A painting dimension?

Coen clasped his head. “Holy shit, holy shit!”

Okay, breathe, he thought. Think. This wasn’t really happening. And yet, the sun on his skin kissed him with such warmth and the dull cry of distant birds insisted this, in fact, was real. Somehow, someway, interacting with the painting pulled him into it, this setting, this world. No, not world. History. He recognized the script on the large red arch, and the temple above. This was similar – if not entirely – feudal Japan.

Did he lose his mind? Was he in a hospital? A thousand questions and a thousand more questions raced through him. But most of all: how could he get back? Though the scenery looked tranquil and welcoming, it wasn’t technically his home.

Coen kept calm, or tried to. Then, remember his phone, he yanked it out and taped into the screen, hoping it might provide an answer. In fact, it did not. It wouldn’t even power on. Shit. He charged it this morning, he did!

“Okay, fuck, okay. . .” he took a few breaths, considering his situation. What could he do to fix it? Well, he only had a few options. He had to find someone. It wasn’t ideal to wander around in a foreign woods he had no familiarity with, so, it looked like the temple was his only option. He prayed there might be somewhere there that could help him. Shit, but what if they didn’t speak English? Or what if they got spooked by him and tried something. . . violent?

Damn, this was all sorts of bad, wasn’t it? But Coen lacked options, and he knew nothing about the surrounding area. Heck, this temple could be the only civilization for miles! At the very least, it could serve as shelter until he figured out what was going on!

Coen made his way up the stone steps, avoiding overgrowth as he did. It was strange – most Shinto shrines of their area period weren’t placed atop such high stairs. It offered an unusual mythic quality, and indeed, as he continued onward, he felt something strange. He couldn’t say what specifically, but it was like a presence was beckoning to him, tugging at his soul. Huh.

At the height of the steps, Coen was dwarfed by the structure before him. It was remarkable, an ancient temple structure of deep scarlet wood and hanging ropes. Trees clustered around the arched building with bands encircling them, while a variety of symbols and Kanji script hung in front of the entrance. Coen didn’t recognize them, but he wagered they were routed in traditional Shinto prayer. But, they looked. . . old. Again, like the painting. The problem was the painting was at least over a century old.

Was he dead? This was insane.

Looking at the marvelous thing, Coen hesitated. He felt as if he stepped forward, he was entering a different realm. Well, more different than his current predicament, at least. But what else would he do?

Taking a deep breath, Coen started forward, moving beyond the grand arch in front of the entrance. From what he remembered, Shinto theology stated a mortal was entering hallowed ground once they went beyond the arch, as if they were walking with spirts and divine entities. Maybe one of them could get him out of here, eh?

Alas, as Coen explored the surroundings, his heart sank. There was no sign of anyone around. No voices, no songs of prayer, no chanting, not even scurrying steps of a tiny mouse. The place was. . . empty! This was terrible! Was he destined to die in this bizarre hallucination? His hand raced to forehead, rubbing it with disbelief. Egads, what way to go. Truly a terrible fate – lost in a drug induced coma. That was the only explanation, there was nothing else. Dammit, this sucked.

Coen was prepared to resign to his fate of confusion and misery when a voice called to him. Wait, a voice? No, that wasn’t right. Or was it? It was as if thought entered his head, but not from himself. Like an idea flashed through his consciousness, not wholly his own. That was bizarre. Then again, this whole situation was bizarre!

Again, the thought pulled at him. It was inviting, welcoming. Relieving, even. Though it bore no voice or sound, it was direct in its intention. Come inside, it “said.” Come inside? Uh oh. This felt like a trap contacted by time travelling paint vampires, or something. When you’ve traversed time and space it’s not usually wise to listen to random voices. Or, was Coen truly insane and maybe he should just go with it?

What did he have to lose, really? Setting panic aside (for now), Coen took another breath and “followed” the thought. He stepped into the temple interior, where the faint scent of dust and paper overwhelmed him. But there were other scents too. The aroma of incense touched the air, like faint petals, along with an ambrosia he couldn’t quite place. Earthy, familiar, but not.

