FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A story done for the very talented @Tlapa, to thank him for the wonderful pair of character portraits he recently did for me.

The character of Marcella Gale (the star of his Diary of a Fox Slut series, which I highly recommend) is his property (though I dare say she wouldn't like to be called that). I do hope I've done her some justice - she is, after all, a complicated character. All other characters are mine. This story is intended to be a prequel to my Little White Bird series, though you probably needn't read it first. Any and all thoughts are enormously welcome.

---

Sighing absently, Collings, leaning back in his seat and glancing about him, finally decided that he really did prefer this place to Timothy's. This particular pub, it was true, was a fair bit pokier, and its ragged, hexagonal shape did feel rather awkward; but still, it simply felt…far more cared for. The colour was far more the warm brown of wood than the dirty yellow of tobacco stains; the little round tables were always neatly spaced and polished; the burbled conversation of the other patrons was always low and mild; and at the far end, the broad French windows opened out onto a broad wooden balcony – now gently aglow with lamplight as the dimness of twilight grew – that stretched out over the white sands of the beach.

Running a finger absently over the rim of his untouched pint of beer, the young human turned his eyes back down to the other figures seated about his small table. Directly opposite him, another human – the London woman, as he'd taken to calling her since her recent arrival thanks to his abysmal memory with names – returned his gaze with that same frigid, unblinking stare. It was quite odd, really – she was middle-aged, short, roundly shaped, a bit shrivelled, her dark brown hair closely cropped – she ought, by all rights, to have looked nothing like a detective. She ought, really, to have seemed motherly. Yet with her air of frigidity, her persistently unsmiling demeanour, and that unflinchingly even tone with which she always spoke, he had, in truth, despite knowing her less than a week, begun to feel oddly cowed by her…

To his right, Collings heard another loud, nasally snigger, and turned with a smile toward the young white ferret seated beside him. His fifth pint stood empty, his eyes were half-open and wafting, and his lips were drawn back from his muzzle into a broad and toothy grin. Despite the growing chill of the evening air, he had thrown his jacket over his shoulder and tugged up the sleeves of his button-up shirt, and was lolling about in his seat with all the careless air of a student.

“…anyway…anyway…" he burbled on thickly, directing his words at the woman, who turned her frigid stare toward him. “…anyway…so the serge, alright…" – the ferret waggled a paw clumsily toward the monitor lizard seated opposite him, to Collings' left. Tall, with his dusty brown scales likewise drawn with middle-age, the lizard flitted his dark tongue, smiled warmly down at the ferret, and, glancing over at Collings a moment, gave a cheerfully weary shake of his head.

“…the serge, right…" the ferret burbled on, abruptly pausing to let out a loud, drunken hiccup erupt dramatically from his chest. “…he's grilling the old prune, alright, trying to get her to tell him where the lad ran off too, alright, being all patient, bless him…and the old prune's babbling on and on about how safe the docks used to be, and her panty-liners and her hubby's bollocks or something, and there's this great crowd gathering, and he's getting nothing from her…"

The ferret paused again, and let out a damp slurp. The lizard, angling back in his chair slightly, let his shoulders fall with a slow, smiling sigh. The human woman, meanwhile, stared at him, mute and unblinking.

“…and then…" – another pause, and he let out a loud, snorting guffaw – “…and then, well, then the serge's wife…real haggard reptile-type, you know, scales worse than damn sandpaper...no 'fense, serge…" – the lizard, taking up his own quarter-empty pint, continued to smile – “…and, alright, she elbows through all these people, serge right in the middle of grilling the old lady, yeah…and the wifey, she walks right up to him, and…" – the ferret curled forward over his pint, drawing his lips further back, and erupted in a series of grunting snickers – “…in…so, in front of all these folks, right, she starts screaming about the mess in the garage. Like hammering on and on. And he's just standing there and sort of smiling and the old bag he's been grilling has bunged up and she's just staring, and the wifey's just going on…"

Putting down his pint and wiping a fleck of foam from his upper lip, the lizard chuckled. “She was telling me what the lad looked like, Dennison." he said with an easy smile. “The garage bit…was at the end…and it sort of worked its way in."

The ferret stared blankly back a moment; then, arching his head slightly back, he choked out another guffaw, and turned to the woman again. “But…but like I said, he defends her to hell and back. It's like…it's like Nineteen Eighty-Four where he…kisses the poster…"

The woman stared back blankly. The lizard, with another chuckle, turned to her. “Sorry, Hester. Constable Dennison really is more professional than this on duty, but…I'm sure I don't need to tell you, though, police duty means holding a lot of things back. Lila's a brisk woman, bless her…" – he reached out and flicked playfully at the ferret's ear – “…Dennison here isn't well-versed in women of any sort."

The ferret snickered again, and flailed clumsily at the lizard. The woman nodded stiffly, running her finger about the rim of her untouched pint.

“But, really, Hester," the lizard went on, still smiling, “I'm dead sure you're going to enjoy it here. In a place like London, you really don't realise what a bit of fresh air and space to move does for your focus. And, you know, they might not show it right away, but the lads really are quite excited to have a city copper about." With another sip from his pint, the lizard turned toward Collings. “Aren't they, Constable Collings?"

Stiffening his jaw, Collings nodded earnestly. “Y…yes…yes, of course…Aseem." he burbled; though he'd now been on the force a fair few months himself, Collings was still wrapping his head around Detective Sergeant Sood's bizarre insistence on being addressed by his first name off duty.

Nodding smilingly, the lizard turned back to the human woman. “Maybe you can convince them just how glamorous urban police duty isn't, eh, Hester?" he chirped jovially.

The woman stared back mutely another moment; then, pushing away her pint, she scraped back her chair and stood up.

“I should be going." she said flatly. “Thank you for the drink."

A brief, awkward pause hung in the air as a stiff gust rattled the French windows. “Alright, well, goodnight." Aseem said with a smiling nod; but already, the woman had turned about, and was hastily weaving her way through the tables toward the door.

For a moment, Dennison swayed slightly in his seat, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he stared after her. Then, with another titter, he leaned back in his chair. “Frigid." he burbled; and reaching forward, he took up the woman's untouched pint and took a deep swig.

The door falling shut behind her, Hester stepped away from the warm yellow glow of the pub and out onto the pavement. The evening was dimming early; the street stood empty, and most of the shopfronts running along it had grown dark. Nearby, the road opened out onto a broad, paved boardwalk overlooking the beach, and the salty tang to which Hester had not yet grown accustomed hung particularly thick in the chilled air.

Hunching her shoulders slightly, Hester stepped off the pavement and made her unhurried way across the road toward her car. The day had been long, and her thoughts were unfocused, awhirl at the moment with fretful concerns about her unfamiliar surroundings and resentful reflections upon time wasted…

As she reached for her car door handle, the vague sensation, through her coat, of something pressing down upon her shoulder made her draw a sharp breath and spin hastily about.

A young vixen, wrapped in a lengthy, olive-coloured overcoat, stood before her. Long chestnut locks tumbled down her shoulders; her fur was, it seemed, chiefly grey, though white about her mouth and a dull red about her eyes. She looked at Hester steadily, a delicate smile across her muzzle.

“You alright there, then? I'd not get in a car if I stepped out of a pub feeling that klutzy." the vixen said. Her voice was steady and measured, and tinged with some vague European accent Hester could not place.

Hester clenched her jaw, and stared silently back. Still smiling, the vixen held up a slender red purse that Hester recognised as her own.

“You dropped it by the door, dear." she said cheerily.

Hester stared back another moment. “Thanks." she finally said, plucking it from the vixen's paw and tucking it into an inner pocket.

The vixen's smile widened. “Looked like you were in a bit of a hurry." she said. “Bad time?"

Hester stared mutely back, absently running her tongue across her lips.

“You know the lizard guy in there?" the vixen asked nonchalantly, jerking her head back toward the pub. “He was giving you…some sort of look, anyway. Kind of…well, I wouldn't say interested…at all, but…well, it's a look I know…"

Hester stared back. The vixen's smile grew slightly. “…you were leaving in a hurry, maybe?"

Hester gave a sniff. “What did you say your name was?" she said sharply.

The vixen leaned her head back, her chestnut locks tumbling slightly, and let out a measured chuckle. “Goodnight, dear." she said, spinning on her heel and striding toward the pub, smiling over her shoulder. “Watch your arse, alright? Your age just means there's more of it to grab."

Slamming the pint glass back down onto the table, Dennison flopped back in his seat once again, foam dangling from the ends of his whiskers.

Across the table, the lizard let out yet another chuckle. “Well…she's got a lot to adapt to." he said.

Smirking, Dennison let out a light, delicate burp. “She's…she's not flipping started at a new school." he murmured. Then, reaching forward once again, he snatched up Collings' own half-empty pint and hastily drained it.

