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Desmond pushed his mower across the last strip of tall grass. Lawns never seemed so big until he was mowing them, and his flat rate of twenty dollars for front and back began to feel like an offer too generous to be worthwhile.

He let go of the lever and the engine sputtered and died. Then the fox walked wearily to the back door, pushing his mower ahead of him. His black feet were stained a splotchy green. Sweat glinted in his plush orange coat which now did its job of insulating him far too effectively. He had removed his shirt after finishing the front yard, and even then he had been soaked with sweat. The friendly boar he was mowing for had taken his shirt inside for him.

As he neared the patio, the screen door slid open and out stepped the boar. An older fellow preferring comfort at all times, he wore loose-fitting gym shorts and left the rest of his great, chubby body bare. Even then, bristling gray hair carpeted much of him, giving him a well-aged distinction which those inclined to thirst after older men could not help but notice.

The boar - name of Greg - had a glass of iced lemonade in a thick-fingered hand. He offered it to Desmond and said, "Have some of this, son. As much as you're sweating, you need some hydration."

"Thank you," the fox said with a faint smile. He quickly drained the glass, leaving the cubes clinking in the bottom.

Greg looked over his lawn. He scratched his chin, producing a coarse and bristly sound. "Not bad, not bad at all," he murmured. "Definitely better than I'd do myself. Yard work is for younger men."

Desmond grinned. "I don't like it much either. But it beats flipping burgers."

Greg grinned back. He eyed the fox and thought he was pretty. Long blonde hair, eyes like emeralds, bushy fur and narrow lines. More a boy than a man, he weighed perhaps a third of Greg. The boar eyed the foxcoon's work again, then turned to the door. "Come inside, Desmond, cool off for a moment. Let's get you paid."

"Oh, my feet are all grassy," Desmond muttered. "I can just wait outside."

The boar chuckled. He took the empty glass and shook the cubes out on the grass. "So considerate. You're not like most young men, are you? You can rinse your feet off with the hose there. Then come on inside, please."

Desmond watched the boar go. He came in after Greg once he had rinsed the mulched grass from his feet. Inside was a home kept very comfortable with air conditioning and the home itself was clean and cozy, but Desmond's nose wrinkled at the smells in the air. First was the pungent odor of cigar smoke. More subtle, but also more ingrained was a rich musky scent. The foxcoon peeked around the living room, too shy to call out.

Greg came around the corner. He handed a fresh towel to the foxcoon and had the boy's shirt in his other hand. He said as Desmond blotted his fur, "Your rate was, what, twenty bucks?"

"Yes sir," Desmond said. "It is."

The boar smiled. "You busted your ass out there, I won't let you leave without fifty."

Desmond eyed Greg, grinning shyly. "If you insist."

Greg passed Desmond in the living room. He brushed against the fox, body hair whispering against plush vulpine fur. "Excuse me," he chuckled.

"Uh, sorry," Desmond muttered. He pulled away from Greg and watched the boar. Greg walked around to the bar which was set into a cozy, somewhat darker nook off of the living room. Desmond followed after him and slid on his shirt. He did not button it.

The boar asked as he looked through his cabinet, "Care for a drink, son?"

"It's one in the afternoon," Desmond incredulously said.

"Five o'clock somewhere," Greg chuckled. "Sorry - I'm retired, I'm used to drinking when I want." He flashed Desmond his wedding band. "And I'm a lonely old man."

Desmond eyed the ring. "Oh, I'm-, uh, I'm sorry to hear-"

"Not like that," Greg snorted. "My husband works away from home sometimes, that's all."

"Oh," Desmond said, outwardly showing nothing, but he was surprised to find out Greg was gay.

Greg poured himself two fingers of whiskey. As he poured, Desmond said, "I guess pour me one too, please."

"Atta boy," the boar said with a grin. He took down another glass and poured another two fingers. He slid the second glass across to Desmond and raised his own. "To a lawn well-cut."

He and the boy threw back their shots together. Greg bore his without flinching but Desmond coughed and sputtered. Greg leaned across the bar, laughing, and patted Desmond's back. "Can't hold your liquor, son?"

"That's strong stuff," Desmond wheezed. "I don't drink much."

"Then how do you know it's strong stuff?" asked Greg with a wink.

Desmond blushed. Whether it was the booze or the questioning, even he was unsure.

Pouring himself another two fingers, Greg asked, "How old are you exactly, Desmond? Because I'd say a boy who cuts lawns for twenty bucks a piece, he can't be more than sixteen."

"I'm twenty-two," Desmond said, somewhat indignantly.

