On the Bright Beach
On the Bright Beach
Like the last glimpse of sunlight after an Alaskan summer, the sky appeared in front of me in its amber, blue and gold glory. It was sunset, and a gorgeous one it was. The sun slowly sank, degree by degree, behind reddish clouds that studded the horizon like spikes on a collar. The rest of the sky was shot with golden streaks that matched the golden sand, upon which jade waves crashed with foam-specked waves.
In other words, it was the same sunset I'd seen last night, and the night before. It wasn't even a sunset, really, it was a composite of a thousand of the most pleasing sunsets, distilled down to their most pleasing aspects. In an hour, the accelerated day-cycle would bring the moon over the horizon, an exact forty-three percent larger than the actual moon to be visually pleasing. Then two hours later, the moon would set, and the sun would rise precisely on cue, just in time for a sunrise scene that was a composite of the thousand best sunrises and welcome a bright sunny day. That was the cycle, every six-hour day precisely on time and accurate. Day-in and day-out, four-times-a-day, as accurate as the clockwork that ran it.
In my eyes, the sunset was still beautiful. Brilliant. Inspiring, I'd almost call it, as if there were any activities it would inspire me to. Instead, I let it fill my senses, along with the crash of salt water in my nose, the breeze teasing across my ears and whiskers, and the gentle rolling of waves whose sussuration rolled over me in, well, waves, if I were to be precise.
Up and over the scrub hedge I went, taking a few seconds to re-familiarize myself with my posture. The sensation was a bit strange, a moment of body dysphoria as my brain, hard wired for two legs, was told instead that it had four. It was fed touch from over-long whiskers that played in the breeze, and smell from a nose many thousands of times more sensitive than my own. Ruddy-red fox fur pulled in a way that was only "normal" after days and weeks of familiarization. I settled into my avatar, a model of the "me" that, before the beach, had only been in my imagination. With the mental check-list of all of the limbs the system had loaned me, I scrambled up the hill.
On the apex of the hill stood a sign; a warning. The outline of a pair of pants sat in an angry red crossed circle. There wasn't much writing on the sign itself, but simply viewing it fed the rest of its message into my visual buffer. "Adults Only, under 18 prohibited." It read in bold, overlayed over my beautiful sunset. "No access to minors, you must accept the rules and policy of 'The Beach' to pass this point." Just like last night, I ignored the sign and made my way down to the far side of the hill.
The sight of the beach was always welcome, with its brickwork barbecue and solid picnic tables, and the stone pier that stretched off towards the horizon. I entered to a chorus of greetings. Loki was there, the wolf leaning with a hand on one of the brick grills and smiling a goofy grin towards me. Kiri and Ra-Shalla were there too, snuggled together on their beach towel in a chaotic medley of leopard spots and tiger stripes. Aaron was there too, flashing his blue and white feathers in a chaotic display of of recognition. Even Foriss was here tonight, the randy buck resting backwards with his antlered head digging furrows in the pristine sand.
"Foxy, over here!" The call came out from Chris. I expected to see him here. Correction: I would have been surprised if he hadn't been here. He was a staple of the beach. The otter's slinky form seemed to have worn itself into the décor, until he seemed more in tune with the picnic tables and grills than the lions and tigers that roamed between them.
Speaking of lions and tigers, one was talking to Chris today. A lion, that is, tawny with a chocolate mane that spread down between his shoulder blades and narrowed along his spine almost to the bottom of his ribcage. He was cute. Scrap that, he was more than cute. Hot. Sizzling hot, with lanky, corded muscles that weren't too blatant, and a tail that curled generously before it touched the floor, and an ass I could bounce ping-pong balls off of.
"Andy, this is Mah-Fallah" Chris smiled in his over-wide mustelid grin that crinkled the sides of his eyes and pulled his whiskers and lips up until I could see his sharp little ottery teeth.
"Nice-ta-meetc'cha" I barked out in generic greeting as I hopped up onto the nearby picnic table. I pulled up the lion's stats while I held up a forepaw. He smiled back at me and lowered his hand to take it. M'Fale was his official name (Chris had the pronunciation correct) and he was new as of a week ago.
He turned towards me and I had to struggle to keep my eyes on his face. I could see his assets, they were right at eye-level, and they were significant enough to take note. His belly fur may have been cream-colored, but the equipment dangling between his legs was shrouded in long fur as deeply brown as his mane. Stretching up from the crux of his legs was the perfect sheath, thick and long, with the trace of the interesting anatomy hidden just inside. The fur around it wasn't a modesty; it was a frame that drew the eye to his gorgeous dangling balls. I could at this point only imagine what he'd look like unsheathed, hard, throbbing and dripping, and...
And I shook myself out of my little reverie. I had better manners than that. "Welcome!" I smiled, even though I knew all that did was reveal my canines. It wasn't real fox behaviour, but we all made little sacrifices to be social and understood. "New to the beach?"
"Yeah." The lion put one hand the size of a dinner plate behind his head and rubbed, looking around with newbie's nerves. "Neat room though."
My smile waned a little.
"Nice coding, though. Looks like they did their research on that sunset." He continued. I sighed. He was a newbie, I reminded myself. He didn't know he wasn't supposed to See-The-Walls.
"The Beach," I emphasized, "is beautiful all day round. I usually find it's nicer to just enjoy it, rather than analysing how it was made."
That earned me a rather strange glance. "Sure, of course." He mumbled with a sidelong look towards Chris. The otter was smiling, but refrained from pitching in his own opinion.
I took my paw back. I didn't want this to be awkward, so I quickly changed the topic. "I'll admit, I haven't seen a lion like you before." I'd seen lions of course, but mostly they were the Standard Model. Everyone could pick to be one of the Standard Models, but most people found someone to make a custom model within a few months. On a week-old lion though, a custom model was impressive.
"A friend convinced me to join up." Ah, that would explain it. "He just logged off for the day, so I thought I'd wander and see what all the other rooms were like."
There it was again, "room". I smiled and ignored it.
"So why this secluded beach? We usually don't get folk in here without an invitation." I continued. Chris winked at me. Great, so now I was the official welcoming party.
He rubbed his chin for a moment. "Well, the description and pictures seemed pretty." He glanced around. "And, um..."
I'd been around long enough to see this before. "M'Fala, we're in an adults-only beach. We're all here for it's perks." Now I let my eyes fall meaningfully to his wonderfully sculpted crotch.
It was quickly covered by his large hands. "Um, right, but I'm not sure, now."
I laughed. He either belonged in here, or he didn't. There was no sugar-coating that. "Oh, don't worry, you're welcome to sit and watch if you don't want to join in, but the crowd gets pretty active at night. If you're not sure..."
"No, I mean..." He looked down at me. "You've got four legs. Isn't that, like bestiality?"
My friendly smile filled with ice, and behind the new lion, Chris' smirk dropped into a frown. I sat on the table and couldn't help but let out an aggravated sigh. "Nah, not in my opinion." I tried to be diplomatic. "But everyone's entitled to their own."
"Yeah, sorry." He wasn't really. He could use a lot more practice at lying with a lion's face.