As he explored the inner temple, he was met with a large square room. Small fires were lit on each side while various holy symbols were hung about, along with paper markings littered with script. Coen wasn’t much an expert on Kanji or Hiragana, though he felt he recognized one symbol which dictated “sacred.” And, oddly enough, though it was foreign to him, both this realm and temple, he felt. . . at home, welcomed even. In fact, the roiling chaos within himself eased away, replaced by a tranquil sensation. This was nice. Perhaps it was the holy connotations of the shrine? Everything was put together and taken care of. And the fires! That implied someone was here!

As though the “someone” sensed this, an actual voice rang out. “Welcome.”

Coen jumped. Literally, jumped, leaping at least a few inches off the ground. “Gah!”

A voice from the void splurged from the walls, warm and commanding. Where? What!? Was that from inside his head?

“There’s no need to be frightened, little one.”

The tone was soft, welcoming, and female. It was enough, in fact, that it put Coen’s momentary pang of fear at ease. He looked about, hoping to locate the strange tone. And so he did.

How did he miss her!? No, really, how?

There, lounging upon a great wooden frame, was. . . a woman? A creature? A magnificent beast, certainly. In his studies Coen heard legend of them, wily vixens which guided souls on their wayward journeys into the afterlife. Or, caused mischief. But it was certainly one of them – he was staring at a vixen, a kitsune specifically. And what a kitsune.

Magnificent eyes of scarlet stared across the shrine room, accenting a delicate muzzle curled into a thin smile. She had multiple brush tails, all which flowed in gentle sways as though touched by a coaxing wind. Her frame though. . . she was enormous. No, truly, he’d never seen a woman so large. Was she double his height? Easily. He wasn’t a great stock of exacts, but she looked to be at least fifteen feet, which only made the rest of her, well, enticing.

Indeed, over her frame was a mix of robe and kimono with rope belt and beaded jewelry, but it did nothing to hide the rest of her. Indeed, rather ample cleavage was visible betwixt the split of her attire, and as she reclined on her side, the delicate yet generous curve of her supple hips peaked out, coated with dazzling orange fur. She was like a picture of living fire.

Surrounding her were small statues of glistening gold, but they weren’t traditional religious ones. Rather, they were sculpted foxes like the reclining woman, and behind her were rims of brilliant metal, like metal rings. She was, in a word, breathtaking. But who was she?

“Uh. . .” Coen gawked. His mind didn’t know where to begin. What did he say? What did he do? He was so confused, thoughts playing between fear, calm and even to his shame, arousal.

A tiny giggle left the vixen. “Why, you’re not from here, are you?”

Of course not! It also dawned on Coen she was speaking English, and quite English at that. This was relieving, though perplexing, only adding to the bible of questions he currently had. But there would be time for that later, right now the large kitsune had his attention, and thus far, was his only hope of understanding his current predicament.

“N-no,” he said, clearing his throat. “I uh, um. I. . . don’t know. . .”

Her giggle morphed into a laugh. “Ah, little one, cast aside your fears. You are safe. Please, approach.”

Was it wise to trust her? Well, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Coen had options, and well, if she meant to do him harm, he was helpless to stop her. But, her scarlet eyes only beckoned him with promise. So, he did as instructed, coming to her in slow strides, craning his neck upward as he neared the grand platform.

“Much better,” the kitsune said. “My weary eyes can see you better now.”

She sniffed at the air. “You are indeed strange. Not from here. Not even of this land. How curious.”

How to respond? Well no, massive vixen lady with the big honkers, I happen to be from a different reality altogether! Simple, right? That’d go over plenty well.

“Um, no,” he said instead. “I’m lost.” Lost? Sugarcoating it.

“Oh, if that I have no doubt,” said the kitsune. “It has been an age since the last mortal happened upon my shrine. A lonesome reality, I must admit. But here you are. Tell me, do you believe even gods pray? They do.”

Coen blinked. He didn’t understand, and he was already having trouble understanding his situation as is. “Er. . .”