"Twenty-two," Greg tutted, shaking his head. "Well, I guess it's true - beats flipping burgers." He tossed back his whiskey with hardly a shiver and placed the glass back down. He eyed the young man who eyed him in turn. It was so easy for the old boar to picture the delicate fox writhing in pleasure, whimpering for more, please daddy more that Greg almost did not need to seduce the fox, believing the fantasy enough to crank one out. But Greg knew flesh and fur beat fantasy any time, and he was not blind to the guarded looks Desmond gave.

Stepping around his bar, Greg said, "Hope you won't mind if I make myself comfortable, Desmond, this being my own home."

His filters weakened by the drink, Desmond sniped, "How much more comfortable can you be?"

Chuckling at the remark, Greg pulled down his boxers. He watched the smirk vanish from Desmond's face, the pertness fall from his ears. "If a man can't walk around naked in his own home, what's the point of all those mortgage payments?" Greg asked. He moved closer to the fox sitting on the bar stool. The boy's eyes were affixed to Greg's loins where heavy balls hung low with age and heat, swaddled in bristling pubes. The orifice of the boar's sheath was slack like old foreskin and the penis down inside could be spotted only because of its piercing, which caught the dim light.

Looming over the fox, masculine musk rolling off of his rotund, sweaty form, Greg asked the boy: "Care to make yourself comfortable, Desmond?"

Desmond stared up at Greg. The boar wondered briefly if he had misread the fox and had just outed himself as the neighborhood creep. The fox said timidly, "I'm not sure if, uh-, I thought you were married..."

"Well yes, I am," Greg affirmed without shame. "Desmond, son, I can enjoy a little pleasure on the side and still love my husband. Don't think I'm asking you to elope with me - you're a cute kid, but a friendly fuck is a friendly fuck." He cupped the back of the boy's head gently, rolled a thumb over his scalp with slow fondness. Dug it into the ear, began to rub, and watched the fox's eyes close. It made Greg smile.

"But if you wanted to just leave, Desmond, then you can show yourself out. Not like I'm going to take your payment - or your tip - away from you. But those pretty green eyes of yours give you away, boy, and I know what you want." He cupped his balls - still holding Desmond's head fondly - and hefted them. The gray hairs bristled, scratching like dry reeds. Then he slipped a finger into the mouth of his sheath, tugged at its edges and exposed some of its rosy red walls which glinted with a fine sheen of natural lubrication.

Desmond stared at the boar's genitals longingly and kept his paws on his kneecaps. His head canted into Greg's rubbing. "I'm-, uh, I'm bisexual, but I've never been with someone as-, as old as you are."

Greg laughed. "Don't tell me a generation gap or two is going to stand between a fox and some cock."

Desmond swallowed heavily. "No. No, I guess it won't stop me. But-, um, be gentle with me."

"I'll be as gentle as I need to be," said Greg cryptically. He withdrew the finger from his sheath and brushed it against the fox's nostrils. Desmond winced at this whiff of Greg's musky stink, but he smelled the finger without pulling away, and when Greg slid it into his mouth he took it without fighting.

"Good kid," Greg whispered, sliding the finger in deep, depressing Desmond's tongue with it. "That's a very soft mouth. Nice tongue. Hope you eat ass with it - I'll match you bite for bite if that's the case. Bet you never had that cute ass munched the way I can do it."

Finally the fox cupped Greg's balls. In his small black paws their scale was massive and their wrinkled, aged flesh spilled through his digits. Greg drew back his finger from the fox's mouth and said, "Give those boys a taste, Desmond. Suck on 'em if you're a real good kid."

Despite the bristling hairs, Desmond dragged his tongue across the boar's heavy nuts. Earthy and sweaty, the scent was powerful. Greg's hygiene was not lacking and his grooming was impeccable but he relished in his vulgar scent and found deodorizing in any way distasteful. Through Desmond's sweat he smelled pretty shampoo and deodorant on the fox, but he was eager to sample the boy's ass.

"God," Desmond huffed, speaking against Greg's scrotum, "you're hairy. You're so hairy."

"Keeps the flavor in, son," Greg growled. He reached into his cigar box on the bar - rarely was one out of reach in his home - and went through his careful ritual of lighting up. When all was said and done he was puffing contentedly, and the foxcoon's tongue went on carving its way through his pubic hair, laying down slobber which webbed in the bristles. His penis, sometimes a jaded thing, had begun rising from its sheath and it dribbled thick wads of precum onto the bridge of the fox's snout, between his eyes, even into his sweaty hair.

As he exhaled a mouthful of rich smoke, Greg said to the boy, "You know how to treat a man's ballbag, very good. Now you come to a crossroads, son - will you swallow my cock, or will you dig your tongue into my hairy ass crack?"