"Its fine." I lied. I was good at it, and he smiled an apologetic little grin (that looked more like a snarl). Then he turned back to Chris. The otter was still frowning.
As much as I liked the lion's body, the personality had doused any lascivious thoughts, so I wandered. I didn't make it far. Strong hands lifted me and pulled me up towards a creamy white chest. I let my legs dangle. The sensation of being lifted and handled wasn't uncommon; quite the opposite, really, it was welcomed.
"Ignore him." Chris mumbled at me. I craned my head, and could see M'Fala standing alone with a nonplussed look on his face.
"Chris, I don't need coddling."
"Nope, but I'm allowed to spend some time with my favorite fox, aren't I?" he found a park bench and sat me on his lap.
I arranged my limbs and shot the otter a measuring glance. "Look, not everyone's required to have the same kinks. He's not interested, so he's not interested. It's fine. Go enjoy your chat with your new friend."
"Can't"
"And why not?"
"Got a fox on my lap."
I half lidded my eyes and settled my head in his lap. This wasn't an argument I was going to win. Hell, it wasn't worth having in the first place. I definitely wasn't going to complain about having a warm lap to occupy. Secretly, I was honored, and a little embarrassed. Chris was always too good to me.
I relaxed and started to enjoy the evening. The lion melded into one of the chatting groups seamlessly. Minutes passed, then an hour. Chris told me about his day. They'd found an anomaly today, invisible to the human eye, somewhere in the oblong rectangle formed by the big dipper. I told him about my day, the customers I'd dealt with, and the data I'd traced back to the user that'd caused it all to go wrong. We had our chuckles and laughs. Fingers stroked along my spine, and blunt claws traced circles behind my ears. In short, paradise.
Sometime during the evening, out attention was drawn by a roar off to the side. The sun had just started to rise, so it was about three hours into the night, by my reckoning. M'Fala had cleared a little room for himself and had pinned Foriss. The young buck's antlers had locked with one of the picnic tables while the lion pinioned his arm behind his back. Much to the picky lion's stated tastes, he'd found a biped, and was showing him all the enthusiasm I'd dreamt of.
Not that I needed to dream anymore. My eyes could soak in the sight of the long shaft reaching outwards from the dark furred sheath, at least as much as was still visible outside of the buck's backside. There was no foreplay, no teasing, no build-up, just an effective pin, a roar, and a thorough humping. I gorged myself on every glimpse.
Conversation with the otter cut off as my attention faltered, but there was no complaint. This was the beach. Everyone came here to have an itch scratched, no matter what enlightening conversations filled the moments before and after. I was no stranger to the rub, the touch, the prod and thrust. I rolled onto my side so my own enthusiasm wouldn't poke or drip on my otter friend, and he likewise adjusted so my head lay a few inches forward of the nest of his crotch.
The show was short, as I expected. The lion was new and didn't know how to draw it out, to work the crowd like an expert. He let out another roar and clenched himself to the buck's hips. From my vantage, I watched the lion's balls bounce every few seconds as Foriss got his prize. The crowd let out their perfunctory appreciation for the scene. I was pretty sure I caught a dissatisfied eye-roll from the buck. Yeah, the lion needed to work on his style a bit. Not that I was critiquing, no. Well, maybe a little, but I'd never share it with someone at the beach. That'd be poor manners.
"Meh. He could use some work." The chirpy voice from above me stated flatly. Except for Chris, of course. We went back a long ways, since I'd started coming to the beach in the first place. We'd watched so many couples here, wiling away the hours in the otter's lap, that all the social graces and niceties had evaporated over time. It was liberating having someone like him in which to confide.
"He's new. He'll learn."
Chris didn't respond.
If nothing else, though, the show had reinvigorated my interest in the room's inhabitants. A few more had entered the room as well, a margay that came at least once a week (both figuratively and literally) and a hare that I'd seen at least twice before was lurking near the scrub hill nervously. Conversation slowly picked back up, though a few of the other inhabitants were showing their appreciation for the show in a wholly more physical manner. Loki and Aaron were curled up together on a picnic bench, and if Aaron's hand wasn't in Loki's crotch, then you could chop my tail off and call me a rabbit. Give the lion at least this much credit, the show hadn't been spectacular, but at least it had jump-started the room's activity for the night.
Fingers strayed over my side, and smooth leathery pads rubbed over my stomach. "Hey foxy, you want to go enjoy yourself? I don't mind." I looked down. His fingers stayed an inch or two away from my own clearly visible excitement. I shivered. I could imagine them dropping just that last little bit, and the fingertips closing in a slow caress, and...
And that wasn't Chris. Never was Chris. The otter sat like the researcher behind the mirror, interested but unattainable, attentive but non-particapatory. I smiled up at him. He understood, and he'd be there after I was done. The curious tonic of anticipation and excitement washed over my mind like a warm draught, and I launched myself from the lap into the crowd, seeking my own entertainment for the night.
M'Fala was back again the next night, but after half an hour of badly disguised innuendos and a badly-placed grope, Foriss made his lack of interest clear. The Lion begged off, claiming that he had Real-Life issues to deal with, and disappeared without bothering to leave the beach. Knowing glances were passed around like cigarettes in the office, and nothing more was said about him.
Today I'd perched on one of the picnic tables, and Chris had sat himself on the bench to the side. His fingers traced lazily up my spine, ruffling my fur, then smoothing it back down with a reverse stroke. It was a feeling unlike any I'd felt before I first visited the beach and tried my own custom model. Somehow the sensations translated to something wholly unique and blissfully pleasurable, and I admit I'd become an addict.
"Good day, foxy?"
My answer was a half-engaged purr. The night was young, and I was home from work. That's good enough for me. My lips slurred just a little bit as the the fingers tickled over my collarbone. "Busy. H'bout you?"
"Stressful." He looked it, to be honest. His whiskers drooped a little, and the ever-present smirk on his face seemed just a little forced.
"Tell me?" I pleaded.
He paused for a moment, then continued. "Got word that one of our math techs is going to be leaving." I made apologetic noises. "He does a lot of good work. I'm going to need to put in a bit of overtime to make up for him until we've got someone else who's used to the numbers ready to replace him."
I gazed up at the stars. I could pick out Orion and the Big Dipper. If I stared for a while, I could pick out Arcturus. That was about the extent of my astronomical knowledge. "Show me where it is, otter? That anomaly you're working on?" I rolled onto my belly so I could easily swing my head up.
His fingers easily transitioned to rubbing over my ribs while his off-hand pointed. "Over there. It's giving off gamma readings like a pulser, but those usually only last a minute or an hour or two. This has been going on since we first started recording it two days ago." I tried to keep up with him, I really did. I'd learned more about those blazing dots up in the night sky from him than any class or lecture had managed to pound into my skull.
"Yeah, I think I caught about half of that."
"You asked, foxy." He ruffled the fur over my throat and I growled playfully. In many ways, I'd be happy to spend the night like this, good company, good conversation, and expert fingers trailing down my belly...