Another laugh. “Bah, don’t mind me, little one. A divine one has thoughts, you know, and there are few to share them with. Ah, certainly the birds and cicadas, but they don’t make for good conversation.”

The towering fox glanced down at Coen. “Hmm, then again, you’re the quiet type too, aren’t you?”

Coen realized he should probably try and keep this ‘divine’ creature happy. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just really lost. Literally. I don’t where this is or, I dunno. When this is. This is just crazy!”

The grand vixen tilted her head, ears flicking. “Oh? Of course. You’re far, far from home, aren’t you? But it’s not a place you refer to, no. I can indeed sense something unusual about you, little one. What are you called?”

“Coen,” he answered immediately. “I’m Coen. Can you help me?”

Here, the great kitsune shifted, switching to a sitting position. Her inviting legs crossed, and she placed hands upon knees, studying him.

“Oh, of course little one. Before, many arrived at my temple seeking aid. Their prayers and praises filled my halls and I guided them all. Oh, but it seems I’ve been forgotten. Until now, that is.”

At her words, Coen brightened. Thank goodness someone would assist him, even if it was an anthropoid fox thrice his height.

“Thank you so much,” he said, earnest. “Who are you?”

Her tails swiveled. “I am Seishin, little Coen.”

Coen took the name and held it in his mind. Seishin. . . Spirit? An interesting title. Judging by the fetishes and golden statues it was clear she was a divine entity, or at least viewed that way. Hidden, perhaps, by the forests and natural surroundings, long forgotten. Though, despite her mysterious background, she was now Coen’s best shot at getting back home, if that was even possible.

He nodded. “You’re uh, not what I expected,” Coen admitted. Really, he was processing a lot. Back home there were anthropoid girls like her, but certainly not of her stature, nor the fact she was a kitsune.

“I can only imagine what you expected, little one,” she said. “Divine beings like me aren’t common from where you come from, and judging by your clothes, it’s quite a strange place, I must say.”

She raised a hand. “Ah, but I’m sure you’re plagued with questions. And exhaustion. And hunger! Come, why don’t we get you something to eat?”

Coen’s stomach gurgled in response. Damn, getting torn across dimensions built up an appetite. Tired, he nodded. “Okay”

-*-

There was much to learn about Coen’s current predicament. Despite her divine heritage (or claim to one, at any rate), Seishin couldn’t quite parse the origins of his estranged arrival. After all, waltzing into a different timezone through a painting wasn’t a traditional happenstance. Or magic, for that matter. So, his days were spent learning about the surrounding area, which was mainly a hidden forest in the midst of a sanctuary set aside from spirits, ghosts, and “other things.” Seishin didn’t like to talk about the “other things.”

While he was there, however, he noted the immense kitsune had habits. Spending years and years on your own created habits, and Seishin, as it were, liked to drink. A lot. She’d cultivated a rather fine mystic sake for herself, originating from enchanted ingredients which gave it an extra quick. Necessary for a kitsune of her stature, of course. Coen decided not to partake for obvious reasons.

Though, the problem with a large kitsune ingesting copious amounts of drink lead to. . . issues. When Seishin wasn’t consulting old scrolls and tomes to invest in a potential solution for Coen, she was wandering about her shrine in an intoxicated stupor. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so dangerous. On more than one occasion, the kitsune had nearly sat on Coen, and he couldn’t help but feel it was on purpose. Not that he didn’t appreciate lady with a nice rump, especially one as shapely as hers, but getting crushed to death wasn’t on his agenda.

Still, it wasn’t like he could challenge her on any of this. She was the host and he but a humble guest. And Seishin was going well out of her way to help him, so who was he to complain? At least he could ogle her from a safe distance sometimes, and he had to admit, she was so shapely. Her choice of attire didn’t do much to hide all the bouncing either. Honestly, every time she took a graceful step it was like gravity gave her chest a healthy toss. Brr.

Acting as a good guest was important too. Coen wasn’t sure how long he could stay in the vixen’s good graces. Though she showed no ill temperament, it was best not to toy with fate. So he helped where he could, even when helping was fairly difficult. Polishing statues was simple enough, or assisting with cooking and collecting ingredients, though again, the difference in size presented a variety of challenges.

