Fast First Time
Desmond was laughing, still flush from his victory. He jabbed his elbow into Ricky's side and the older, taller stallion uttered a moody grumble and shoved him back.
"How is it ya' still suck so bad at Smash Bros. even after, what, five years or somethin'?"
"You're just a nerd and you play it more than I do," Ricky said, pouting but trying not to look like it. Policing his expressions had become a nearly religious act to him; he had grown incredibly self-conscious of his image in the last year. High school was like being under a microscope. His lanky, pubescent body bumped and fumbled things, and although his voice had mostly leveled off into the steady baritone of adulthood, he tripped over words sometimes. It got worse in gym class, and it approached speech impediment levels in the locker room when everybody was nude and showering and rank with sweat. Ricky vaguely understood that he didn't like girls as much as boys. He hadn't been caught staring at anybody's naked ass yet, and so rumors that he was a queer were no more common than what any other boy suffered, but he knew that he wasn't quite normal, and that was worse.
Desmond grinned. He had a mouth full of sharp vulpine teeth, and when he grinned, Ricky found it easy to picture him as a shark rushing through the murky depths at prey. "Or maybe you're just spendin' all your time sniffin' jockstraps," he teased in his down-home drawl. Ricky huffed and shoved him again, leaving a bruise on the foxcoon's smaller, more feminine shoulder, but Desmond seemed not to register it. He had two older brothers and one older sister, and although he rarely won them, he never cried for mercy when Ricky dragged him into a scuffle.
Ricky's mind was still muddied with hormones. He had a hard time grasping the bigger picture of things, such as why he had to study so many retarded subjects at all, or why anybody cared if he was taller and had a bigger penis than the other boys. Add in the nearly compulsive need for masturbation and that he hadn't yet discovered the medicinal qualities of marijuana, and Ricky was adrift in his teenage years, hung up on embarrassments only he tended to perceive.
Something Ricky wasn't consciously aware of was his jealousy toward Desmond. Desmond was two years his junior at fourteen, but he was almost completely developed. He stood five-five, with only another inch or two to come. He didn't have the awkward, spindly appearance Ricky was growing out of, appearing instead like a small adult. Desmond had the most mild of curves on his hips and behind, and his gait, though casual, had confidence. He never bumped things or knocked drinks over, and except for a brief transitional period when he was thirteen, his voice had always been even and sweet. Ricky was jealous in a way he couldn't quite grasp because he saw Desmond as ideal.
Still, hints of this green-eyed monster tugged at Ricky's fragile moods. He was already grumpy over Desmond having mopped the floor with him in the game; the remark pushed him into the beginning of one of his spells. "I'm gonna just go home," he said tightly, trying to stand up sharply from his Indian-style position. He wobbled back on his hooves, caught himself, flung his chest forward to counterbalance. He yanked his controller's lead out of Desmond's GameCube and started to wind the cord around the controller.
"Y'know, my dad says it's bad for the wires if ya' wrap 'em like that."
Ricky made a small, pissy noise. His nostrils flared. He finished wrapping the cord and muttered, "Bye."
Desmond smiled. "Seeya later, Ricky." He called after the stallion as he trudged down the stairs, each hoof fall a heavy stomp, "Don't feel so bad, sugar! Somebody's gotta be the loser!"
The foxcoon was just wrapping his controller up the same way when Ricky thrust the ajar door open and banged it on its rubber stopper. Desmond whipped around with hair flying to meet the furious red eyes of the horse.
"Why don't you say that to my face?" Ricky hissed, tromping closer. Desmond absently thought how fortunate it was mom was gone; she would have bitched to no end over all the stomping. "Come on! Say it to my face!"
Desmond stood, feeling a little bit boxed-in against his TV and dresser. "Aw, Ricky, are y'really gonna beat me up? Lil' defenseless me?" He was smiling, but nervously. Ricky saw it only as a smirk.
"I should!" the horse snapped, but he jerked his head away. He didn't want to look at Desmond's mocking face. "You're a dick."
The foxcoon paused, looking down at the carpet and Ricky's hooves. His eyes came up the horse's legs slowly, stopping purposefully at the horse's groin. Ricky wore blue jeans with the knees fashionably shredded and the fabric faded. They were ill-fitting as if they'd been bought at Goodwill, but still Desmond could see a lump in the groin. He looked up past the stallion's t-shirt (which had some alleged-rapist musician's name on it) and murmured, "So high-strung. Ya' need to get laid, buddy."