Collings gave a silent laugh; and absently, he glanced across the pub toward the bartop. The evening was still young, and most of the other patrons were, for the most part, hunched over and murmuring discreetly across tabletops; but at the bar, a plump and squat figure – a human man, with a dull brown beard and a glisteningly bare crown, wrapped in a pale jumper – sat upon a stool, his broad back to them, swaying gracelessly back and forth in his seat, breaking the general low hum of the pub with a persistent stream of slurred, half-formed muttering, occasionally pausing to lap at the neat whiskey in his hand. Beside him, on the other side of the bar, the bartender – a grey-muzzled, dusty-furred old Labrador – stood nodding with a strained smile.

Collings angled himself toward the lizard. “That's…that's Mr Markovic, isn't it?" he mumbled.

The lizard glanced toward the bar, his easy smile abruptly dropping. “Oh…oh, dear." he said, concern rising in his voice as he watched the man's tottering form.

The ferret, languidly following the lizard's gaze, snickered thickly as his eyes passed over the bartender. “Oh…looks…looks like Ben's having to hear all about the brats and their snotballs…"

The lizard shifted about in his seat, and seemed about to stand up. “Maybe…maybe I should…"

Turning back around, Dennison let out a damp scoff. “Prrft, what's the problem? It's a small-town pub, it's supposed to be full of drunk middle-agers regretting everything."

Collings put a hand on the lizard's forearm. “There's not been a single complaint from this place since it opened." he said quietly. “I'm sure they know how to…"

Collings felt a sharp slam in his side, and looked up with a jolt. Beside him, Dennison had sat stiffly upright in his seat, grasped Colling's shoulder, and was staring over his head with wide-eyed, open-mouthed bewilderment at something over his head.

“Look!" he said, his voice rising to a strangely high, yet hoarse pitch. “Fucking look!"

Baffled, Collings stared up at him a moment before following the ferret's gaze over his shoulder and toward the pub's front doorway as it fell shut. A feminine figure with lengthy dark hair stood by the coatrack, her back turned to them as she throwing a broad olive overcoat over a hook.

And as the figure turned about, Collings felt a gasp rise in this throat as the familiarity of that sharp vixen face of red and grey fur, that tumbling chestnut hair and those thigh-high boots, even the plain brown jacket in which her slender figure was wrapped, hit him all at once.

“That's fucking Marcella Gale!" he heard Dennison hiss sharply in his ear. Collings felt his head reeling with shock; his jaw grew slack, and he could only stare dumbly as the vixen, her paws tucked into her pockets and her eyes fixed ahead of her, began to coolly stroll her way over to the bar.

Glancing away from the bar, Aseem followed their gaze to the vixen. “You boys know her?" he asked half-interestedly.

Collings turned his eyes back to Dennison, who was casting him a silent, derisive grin. Then, mellowing out his smile, he turned to the lizard. “Oh…she's…she was a flower girl at my cousin's wedding, serge."

The lizard raised his eyebrows and pursed his scaly lips. “Mm-hmm." he said.

Dennison leaned forward and choked out a chesty guffaw. “Prrfft…naw, but…c'mon sir, you must've seen her somewhere…you know…"

The lizard stared back at him, wide-eyed. With another guffaw, Dennison turned back to Collings. “You see…you see that one video last week? Goddamn…" – he curled up the fingers of his right paw – “…that bastard's whole fist! His whole damn fist! I mean, I know she's taken knots bigger than that, probably but…" – he stared with a smirk at his balled fist – “…but that rhino bastard, his skin was like…fucking concrete…must've been…I mean, hell…"

Biting his lip uneasily, Collings glanced over at Aseem, whose eyes had widened, his hand over his mouth. “Oh…oh, my…" he burbled before his expression dissolved into a slightly uneasy chuckle. “She's…one of those, is she?"

“Aw…c'mon, serge," Dennison grunted with a scoff, “you…you must've seen her…we're all men here, yeah?"

Smiling, Aseem shook his head. “I grew out of that sort of thing back when I still had to raid the stash under my big brother's bed for it."

Dennison gave another thick snigger. “She's…she's like…she's the goddamn pricess of the cam-slags, you know? Rides across the whole damn world on that loose bag of hers…" – he glanced over at Collings with a broad leer – “…you remember when she was in Brazil? That enormous caiman bastard? Fucking mad!"

Aseem's smile receded slightly. “Please, constable…language." he mumbled with discomfit. Collings, meanwhile, in spite of himself, bit his nail and crossed his legs slightly, feeling the blood begin to flow toward his groin as he recalled the sight of the red-grey vixen lying upon her back, writhing and groaning in ecstasy beneath that towering figure of thick, scaly, grey-green flesh…

The sound of hoarse bellowing rang out suddenly through the quiet warmth of the pub. Jerking his head up, Collings looked, bewildered, over to the bar once again.

The red-grey vixen stood beside the bar, her muzzle pursed, her claws gripping the front of her coat, her eyes staring sharply. Beside her, Mr Markovic, his rotund, sweatered form still swaying awkwardly atop his stool, had turned toward her; his corpulent face had grown red, dark veins showed in his temples, and he was howling at her with ragged, guttural rage in some Eastern European dialect Collings did not recognise. The other patrons were looking over in silent uneasiness, and the Labrador behind the bar was hastily edging his way toward the telephone at the far end. The vixen, however, stood in total silence, her eyes fixed icily upon the man, barely blinking as he continued to bellow.

Beside him, Collings heard the sharp scrape of a chair; and glancing over, he watched as Aseem, leaping to his feet, hastened his way over to the bar and brought a hand heavily down upon the plump human's shoulder.

“Come now, Mr Markovic," he said firmly, “what's going on here?"

His bellowing abruptly ceasing, the human glanced up at the lizard. He gave an incomprehensible grunt, and lurched clumsily forward, his arms out, as if to shove the lizard away. Aseem impulsively stepped back, and with a snort, the human tumbled off his stool, falling to the ground with a thud.

Dennison, who had been watching in smiling, open-mouthed silence, leaned his head back and let out a barrage of high-pitched laughter. Glancing at him sideways, Collings, with a sigh, pushed back his chair, stood up, and hastened over to the bar, where Aseem was kneeling down beside the human, who lay face first upon the floor, letting out a lengthy stream of vague, damp gurgling. Beside them, the red-grey vixen stood beside the bar, looking down at the figure in frosty silence. Her right paw slid into her coat; and out of the corner of his eye, Collings felt he spied her tucking a long, thin black something away into an inner pocket.

Carefully, Aseem grabbed the human's stout arm and lifted it across his shoulders. He glanced uneasily up at the vixen – who continued to stare in cold silence – and gave her a stiff smile.

“Awfully sorry about this, ma'am." he burbled. “He'll not bother you again tonight." Then, with a tremendous, grunting heave of effort, Aseem stood up, the human's immense form dangling flaccidly off him, slack-jawed and red-faced, staring glassily at the floor.

Aseem gave the human's immense gut a good-natured pat, now smiling more easily. “Think I'd better get you home, Mr Markovic." he said.

The human gave another gurgle, and a thin stream of dribble trickled from the corner of his mouth. Then Aseem, angling himself toward Collings, gave a discreet nod toward the vixen.

“Just…just try and see she doesn't make any fuss, alright?" he murmured out the corner of his mouth. “And keep an eye on Dennison, alright? Get him home."

Impulsively, Collings gave a dumb nod; and the lizard began making his laboured way toward the door, half-pulling the human's limp, immense form after him. Around them, patrons looked up from their drinks with silent, sharp-eyed disapproval; across the room, Dennison, lolling from his chair, looked on with a wide, wet, open-mouthed grin of glee.

Collings watched in silence as Aseem pulled the human out the front door; finally, as it fell shut behind them, he turned about to face the red-grey vixen, who was now fixing him with a stare almost as coolly stoic as Hester's.

Collings drew his tongue across his lips, and opened his mouth to speak. And as he did so, a series of images flashed across his mind's eye, rapid, but starkly clear: the image of the vixen delicately running her tongue across the stout, distended shaft of a scaly grey phallus; of her kneeling upon a rug in a dimly lit room, meeting his eyes and smirking, as a dim figure behind her wrapped a dark-furred arm about her bare torso and sank its fingers into her groin; of her upon all fours, brushy tail held aloft, a tall figure kneeling behind her, its paws sunk into the fur of her hips, its erection sunk partway into her damp, glistening vixenhood, its knot perched tentatively just before the entrance...

Collings' words dies in his throat, and he stared dumbly at the vixen. For a moment, she held that same frigid stare; then, quite suddenly, a broad, amused smile spread across her muzzle, and she let out a low, restrained laugh.