One of them was the obvious physicality.

“Ah, little one, might you help me relax?”

During his shrine stay, Coen busied himself with small things like sweeping away dust or fighting off invasive pests. He figured this was a good balance – he didn’t want to be a leech. But relax? That was new. What did she mean?

“Oh? U-uh, sure,” he said, glancing up to the kitsune. He noted behind her brilliant orange fur, her cheeks were tinted the faintest hint of rose, and her scarlet eyes looked watery and disorganized. Ah, she was probably tipsy again.

“Good,” she said, gesturing with finger. “Come with me.”

Coen cleared his throat and set broom aside, following the sauntering vixen. Her multiple tails wiggled about as though excited, hips tossing with delicate sways. Eventually, she lead him to a room much like a bathhouse, though to Coen it was basically a swimming pool. The air was thick with gentle steam and warm water gushed from the walls like a gurgling river. An alluring ambrosia filled the quarters, though the temperature caused a thin layer of sweat to form on Coen’s frame.

“Ah yes,” said Seishin. “You haven’t been here yet, have you?”

Not at all. Coen shook his head. “Ah, no.”

Seishin laughed. “Well, first time then, yes? I come here to soothe my troubled spirt and mind. Even the divine must have some respite, and your unique problem has presented quite the challenge.”

Coen tried to chuckle. “Er, sorry.” He was sure his “situation” wasn’t the typical prayer from a peasant. She waived him off before prancing near the waters.

“Don’t worry yourself, little Coen.”

Well, he was partly relieved. He watched her go to the opposite side of the waters, dipping a toe.

“Did you um, find out anything?” he asked, hopeful. Seishin glanced to him and dawned a smirk, gesturing.

“I shall tell you, but please. . . come closer.”

For the slightest of moments, Coen hesitated. Though, what did he have to fear, truly? It had already been several days with this large kitsune – if she wanted to hurt him, she could’ve easily done so a long while ago. So, he approached, coming around the bath. As he did, the larger kitsune propped up her legs, letting her footpaws rest upon the wet stone.

“If you please,” said Seishin, looking down, “Would you mind rubbing these?”

Coen blinked. By ‘these’ she meant the slim dimensions of her delicate foot claws, of which held a lithe elegance being that she was a vixen (magic, but vixen still). Of course, considering her stature, they weren’t the usual size, so there was certainly a challenge presented. But again, Coen didn’t want to be a bad guest.

“Oh, of course,” he said, wiping away beads of sweat from his brow. Seishin sighed with relief.

“Ahh, I thank you. I get sore, wouldn’t you know?”

Was that rhetorical? Coen couldn’t imagine. But then again, she didn’t wear shoes. In the meantime, he prepared himself for her ‘request.’ This was unusual, he had to admit. He didn’t mind, exactly, but the clear difference between the two in physicality created challenges. He went to her leg first, clearing his throat as his hands pressed into the silky fur. Might as well get warmed up. The plush coat felt like silk against his skin, warm and welcoming. Seishin purred with approval as Coen kneaded his fingers into the calf before coming to her footpad.

He thought, for a moment, about a pup or kitten. They preferred it gentle, right? There was no need to be rough here, even if the kitsune was larger. So he was careful, massaging and caressing the dimensions of her feet with all the proper attendance and care he could manage. It was nice, at least, somewhat like attending to a large gentle animal, save this was a divine spirt in the shape of a great kitsune.

“Ah, that’s quite nice,” she intoned, head arching. As she spoke, her shoulders rolled, and the fabric clinging to her form lessened. Coen glanced up and gawked, taken aback.

Indeed, what he saw was what he saw. Seishin proceeded to let her kimono robe fall to the floor, revealing her ample bust and shapely form. Her heavy, weighty front spilled free like two ripe fruits, grand in size, moreso because of the height difference. Egads. . . she could easily squeeze the boy between her if she desired to!