A dumb look flashed across Ricky's features, teenage anger replaced with befuddlement. His head tilted ever so slightly as if he heard a dog's whistle, and then his eyes narrowed, bringing back much of the anger. "What's that mean?" he sharply asked, jabbing a finger into the fox's chest for emphasis.
Desmond smiled knowingly. He brushed away Ricky's stabbing finger. "Y'know." He leaned closer, conspiring with Ricky. The stallion grudgingly leaned down to close the gap. "Fuckin'. Ballin'." Again, but now interrogatively, "Y'know?"
Ricky's anger was vanishing completely. He was beginning to look like a sheep in need of guidance. "Fucking? Like, what? Sex stuff?"
The fox giggled as he was wont to in such times. He took Ricky by the bicep and led him toward the bed. Please step into my office, he thought, wondering how it might sound if he said it for real. He decided not to.
At Desmond's insistence, Ricky sat down on the bed. It sagged almost to the box spring under his nearly adult body; Desmond still slept comfortably in a twin-size bed from his tweens. "Ri-i-icky-y-y," he cooed, paws on the stallion's shoulders, "ya' never fucked before. Ain't that right?"
"Heh! C'mon, hey. What kind of dumb question is that? 'Course I have. Come on."
Yeah, you've watched a lot of porn, I bet. Desmond rubbed Ricky's shoulders and gently asked, "All right, sugar, let's say ya' have."
"I have!"
"All right, all ri-i-ight... so how's it work?"
Ricky blushed. "Don't you know?"
Desmond pursed his lips to even out his grin. "Yeah. I sure do." His tail swished. "But I wanna hear it from you."
"You sound like my old man," groused Ricky, kneading his hands in his lap. "So like - all right... just like, sit down. Quit touching me. I'll tell you."
The fox sat in his desk chair and rolled it near Ricky. He wrung his paws, much as Ricky did, but it seemed far more natural given his raccoon lineage.
Without really thinking about it, Ricky made himself comfortable, laying back. His legs dangled over the foot of the bed. "So like... fucking. Sex," he said proudly, with an intellectual air. "The guy, like--, okay, he takes the woman and he has to make her suck on his--, you know, his thing first. Right? Then he can put it inside of her... her thing. But sometimes, he puts it in her butthole instead."
His expression as smooth as marble, Desmond said: "All right. Ya' got no idea how it works."
"Yes I do!" Ricky snapped, sitting up. "It was just... dark when I did it."
"It was dark all the times ya' did it?" A smile.
Ricky grumbled. "Yes! I guess so!"
It was among the most dumbfounding of surprises when Desmond got up and climbed onto Ricky, laying against his firm, growing body. He kissed Ricky on the nose, then the lips, feeling no surprise or offense when Ricky didn't kiss back.
"Everybody's gotta have a first time sometime," Desmond said with sagely wisdom. "How's about right now for yours, sugar?"
"I--, um, I don't--," Ricky stammered, his mind confused but his body very hungry. His heart began to race; his cock stiffened with new blood flow. It was like the clandestine urge to masturbate but a thousand times worse because here was a real, warm body up against him. Not a pillow, or his own hand, or an intangible fantasy, but a perfect body with a willing mind.
"I've never--, I haven't done this..."
"Shh, shh. It's all right, sugar. I know you haven't." Gentle, almost loving was Desmond as he gyrated against Ricky, crotch to crotch with the hapless stallion. Ricky moaned under him but the sound was nearly sick and miserable. There was no doubt that Ricky was utterly virginal. "I never been a horsey's first time. This is gonna be real special, honey."
"Is it? ...Is it?" Ricky still couldn't find his voice, but his hands found Desmond. He touched the younger boy uncertainly, holding his flanks, then his hips. The ass was what he wanted but he felt it was taboo somehow. "How often have you--, y'know...?"
Desmond licked Ricky's inquisitive lips. He hoped to coax the horse into a kiss, knowing full well the kind of strong, stout tongues horses possessed, but Ricky pulled his snout away shyly. The sissy fox settled for a nuzzle then pushed himself up, straddling Ricky. He was noticeably without an erection whereas Ricky's threatened to burst the zipper of his jeans.
"Enough times t'know what I'm doin', sugar," he purred, scooting back. He opened Ricky's fly and pulled apart the denim flaps. Horsemeat ached under red boxer shorts, a deep maroon stain marking the location of the head. "Je-e-ezus, you're a biggun."
Ricky mumbled something quiet and shy. He said more clearly, but impudently, "I guess I am."
The foxcoon broke out into a laugh. It was a contrast to his voice, which was syrupy and slow, almost droning at times. This laughter was sharp and piercing, and it annoyed Ricky enough that he snapped, "Don't laugh at me!"