"I don't know," Desmond shuddered, nuzzling with Greg's penis but groping the cheeks of his ass. The former proved thick and long, the latter fatty and round. "I really can't choose..."

"I'm sure I've got a coin around here somewhere," said Greg, speaking around his cigar. "But Desmond - before that. Stand up, boy."

Greg stepped back, giving Desmond room to stand. When the foxcoon was on his feet, Greg tugged at the shoulder of the boy's shirt. Desmond took the hint and pulled it off, and then took off his shorts without prompting. Greg said nothing about the boy's briefs though privately he found them cute; not every man could pull off tighty-whiteys, but he thought they looked good on the sissy foxcoon.

"And those," said Greg, his only reference to the sweat-soaked underwear.

"Um-, uh, the thing is, I'm not very big," Desmond murmured, holding his briefs at the hips.

The boar palmed his penis. A thick wad of precum was disgorged from its tip, running over the beaded end of his Prince Albert before dropping to the floor. "Around me, nobody is," the boar boasted. "Let's see that cock, son, nothing to be ashamed of."

Desmond smiled bashfully. Before he could tug down his briefs, Greg grabbed his arms. "Allow me, son. Here. Hold my cigar for me."

As he took the cigar, Desmond asked, "Mind if I try it?"

Greg, thinking of all the inexperienced cigar smokers he had watched gag themselves, cracked a grin. "You can, sure. Just don't-"

"Don't inhale, I know, sir. This isn't my first cigar." And to Greg's surprise, he smoked it just fine, even if the big brown phallus looked a bit large in the boy's mouth. That in itself aroused the boar somewhat, as did the fact that Desmond knew how to smoke at all.

"Desmond," he chuckled, "where does a pretty boy like you learn to smoke a cigar?"

Clutching it in his fingertips, Desmond said with a smile, "It's the one thing my father taught me before he went to buy cigarettes. Maybe there's some irony there."

The boar's smile leveled off, turned to a frown. "I'm sorry."

Desmond waved it off. "Don't worry about it. It seems like I have a replacement dad now."

Greg, surprised, snorted a laugh. "That's one way to look at it, boy. I'm happy to be daddy for a cute kid like you." He knelt down, not without a bit of effort, but he was active in spite of his size. Already his hunger for the fox was back in place. He tugged down Desmond's briefs, which clung to his groin and inverted like a pair of panties on an exceptionally wet vulva. As he put eyes on the fox's small, stiff penis, he said, "Look at how hard you are just from a sniff and a taste. Not nearly as small as you seem to think it is, either."

"It's big enough," Desmond huffed. "I guess."

The boar chuckled and flicked Desmond's small, pink penis. It barely waggled, so stiff and short it was. Then he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and tugged it forward, then back. He said warmly, "Intact, too. Nice foreskin. You won't be fucking anything here, but it should be fun to squeeze while I'm fucking your brains out." He leaned close and touched his face to the fox's groin. The boy's small cock prodded into his bristling beard and he heard, he thought, a shiver from the fox.

Eyes closing, hands holding shapely orange legs, Greg smelled the fox's loins - his small blonde bush in particular, yet his nostrils also snuffled cock and balls. After this brief sampling, he said to the fox, "You have a nice scent under all that shampoo, son. My advice is don't scrub so much. Clean up, of course, but let your musk breathe a little bit. You'll get a lot more attention."

Desmond said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke, "I, um, guess I'm a little nervous about being smelly."

Greg rocked back on his knees. He smirked at the foxcoon. "Why be nervous about it? I'm not."

"Well no, but you're-." The fox caught himself and his ears splayed back. He looked away from the boar's cool blue eyes.

Greg stood and took the cigar gently from Desmond. He said to the fox, "Mind the ash." As he tamped it off into a nearby glass ashtray, he chuckled, "Now, what am I, Desmond? Were you going to say old?"

"Um-, well yes," the fox murmured. "Sorry."

The boar contemplated his cigar a moment, then laid it in the ashtray. As he set it aside, he hooked an arm around Desmond's shoulders and hauled the boy in close. His sweaty armpit dampened the fox's shoulder. He squeezed Desmond and said cheerfully, "Being old doesn't change much. Clearly I've still got it if I can lure in cuties like you." Then he nudged the fox along, herding him up the stairs. He watched boy's rump closely; the stairs put Desmond's round cheeks at nearly eye level.