From behind, Collings felt a fluffy, long-fingered paw come down heavily upon his shoulder. “Smooth, you twat." a familiar voice slurred drunkenly into his ear.

Dennison elbowed his way past Collings, and stood, swaying slightly, before the vixen, grinning widely. “Evening, ma'am." he said thickly. “We…we do apologise for…for this…for this unfortunate…" – a droplet of dribble glistened on the end of his muzzle, and he let out a loud, damp slurp – “…this…we mean…we do hope…this doesn't sour your opinion of our…" – he paused, and let out another damp guffaw. “Listen, ma'am, my partner and I…" – he waved a paw toward Collings – “…we're police officers. We…now, obviously, ma'am, this is a quiet town, but…we…we'd like to make sure you…that you get home safely."

Collings sank his teeth into his lip, and grasped anxiously at Dennison's upper arm. “Hey…come on, man…" he burbled.

Dennison shrugged off his grasp, cast him a brief grimace over his shoulder, and turned back to the vixen. “We…if you'll allow us, ma'am…we'd like to…to see you home…"

Collings felt his heart thudding. Apprehensively, he cast his eyes about the hushed pub; most of the patrons were murmuring indistinctly across their tables, but most continued to watch them in silence, their expressions mostly unreadable.

The vixen, still grinning gaily, returned Dennison's stare another moment. Then, tossing her chestnut locks back, she gave a nod. “Yes." she said. “Yes, I'd appreciate that." Collings drew a sharp breath at the sound of her voice; a voice so familiar – a vague, unnameable accent, not smooth or seductive, yet strangely alluring – and yet so very different in person.

Yet another moment passed in silence; then Collings, arighting himself, cleared his throat. “Uh…I…are you quite sure, ma'am?" he stammered in a fluster. “We…that's to say…you're welcome to…"

Her smile broadening, the vixen raised her eyebrows at Dennison. “Your partner new, officer?" she said delicately. She wrapped her jacket about herself, and swayed delicately where she stood. “I've been over the world. I really thought English cops were some of the last ones who really cared about keeping little ladies like me safe."

Dennison grinned wider. “Of…of course we are." he said merrily. “Ig…ignore the poor dear fellow, he…you know what the smell…" – he gagged on another impulsive snigger, and cleared his throat – “…what the presence of a…healthy young vixen like yourself…does to humans…they…they simply aren't built for it…"

Impulsively, Collings opened his mouth to speak; once again, the words fizzled, and he let out a feeble gurgle.

Still smirking cheerily, the vixen glanced back at the grey-muzzled Labrador, who stood at the far end of the bar, his paws at his hips, glaring disapprovingly.

“Sorry about the fuss." she chirped; and reaching into a breast pocket, she pulled out a 10 pound note and slid it across the bar toward him. Then, turning back, she clasped her paws together. “I've got a room at the White Shingle Lodge, officers." she said. “Shall we be off, then?"

Collings swallowed stiffly, and once again ran his tongue over his lips, which felt oddly dry.

The car twisted about another dimly lit corner; above the rattle and hum of the engine, the soft roar of the sea grew ever so slightly clearer.

Collings gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles almost white, his jaw rigid. Then, for the first time since getting behind the wheel, he managed to tear his eyes away from the darkened road before him, and glance over at the passenger seat.

The red-grey vixen beside him glanced back, offering him a smile far more relaxed and far warmer than before. Shuffling slightly in her seat, she pulled her stout, olive-green overcoat tighter about her.

“Hope this thing isn't in your way." she said casually. “Was just getting used to that Californian sun when I left."

Collings smiled forcefully, and shook his head.

A loud, guttural grunting sound erupted from behind them. An abrupt jolt shot up Collings' spine, and the car juddered a moment.

He glanced behind him; Dennison's scrawny form lay sprawled out across the back seat, his arms dangling off the edge, his fuzzy white muzzle lolling open, his eyes closed.

Collings bit his lip, fighting back a groan. Beside him, the vixen let out a hearty giggle. He turned back to her. “Uh…he…I mean…he…he had a long week…he…Constable Dennison…takes his duties very seriously…"

The vixen let out another giggle, and gave a smiling nod, her eyes still on the back seat. “Yes…yes, no doubt." she said, half-attentively. Absently, she glanced up at Dennison's custodian helmet, which had been left atop the back seat earlier that day.

“So…you actually are cops, then." she said. “That's…that's something."

Collings raised his eyebrows at her; she glanced back with another smile. “Oh…you know, you boys and your come-ons." she said jauntily. “I mean…just in London last week, had, eh…two MI6 agents hit on me…plus one MP's personal assistant…one guy who was a sniper in Afghanistan…one guy who's climbed Kilimanjaro twice…" – she gave another giggle – “…most of them weren't even drunk, either. Was amazing."

Collings forced another smile, and turned his eyes back to the road. The car turned about an intersection and began to slide down a sloping main road, the vague, pale grey stretch of the ocean just barely visible between the closely packed row of buildings at the bottom.

“So…you don't have any questions?"

Collings glanced back at the vixen, who was once again smiling warmly at him. “I…sorry?" he said.

“Questions. You know, about what I do. Pretty much every guy does at some point – I like to get some of them out of the way, at least."

Collings stared back a moment, slightly baffled, before turning back to the road. “I…well…I…that's to say…I don't…I'm not sure that'd be appropriate, ma'am."

The vixen let out another, more restrained titter, and turned her own gaze out her window. “Almost every guy." she said, sounding, for a moment, almost pensive. “Weirdest damn questions at the weirdest damn times. I mean, you'd think…you'd think, in this day and age, a few more guys could get a bit more used to the stuff women like me do."

Collings drew his tongue across his lips once again, mutely fixing his eyes upon the road. A pale-coloured Mini Hatch rolled out of a darkened side street and hummed past them.

“I mean…I've honestly had guys whose idea of pillow talk is to grill me about how awful it all must be for poor little me and how I must fall asleep on a bed of tears and jizz every night." Another titter, this one barely audible. “Dunno what it is about you men – you really seem terrified of the idea that women like me might actually enjoy what we do." She turned back to him, still smiling, though somewhat more measuredly. “Just want to make sure you're not that sort."

Collings cleared his throat and rubbed at his mouth, his eyes still fixed upon the road. “L…look, ma'am…w…whatever it is you do…I mean, as long as you aren't doing any p…public soliciting…it's not…it's not my concern…"

The vixen tittered again, louder, more sharply; and a violent jolt of nerves shot its way through Collings' body as he felt the vixen's paw come to rest upon his knee, rubbing it firmly. “You know damn well that's not what I mean." the vixen said smoothly.

Collings swallowed. His throat felt completely parched. The vixen's paw continued to slide rigidly back and forth across his knee.

“Don't get me wrong, dear, you don't seem like the judgemental sort," she went on, “but you've seen what I do…I mean, that look you gave me…" – another sharp snicker – “…you don't look at someone that way when you recognise them from book club, you know?"

Collings forced another smile. A gust sent a crinkled crisp packet dancing across the windshield and out into the dimness of the road.

“And…I mean, I should make this clear," the vixen went on, sounding ever more casual as she spoke, “you want to judge me, you go right ahead and do that. I mean…hell, what I do, if I want to make money…if I want to survive, I have to judge men I know nothing about. We all judge, you know, no shame in it – shows we've got some sort of self-worth left, if we can hold other people to some sort of standard. But judging me to my face…that's something I just don't care for."

Collings felt her paw cease its sliding back and forth across his knee; and he gave another jolt as her fingers sank tightly into his knee. “You try that, and I pull your balls off." the vixen said coolly.

Collings, not looking at her, licked his lips again; they seemed absurdly dry. “M…ma'am…there'll be no…I mean…I've no intention…"

Ahead of them, at the end of the sloping main road, a wide building loomed out of the dimness; a confusing affair, the top half a gabled, white and brown mock-Tudor form of some sort, the lower part far more flat, monochrome and modern. A warm light glowed from the windows, and the sliding glass front door stood half-open. A battered hanging sign swung in the breeze, the words “White Shingle Lodge" just barely legible in the car's headlights.

Abruptly, Collings twisted the wheel about and pulled the car up onto the pavement, wincing as he braked it just inches away from a stout concrete bollard.

Tugging at the handbrake, Collings slowly unwrapped his tight grasp from the wheel, and turned to the vixen, who continued to smile, paw upon his knee.

“Well…I…have…have a good night, ma'am." he mumbled.

For a moment, the vixen smiled at him in silence. Then she lifted her paw from his knee; and turning about, she drove her forefinger sharply into the sleeping ferret's cheek. Dennison's eyes snapped open, and with a violent jolt, he shot up in his seat, damply smacking his lips and burbling indistinctly.