"Oh, but baby," Desmond giggled, clasping his long fingers around his own snout for a moment. He had to wait for the laughter to subside, but still he caught and hitched as if afflicted with the hiccups. "Golly, Ricky... that's a good thing. Most fellas'd trade one of their legs for a doodle like yours."
"I-I guess they would, maybe... it's weird though. It's so hard to hide when it decides to get hard. How do you deal with hard-ons?"
Desmond sneered, hooking his digits in the waistband of Ricky's boxers. Tears from laughter stained his cheeks. "With my grubby lil' paws. Or muh'mouth. Or a couple'a other things."
Blushing at the innuendo and the slow unveiling of his cock, Ricky huffed, "Not what I meant and you know it."
Fat, black horsemeat bowed sharply under the boxers, then sprung out and walloped Desmond in the chin with a wet slap he hardly reacted to. Instead of that, the foxcoon pulled back a bit and gazed appreciatively at this fat, challenging cock, his bushy tail swaying wildly as Ricky had never seen before. "Godda-a-amn," Desmond crooned, nuzzling and kissing and palming Ricky's member. He hadn't even gotten to the matching balls with their sweaty shine yet. "Ricky, honey, gawd. You're so hung, sweetie. I love it."
"Hung means big, right? Yeah?"
"Mhm. Guess ya' got some of the glossary down pat, at least," Desmond said playfully. He kissed below the unflared head of Ricky's cock, watching with eyes nearly crossed as a fat bead of pre formed on the piss slit and started to drip down. The viscosity of the liquid reminded Desmond of maple syrup. He licked it up and acknowledged that it tasted a whole hell of a lot better. The foxcoon dragged his drawling tongue down the horse's meat, stealing the greasy sweat which came with being a growing, changing teenager.
Ricky folded his hands over his belly primly, staring at the ceiling. "Um... that feels nice, but isn't your mom gonna come home soon or something...?"
Desmond, nose bumping Ricky's balls, glanced at his alarm clock. It was woefully true: mom wouldn't be more than half an hour away by then. The foxcoon considered how Ricky couldn't possibly last more than a few seconds anyway, and he started to lap and kiss the sweaty curves of Ricky's nuts. Gentle moans escaped the horse, and any talk about Desmond's mom coming home fell to the wayside.
"God, I like your tongue." Ricky gnawed his lip awkwardly, then said, "I didn't know my balls could feel that good. Usually they just, uh, itch."
The foxcoon slurped up from their middle, parting the scrotum between the glands it safely held, making a momentary hump in the smooth flesh and connective tissues. The tender nerves in Ricky's balls sang in response to Desmond's licks. "Itchy cajones, huh?" he asked, smirking just at the corners of his mouth. One thin, blonde eyebrow sprung up for a most fascinated expression. "Oughta try washin' 'em, honey... I can taste the sweat."
"I do wash them," Ricky defensively snapped. "I just... uh, I sweat, a lot."
"Aw, y'poor thing," the gay young fox clucked, looking to Ricky past his turgid, black cock. "Well, I can't help ya' with that, but I betcha I can make ya' feel awful good in the next couple minutes."
Counterintuitively to Ricky's immediate wants and needs, Desmond slipped off the bed. He moved again with that grace which Ricky found himself jealous of, but in this context he was only giddy. He saw the sensual, flexible foxcoon's movements and although he couldn't pin down why this excited him, it did.
Of course, it was only normal to Desmond. He knew how to act only the way he was, and as he stood before the horse laying hard and needy on his bed, he smiled winsomely. "Ricky, why don'tcha sit up for me?"
Ricky did, although he quietly found it painful to sit. He had sat on his balls more times than he could count. His penis jutted in its beautifully obscene glory and he slightly inclined, letting it rub on his shirt. "Are you gonna--? You know, are you--, un-clothing now?"
"Undressing?" Desmond offered, smiling patiently. "Ah-huh, I'm gonna undress for ya', sweetie." He didn't waste time with his shirt. There was still that bit of urgency in the air. Mom could be home sooner than expected, and like any teenager trying to get off in a time attack, Desmond didn't want to deal with any more clothes than what was absolutely necessary when the door squeaked. He unzipped his fly and pushed down his jeans, but even in his efficient disrobing, he found the time to wiggle his hips and smile up at the horse.
Now Desmond stood in his button-down shirt and stark white briefs with a notable smear of wetness under their small bulge. Ricky eyed his groin dubiously, tail flicking.
"Quickie question, ya' ever seen a pussy before?" Desmond asked, hooking his thumbs in his waistband. He was quick to add, "Outside of porno movies, I mean."