But Chris was too expert for his own sake. Those fingers trailed in a semi-circle around my sheath, the blunt claws stopping just millimetres from being intimate. His thumb traced around my navel, and the leathery finger pads dragged slowly along the inside of my thighs. Thin shocks of pleasure wormed their way up my spine as his hand sprawled across my belly, fingers spread to avoid my anatomy. I could feel the webbing between the otter's digits slide innocently across the underside of my sheath, and a subconscious shiver gripped me.
A tap of fur against my bare flesh made me look down, and I realized some bit of my length had slid from my sheath and was tapping every few seconds against my belly fur. I glanced in an apology up at Chris, and he shrugged down at me. Those hands, oh, and those fingers that found every little blissful spot. He avoided the red tip laying across my belly, but those expert digits kept rubbing and stroking. I realized I was panting. I couldn't suppress another shiver. Sometimes I thought he did this intentionally, made me hot and excited, when I knew for a fact that he'd never...
No, if I really didn't want him to do this, I wouldn't be laying on my back in front of him. A tease? Yes. Did he leave me hot and bothered? Yes. And I loved every second of it. Sometimes, after an otherwise uneventful night, after he'd left for the evening, I'd let myself remember just how his fingers felt. I'd close my eyes and imagine, ever touch and every stroke, and even though those fingers never touched anything truly intimate, it was enough. Sometimes I'd get a helping hand from someone else on the beach, but on those nights when my mind was running on playback, I'd imagine I could feel the webs between their fingers.
I'd never told him, though. I'm pretty sure it would embarrass him, and I didn't want that. He was too precious, too valuable to me. We were nothing but friends that met on the beach when our schedules matched, and maybe that was why he meant so much. There was no one behind the custom otter model, there was just the otter himself. I couldn't See-The-Walls, and never wanted to.
The fingers drew me back to the present, tickling up my ribcage and spreading over my collarbone. I let out a soft noise that was perhaps a bit more passionate than I intended, and he responded by ruffling the thick fur over my chest. That was his sign that he was done teasing. I rolled obediently back to my belly, and the laminated surface of the picnic table kissed my flesh as I lay my hind end flush.
"Tease." I smirked at him.
He didn't answer but to smile back, while his eyes flicked over the beach's denizens.
Another hand touched my hindquarters, heavy with thicker fingerpads than Chris. I shot a nervous glance backwards, but the comforting sight of Krytz filled my view. Chris followed my gaze, and when he laid eyes on the german shepherd that had crept up behind us, he shot me a knowing smirk, then removed his own paw in a clear release of "ownership" of the small quadrupedal fox on the tabletop. If I'd had a leash, Chris would have been handing it over.
Hmm, maybe I should get a leash.
The table shifted behind me, then wobbled uncertainly. Krytz was a big dog, and the table's four legs danced about a bit as he climbed up to its top, spreading his long legs to either side. The hand on my flank tugged a little, and a broad thumb pad pushed meaningfully beneath my tail. I couldn't suppress the groan. Chris' teasing was still fresh in my mind, and the rough prod beneath my tail immediately brought back every bit of the erotic feeling of fingers stroking so close to the bits that craved it so desperately...
"Teasing otter, fox? Room for Krytz?" The german shepherd's accent was almost too thick to understand. Chris thought that he was from one of the old Russian countries, or maybe even Russia itself. I never bothered to find out. He didn't talk much when he visited the beach, but no one ever complained about his presence. To say that he led his body talk for him was an understatement, because if bodies talked, then his sang.
I didn't bother talking. He might not understand it anyway, so I responded in the universal language of action. I pushed with my hindlegs, and my rump lifted a few inches into the air. I felt fingers tug at my tail, pulling it up and to the side, while the broad hand across my rump squeezed. The thumb pad prodded at my pucker, then pushed until it rubbed against the ring of muscles. The hand left my tail, and I obediently let it hang to the side where he'd left it.
Please, please, my body begged him, thighs quivering slightly, a soft chuff of breath escaping between my clenched jaws. He understood and acquiesced. Those rough finger tips spread themselves slowly between my legs, circling my sac and squeezing through the base of my sheath. I pushed my head down against the picnic table in response, rolling my jowls against the unyielding wood. It was perhaps one of my favorite sensations, the sensation of a hand buried between my thighs, broad fingers touching everything as they went. They teased up my length, hard and throbbing already from the otter's oh-so-innocent ministrations, and on their return journey, they pulled at my shaft and squeezed.
I almost came there and then. The touch was electric, the first clench of knuckles around my girth enough to make me bite at the air. I knew I was doing my chosen species' stereotype no favors, but at this moment in time, I didn't care. I was putty in Krytz's hands, and he was an artist in the most classical sense.
At one time, Krytz told me (in his broken English) that he particularly loved entertaining the beach's feral population. The reasons were difficult to translate. Maybe the four legs was one of his kinks? Maybe it was a challenge? Or perhaps it was just new. Whatever the reasons, he'd taken a shine to my quadrupedal shape, and each one of the rare nights he could spare to catch me on a beach was another blissful step in his ongoing education. He felt along my length with practised fingers, then squeezed experimentally just behind the bulbs of my knot. I let out a low yowl.
He seemed to understand. Hands big enough to straddle my hips latched themselves beneath my thighs, and the german shepherd pulled me back towards the 'v' of his hips. My paws dragged smoothly across the tabletop until I felt the dog's own arousal press squarely between my rumpcheeks. The tip blunted against the base of my tail, leaking slippery liquid down into my ruddy fur. Then fingers pushed at his tip. I lifted my hips a few further inches to accommodate his size. Then as the rubbery length prodded at the bare flesh of my pucker, the hands started to pull back again.
I opened my eyes. Maybe it was just instinct, or maybe surprise. No, being honest, I wanted to know if we had an audience. I wanted to see the eyes on me, their owners catching every lurid detail as the large canid's blunt tip slowly spread my ring of muscle around its girth, throbbing and spitting pre every few seconds. I wanted to experience it through their vision as my slippery flesh made way for the canid's thick cock as it sank inch by inch into my eager rump. They were there, a few of them at least, smiles on their faces and shameless arousal coloring their own bodies as their eyes drank in the sight of Krytz and me.
And there was Chris. He still sat at the side of the table, and he hadn't taken his eyes off of me. He'd be aroused, I knew it. When we watched others together, he didn't bother hiding that from me. He was, after all, just as sexual a being as the rest of us, or else he wouldn't be here on the beach. But both of the otters hands were above the table. If he was hard, he wasn't displaying it proudly like the other beach denizens were. He simply smiled at me. His hand reached out and caught one of my forepaws, holding it gently as I indulged myself.
The slide of flesh on flesh was so slick that it was almost frictionless. I could feel him pushing deeper and deeper, inch by inch. Each time I took him, I could swear he'd grown, because it seemed to take even longer than last time for my tail ring to finally kiss his knot. I opened my jaw in a silent yowl that never actually gained a voice, except for an unintentional little squeak when his length gave a powerful throb against my insides. I knew because I'd seen it that he wasn't actually much larger than average (because "about average" is about all that my diminutive form can handle) but the way he slid around inside me, it felt like he went on forever. His shaft throbbed again, and I could feel the channel that ran the length of his shaft tense in a slow wave that started at his base, then flowered at his tip as hot liquid pre splashed against my sensitive walls.