“Pardon, constable," the vixen said sweetly, “but your partner here seems to expect me to head out there on my own, at this hour. He's not even offered to walk me to my room."

For a moment, Dennison fixed her with a blank, puffy-eyed, bloodshot stare, the fur of his lower jaw damp with dribble. Then, abruptly, his gleeful smirk returned; and he brought a fluffy paw heavily down upon Collings' shoulder.

“Please forgive him, ma'am." he slurred. “He's got a lot to learn about his duties to…to up…to upstanding citizens like y'self." And reaching out, the ferret clumsily fumbled about for the handle of his door a moment, then pushed it ajar. “Come along, Collings. We're seeing this good lady home."

The lodge's upstairs hallway was narrow and poorly lit, its grimy carpeting uneven; and Collings felt disinclined to make any haste as he shuffled along it, his gut heavy with apprehension. Precisely how much of that evening had happened, he still wasn't entirely certain; but in one way or another, his nerves had been on edge the moment that the vixen had walked through the pub door.

From behind him sounded a stream of dull thudding as Dennison loudly stumbled his way along behind him, occasionally letting out a stream of vague formless muttering. Collings exhaled stiffly, his eyes turned down.

It was several minutes before he reached the hallway's far end, where the vixen waited patiently, her arms folded, her back propped against a closed door marked with the number 5, a set of keys in her paw, a smirk upon her muzzle. She had removed her overcoat, which hung from her arm; and even in the low light, Collings could discern the white hem of her blouse peering out from the bottom of her jacket, dangling about her thighs…

Collings halted before her, and offered her another forced smile as Dennison staggered up beside him. “W…well, ma'am…" Once again, the words fizzled and died in Collings' throat, as her pose brought to his memory the image of the vixen with her back against another wall, her head arched back, her mouth open midway through a moan of ecstasy, pinned against the wall by the broad, naked torso of a bear, her claws sunk into the dark fur of his back, her nimble thighs folded about his hips…

Out the corner of his eye, Collings spied Dennison raising a paw; and he winced as he the ferret brought a sharp, firm slap down onto the back of his skull.

A sharp ringing erupted in Collings' ears; somewhere amidst it, he heard the vixen give another light giggle.

“P…pardon, ma'am." the ferret said thickly. “The…the constable means well, but…bless him, he…he's slow as hell. He'll…he'll learn the full duties of an officer…in time…" Lurching sideways, the ferret thudded heavily against the wall beside the vixen, where he propped himself up by his elbow, smirking widely as ever. “Now…now, ma'am, you'd best let us in…let us look about…these tourist-trap places…not remotely secure…this Tudor look, you know, it's all chipboard and paint…"

Smiling, the vixen turned about; and delicately sliding a key into the door's lock, she pushed it unhurriedly open.

With another lurch, Dennison flung himself forward, and all but fell through the doorway. Looking after him a moment, the vixen then turned back to Collings, her smile once again cool and calculating, and gave an insistent nod toward the doorway.

His head reeling slightly, his thoughts ajumble, Collings barely noticed as he tottered forward, past the vixen, and stepped through the dim doorway.

The room within was unremarkable – the sort of rustic, affordable accommodation most seaside holidaymakers expected. The floor was largely bare, unpolished wood, with a frayed maroon rug across the centre. A broad, wood-framed double bed stood against the wall; furniture was otherwise sparse, but for a stout, overstuffed armchair by the door and a wardrobe in the corner. Across the room, in the far wall, a sliding glass door opened out onto a narrow wooden balcony, beyond which Collings could, in the growing dimness, just barely discern the rolling grey vastness of the sea. The room showed little sign of being lived in, and personal there was little sign of personal possessions but for a backpack by the door and a single suitcase that stood open on the floor by the wardrobe; but by the wall opposite the bed, on a small side table, a thin, slick white laptop stood open, its screen blank, with a webcam perched atop it.

But for the dim, late evening light streaming through the glass door and the smoky yellow glow of a standing lamp by the bed, the room was unlit, and half-swallowed by shadow; but through the gloom, Collings could discern the tall and slender form of Dennison, standing by the foot of the bed, still swaying slightly, but glancing about almost haughtily, his paws upon his hips. He turned about as Collings entered, grinning more broadly and toothily than ever, his eyes, despite their bloodshot bleariness, seemingly oddly alight.

“How about this, huh, Collings?!" he said with gleeful earnestness; his slurred voice had dropped to an oddly coarse and guttural half-whisper, and Collings had to strain to hear him. “How about this, you twat?! Sod the bucket list; I'm gonna be able to go to my grave saying I shagged Marcella fucking Gale! Gonna dive into the loosest and most legendary muff of the internet age! Never thought I'd be so damn excited to…you know…to dig into such a loose bag!" He let out a damp and ragged snigger, and glanced about. “Christ, she'd better have some Johnnies left, though."

Collings drew his tongue over his lips yet again; they felt like sandpaper. “G…God's sake, Dennison," he mumbled, “just…I mean, come on, man, we…we can't…"

The sharp thud of a door falling shut behind him rang out; Collings gave another jolt, and spun about, his heart thudding in his ears. The vixen had elbowed the door shut behind her, and was striding determinately into the room. She made her way over to the bed – not sparing Dennison a glance as he smirked at her – tossed her chestnut hair back, and threw her overcoat into a corner.

“Alright, enough bullshit." she said, her voice firm, though her cool smile did not recede. “You guys got money?"

Collings' teeth sank into his lip, his mind still meandering and foggy. “L…look, ma'am…I don't think…I mean…I really think we ought to…"

By the foot of the bed, Dennison turned toward him; his smile shrunk away for the first time that evening, and he gave Collings a withering stare. Collings gave another dry swallow, and once again, his words died away.

The vixen smirked at Collings. “What're you worried about, officer? We're not breaking any laws, not over here. I do look into these things, you know." Ever so slowly, her paws slid to the front of her jacket, and she began to tug at the strand of her belt. “But, really, now, I do need to see some money."

Dennison turned back to her, once again grinning as widely as ever; and dipping his paw into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a battered brown wallet and tossed it across the bed to the vixen.

Catching it, the vixen opened the wallet and fingered through its contents a moment, before glancing back up at the ferret; and though her smile remained, a small degree of undisguised scorn glinted in her eyes.

She pulled a few notes out, tucked them into a drawer in the bedside table, and tossed the wallet back to Dennison. “Look…" she said; her voice, though still firm, sounded, for a brief moment, vaguely hesitant. “Look…you two had better not breathe a word about this, but…I might just be in the mood to allow you a discount." Her paws returned to the front of her jacket; she unbuckled her belt entirely, and began unhooking her buttons. “I'm…well, I'm wound up as all hell. Haven't had a client in days – I was supposed to meet one today, but, well, you saw how that played out."

Collings opened his mouth again; and again, the words fizzled in his throat.

The vixen unhooked the last button of her coat; and unhurriedly, she shrugged it off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Collings drew a gasp as she stood beside the bed clad in a familiar white blouse, which dangled high up her thighs, somehow accentuating her generous contours despite hanging loosely…

A damp, approving grunt sounded from across the room; Collings glanced over at Dennison, and fought back another gasp as he saw the ferret enthusiastically pulling his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head and flinging it aside, his bloodshot eyes now afire with eagerness.

For a moment, Collings stared at Dennison, almost transfixed. Somehow, even amidst the teeming mass of half-formed thoughts buzzing about in his mind, he found himself suddenly enraptured by how absurdly fluffy Dennison was. The ferret's torso was lengthy and thin, but his snowy-white fur, puffing out in every direction, seemed to fill him out. It was clean and fleecy and thick and soft-looking, and put Collings in mind of a stout, clean towel…

Collings glanced back over at the vixen. Abruptly, overcome with bewilderment, his head spun more violently than ever, his heart began to thud thunderously, and, stumbling backward, his knees trembling, he felt himself collapse into the armchair by the wall, sinking into it as he stared, bulbous-eyed, across the room.

The vixen had stripped off her blouse, and stood beside the bed clad in nothing but her lengthy boots. Collings had seen her body many times, and recognised its every inch – its slender, yet curvaceous form; its generous breasts and defined hips; the broad streak of glistening white fur that ran down its front, from her neck, over her belly, down to her thighs; and its glistening vixenhood – and yet the sight of it, in fur and flesh rather than on a screen, seemed quite unreal; the dim twilit glow, throwing its form into half-shadow, combined with the baffled reeling of Collings' head, made it seem far more like a dream than anything…

The vixen turned her eyes to him, and let out a quiet, good-natured titter. “This…is his first time, I imagine?" she said, glancing at Dennison.

Dennison glanced over his shoulder at Collings, grinning with derision as his paws fumbled gauchely at the fastening of his trousers. “I'd imagine so, ma'am. He's just been…unprofessional in every sort of way today. Do hope he doesn't tarnish your perception of the English police force."