The thought sent a rush of blood through him, strange as it was. Just as well, the steam in the bathhouse clung to Seishin’s frame, casting in alluring glisten. Indeed, it made the rest of her look dewy, tantalizing even. Brr. Coen felt a strange shiver overcome him, trying to distract himself with the kitsune’s paws, though it did him little good.

“Now, as for your predicament,” continued Seishin, starting to move. “It’s unique.”

She stretched, gently nudging Coen aside as her form swayed. This time, though, she swung herself to all fours, giggling as she did. Coen was beholden to the sight of her literal size and immense shape. Her fat, full haunches were only emboldened by her sheer stature, plump cheeks and all. In fact, it really didn’t matter what her build was – fifteen feet added a hell of a lot of size! It didn’t help the grand Kitsune softly tossed her hips back and forth, her hidden cleft and teasing pucker only just visible.

“I’ve consulted with various holy scribblings of old monks, the musings of trickster ghosts, and even the wrathful incantations of spiteful revenants, but none mention mortal transference. . .”

Coen was almost wordless. What was she talking about? How could she carry on with all that consider what she was doing?

“Haha t-that’s fine,” Coen tried to say. “M-maybe you can tell me later?”

She turned her lead, glancing back to him, tossing brown hair. “What? No, no little Coen. I like you right there. In fact, might you massage me back there? This hard floor puts such an ache in my rump, you know.”

No, no Coen did not know. Oh fye, was she crazy? That was too much. Rubbing paws was one thing, but what did she mean by. . .

“Uhhhhhhh. . .” Coen mumbled, hesitating. Again, Seishin laughed.

“Oh please. A mortal like you mustn’t hide his nature, especially a young male. Truly, you are in the presence of divinity. Is it not enticing for your hands to grope at my backside?”

Well, yes, of course it was. The idea was thrilling – not only for the proximity of the mischievous kitsune, but because of how much of her there was. Agh, he didn’t even have a girlfriend back home – and home felt more a distant concept with each day’s passing. Seishin kept wiggling her tails, even her haunches, daring him to touch her. Sheesh, how could he resist, really?

“All right, all right,” Coen conceded. This was too much, literally and figuratively. But when the hell was he ever going to get another chance like this!?

“You win. I’ll er, help.”

Seishin laughed. “Ah, wonderful, I knew you couldn’t resist.”

Resist? What did she mean? Oh well, it didn’t matter now anyway. He wiped his brow, the steamy room getting to him. In for a penny, then. He pulled off his shirt while approaching the kitsune, her multiple tails swaying out of the way. Heart hammering, Coen’s hands pounced forward and clapped into the generous cheeks, rolling around the supple backside with eager squeezes. There, of course, was a lot, and because of Seishin’s size it wasn’t like Coen’s view was obscured. His eyes were greeted by soft, silky furred rump and hint of her nether lips, his own root stirring to life from – again – the proximity.

Seishin purred with approval. “Ahh, lovely, tiny mortals really get in all the right spots. . .”

Tiny? He wasn’t small! Ah, well, by comparison he might as well have been. “Glad to hear,” he said back, a little distracted.

Yes indeed, he pushed further on, gripping and even shaking the shapely backside. It was like getting lost in a sea of flesh and fur, and the whole of his vision was consumed by the fullness of her bottom. It dawned on Coen a lot of people might die to see such a thing. How lucky for him!

“Now then,” Seishin continued, a trace of mischief touching her tone. Coen didn’t notice, he was rather preoccupied with all of the ass in his literal face. Well, that was about to be more literal. Coen didn’t catch how Seishin’s frame shifted pushing backward. In one fluid motion, the kitsune pressed back and shoved her rump into the boy, forcing him to slip. With a thud he handed on his haunches, only to see Seishin’s bottom encompass him. Essentially, she decided to use him as a seat.

“Gmmmglfff!?”

At once, the entirety of Seishin’s plump rear overwhelmed the boy, squishing against his face. His sight was entirely obscured and, well, the rest of him really was too. His arms slipped to her sides but all he could feel was the soft, gentle curve of her rear. Her scent was encompassing too, the aroma of vixen. He tried to protest but there was little point.