The german shepherd's broad hands cupped my belly and chest and lifted. I felt my paws lift off the table, then dangled in his hands as he let gravity sit my rump against his knot. His lower hand, the one on my belly, slithered even lower, and fingers encircled my shaft. I gave him a gasp, and he gave me a squeeze. Those hands were large enough that with thumbs touching, his pinkies could meet around my midsection. Fingers gathered my hindlegs, until my entire weight rested in his grasp. Then his hands tugged.
A yelp escaped my muzzle as his knot kissed my pucker. Then slick friction, followed by hollow emptiness. I could feel each detail of his rubbery cocktip as it kissed my tailhole, then another glorious gliding sensation as he pulled me back onto his shaft. He was holding me like a toy, a plaything. I relished every second of it. Again, his knot pushed at me, then lift until only the few inches of his tip remained inside, then drop. He bounced his hips in time with each motion of his hands.
Above me, the german shepherd growled. I heard his tail smack the surface of the table behind him, and his thrusting stopped. Those powerful hands pulled at me, sitting me on top of his knot as I felt him start throbbing. Hot liquid splashed across my insides. He filled me until there wasn't any room left, then dribbles of semen leaked down over his knot and pooled around his sac. He muttered something I didn't understand; maybe it was Russian, and bit at my ear. His fingers danced on my shaft, holding it away from my body and squeezed. My peak crashed in around me like fireworks behind my eyelids, and a hot flush shivered itself down to my belly. I yelped and painted the table with my enthusiasm.
Krytz held me still and let me enjoy every moment of the peak, or maybe he was just enjoying the way I writhed and squirmed on his cock. As I languished in his grasp, awareness of the beach around us slowly returned. We had an audience, more than I'd thought. Ra'Shalla and Kiri had turned on their beach towel, both pairs of bright eyes watching us. Loki had wandered over and was eyeing Krytz with a shade of green jealousy. A gryphon I'd never met had wandered in as well, and Aaron sat in his lap, hands buried suggestively between his legs.
Slowly my breathing steadied, and the dog lifted me once more. There was a loud slurp that I felt more than heard, then liquid leaked across my tail base Krytz carefully set me back on the table, and I put my paws down to meet it. Wetness met my pads. He'd set me down in a puddle. I half-lidded my eyes and scowled back at him, and he stuck his tongue out at me. No further words were exchanged. He clambered off of the picnic table and headed for the exit. That was fine. He'd got what he came here for, and I'd had every bit of the fun I'd wanted that night. As the german shepherd's alert ears disappeared behind the scrub hill's top, I rolled and splayed my legs. I could feel the slickness inside me still.
A hand buried itself in my chest fluff. I opened my eyes and narrowed my gaze at Chris. "You're going to get your hand messy." Going to? No, got. He'd dropped his fingers right into a wet spot.
His smile didn't fade, and the fingers tapped at my ribs like hammers on a xylophone. "Had your fun, foxy?"
I nodded blissfully at him, and he picked me up. There was a moment of disorientation as I spun, then I felt myself plopped down in the otter's lap. My fur was stuck in wet little spikes where the german shepherd's juices (or my own) had soaked in. Chris' blunt claws slowly picked at my fur, smoothing it down where it ruffled.
"Chris, you're spoiling me."
"Are you complaining?" He shot a critical glare down towards me.
"Not in the least." I pulled my forelegs up to my chest, giving him as much area as he wanted.
"Good. Then shush, your fur's a mess."
The night dragged on. People came and went. I was treated to a beautiful sunrise, then before I'd realized the time had even passed, sunset.
"It's morning. I should get to work, foxy."
"Ugh, don't remind me." He was right, though. My alarm was due to ring any moment, and I had a full day ahead of me.
"Tomorrow?" He asked hopefully?
"Of course." I hopped up and scrambled from his lap. I had the decency to dash over the hill before I disconnected.
When I arrived the next day, Chris wasn't there. I spent the night chatting with the resident blue jay, Aaron, about his birds. He worked at a raptor rehabilitation center in a county I couldn't point to on a map. I tried to give him my full attention, but every few moments I found myself glancing towards the entrance, waiting to see the otter's comically short ears crest the hill. He hadn't arrived by the time my morning alarm rang.
The next night told the same story, and the one after that. No one had seen the otter, nor heard from him. Not surprising, no one knew Chris outside of the beach. I told myself it was fine. Things happen, he'd be back, but under the calm façade I still worried.
On the third night, Chris was still absent, but M'Fala returned. I ignored him for the first half of the night, as did most of the beach's inhabitants. I lounged around with Kiri and Ra'Shalla. They talked about their plans to meet up outside the beach, and I wished them luck. They asked if I had anyone, and I smiled. I didn't answer questions about myself. They respected that.
Conversation stopped momentarily as a shadow fell over me. I followed their gaze as the girls looked up. M'Fala stood over me.
"Hi, uh, got a moment?"
"Sure." I faked a smile.
"Maybe somewhere a bit more private?" He asked bashfully.
"You know, we don't really do private here on the beach." I shrugged up at him but stayed still. Hell if I was going to leave behind two good sets of paws stroking me just to chat with him.
"Err..." He stammered. "Okay. Well, sorry about a few days ago. I'm a bit new to this, and..."
"It's fine, M'Fala." I rolled onto my back, and the girls' fingers followed onto my ribs. "Everyone here's got their own tastes. You don't have to apologize for not matching mine."
"Well, that's the thing." He squirmed a bit. Kiri and Ra'Shalla stayed silent, acting as if they weren't there, but I could see their ears swivel to listen. "Maybe I am a little interested. It just..."
I sighed and shook my head up at him. "I think I understand." I meant to embarrass him a little bit, but not to humiliate him. "I know the beach takes a little bit of getting used to."
"You're telling me! I'm used to rural Kentucky. I don't think I would have even given this room a second glance if a friend hadn't mentioned it."
He sat at the edge of the beach towel. I looked up at him from between my forepaws. "So, if your friend brought you here, then who was it? I know most everyone who's a regular."
"Well, he mentioned it, but not in a good way."
Suddenly, I was starting to get the picture. "Ah. So this is an escape, then?"
"Yeah." Now that he mentioned it, I was starting to notice the southern twang. He hid it well. "I guess. A chance to have some fun without any of my friends seeing that it's not with girls."
I snorted.
"Fine. Or even with two legs."
His hand reached out tentatively, then his knuckles ran across my belly fur. Kiri and Ra'Shalla made room for him, their pair of hands scratching up over my neck and under my chin. Fingers stumbled over the bottom of my ribcage, at this point, I couldn't tell whose they were.
"Oh..." I suddenly found myself the center of attention with more pairs of hands on me than I could count with my eyes closed. "That... Ehr, look, M'Fala..." Hands closed over my sheath. I was sure they were his. Pretty sure. If I lifted my head, then whosever fingers those were on my throat would stop. I was about to tell him to stop, that I wasn't interested, but I halted. What was it that had ruined my interest? His own lack of return interest? Well, that was pretty well solved now. His curt dismissal? Newbie's nerves. His lack of experience? Only one way to solve that.