"No," Ricky solemnly admitted.
Desmond was unsurprised, but happy to have his suspicions confirmed. He gave the handsome horse a smooch on the lips, and down went his briefs in one smooth tug. He bent as he lowered them, obscuring his groin until he stood a moment later with his underwear pooled around his ankles.
"The fuck is that thing?" blurted Ricky, pointing severely at Desmond's groin. He recoiled as if in horror, but his eyes were glued to the strange flesh he saw.
The foxcoon tittered with laughter. "S'my pussy, sweetie. I'm a lil' unusual for a boy..."
"I guess you are, yeah," the horse murmured. "It doesn't look like a--, you know? Like a vuh--, one of those things."
"Well sure it does," Desmond said, grinning. He put a dainty foot on the bed beside Ricky, ankle bumping the stallion's thigh, and parted the swollen ebon lips of his cunt to bare a pinkness the horse found familiar if only from gonzo videos. A runner of wetness like drool from an open mouth slipped along the plush curve of a lip and fell to the floor, twinkling in the lamp light on its short journey. "Wouldn't look outta place on a doggy-lady, s'far as I can tell."
Ricky felt like he was looking at something strange and creepy and awful, but there was a bizarre kind of thrill in that. It was the same feeling he got from holding his cousin's pet tarantula or when he watched gory movies. He was grossed out, but he was fascinated in a primal way. He leaned forward, his nose a safe distance from his friend's young, black box, and he sniffed the air.
"I can smell it." He peeked at Desmond's face from the tops of his eyes, sheepishly. "I think."
Desmond's grin mellowed to a smile. Blush warmed his cheeks. "An' how's it smell, honey?" He made a point of tweaking his clit with a finger pad, dragging his digit through the parted lips of his muff. "Gawd..."
"I--, uh. I dunno. I guess okay..." Ricky pulled back. His cheeks were warm, in fact turning crimson in hue under his dark fur. "So do you sit on my thing now?"
"Somethin' like that, yuh," Desmond drawled, and it wasn't just Ricky's imagination: his accent was getting sloppier as he got more into it. He dropped his knee on the bed in place of his foot. Lap over Ricky's, he guided the twink stallion's virgin cock to the lips of his strange cunt. He ground and rubbed against Ricky, letting his canine cuntlips gum and grind on the waiting horse meat.
Ricky huffed against Desmond, staring at his face with almost accusatory eyes. Desmond didn't think the horse was actually upset at him of course; all the boys tended to get that bug-eyed look the first time they got a little bit of pussy, especially when it was of the fortune cookie variety, but they usually loved it enough to bust their nuts in it.
The horse wasn't the biggest Desmond had taken, but the penetration was slow going all the same. Desmond didn't want to start Ricky off too hard. Making him pop in an embarrassingly short time was the expected result, but he wasn't purposefully shooting for that. He kissed the stallion on his handsome, wary face and rubbed muzzles with him. His perfect vulva gulped and squeezed Ricky's inexperienced horsemeat with loving indulgence.
Though near the point of drooling in his pleasure, Ricky grabbed Desmond's hips in a tight, if not awkward grope. "Wuh-, hey, wait. Wait... aren't we supposed to use one of those condom things from sex-ed...?"
Desmond snickered. He wrapped his arms around Ricky's neck and hung from him as casually as a lei. "Condoms're fer sluts, honey. Girl sluts. Ya' can't get me all babied up, so don'tcha worry, sugarpie."
Ricky felt around to Desmond's round bottom. Impure thoughts raced in the stallion's mind and he chewed his full, black lip in rumination. Eventually he said, as Desmond wriggled further down and made more and more of his dark meat disappear, "But those pictures they showed us, with the... you know, the gross stuff?"
"Aw, Ricky, hon, that's just the scared-straight stuff they gotta show ya' so they can make ya' think yer pecker's evil." He squeezed fast to Ricky, nose to nose and sharing hot breaths. The fat lips of his snatch met Ricky's loins, vaginal wetness drooling down the seam between gonads on Ricky's hairless scrotum. "Mmm-mmm, gawddamn... ain't nothin' wrong with enjoyin' yer body, an' ain't nothin' wrong with lettin' somebody else enjoy yer body too, long's ya' like 'em an' trust 'em." He clenched on Ricky, and that was the beginning of the end for the virgin horse. A deep, almost pained shudder passed through Ricky as if he'd been tickled by a ghost. He gripped Desmond's ass cheeks until he dented them. "Gawd, yer pretty much perfect, ya' know. Cute'n already ya' got'cherself a big ol' dick. We're gonna fuck a lot, ya' know."