“What? What’s that?” Seishin chided with a giggle. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you, little one.”

Hey, that wasn’t fair! She was messing with him! Also, Coen contemplated he might die. This wasn’t exactly a healthy situation to be in. At the same time, his flesh couldn’t lie either. . . he was aroused. His length was fighting and struggling to get out of its prison and he was sticky with heat.

“Well, while you’re down there, make yourself useful,” Seishin added.

Coen didn’t quite get it, at least not until the great kitsune started to rotate her hips, sliding them in smooth back and forth throws. Her timid grinds rubbed across his visage, and a part of him seemed to understand. When would he have another opportunity like this? His mind raced and his mouth followed, tongue flicking out to lap at the pink entrances sliding past his visage. Of course, it presented a challenge, but he did his best to hungrily nibble and suckle at the pink rose petals presented to him. It seemed to work to a degree, at least, as Seishin purred with audible rumbles, tails whipping with approving motions.

“Nmmf, n-now, about your situation,” said Seishin, her rosy cheeks going a darker hue of red. The alcohol and arousal were getting to her, clearly.

The kitstune explained about Coen’s predicament, but he couldn’t hear a word she was saying! He was busy getting used as a seat cushion by the large creature. Not that he minded at this point, there was something quite alluring about the large woman, physical assets and all. He did his best to work and grope palms into her thick, full haunches, kneading them, suckling at her damp pussy lips and tight pucker, lapping away with tongue.

For a moment, Seishin finally lifted herself from Coen’s visage, a small trail of juice and saliva bridging him to her. She glanced down, a sneer stretching her features, amused.

“Ah, a-aha, I had thought first to invite you into the waters, but now, the bedroom is far more appropriate!”

Coen gasped, sucking in air as he looked up to the kitsune. He blinked, in disbelief, but no way was he going to argue with her. All he could manage was one word: “Yes.”

He hardly processed the transition from bathhouse to room. He was, at least, glad to be out of the warm, misty sauna – at least for now. He was hot for a slew of different reasons, after all. Tugged along by the kitsune (and by tugged, he was pulled along by her multiple tails), until reaching her quarters. Of course, it was large to host a divine being of her stature, fit with a variety of statues and personal items. But it wasn’t what the kitsune was interested in, not entirely.

She went to her bed which was draped in rivers of red silk, hefty breasts wobbling as she did. But like before, the vixen took a position similar, prostrating herself as she glanced back to the intrigued Coen.

“Little one, it’s been FAR too long since I had good company,” she purred. “Now you’ve taken residence in my shrine, but have yet to pay me in full, mm?”

Coen blinked. “What do you mean?

What do you think she means, you fool!?

When Seishin’s tails swished out of the way, revealing her delicate folds and pink hole, the rest of him caught up. Oh. It was like an animal within himself roused to life. It did not matter if the kitsune was larger and older, instinct drove him forward. He got it now. His pants tented and “little Coen” wasn’t so little anymore, eager to find satisfaction in someone. Egads, he’d never felt a rush like this before. His heart swelled and his blood went hot, searing even. It’d burn if it didn’t feel so good. Behind all that, the heartbeats and rush of arousal, his brain screamed to fuck. Come on, there was a shapely, thick kitsune right in front of him! It didn’t matter if he was in a separate reality or painting or dimension or whatever!

“Are you going to stand over there forever, gawking?” Seishin chided, glancing back. Coen shook his head. Enough was enough – she was right, why was he just staring?

With caution thrown to the side – size difference be damned – Coen disposed of his clothes as he clambered upon Seishin’s grand bed. She was, conveniently, on her chest, so at the last he didn’t have to literally climb atop her, at least not this time. But there was still a lot of kitsune to get through.

“This might be tricky,” he muttered, pressing himself over her backside. Indeed, his torso was sort of able to rest over her haunches while his loins pressed forward, tip eager to find an entrance. And so Coen did, his bellend rubbing against Seishin’s pucker, tip dewy with presex. Both shuddered, Seishin rumbling with approval while Coen began to shove his loins. As he did, the tightness of Seishin overcame him, outright suckling him as he pressed his frame forward until his mast was engulfed by her entrance.