Left without an excuse, my complaint faltered. But I was still unsure. Maybe for the first time since I'd started patronising the beach, I shook my head.
Fingers fell to either side as I lifted my muzzle and frowned at M'Fala. "Sorry there, but no. Thanks, but no, not tonight." He looked hurt. "Maybe another night, but I'm just not-" Suddenly, a figure on the edge of my vision grabbed all of my attention. A familiar ottery form had just flounced over the hill.
"'Scuse me." I apologized before flipping onto my legs and scampering towards the approaching mustelid.
"Chris!" He gave me a little wave, then slumped at a bench. I hopped up onto the adjoining table and licked at his whiskers. The anxiety of the past nights drained from me, leaving just a giddy happiness. "Where ya' been, otter?"
One arm folded itself over my back, and even though he was perched on the bench, I found myself tucked into his lap. "Tired, foxy. Stressed and tired." Fingers picked through the fur around my neck.
"Anything to do with being away the last few nights?" I looked up at him. Concern must have written itself on my features, because he gave me a forced smile and ruffled my cheeks.
"A bit. Mostly work stuff. It'll get better, foxy, it's just been a hell of a week." He paused for a moment. "You haven't been waiting for me, have you?"
I shook my head. "Nah, life as normal." I lied.
"Good." His fingers teased around my chest, and I obediently flipped onto my back for him.
Down closer to the shore, M'Fale cast me a few curious glances. I tried to force my muzzle into a conciliatory pose, but I wasn't sure how to do it. He shrugged and turned back to the two girls that I'd been sharing time with earlier. Well, it may not be a fox, but as long as he minded his manners, the girls would show him a good night.
"M'Fala's back. I honestly didn't expect it." Chris mused.
"Actually, he surprised me as well. He apologized to me today."
"Really? He wasn't that rude, really."
"That's what I said." I watched the lion. Kiri and Ra'Shalla had one of his arms and were pulling him down to their towel. "Actually, he wanted to say that he was interested, but too afraid to say it earlier."
"Hah!" The otter's fingers ruffled through my belly fur. "No one resists the temptation of a fox!"
I batted at his chest with one hindleg.
"Oof, okay, but still, is he getting better?"
Comprehension flat-lined for a second. "Better than..."
"Well, I figured if he was interested, maybe you'd-"
"No!" The exclamation exploded from my muzzle. Chris shot a disbelieving gaze down at me. "No, no, I guess I would, but I just wasn't in the mood."
"You, not in the mood? Is this the same fox I've seen every night for the last-"
"Fine, fine, so I was a little preoccupied."
The fingers tickled down my ribcage and Chris supported my neck with his off hand so I could lean back. "Heh, okay, so who were you doing at the time?"
Did I really have that reputation? No, never mind, I know my reputation. I'm a little proud of it. If it'd been anyone else asking, I'd smile and wink mysteriously. Then I'd have some witty rejoinder. "Foxes never hump and tell!", or "If you're really good I'll give them your number."
So why did it bother me when Chris said it? He's never disapproved of it. Look at his eyes now, he's smiling too wide. It's not a jibe or an insult, he's just curious, because it's a given. So if it's not bothering him in the slightest, why is it bothering me?
I could lie. I could say it was the girls, that'd be half right. Or someone who doesn't come in here often. He'd never check.
"No one." Or I could just tell the truth, reputation be damned. Why did I say that?
Hands picked me up. I dangled as the otter held me up in front of his muzzle. His incisive eyes examined me, trailing over every inch critically. Then without preamble he spun me around, and presumably repeated the procedure across my back.
"Are you okay foxy? Is something wrong?" I was spun to face him again.
"No, as I said, just preoccupied." Please take my word for it, I silently begged. I'm not going to tell you why, because it would just embarrass you. Please don't make me say any of this out loud.
The otter's eyes watched me closely, and I hung there, second after second. Then he put me on the table and stood.
"Chris, sorry, I-"
"Shush." He walked a few paces and sat down in the sand. "Come over here, foxy. Looks like you could use some attention."
I'm not sure what he thought. I hope he didn't think something bad had happened, but the lack of further questions was a stroke of luck I wasn't about to waste. I hopped down into his lap, and his paws immediately flipped me over, resuming their gentle strokes through my fur. On the ground, the lap was steadier, and he could press harder against my ribs, massaging me through my thick coat.
"Hmm, well, at least M'Fala won't have to worry about your refusal tonight." Chris nodded his head back towards the water line, and I followed his gaze.
Chris was right. I couldn't see much of the lion, as the girls were in the way. From where I lay, all I could see was his legs, with Kiri sitting astride them. Luckily my vantage point did afford me a gorgeous view. Kiri lifted her hips, and I momentarily saw M'Fala through the gap between her thighs. Fingers tugged at his sheath, I couldn't tell from this angle whether they were hers or his, or maybe even Ra'Shalla, who was watching closely from the side. Inches of pink lion shaft spilled into the light, and the fingers pointed them upwards to meet Kiri's drooping hips. Tapered tip fit to dripping lips, and the cats ground their hips together.
Caught as I was with the show, I didn't notice when the fingers on my belly had dipped lower. A squeeze around the tip of my own erection surprised me, and with a jump, I looked around for the culprit. Chris' arm caught me, and fingers caught my lips to keep me silent. I looked down. The fingers were dark brown, short furred, blunt clawed, and thin flaps of skin stretched from one to the next in aquatic webbing. Those were Chris' fingers.
In the midst of the surreal confusion, his whiskers tickled my ears. "Don't tell anyone, foxy. Shh..."
I settled and let his fingers trace up and down my length. To keep his modesty, I flicked my tail up and over, hiding the act. Slowly, his fingers uncurled from my muzzle. "Chris, are you sure?"
"Sure I need it? Yeah." His fingers squeezed at the base near my knot. "And there's no one else I'd trust with it like I would you, foxy."
I swallowed nervously and hunkered down in his lap, curled to hide everything from the normally obscenely public world. My tail curled around his wrist, hiding fingers that tugged momentarily at my sheath. I flipped over onto my front, belly pushed to his crossed legs to hide the red excitement that'd sprouted between my thighs.
I glanced up at him. His attention wasn't on me, his gaze was still watching the felines frolicking near the waterline. Ra'shalla pushed her girlfriend off of the lion's post. His struggling red erection strained up into the air, throbbing fitfully. She swung her leg over, while Kiri's hand reached over to line the desperate lion up with the descending leopard. With a drop of her hips and a quick thrust of his, he disappeared into her depths.
Above me, the otter gave a muffled little moan. I'd never heard him in a state I'd call "worked up." He was always smooth, in control, refined, cool, and collected. Today, though, he was letting the feline's show work him. With each muffled squelch of flesh on flesh from the threesome by the water line, I could feel him tense and roll his hips, as if it were him sinking into the eager feline's soaked cunny. After a few moments of tense anticipation, I also felt the otter's arousal rise to the occasion. It prodded against my thigh, so I shifted. It poked one side, then another. He let me move without complaint, his fingers urging me on. So when it slid between my rumpcheeks, he let out a moan that might have been slightly louder than was fitting for our illicit activities, and his hands pushed me down.