In the bedroom Greg stepped behind the boy. His capable arms slipped around Desmond's body and his bearded face nestled into the crook of the fox's neck. He said after a gentle kiss there, "You're a very pretty boy, you know that? Easy to mistake for a girl, if I'm being honest. It works for you."

Desmond shuddered, pushing back into Greg. He whispered, "You mean that?"

"Sure do," Greg chuckled. Hands toughened by decades of honest work slid down the fox's breast, rough fingers brushing like a soft-grit sandpaper over the softest fur the boar had ever felt. He strummed Desmond's nipples, tickled his belly. All of this the fox responded to in quiet moans and a little titter. Then he cupped the boy's genitals again and held them in a loose grasp. He licked the fox's cheek, huffed across his face with cigar-tinted breath. "I'm torn between treating you like you're made of porcelain and fucking you until you split in half. Help me pick, Desmond. What's it gonna be?"

Desmond, writhing into Greg's hot and hairy body, found himself just as stuck. He reached back, his paws clutching onto the boar's ass cheeks. "I don't know," he softly whined. "I love how gentle you're being, but-"

"But you need a strong man to put you in your place," Greg rumbled, his tusks prodding Desmond's snout. "That's what you need, isn't it?"

The fox huffed. His eyes closed tightly; a squirt of precum shot from his small penis. "God, yes. I need-, I need a daddy."

Greg grinned wide and toothy. He squeezed the fox up in his burly arms and made a few ribs pop. Desmond wheezed. "You need a daddy? I think I can fill the void for you." He let off of the fox and pushed him onto the bed. Desmond's legs hit the edge and his upper body fell against it. The fox looked back just in time to see Greg closing in; the boar quickly knelt and his strong hands clapped onto Desmond's ass cheeks.

"Let's see what my boy's got for me," Greg chuckled as he pried apart the cheeks. He gave the tight pink bud inside only the briefest look before his snout was in the crack, nostrils snorting, tongue slobbering. Desmond gasped and whined and held onto the sheets in small bony fists.

Greg's tongue slobbered through plush fur and smeared the fox's anus. Almost immediately he started to push his tongue inside, gouging Desmond's anus apart with his fat oral muscle. The sound of his rimming was wet and soupy; slobber caked Desmond's fur and Greg's beard. The boar went deeper, harder. He snacked on the fox. His tongue raked into the boy's asshole with the dexterity of a finger but the width and heat and wetness only a tongue provided. His hands squeezed the cheeks, digging in and leaving marks. Then he gripped the stalk of Desmond's tail, holding its fluff up and out of the way with a firm tug.

"Fuck-, holy fuck, you eat such good ass," Desmond cried, his face pulled into an almost pained grimace. His ears were pressed down as far as they could go and his eyes were mere slits. All his teeth were on display, jowly lips pulled up to the gums. "Fuck, fuck! You're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me cum doing that!"

Greg grumbled into the fox's ass, "Good!" The word was more felt than heard, and again the boar's tongue plunged savagely inside. He thrust it into Desmond, fucked the boy with it, made his anus gape wide around it as it swirled and slurped. One meaty hand slipped around the boy's genitals, holding cock and balls and hiding both in a gentle fist. His calloused fingers brushed Desmond's penis, the skin just abrasive enough to excite the soft-bodied fox.

Then Greg yanked back his tongue, and a gout of slobber was slung into the air in his tongue's wake. His hand previously clutching Desmond's tail now slipped into the vacated crack. In went two fingers with ease. Desmond squealed as the digits stabbed into his anus. His legs drifted far apart but his toes were curled so much so that his claws pricked his pads.

Beckoning with the fingers, Greg dragged his digits over the boy's prostate again and again. He listened to the squeals, the cries, the yelps. Precum filled his hand and he grinned, delighted by the boy and pleased by his pleasure. He dared to plunge in a third finger and he said over the foxcoon's braying cry, "I bet I could fit my whole fist inside of you, boy, you have room in this ass."

"I've never-, never been-," Desmond whined, his breathing coming in sharp hitches. His body was bucking, his asshole convulsing around the boar's fat fingers. "Fuck, oh god, oh my god, I'm cumming," he brayed as his small cock eagerly shot one rope after another into Greg's passive hand.

The boar dug into Desmond's ass like trying to keep a hole from filling with sand. He pulled at the edges of the anal ring and he pushed on the walls, attacking not just the prostate but working all around, exercising every angle of the fox's tense anal channel. He listened with pride to the squeals and cries as Desmond rode out such an intense climax.

"Oh fuck, please-, please no more, oh god I'm sensitive," Desmond squealed, but he remained anchored to the bed and his ass clenched around Greg's fingers like it never wanted the boar to pull them out.