The vixen gave another, slightly drier titter. “A man with a uniform and a bit of power tends to be insufferable no matter what border he's behind." she said quietly.

Collings stared mutely. His hearted pounded in his ears. The vixen cast him another, silent, ever-so-slightly warmer smile; then, slowly, she lifted one leg, then the other, out of her thigh-highs; her lower-legs, with their charcoal black fur, seemed to almost blend into the dimness.

The vixen clambered onto the bed; and crawling unhurriedly across it, she lowered herself onto her back, reclining upon the pillows, her legs splayed, her vixenhood glimmering more intensely than ever in the half-light.

Collings felt a blazing flush rising to his face, and a throbbing in the tips of his ears. He tried to draw breath, but it only made his head spin faster.

At the foot of the bed, Dennison's grin seemed to have grown impossibly wide. The fastening of his trousers finally coming undone, he slowly lowered them to his ankles and stepped out of them, kicking his shoes aside as he did so.

He stood in smirking motionlessness a moment, his eyes fixed upon the vixen; and half-consciously, Collings felt his gaze begin to wander up and down Dennison's naked body. His legs were long and gangling, his thighs, like his torso, slender, yet thick with downy white fur. His tail – long, and oddly fluffy by mustelid standard – jolted back and forth with sharp, regular, almost pendulum-like motion; and the long, thin, fleshy red shaft of his phallus protruded from his fuzzy white sheath, jutting upward with rigid keenness.

With stiff, exaggerated deliberateness, Dennison stepped forward and clambered onto the bed. Collings jerked partway out of his reverie; the flush in his cheeks grew hotter, and he tried to tear his eyes away; but he could only continue to stare, wide-eyed, unblinking, almost hypnotised.

Dennison, whose gaze was fixed upon the vixen, mercifully did not notice Colings' stare. The smirking ferret began crawling across the bedsheet toward the vixen, who eyed him with that familiarly cool and silent smile. The ferret moved slowly and deliberately, his fluffy white posterior jutting in the air, his tail jerking about, and – Collings' felt himself blush harder still as he noticed – his fur-coated testicles swung between his thighs, looking rather disproportionately outsized.

Ages seemed to pass as Dennison crawled his way toward the vixen, and Collings, upright in his seat, once again fought to ignore the blood surging to his groin. And as he finally reached her, Dennison delicately dug the tip of his muzzle into the fur of the vixen's right shin, inhaling deeply; and Collings, caught off guard, jolted with surprise in his seat as, for a brief moment, the smiling vixen glanced over at him and silently rolled her eyes.

Slowly, Dennison dragged his nose through the dark fur of the vixen's lower leg, occasionally hesitating to take another sharp inhalation; then his muzzle slid its way through the lighter, softer fur of her inner thigh, before, finally, descending toward her glistening vixenhood.

The ferret's nose sank into the vixen's groin; and he drew a long, deep inhalation – it seemed to go on a full minute, the vixen looking down at him, her poised smile still unshifting.

Finally, the ferret lifted his muzzle from the vixen's groin. “'Blossoming with the seed of every nation.'" he said, and turned his smile up toward the vixen. “That's what one chap in the live chat said about it – said he'd been with you."

The vixen tittered again, coolly; and reaching down, she flicked a forefinger over the ridge of the ferret's muzzle. “I think I'd remember banging someone who mutilated the poetic arts that badly." she said. “Now, get on with it, will you?"

The ferret's smile expanded further; and ever so slowly he crawled further forward, pulling himself forward by the low iron rim of the headboard, until his naked body hovered over the vixen's, their bare, fuzzy torsos but inches apart, their long legs side by side, the pearly white of his fur intermingling with her silvery grey, with – Collings blushed yet again – the ferret's furry white balls dangling just above her vixenhood, which glistered more intensely still.

The blood raced faster to Collings' groin, and he delicately crossed his legs as he felt his phallus slowly bloating. Ever so slowly, the ferret, still grinning, lowered a paw to the vixen's chest, and sank it into the soft white fur of her left breast…

Quite suddenly, a violent shudder shook its way through the ferret's body; and he let out a loud, throaty grunt, his head jolting impulsively backward. Collings started with surprise in his seat; and from beneath the ferret, the vixen's smile fell away entirely, and she cocked an eyebrow.

The ferret gave another grunt; and, his body rigid, his back arched unnaturally forward, he rolled off the vixen and collapsed onto his back beside her, his grin replaced with a glazed, open-mouthed stare, white globules of seed dribbling from the tip of his rapidly receding phallus; and across the white fur of her belly, a damp smear glinted in the half-light…

Slumping back onto the pillow, the vixen glanced over at the ferret with unsmiling, undisguised scorn. “That's it?" she said, her voice steady and low, but quietly hissing with displeasure; the ferret simply lay motionless, staring bulbously up at the ceiling.

For a moment, the vixen stared icily at Dennison, who remained unresponsive, his mouth hanging open. Then, quite suddenly, she turned her gaze toward Collings, who felt another violent lurch of apprehension within his gut.

“You." she said sharply, and gave a stiff jerk of her head. “Get over here. Now."

Collings stared, his head reeling more wildly than ever. The vixen jerked her head again. “Now." she repeated.

Collings' breath caught in his throat. His head twirled. And ever so slowly, he felt himself rise to his feet, his blush growing still hotter as he became aware of the erection now tenting the front of his trousers. His legs trembled pathetically beneath him, and he stumbled pathetically forward, helpless to stop himself.

As he reached the side of the bed, the vixen slowly extended a long, limber, silver-furred leg outward, and nimbly curled her big toe about the front of Collings' belt.

“Get your damn clothes off." she said; her voice had shrunk to little more than a murmur, yet she bit down upon her words with particular ferocity now. “I'm…pretty damn near desperate. You don't want to see me desperate. You know what I mean?"

Beside the vixen, Dennison's head lolled about, his eyes still glazed and unblinking. For a moment, Collings stared down stupidly at the vixen; then, finally, the throbbing of his heart reaching his temples, his body racked with nervous tremors, he slowly shrugged off his coat…

With a grunt of frustration, the vixen shuffled off the bed and leapt to her feet, sending a gust of the strong scent of Dennison's seed wafting up toward Collings as she did so. Her paws flew to Collings' collar; and unfastening the buttons of his shirt with almost unnatural haste and deftness, she pulled it off his torso and over his shoulders, flinging it to the floor.

“Wound the fuck up." she whispered sharply; and as her paws flew down to Collings' waist, she began tugging at the fastening of his belt with far less delicate care than she had afforded her own. “See what I mean? I've not been this wound up in a long time, dear. No clients…had to leave my wolf back in London…just…it's been a bad week, and I'm not handling it well."

Collings could only stare, more stupidly bug-eyed than ever, as he felt his belt fall slack, and the vixen's lissom fingers working impatiently at his front trouser button…

“I dunno if this is your first time or not." the vixen murmured on. “Seems like it might be…I mean, I've taken a lot of guys through their first time, but…I was a bit…a bit more…stable…most of the time…"

His trousers came unfastened, and, bending down a moment, the vixen tugged them down over his legs. The throbbing in his ears grew thunderous, and his cheeks seemed afire. Behind them, the sliding door rattled, and a sharp shudder writhed through Collings' body as he felt the bite of the bitter evening wind upon his bare skin. His erect phallus jutted outward, and he bit his lip as he felt the vixen's fur brush its tip…

The vixen jerked her head toward the bed, where Dennison still lay, motionless, silent, and staring. “On your back, dear." she said sharply. “I'm not expecting stud-level stuff, just…just do what I say, and…and I can start being a bit nicer, you know?"

Collings stared. The vixen's jaw grew rigid, and she nodded at the bed more forcefully.

Collings drew a tongue over his dry lips. Then, his legs now quavering pathetically beneath him, he slowly turned toward the bed; and, his blush still burning as he felt the vixen's piercing eyes upon him, he crawled onto it and slowly lowered himself onto his back beside Dennison. With another dry gulp, Collings glanced over at the ferret, who now lay with his paw delicately caressing his furry testicles, still staring at the ceiling, apparently totally oblivious to Collings' presence.

Collings turned back to the vixen, who stood over him, still glaring unsmilingly as she vigorously kneaded her glistening vixenhood with her fingers. Then, stepping forward, she clambered onto the bed, and carefully positioned herself in a kneeling position above Collings, her knees planted on either side of his hips, her damp vixenhood hovering above his groin.

Collings stared up at her, jaw slack, breath shallow and rapid, his heart now positively roaring in his ears. The vixen arched her back slightly, and gripped at Collings' shoulders, her warm, furry fingers sinking into his flesh. Ever so slowly, she bent her knees…

At the first brush of her moist, warm vixenhood against his tip, another warm shudder set Collings' nerves aflame a moment. He gave a harsh gasp, his breath caught in his throat, and he sank his fingernails into his palms.