On the first try, the otter's shaft slipped up and prodded at my tail base He was still only half-hard. I rubbed my hips back and forth to fix that, and on the second attempt, it caught against my pucker. With an all-too-familiar stretching sensation, the thin tip slid just an inch. I growled and braced, ready for him to tug and thrust. I waited for him to slide deep. No, I craved it. More than any of the casual fun I'd had in the company of the beach people, I wanted to feel him grind against my hips; to feel him twitching and throbbing within me; hear him panting and growling and moaning into my ears. It was rare as a blue moon during a planetary alignment, and I wanted to remember every moment of it, in case it never happened again.
So it took precious seconds for my mind to even register his voice when he leaned down and mumbled "Shit. I'm so sorry foxy, I have to go. Tomorrow. I promise, tomorrow. Be here, please?"
And then before I'd caught up with his words, he was gone. He hadn't even dashed for the hill. One second he was there, the next I had empty air between me and the ground. I let out a startled little yip, and a few eyes glanced over from the raunchy show to see me flop ungraciously to the sand. The eyes were comforting, understanding. Even inviting, maybe, but that was lost on me tonight. I'd been so close to sharing a secret part of Chris' world, a side that, to my knowledge, I alone had even glimpsed.
It must have been an emergency. Maybe more work issues. I understood. If life called, you had to answer. No one here would put the beach first, and we were really just casual friends. We only met at night, wearing different names and faces than our own. The beach was a fun place to come and act out our private little fantasies, far from the eyes of the work mates, families, and loved ones that would judge and wonder. It was a fun little secret, nothing less, but really, nothing more.
The thought didn't really help, but I convinced myself to smile and shrug off worry and disappointment.
So I watched M'Fala and the girls with scattered attention. Tomorrow. I held that date firmly in mind. Aaron approached me and took a knee next to me. He stroked my flank; I could tell it was an offer. I thanked him as I shook my head. He shrugged, smiled, and let me be. As quickly as I could without appearing out of sorts, I sauntered to the exit. It was going to be a long day until tomorrow.
When I arrived the next day, the beach was almost empty. It wasn't a surprise, really, I'd come early. I'd hoped that Chris would be here early as well, but no luck. I shouldn't really have expected any different, things had obviously been busy for him this last week. It's fine, I told myself. I could wait. With tense anticipation, I could wait.
Loki was there early today, and he had company. Another fox had joined us, though he was as different from me as two foxes could get. He had two legs to my four, and stark white fur to my ruddy pelt. Loki smiled and waved to me. I don't think the fox noticed me, as he was too busy stuffing his muzzle between Loki's spread legs.
I lazed on my side on a table, admiring the view and letting Loki see my appreciation. He shot me a rather lascivious grin, then focused his attention on the slim muzzle slurping between his thighs. My attention wandered, and by the time someone else joined us, Loki and his new fox had finished up. Kiri and Ra'Shalla slinked down to their towel. Next was Aaron and Foriss, chatting amiably as they passed the age restriction sign.
An hour passed, maybe two. A sunset came and went. Then Chris arrived. He looked a bit ragged and harried again, maybe even worse than yesterday. He stumped down to where the sand still held some heat from the not-long-gone sun and spread eagle on his back.
I approached, my concern for him peaking, but before I could voice my worries his hands caught me. I was lifted and deposited squarely on his belly, and prompt fingers stroked beneath my throat.
"You wouldn't believe the day I've had, foxy."
I settled. Whatever it was that was going on, at least I'd get an explanation.
"Remember I told you about the guy who was leaving?"
I nodded. He carried on, though I'm pretty sure he couldn't see my nod.
"He left us a nasty little surprise in the system. Our tech guys had given him permissions he shouldn't have, and we found a few things left behind that he should never have been able to install."
I drooped my ears. "I hope you didn't lose any work?" He'd told me about the numbers that they were running. A single coordinate or analysis of spectrum could take weeks or months. Lost work would be a nightmare.
"No, no, thankfully. I sorted it out, actually. Because of that, though, they're doing an audit of the internal security. Guess what that means."
I blanked and shook my head.
The otter leaned up on his elbows, and a flat palm rubbed over my ears. "No access to the system for a week, so impromptu holiday. No more working nights when I'd rather be spending them with my favorite vulpine friend."
My ears colored a little bit, but he either didn't notice or chose to ignore it.
"So that's why you left..." I started.
"And why I've been away in general. And, well..." He trailed off, and this time I could see some embarrassment in his demeanour
"Why you've been stressed." I ventured
"That's a good word for it."
I sighed and relaxed, curling up where he'd deposited me. Fingers ran over my muzzle, friendly and familiar, but innocent and chaste. Just like every night, as if last night had never happened. I longed to ask, longed to beg and plead and cajole until he acquiesced, but I knew that wasn't him. There'd always be playmates here on the beach. There was no reason to strain our friendship, no reason at all.
"So why do you hang around here, if you don't want to join in?" Last night had left questions, even if I'd blocked the physical contact out of my mind, just to save myself the tension and anticipation.
"I don't have to join in to enjoy it, foxy." Fingers scratched over the back of my head, and I perked my ears to listen. "Anyway, I'm a bit attached to it."
"Hmm, I guess." I agreed tentatively. "But didn't you tell me yourself that this isn't a beach for passive observers?"
"Hah, turning my own words against me?" He mock-scowled and dug blunt claws into my pelt over my back. They dragged down against my spine, drawing a deep hiss from me as they scratched. "I do join in. I'm social, and you spend at least half of your time here on my lap."
I turned my head to the side and narrowed one eye up at him. "That's not what I meant."
"I know, but it's how I choose to view it."
I considered for a moment. "Okay, I can accept that. You know I'd never complain about your company. That's not what I was getting at, though. Why do you choose to spend your time here, when everyone here is..." I spent a few moments to choose my words carefully "Is preoccupied with the activity you specifically don't choose to partake in." I smiled, happy with my own diplomatic tact.
"Because I enjoy it."
My mind blanked for a moment. "Wait, what?"
"I enjoy it. I enjoy seeing people having fun. Everyone around us here is completely uninhibited. They're looking for pleasure in any body they can find it, and everyone else is perfectly happy to provide. It's not just the sex. It's... I don't know, it's the sense of contentment that comes with passion and fulfilment, and you can see it on everyone's face here. They're practically radiating it."
I let that mull as I watched the other beach goers as they settled in for the night in each other's company. It was casual and free and public, which was what drew me. The beach was a contented place. "You know, I don't think about it often, but you're right. I guess that's enough for you?"
"Most of the time." He gave me that wide smirk again, and his hands wrapped around my sides, fingers stroking down my flanks in one long drag. "If you weren't here, foxy, it'd be enough."
"Hah." I mocked his sentimentality. "It's been enough before now, either way. Nothing special about this fox, Chris. You were just stressed."