Ricky mumbled something in the affirmative. He wasn't capable of much besides the smile-and-nod routine now. He didn't know it just yet, but he was the one who would initiate their playtime nine times out of ten in the months and years to come, and every single time he'd be chasing the perfect, first fuck he was presently getting, that inaugural lay when Desmond Lankett unveiled his weird puppy pussy and proceeded to milk him dry in about two minutes time. Even when Ricky got better and grew some endurance, he'd always look back on his first time fondly, and feel weirdly nostalgic for that time he was a two-pump-chump for the school's favorite fuckpet.
"I feel like I'm gonna... you know... do the thing," Ricky uttered, speaking in low, shameful tones.
"Yer gonna squirt?" Desmond asked, his voice unashamed. He started to ride Ricky, gyrating but clumsily. Ricky's grip on his bottom was stifling, but he hardly minded. The horse taking even that small initiative was a real thrill. "Do it, baby, go on ahead'n squi-i-irt for me. Love it when I get a good one up inside me."
Ricky dumbly smiled with cheeks beet-red, the same expression he pulled when the other guys in the locker room asked are you queer or something? And no, of course not, Ricky wasn't queer, he was just thinking about titties, because that was what normal guys liked. They liked big, thick boobs, the kind you could make your whole muzzle vanish in. He thought about Desmond's flat body and swollen vulva and wondered where exactly that put him on the queer-or-something scale.
"Crap," hissed Ricky, and he sank his fingers in so hard that Desmond said in a laughing, squeaking voice something about him hitting bone. The horse wasn't listening, even as cute as he found Desmond's voice; his jaws had set into a rictus and his eyes were not only shut, but clenched so that his lids quaked with the effort. His thick equine spunk shot into the foxcoon, pumping Desmond's swollen dogbox so full, so quickly, that the backflow was immediate and left Ricky's loins caked with semen.
Hunkered over Ricky so firmly the ridges of his spine bumped under his skin, Desmond cooed for the horse, speaking high praise in such syrupy southern tones as to be unintelligible. He gnawed Ricky's cheek and neck, preening black fur, greedily stealing sweat from him, and his tail undulated like a charmed cobra.
"Aw, she-e-eit, that was good, Ricky-baby," Desmond crooned. "Real good..."
"Yeah, ah, yes," Ricky said, each word punctuated by a pant. "I feel sorta, like, dizzy I guess. It's never felt that good."
"S'the power of pussy, right there," the foxcoon said, a chuckle underscoring his words. "Ah, an' a'fore ya' ask, I didn't squirt wit'cha." Ricky hadn't been about to ask. He didn't even know girls (or guys with girl parts, the concept was still messing with his head) could even do what he just did. "But you bein' happy's pretty good for me anyway." The fox kissed Ricky softly and the horse gave it back, thinking for the first time that Desmond had very pretty eyes. "D'you like it, honey?"
Ricky's smile was thin, coming on gradually. "Yyyeah... I mean, it was a little weird. But I liked it."
Desmond straightened up, but Ricky was still slotted into him. There was nothing new to Desmond in this situation. He actually would have been surprised if a stallion in his sexual prime lost his hard-on so soon after his first bout with some muff.
Glancing at his alarm clock, Desmond said, "I think we kin' go again if ya' wanna." He put his eyes on Ricky and the horse saw them as predatory somehow. "If ya' feel like ya' kin go again so soon."
Unnerved but excited, grinning in a combination of awkwardness and arousal, Ricky nodded. "I guess I can."
The fox smooched Ricky on the nose. He started to gyrate, slowly. His muff's muscles moved on a sloppy-seconds layer of semen. Catching the wince on Ricky's face, Desmond slowed to a stop and nosed his cheek. "Mmm, na-a-ah. You're just gonna end up blue-balled a'fore I can getcha off again."
Ricky blinked. "Blue-balled? Huh?"
Lifting himself up and off of the horse, Desmond flopped gracelessly beside him and pulled one of Ricky's arms around his neck. "You'll know what that means sooner'r later, it's somethin' regular boys get. Just, uh, hm. Just hold me, why don'tcha?"
The horse nodded, feeling a little less wary of the fox since he couldn't see that evil, hungry intent anymore. He squeezed Desmond awkwardly at first, trying to give the boy the same bro-hugs he gave and got after practice, but Desmond was so much like a pillow that he found himself softening up, holding the fox gently.
"Ya' know, Ricky," he purred, squeezing the horse in his soft arms, "I gotta train ya' as far as fuck'n and kiss'n goes, but you make one helluva good teddy bear."