The vixen's grasp grew tighter; but for the briefest moment, the hint of a smile seemed to flicker across her exasperated expression. “I'm warning you, dear, you'd better damn well not. I'm not gonna have the patience to put up with two hair triggers. Just scratch yourself or something, that usually works."

Her knees bent further; and Collings let out something between a yelp and a throaty grunt as he felt the sensation of damp warmth consume his phallus and seep over his groin. He glanced down, and his head reeled violently once again as he saw himself slowly entering the vixen.

She met his gaze as he glanced, open-mouthed, back up at her; and as, ever so slowly, she began to rock her hips steadily back and forth, though her smile did not return, Collings could not help but feel, through his giddy bewilderment, that her expression seemed to be growing ever so slightly less severe…

The vixen's steady motions slowly hastened. An odd, fluctuating tension racked Collings' muscles end to end, and a sensation of fiery pleasure began to rise and fall about his groin. His hands grasped impulsively at the sheet beneath him, and his teeth sank into his lip once again.

Abruptly, not ceasing her steady motions, the fox grasped at his right hand, and, tugging it forcefully upwards, raised to her chest and pressed it against her breast. The cushiony sensation of soft fur and warm, pliant flesh drew another gasp from Collings; and impulsively, he felt himself sink his fingers down upon it, the nerves tingling in his palm…

The vixen turned her gaze from Collings, and down toward the ferret, who still lay stock-still and glassy-eyed beside him. One paw still holding Collings' hand to her chest, she reached out and sharply prodded the ferret's ribs.

“C'mon, you lout. You owe me after that performance. Get your muzzle down there." she said.

His head still spinning, his eyes still fixed bulbously upon the vixen, Collings could not bring himself to shift his gaze; and yet, after a moment, his hot ecstasy building as the vixen's motions grew ever more rapid, he half-noticed something stirring beside him; half-felt something furry brush against the bare skin of his side…

Something pale flittered in the corner of Collings' eye. The vixen, still looking beside her, nodded firmly downward. “Come on, give us something. You really going to get off a discount ride half a minute in?"

Slowly, Dennison's long, slender head and neck drifted into Collings' field of vision, the lamplight bouncing dimly off his pallid fur. The ferret's eyes still stared vacantly, his jaw still hung loosely; and he did not even glance at either of them as, slowly, he lowered the tip of his muzzle toward where their groins met…

Collings' eyes widened as he felt the fur of Dennison's chin brush against his pelvic flesh; and he watched in dizzy bafflement as the ferret extended his thin red tongue, and slowly drew it along the vixen's lurching groin.

Slowing her steady rocking a moment, the vixen gently stroked a paw over the ferret's head and along the back of his neck. “That's a boy." she said; and glancing up, Collings noticed the first hint of a smile returning to her face. “You can keep your tongue stiff, at least, right?"

The ferret said nothing, and simply continued to run his tongue up and down the moist slit of her vixenhood; Collings blushed still further as he felt Dennison's tongue briefly flit over the base of his phallus. Her smile slowly extending, the vixen began to hasten her seesawing motions once again, awakening in Collings a fresh wave of feverish pleasure.

His hand falling from the vixen's breast, Collings began to flail his limbs blindly about, finally sinking one hand into the broad, warm downiness of the vixen's thigh, the other grasping once again at the sheets beneath them. The blood surged searingly toward his groin as the vixen's steady toing-and-froing went on; and, his lips slipping open, he heard himself let out a strained, embarrassingly high-pitched moan, his head whirling ever faster as he felt his ecstasy grow.

Beside him, Dennison knelt in continued silence, almost motionless but for the continued lapping of his tongue against the vixen's shimmering groin. Above them, the vixen, her smile extending fully, let out a rough titter that melted into an approving, if brief, grunt of pleasure; and she once again sunk her furry fingers into Collings' shoulders, their rough pads scratching his skin.

“I think I…mmm…think I…might as well be…nnngh…fucking a tree stump, for all the moving you're doing, but…mmm…at least…at least…you're lasting…" the vixen murmured, her voice growing oddly thick.

Collings breathed in ragged gasps; he stared upward unblinkingly, his vision slowly blurring, his fingers sinking tighter into whatever they could grasp at. The vixen's motions grew ever more rapid, her groin balmy and furry and clammy against his skin, her thick, immense brush of a tail swaying back and forth behind her, warmly tickling his knees.

And as he felt Dennison's warm tongue and fuzzy chin flitter briefly across his pelvis, the surging waves of pleasure erupted with particular violence within him; and arching his head back into the pillow, biting sharply at the inside of his cheeks, he let out one last, squealing moan as he felt his feeble restraint give way; and a hot stupor of dizzying ecstasy swelled up to his brain as his warm seed spilled forth. The vixen abruptly pulled herself up on her knees; and Collings felt his phallus slide clumsily out of her, his seed dribbling over his groin.

Collings' vision grew fuzzier, the blazing flush in his cheeks not receding even slightly. Vainly, he attempted to raise his head, to speak, to meet the vixen's eyes; but as his head whirled about ever faster, and the sensation of pleasure receded to be replaced by a warm, overwhelming weariness, his eyelids flittered, and he felt his consciousness slipping hastily away…

A vague chill swept over Collings; and turning onto his back, he let out another groan, this one deeper and more restrained. He yawned broadly and forced his eyes open; but heavy dimness had all but consumed the room about him, and his eyes were smeared and blurred with weariness.

The brisk sensation of a biting breeze swept over his bare torso once again; and blindly and feebly, he groped about him, trying to get some sort of bearing. A warm blanket, it seemed, had been pulled over his naked body, and lay about his chest. The hot flush had long since receded, and the blend of fluids smeared about his groin felt clammy and cold. His head had ceased to spin, and was now thick and heavy with weariness, and throbbed slightly. About him, all seemed silent, but for the faint, occasional rattle of a window, and, directly beside him, the steady pattern of thick, chesty breathing.

With a grunt of effort, Collings turned about where he lay; and rubbing his smeared, itching eyes, he forced his lids open, wincing as he stared directly into the dim glow of the standing lamp. Glancing down with a squint, he slowly discerned the pale, lengthy form of Dennison, who lay sprawled out beside him, unclothed and sound asleep, breathing heavily.

With another yawn, Collings lifted his head slightly; and as his eyes slowly adjusted, he discerned the faint, colourless stream of moonlight seeping through the glass door from across the room, and a vague, dark shape in the midst of it.

Blinking stiffly, Collings, with a groan, feeling a dully aching stiffness briefly awaken within his joints, managed to prop himself up on his elbows. At the other side of the room, a figure stood before glass door, gazing silently out. The figure stood tall and slender, though wrapped in something broad and voluminous. A pair of sharp ears jutted up sharply from atop its head, and a broad, fluffy, brush-like form waved back and forth through the dimness behind it.

Slowly and wordlessly, the vixen turned about, wrapping her long green overcoat tighter about her, and cast a smile at Collings – a smile once again warm, restrained, and gentle-eyed.

“Sleep alright there, dear?" she chirped merrily.

Collings, kneading the back of his hand across his eyes, could manage only another groan. The vixen giggled delicately, and sauntered toward the bed. For a moment, she stood over Dennison's sleeping form, smiling gently down at it, before leaning down and delicately running a paw through the fur of his slender back.

“Poor kid." she said quietly. “Maybe I was too hard on him. Firsts are always weird."

Collings, looking at her, raised his eyebrows. “You…you think he…?"

The vixen glanced over at him, her smile growing toothier. “I know he was a virgin, dear. Like, Catholic level." She turned her eyes back down to the ferret, and pawed almost playfully at his jutting, fuzzy ears. “Why, what fooled you? The cockiness? Anyone can be cocky. 'Specially his sort. I know the type – they've been a playboy in their head for so damn long they figure they've got a license to be as obnoxious as one, too. It's adorable, really, in its own way."

Collings stared up blankly at the vixen.

“But yeah, this one gave a pretty classic first-timer performance." She glanced back up at Collings. “You did too, I'm afraid, but at least it was the sort that lasted. You can hold that over him for the rest of your life."