"No, I mean it." I looked up at him. He usually wasn't this serious, or open about himself. "I've thought about it before." The fingers dragged down my sides again, and the fingers curled around my ribs and tickled down my chest and belly again. I suppressed a shiver. He was far too good at that, and it was distracting. "I just never acted on it, 'till last night."
"Why not? You know after all this time I'd never turn you down." I hesitated at over-sharing Don't embarrass him, I told myself. Don't ruin it. I closed my eyes ans settled for the obvious. "You know what you do to me, I'm not very good at hiding it."
"Me?" He squeezed lightly around my chest. "I always thought you were just always horny around here."
"Well, not always." I closed my eyes and tried to focus. The sensation of the digits running through my fur was putting me off balance, filling my mind with a pleasurable buzz that shattered my sense of inhibition more thoroughly than any drug could. "Sometimes, it's just you."
"Just me, foxy? Really?"
"Just you." I confirmed. I bit my tongue, but those fingers dragged down my chest again, and I couldn't help but push up a little to give them room as they dug against my belly. "Just..." I was going to say it now, wasn't I? I couldn't stop myself. "Just imagining how it would feel if your fingers went just a little bit lower."
"You mean like here?" His tone was teasing. Teasing. Damn him. Fingers dipped just an inch lower. One tapped lightly my sheath. A shock ran up my spine and terminated in my ears, leaving just a dull ringing. I knew my fur had stood up on end, puffing me up to almost twice my size.
"Oh, foxy..." He drifted off a little as the fingers dragged through my fur, grooming it back down as I tried to settle. I cursed his teasing fingers in the same breath I blessed them, that little touch still reverberating through my imagination. "Foxy, I've never seen you so sensitive."
"Sorry, sorry..." I apologized between tight little huffs of breath. I sat my hind end flat to the otter's belly, but it didn't help. That little touch had set me off, and I could feel his slick fur rubbing against my bare flesh. I bit at my tongue and folded my ears back. It'd go away in a minute if I didn't pay attention to it.
"No." Chris flatly refused, and those fingers dragged down my sides again. I closed my eyes. This wasn't helping! I should tell him to stop, that it was just too far this time, but I couldn't force the words between my lips. "No, I should be sorry."
I looked back at him. Rational thought wouldn't be my strong suit at the moment, so I kept my response short. "It's fine."
"It's not fine." Both of Chris' hands curled as he picked me up again. He leaned back, and his sizeable rudder-tail swung into view. I flipped between his legs where he lay, half as thick as the rest of his body. He set me down again, this time laying over his tail, with my own brush wagging over his belly and crotch.
I gulped. Fur pushed against bare skin again, I was still peeking out. "Chris, you shouldn't..." His fingers pushed and tugged at my rump, moving me side to side. "If you're not careful, you're going to."
He stopped momentarily, and he pushed himself up to his elbows in the sand. One hand shot down and wrapped around my muzzle. "Shhh, foxy. If you're too loud, everyone will see." One of the gears in my mind slipped a cog. Was he really talking about...
The remaining hand pushed at my rump again, and I felt my tip catch as it slid over the base of his tail, just where his legs were spread to either side and his tail met his body. I gulped, recognizing the feel of bare skin on skin. The pucker at the base of his tail slid slickly against my tip as he made sure he'd manoeuvred me to the right spot. Warmth spread from the otter as he pushed me down against the base of his tail. He slowly loosened the fingers around my muzzle, and I flicked out my tongue. It slipped between his fingers and dragged up the webbing between them.
"Huh..." I gulped. "Chris, I..."
"Shush, foxy." He repeated, and this time I obeyed. Instead, I hugged myself to his thick tail. His fingers slid beneath my tail, and with a half-concealed gasp from me, they touched and prodded at all of the places the otter had always avoided. He slid a fingertip across one stretch of fur, and I shuddered. He rolled my balls around on his palm, and I wet the area under his tail with slippery pre. Then one of the otter's short fingers pushed under and in, and I throbbed.
There was a single moment of resistance, followed by a moment of smooth friction. I wriggled in disbelief, but it was real. I felt silky walls clutch around my length, rolling and slipping with each minuscule movement of the otter's hips. I heard him gasp, the first of his own that I'd caught. His thighs clenched to either side of my body, and I felt that silky hole squeeze around me in a languid wave.
"Oh... Foxy..." He whispered. If my ears hadn't been aimed back towards him, listening for every stutter of breath, every hitch in his throat, and every concealed gasp, I would have missed it. The finger prodding at my own tail end slid free as the hand patted over my rump. One finger slid beneath my rump, tapping at my sheath as he felt around the edges. His smooth fingerpads prodded at the sides of my shaft where it sank into his clenching tail end. I smiled and turned my head to the side so I could watch. I pushed up very slightly, and just the barest glimpse of my pink shaft shone out from between where my creamy white belly fur met his toffee brown. His finger curled and squeezed, feeling at where our bodies met as if he didn't believe it himself.
In a moment of clarity, I dropped my hips again and glanced around. The rest of the beach seemed occupied with themselves, chatting or cuddling or heavy petting on beach towels and picnic tables, spread across the small plot of sand. None of them were watching. I curled my tail down, hiding the otters hand as it ducked beneath my thighs. Even though it was a public beach in every sense of the word, Chris wasn't a public otter. I'd help him break the rules, just this once.
So it was to my shock when he curled his hands under my sides again and lifted me. He gathered my paws under his forearms and supported my weight. My front came up first, letting his tail flop back down to the sandy beach. Then my hind end lifted up, just a few inches at a time. Slick walls tugged at my flesh, inch by inch, until just the very tip of my length still spread the otter's tight pucker. I squirmed, but he was insistent. With my body cradled up off the ground, just my length dangled down between his steady arms, caught in his grasping tailhole.
I looked around, almost guilty in my embarrassment We'd been noticed. Aaron was watching, definitely. He was always the first to see when there was something happening. Then M'Fala and the girls looked up from where they lay in a pile of feline fur down by the water. Then Loki and his fox looked, then Foriss too, sneaking his eyes open as he faked sleeping on the hot sand. Conversations fell silent. It wasn't just sex, that happened often enough on the beach. It was Chris. Friendly, caring, smart, and innocent Chris, with legs spread wide and the fox held in a passionate embrace. I met their eyes and time seemed to stop. Some of them would be amused. Some of them were turned on, I could see their interest. Some few might even be jealous. But each and every one was watching. I had my audience now; every eye was on us.
Then time began again, and the hands holding me up slid me down. Tight flesh raced up my length, squeezing and gripping with oily-slicked muscles. I shivered and moaned, and Chris matched my voice moan-for-moan. The evil otter, I could almost imagine he'd planned this. As the final step of his constant teasing, the ultimate play for his all-too-hot mannerisms, he'd thrown me into my scene, playing every bit of my kink and interest for all it was worth. Outwardly, I blushed under the gaze of the beach's collected population. Inwardly, I gloried in every second of it. It was just as much a mind game as it was an exercise of the bodies.