Despite the contrast in size, she was wonderfully tight. Coen did his “best” considering the dimorphism. Obviously, he wasn’t some massive guy, and even if he were, it was doubtful it would’ve made much difference. But the hot, electric tingles radiating through his loins was undeniable.

“Oh g-god, S-Seishin,” Coen uttered, doing as instinct demanded. He grasped her haunches, squeezing hard as he began a slow momentum of steady, forceful thrusts. Each one created a soft but audible clap from the impact of flesh and skin, echoing off the walls. It only drove Coen to thrust harder, increasing momentum with each swing until he hit a perfect pace, throwing himself into the kitsune’s tunnel.

“Yes!” Seishin cried. “Just like that little one!”

He didn’t feel like a “little one” anymore, and he wouldn’t act that way! The hunger took hold, the scorching lust, and Coen slammed himself into the greater kitsune, so much that even the bed shook and the divine being had no choice but to groan and whine. Though not in protest, no no, she wanted more, and Coen was more than eager to oblige.

His body raged and tingled with searing want, bucking himself into the tight hole. Her entrance massaged and caressed him with surprising tightness, slowly and surely tugging himself to peak. Each time he threw himself, squeezing and slapping Seishin’s full ass, sending himself into a dizzy whirlwind of sex driven motives. But, he was still young an inexperienced, unable to pace himself. Soon, a surge of issue burst from him, coating the kitsune’s inner tunnel as he buckled through orgasm, only to stop and tremble as he emptied himself into her.

“Ahh?” Seishin intoned. “Oh no, we can’t stop yet now. . .”

Just as Coen finished through first peak, Seishin wiggled her finger. A force of divine energy ran through Coen, reigninting his lust and stamina. Holy fuck! Literally! Where one second he felt he might collapse, now he was ready for another romp.

Taking advantage of this divine opportunity, Seishin swung herself to her back, beckoning with finger.

“For a divine thing as myself to accept your seed. . . ah, what would the heavenly courts say?”

Coen didn’t understand and didn’t know anything about heavenly courts, but he saw vixen pussy so, the rest of him followed suit. The energy granted by Seishin’s mysterious power put the stride back in his thrust, and he found his head nestled into her tummy while his hips once again bucked helplessly into her accepting walls. The soft, silky entrance was generous with heat and wet with their arousal. Soon, the sheets beneath them created a damp pool of their “coupling,” while the day began to fizzle out with sex and, well, more sex.

-*-

Coen didn’t remember much of the evening, or all of it anyway. Numerous positions, certainly. Watching the grand kitsune lap at his loins, or toying with her tits as literal hills. Though the size difference presented a range of challenges, it was thrilling in its own way. To know that he had poured himself into a divine being. Helped that it felt incredible too.

He faded out, then awoke some hours later when the sky was stretched with twilight hours and the night sky draped itself over the horizon. Stars appeared like silver candles and the forest came to life with glowing moths and playful spirits.

He pushed himself up, rubbing his head. Seishin wasn’t here, but that was all right. A strange feeling overcame him. Home was so far away, stretched by literal time and space – concepts Coen wasn’t really familiar with. But, his time with Seishin so far had been nice. Despite her rather intense drinking habit she was pleasant, comforting even. And the sex, there was that too.

He dawned some clothes and went looking for the great kitsune, who was perched outside, lounging on the steps as a dancing cloud of pulsing fireflies fluttered around her. At his approach, her ears flicked, and she turned to glance down, casting a smile.

“Ah, there you are little Coen. Did you rest well?”

He nodded, sitting next to her. “I did, Seishin. Thanks.”

She clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Oh, and I have even better news. I may have made a breakthrough regarding your situation.”

He hesitated. A solution? That meant he’d have to go back home.

He looked up to the large kitsune. “You know what? That’s okay. You can tell me later.”

He wasn’t in such a hurry to get back.