Collings licked his lips, and continued to stare up at the vixen another moment. “I...you know, on the website…you say…I mean, I thought you didn't…"

The vixen's smile grew again. “…I didn't do group stuff?" she said smoothly. “Yeah, that's true, I usually don't, but…like I said, I was wound the fuck up, needed something big, and, well…" – she chortled – “…I mean, no offense, but I got a good look at you both before…I mean, if I'm honest, I could snap both of you in half if you tried anything funny." She glanced back down, smilingly, at the ferret, and ran her fingers over the tousled fur of his bony waist. “Look at this poor guy…built like a preschool teacher." Her smirking lips almost crawled back over her gums. “I mean, I don't hold it against you guys, I've been with plenty of…of…you know, less built guys…some of them could even hold it back a little while…" – another chortle – “…hell, I kind of envy you, really, living in a town so damn quiet that the cops can get away with looking like this…" – she looked back up at Collings – “…but you two trying…anything with me I didn't want, really, it…it would've been adorable."

Collings stared dumbly. Grinning, the vixen sat herself down upon the bed; and with deft movement, she clambered over the ferret's reclining form, and dropped herself down between him and Collings; and Collings, in spite of himself, gagged out another gasp as he felt her warm, tickly fur against his bare shoulder.

The vixen tittered yet again. “Still wound up after all that, sweetie? You can calm yourself down; we've done all we're gonna be doing tonight."

Collings nodded again. The vixen stretched her arms out above her with a contented groan. Beside them, the ferret let out a long, low, guttural, graceless snore.

Collings folded his hands across his bare chest; and for a minute, he stared up mutely at the ceiling. “So…the…in the pub…you…"

The vixen looked at him, and smiled silently for another moment. “I don't discuss my clients…at all, really, not with anyone. Except my wolf. But…" – another quiet chortle – “…but…hell, I'm gonna regret this tomorrow, but I'm feeling…petty today." She turned onto her side to face Collings. “So…well…the guy was an old client. Some village out in the Cotswolds, a few years back – standard place, all pubs and gables and locals who keep smiling as long as you keep buying stuff. Happened kind of…" – she smilingly nodded downward – “…kind of like all this, actually – I'd gone out there to meet another client, met him in a pub…" – she gestured toward the sprawled, motionless ferret – “…he was…pretty much like this one, you know, all grins and cheese. Anyway, I had an extra night to spare, so he paid for a standard in-out…" – a pause, and another chortle – “…I believe he was on his honeymoon at the time…poor wife was out for the night, guess she was sick of him already, the lout. Real classy pair, but they never stopped carrying themselves like respectable Middle-Englanders – you know, the way they do."

Collings nodded again, his eyes still fixed unblinkingly upon the ceiling. Never having been much of one for home improvement, he'd always had little acquaintance with Mr Markovic, proprietor of the local hardware store; but he had encountered the man's wife a number of times, usually in the supermarket, or on his evening meanders down the boardwalk. She was a human woman with a delicately creased smile and unobtrusively blond hair, with her two dark-haired, preschool-age sons ever at her elbow; polite, motherly, and pleasantly ordinary…

“Anyway…night itself was…pretty standard stuff, at least for clients like that." Another chortle. “Booked a cheap place…like this, maybe smelled a bit more like fertilisier…he knocked a few back, talked for a while, asked all the standard dumb questions middle class types usually come out with…'don't you think about giving it up?', 'how can you do this to yourself?', 'don't you have any self-respect?', all that crap…then we get down to it…he does a lot of fondling, finishes up pretty fast…not quite as fast as this poor little guy, mind you…" – she jerked her head toward Dennison – “…and then…well…he'd paid me to hang around a bit…so he had a few more drinks…and then he started talking again."

A moment passed. An odd stream of light flickered across the ceiling.

“He remembered I'd mentioned on my website that I'm, uh, multilingual and all…" – another chortle, this one particularly strong – “…'silver-tongued and silver-cunted in every nation'…that's what some poor idiot on my site said once…anyway, he was very happy to find someone else who knew Serbian, for some reason…didn't seem to realise that just because I could understand him, didn't mean I was going to listen. Anyway, he keeps knocking them back, and starts hammering on about something…and like I said, I was paying a lot more attention to stuff like, you know, how cold his jizz was getting on my fur…but he seemed to be going on about something that'd happened back in his home country…something…not sure what…didn't sound nice, but whatever. I've had guys ask me if they can finish up by digging out my eyes or setting my fur on fire…I've come across the nutbars before, didn't seem important."

Collings kept his eyes upon the ceiling. Silently, he knotted his fingers tighter together across his chest.

“Anyway," the vixen went on, “a few years later, alright, I mention on my site that I'm in London for a bit; and I get contacted by this rich guy living on the coast, around here, you know – he wants to try a few things he's not going to chat about with the others over golf. And normally I wouldn't travel that far for one client, but he's offering me the sort of payday that means I can probably skip right over dreary old London and move right onto the rest of Europe…Lord, I need to see Rome again…" – she paused a moment, and absently twisted a whisker in her fingers – “…so I leave my poor little wolf in London – he's shy, and it's a few days at most, I travel faster alone – and I head out here. I arrive a day early, alright, so I take a stroll, try to get some of the London-flavoured dust out of my lungs; and I run across the guy as he's coming out of his…his tool store, I think it was."

The glass door rattled. More dim lights flitted across the ceiling. Collings stared up silently.

“He'd swollen up a bit, you know, let himself go the way you tend to when you respect yourself so little that you settle for lower-middle-class life, but he looked well enough. Seemed rather bowled over to see me, but he was all smiles pretty fast. Anyway, he asked me to meet him in a pub, maybe talk about a…little reunion…" The vixen scratched delicately at her glistening black nose. “I notice he's somehow still got that ring, think it's pretty odd that a married guy wants to meet me in a public place, but I figure maybe he needs a couple pints to develop a set of balls…or maybe open-minded relationships finally reached Middle England…" – another titter, this one more throaty – “…so, anyway, I say yes. And that evening, I head over there, and…well, you saw."

The glass door rattled. Dennison snorted quietly. Collings silently twisted his fingers together.

“I get there, and he starts screaming about how I'm there to ruin his reputation, how he won't be blackmailed…a whole lot of other stuff I didn't listen to, but it all smelled like whiskey." Splaying out a paw, she picked absently at one of her claws. “I'm guessing I arrived in town just in time to pay for a little tiff with the wife or something."

A moment passed. The vixen picked at her claws. Lights flickered across the ceiling. Ever so slowly, Collings, finally, managed to turn his gaze back toward the vixen.

“So…" he heard himself burble. “So…who…who…?"

From beside him, the vixen cast him a knowing smile. “Who called me down here in the first place?" she said. “Dear, if I don't put that kind of thing on my website, I'm sure as hell not going to spill it to a random pub hook-up. I really imagined you'd know better than to think that I trust you just because we did this."

She held his gaze, and her smile grew ever so slightly. “But…I can show you the video he commissioned a while back, if you want." she chirped playfully. And before Collings could say a word, the vixen had all but flung herself off the bed (Collings' heartbeat hastened a brief moment as he felt her paw press his bare chest) and bounded across the room, where she snatched up the open-screened laptop; and bearing it back to the bed, she slickly slid back between Collings and Dennison once again, balancing the laptop on her lower midsection as it booted up.

“I mean, obviously I've gotten weirder requests…usually from arseholes in the comment sections who expect me to do it for free…" the vixen said absently as her fingers slid over the touchpad, “…but, you know, when a guy pays to see this sort of thing…I mean, I don't judge, obviously…and it's not like it's all that weird…hell, I mean, it's harmless, really…but still, I mean, in all the time I've been doing it, I've never had to do anything like this just to get off." She turned the laptop screen toward Collings. “Poor guy must be so jaded."

Collings' eyes fell upon the screen, and his teeth sank into his lip once again.

The video upon the screen showed, from a slightly downward-angled perspective, a broad, stout sofa, upholstered in maroon, and lit dimly. The vixen lay sprawled across it, wrapped in a fleecy white bathrobe and casting a fiery-eyed smile at the camera. Slowly she moved her paws toward her smirking muzzle, something small and indistinguishable, resembling a strip of rag, dangling from between her fingers.

She lifted it to her lips; and though the laptop's audio was dull and tinny, Collings discerned the sound of a stiff, forceful exhalation crackling through its speakers.

Abruptly, the strip of rag in the vixen's fingers expanded. It was, Collings realised, a rubber balloon, white in colour; and Collings watched as the vixen – with slow, steady, even puffs, never breaking off her stare into the camera – inflated it into a wide, bloated oval and tied its mouth securely shut.

Then, ever so slowly, the vixen shrugged off the bathrobe, her naked body swathed in shadow, the dim light bouncing off the white fur of her belly, while her more darkly-furred arms seemed to seep into the dimness, the immense, downy brush of her tail splayed out across the couch beneath her abdomen.

And still staring into the camera, almost unblinking, the vixen, holding the plump balloon in her paw, lowered it to her belly, and began to drag it through her fur. A rubbery squeal, grating despite its dimness, drifted through the laptop's speakers. Collings winced and gritted his teeth; it was the sort of sound that had always made his blood run cold.