That's fine, Mr. Otter, I thought, almost loud enough for him to hear. If you're going to play this for all it's worth, then so am I!
When my feet touched down again, I wriggled out of his grip. He giggled behind me as I hugged myself tight to his tail, grinding my hips hard against the oh-so-smooth tail slit. Then with my forepaws pinning the muscular tail's tapered end, I stood my hindlegs on his thighs and lifted my hips. His insides tugged at me as I pulled back out, and a soft squelching noise echoed across the beach as if all other noise had been extinguished. I watched our audience, and with their enraptured eyes on me, I wriggled my raised hips about. One by one, I lifted my hindlegs so they could see the slick fox cock, throbbing and hard, as it caught in Chris' tight tail end. I pushed my hindlegs back and to the sides as I could, clearing room for everyone to see, then for their enjoyment just as much as my own, I slowly lowered my hips. That tight pucker rode up my shaft, almost frictionless on its inward slide. Just as I reached the bottom, Chris gave a breathless huff, and his hips bucked upwards to meet mine.
I heard a murmur out in the surrounding crowd and glanced up. It was Foriss. He wasn't just respectfully watching from the side now. He was propped up on an elbow in the sand. His eyes drank in every motion of my russet fur on Chris' tan, and as he gazed, his hand moved over his crotch. The buck was hard, and his fingers were playing up and down his own shaft. I'd had him before, he was just as long as he looked, and slim, so slim that it wasn't much effort to take him all. I looked him in the eyes and smiled. He half-lidded his eyes and gazed at me. I lifted the hindleg closest to him, giving him uninterrupted view of my full range of equipment as I thrust. He responded with another murmured groan, and his fingers shone with liquid as he stroked.
"Now now, foxy, show off if you want, but save that enthusiasm for me." Chris muttered behind me, and I glanced back guiltily. He was smiling, wide and teasing. He was enjoying this! He'd spent years of time in private here on the beach, staying out of the lime-light as I danced out to bask in the public's gaze. I knew that look though. He was getting off on it now, just as much as I always did.
If he was going to share the spotlight, then I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him gasping and squirming, just like he had me doing now. I had the sudden urge to see his short tapered shaft, the one I'd been so careful to not call attention to every night before. I curled my tail to the side, as I thrust again, and with my head to the side, I caught just a hint of pink. I smiled, proof that he was enjoying this as much as I was. I curled my tail, brushing against it.
"Come on, Chris, let's see some of your own enthusiasm here, then." I whispered at him. I knew everyone could hear me anyway, but that didn't bother me. The insides of his ears colored a bit, but he made a grab for his crotch almost without thinking. I knew what he was feeling, the giddy drunk haziness of making a spectacle. All of the eyes on us battered down the rest of his inhibitions, and his hand move shamelessly over his shaft.
"Here, foxy, let me borrow this for a moment." He tugged at my tail. I felt it curl once, then twice, as he wrapped it around his shaft. I tried to wag, and the brush twitched in his paws. Just the hint of pink peeked from above the dark ruddy fur of my tail. Chris let out a loud gasp and a thin spurt of liquid wet down my tail fur, sticking it together in thin spikes.
With him content to stroke and rub against my brush, I began the rolling of my hips again. His slit rode across my length from tip to knobs. He let out a chirp, short, sharp and piercing. I let out a huff, low, rolling and building into a growl. His thick tail rose to meet me, slapping up against my underside. I rolled again, and he matched my thrust. Again, then once more, once every other couple seconds, then once a second until I could hear the juicy slurp of flesh on flesh as my length sank into him.
Slowly, the edges of my sight creeped in. I knew he was close, I could feel him twitching against my tail as his hands tugged at it. I wasn't going to wait or hold back. As his slick pucker slid up to my engorged knot, I hugged myself to his tail and tugged. He yelped, but I kept my grip. His tail writhed beneath me, then he gave another hard hump up against me. He even reached one hand down, pushing down at my hips as I strained. I felt a tight grip slide up over my knot, then clamp down around the base of my cock.
Stars shot across my vision and a soft thrumming hum built in my ears. Without my conscious control, my body bent and clenched. A long shudder ran from my ears down to my spine, then raced down to my tail and burst. I heard him chirping behind me, a constant stream of happy otter noises. A second later, I felt a throb travel down my length, and the slick feeling of the otter's insides changed as I coated them with slippery cum. I shuddered again. I couldn't breathe with the intensity of my peak.
Every few seconds a hot rush sped from my chest down to my crotch. It felt like a peak I should somehow record, an orgasm that should somehow be saved for posterity. I know I'd be remembering it, thinking about it when I was alone, trying to relive every sensation and feeling. Chris squeezed around me slickly, the otter's silky insides twitching and squirming every few seconds.
Then, as quickly as it struck, the peak passed, leaving warm lethargy. I let out a low growl, as long as the outward breath that fed it. I felt the tie pull up and back, and let my hips be pulled along with it. I lazed on the sand, eyes half-lidded. Chris let out another chirp, this time sounding like he was just over my back. A wet spatter of liquid caught the back of my ear, then landed across my back. A second one quickly followed, as strong and wet as the first, then a third. The otter chirped out his excitement as he sprayed my back, before collapsing back into the warm sand.
Now, with the days of anticipation and frustration spent, I took the opportunity to really watch the people that surrounded us. They picked up where we'd left off, some coupling on the benches, some enjoying themselves alone in the sand, or in threes or more. Chris and I had started the night off properly, but after my peak, my only interest was crawling back into the otter's lap and enjoying the view.
So that's what I did. Twisting around so my trapped length wouldn't pull, I sat across Chris' thighs. Slowly, still sweaty and slightly sticky, he levered himself up. Fingers stroked innocently across my shoulder blades, ignoring the streaks of otter spunk that spiked my fur. We watched as our friends enjoyed themselves and each other in every way imaginable (and then some.) We basked in the glow of their happiness.
Ten minutes later, I softened enough to slip free, and did so without comment. Chris moved just enough to swing his tail back, then sat properly beneath me. Five minutes after that, I felt something throb against my flank. Chris was hard again. I considered acting on it, but decided against it. I knew I could, and he wouldn't complain, but just that knowledge was enough for me tonight. Instead I ignored it, just like I had for countless nights before. We sat together as people finished, some with a growl, some with a roar, and some silently so they didn't attract attention. We watched as they fell back in with their cliques and friends.
"So what happens tomorrow, Chris?" I ventured.
"Well, I'll be here. Won't you?" He asked with a half-smile.
"Of course."
"Then why do you need to ask?"
I hesitated. "So should I act like we never-"
"Don't act, foxy. Just be. If we do that again, then we do it again. If we don't, we don't." His smile never faltered.
"Then nothing changed, really?"
"Do you want it to?"
I gazed out over the ocean. The sun was rising with the beautiful accuracy of the composite of a thousand observed sunrises.
"No, I guess not."
*** ---- ***
(Fin! All characters in this story are copyright Kandrel and any other resemblance to other characters is only incedental and unintentional. Reposting is permissable, however, all reposts must be in original form, and must contain the author's name and this copyright message unaltered.)
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