The vixen continued to rub the balloon's portly flesh through her fur, the screeching of rubber continuing. With steady deliberateness, she shifted it downward, dragging it through the greyer fur of her generous thighs; then she moved it upward, and pulled it through the paler fur of her pert breasts, which trembled slightly beneath its delicate pressure. She lingered here a minute or two, before shifting the balloon further upward. Briefly, she rubbed it against her fuzzy neck, before pressing it against the tip of her muzzle, where, squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep, almost impassioned inhalation of its scent, and delicately ran the tip of her tongue up and down the length of it. Then she pressed it to the underside of her right forearm, which she held aloft, the balloon remaining in place, the lingering static gluing it to her fur.

Finally, her movements slow, yet deftly fluid, the vixen sat up upon the sofa; and turning herself toward the camera, she spread her furry legs, her glisteningly wet, fleshy vixenhood fully displayed, the immense brush of her tail hanging over the edge of the sofa just beneath ut. Delicately, she slid the balloon in between her thighs, just beneath her damp groin.

Slowly, the vixen began to clamp her thighs together. The balloon distorted, its top end swelling enormously; and as the vixen's thighs met, it burst and vanished, a single pop dully buzzing out of the laptop.

And with her eyes still locked with the camera, the vixen reached down between her thighs, and retrieved a small, ragged strip of rubber, shimmering with dampness; and raising it to her muzzle again, she once more drew a long, deep inhalation.

The video ended, and the screen went blank. Collings licked his lips and raised his eyes back up to the vixen, who cast him an almost merry sideways smirk.

“Don't ask me." she said. “He asked, he paid, I did it. And, hell, I don't think a party balloon's ever turned as much profit as that one." Another giggle; she folded down the laptop's screen, and reaching over Dennison's reclining body, she placed it on the bedside table. “I mean, like I said, the guy's got to be pretty jaded, but still…I'd be the first to say that sex never needs to make sense."

Nodding, Collings glanced absently toward the glass door. The dimness had all but swallowed up everything beyond the glass, and the gentle rolling of the sea had become little more than a vague, swirling motion amidst the blackness.

“You…you…" he mumbled half-conciously, “…you…said…said something about a wolf…"

The vixen smiled; and easing herself onto her back once again, she continued to absently examine her claws. “I don't tie myself down, but…how's it said?...I do like to have an anchor, now and then, if you see what I mean."

Collings felt himself burbling on, and tried half-heartedly to bite his tongue. “So…so he's your…"

The vixen tittered once more. “You can call him what you want; I'm not sure you humans would really have a word for what he is to me, not with your starchy ideas about relationships." She once again strained her arms above her head, grabbing the top of the headboard a moment as she stretched herself end to end. “But anyway, I had to leave the poor thing back in London, like I said. I mean, I adore h…" She stopped abruptly, and cleared her throat; and for a brief moment, her smile receded. Self-consciously, she pulled the back of her paw across the tip of her muzzle. “I mean…he…I travel faster on my own sometimes, and this was just a few days…" – another laugh, and the smile returned – “…poor thing…I don't think he likes London at all. He grew up in, you know, the sort of place where you actually have room to breathe – living in London's like being buried in a landfill, far as he's concerned." A moment of silence. Collings turned his eyes back to the glass door; yet he somehow felt, for a second, as though her smile had briefly vanished again. “Still…still, I met up with an old friend, and he's gonna be staying in her place…an apartment…one of the less shitty kinds, a penthouse…just high enough for the smog to clear up occasionally. She'll…keep him warm while I'm gone."

Collings nodded again. Beyond the glass door, a distant light flashed somewhere out amidst the inky blackness. “Does…does he mind the whole…I mean…what you do?"

The vixen smiled wider, but did not turn her gaze from her claws, which she had begun to pick at again. “He's…he's getting used to it." she said, her voice wavering only a moment. “Though he's not down with…with actually appearing on the site yet." Another titter. “I've told him, you know, if he'd just…provide the cock now and again, I'd save a helluva lot of money – plus there's a whole lot of folks out there who'd go absolutely wild for that curvy arse of his. But…he's shy. Poor adorable little…"

Another pause. She cleared her throat again. “Anyway…he can't wait to get out of here – he much prefers the rest of Europe. Especially the east…he loves it when I get more…small-town gigs, or when we have some time to go off on our own…he loves the woods, you know, I think they remind him of the time…"

A pause. A cough. Collings gazed out the glass door.

“Do you…" he began. “Do you…I mean…you and him…do you…?"

He felt the warmth of the vixen's forefinger being pressed against his lips. “Look, whatever that question is, I get the feeling it's the kind you haven't earned the right to ask."

Collings glanced down, and nodded obediently. He lay back down upon the pillows, turned his eyes back to the ceiling, and remained silent.

The vixen's warm, downy paw pressed into his shoulder. “You like cuddles?" she said coolly.

Collings looked up at her, eyes instinctively wide. “S…sorry?"

The warm paw slid, once again, over Collings' bare chest. “Cuddles, honey. Normally I charge a couple extra for them, but…I dunno, I'm just in the mood for them tonight."

Collings licked his lips and gulped. His throat had grown parched again. “S…sure."

Smiling, the vixen slid the entire length of her darkly-furred arm across his chest, and lowered her head down to rest her muzzle against his shoulder. Her furry body was velvety-soft and enveloped him with warmth. He felt her forearm across his chest, the damp tip of her muzzle pressing delicately into the side of his neck, her broad thigh pressed against his, her yielding breasts cushioning against his side; and once again, he felt his hot pulse begin to hasten, thudding in his chest.

The vixen tittered in his ear; and delicately, her fingers stroked at his chest. “Wish I was still in that place where a cuddle could do that much for me." she purred.

Collings stared at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of the vixen's body against his, her steady and delicate breaths tickling his neck. Silence fell, the rolling waves crashed beyond the sliding door, and all was still.

Collings awoke with a yawn and a groan, his head spinning a brief moment as he fought to recall where he was; and though the growing daylight positively beat against his eyelids, he kept them closed a moment, and lay motionless.

He had, as far as he could tell, barely moved in the last few hours. He still lay upon his back, the sheets about his bare chest, a soft, furry form pressed warmly against his.

The form shifted against him slightly, its fur almost silken against his bare skin. With another quiet, throaty groan, Collings slowly shifted his eyes open, wincing as the glare of morning hit them.

In the daylight, the room was rustic as ever, though perhaps with its general seaside air more evident. The bare wooden floors shimmered, the plain beige walls loomed; and beyond the sliding door, the rolling ocean shimmered almost azure in the morning sun.

The form beside him stirred again, and let out its own quiet, weary groan. Collings glanced downward. At once, his body tensed, and he drew a sharp inhalation.

The form curled against him was slender and snowy-furred; Dennison's scrawny, tousle-furred arm was resting across Collings' belly, his lengthy, pink-tipped muzzle cushioned against Collings' collarbone, a damp and cool stream of dribble trickling out of its side; and as he shifted his leg slightly, a burning flush once again flared in his cheeks as he felt something rigid, damp, fleshy and hot pressing against his thigh…

Glancing impulsively across the room, his heart thudding once more, his breath coming in quiet gasps, Collings met the gaze of the vixen, who stood by the door, one paw on the knob, fully clothed once again – though without her overcoat – and casting him her merriest smirk yet.

“He was like that when I got back from the bathroom." she said, quiet, but gleeful. “Couldn't bring myself to interrupt – it was adorable."

Collings, bulbous-eyed, stared at her silently. The vixen turned the handle, and pulled the door ajar.

“I'm going to pop down to the shops and make a few phone calls." she said. “Gonna be about twenty minutes – I'll really need you two to get going about then." She nodded toward Dennison. “Get that poor kid up and about, alright?"

She stepped out into the hallway; and as she shot Collings one final, glinting smirk, the door closed behind her.

Collings stared at the door in silence for several minutes. The humming and honking of early morning traffic drifted through the thin walls, the waves rumbled and rolled beyond the sliding door, and the ferret's sharp, nasal breathing sounded in his ear. All else was still and silent.

Discomfort overtaking him, Collings slightly shifted the leg against which the ferret's rigid erection was pressed.

At once, a violent shudder once again ran its way through the ferret's body. A warm exhalation blasted across Collings' chest from the ferret's mouth; and something hot and damp spurted out over the bare skin of Collings' thigh.

Collings sank his teeth into his lip and let out a quiet groan. The ferret gave another shudder, let out another gasp, and fell still, his body limp against Collings.

Collings glanced over at the clock that hung upon the far wall. Half past eight. They were late.

Dennison's steady breathing continued in his ear. The hot dampness dribbled off his thigh. With a sigh, Collings leaned back on the pillow, and turned his eyes to the ceiling.