Greg dialed back his anal teasing until he was simply caressing the boy's insides. His hand clutching the foxcoon's crotch he placed on Desmond's rear instead, holding the boy possessively and smearing the mess of semen into his vibrant orange fur.

"See what I did there, Desmond?" Greg asked in a soft, fatherly voice - but there was an undercurrent of menace, the boar savoring their disparity in age and in strength. "I made you pop without tugging your dick even once. Just took my tongue and fingers, and a little whiff of my body."

Desmond said nothing. His breathing slowly settled. Greg pulled out his fingers and the fox grunted. His anus remained somewhat gaped, though before Greg's eyes it began to snug up again even as its rim pulsed, reddened and plump from recent abuse. He leaned low and planted a fond peck on the rim, and as if giving a casual kiss to a lover, he dipped his tongue inside briefly. The fox quivered at this sensation.

"What-, um, wh-what now?" asked Desmond, not daring to look back at Greg. His cheeks were flushed.

Greg chuckled. He gave the fox a sudden clap on the ass - gentle enough, but it made Desmond flinch and cry out. "Now it's my turn, son. I don't know what kind of one-sided crap you boys are into these days, but when I was growing up, it was only fair to return the favor. Roll over."

Desmond did as he was told by rolling onto his back. His penis was nearly flaccid, though it dribbled semen still. He looked past his narrow body at the boar, whose great size seemed to surprise him again for his eyes widened briefly.

"You want me to finger you?" Desmond uncertainly asked.

The boar smiled, winked. He climbed over the fox as if he meant to ride the boy, but Desmond had his doubts. Greg's wiry pubes meshed with Desmond's much softer blonde bush and his proud cock ground sternly into the fox's soft, small penis. Leaning over Desmond, gut and moobs hanging unabashedly, Greg planted a kiss on Desmond with musky lips. He spoke lowly to the fox, "I'm going to sit on your face, and you're gonna love every second of it because that's the kind of boy you are. Now you say yes daddy, I'd love to smell your asshole, sir."

Desmond slipped his arms tentatively around Greg's fat, smothering bulk. He surprised the boar by kissing back, though Greg waited for his words to be parroted back to him. Desmond said quietly, "Yes-, yes daddy, I'd love to smell your asshole. Sir."

Greg smiled and smooched the fox. "Atta boy. And don't you be afraid to work your tongue inside, either. As far as tongues and snouts are concerned, daddy's ass is fair game."

"Um, yeah," murmured Desmond as Greg clambered over him, fat and hair brushing and bristling against him as the boar moved. It seemed to Desmond the boar was intentionally rubbing against him as much as possible; and that assumption would have been correct, as the boar loved the feel of Desmond's lavish coat.

Eventually Greg dragged his scrotum across Desmond's hair and snout. He heard a soft whine from the fox - but also some needful huffs. It only made Greg smile to know he had in his bed a whore for musk. Forward he slid, balls dragging over the point of Desmond's nose until the fat and sweaty curves of his ass cheeks hung over the boy's head like a pair of low-hanging moons. Sweat dribbled from the crack, rank with vulgar musk. Already Desmond smelled his rich, mature musk and he grappled with the boar's cheeks. Whether he was trying to hold Greg at bay or was simply being a greedy faggot, Greg did not know. Both possibilities excited the old queer.

"Here it comes, boy. Daddy's got some good, sharp musk just for his fox." Down came Greg but slowly, as the boar was well aware of his weight. Desmond's nose pushed through Greg's crack like a wedge, gliding on the boar's thick coat of sweat, and days-old musk assaulted the unprepared fox. Greg's anus brushed with the foxcoon's nostrils and from it Desmond had a whiff of Greg's sharpest musk yet, perhaps the most potent he had ever smelled. His young, soft body convulsed briefly, his paws scuttling across Greg's thighs, brushing his genitals. And then, slowly, he calmed - but he also began to huff, to desperately suck from the boar's sweaty pink rim for its ripe male musk. His small cock began to stiffen again and Greg, smirking, gave its length a tweak.

"There you go, son," he cooed. "The-e-ere you go. Just snort down daddy's stink, enjoy that smell. Haven't bathed in, what is it, three or four days now? Not much reason to when I'm all by my lonesome. Doubt you mind it too much, though. Looks like I could jerk you right off in about ten seconds if I wanted to." Another tweak; Desmond's thighs pursed and he whined quietly. Then the snuffling resumed, hungry as ever.

"You know, son, I was thinking of giving you a choice after this," he murmured, rocking back so that his ass crushed Desmond's head into the soft bed. Desmond grunted and snorted, but then began to slobber and slurp, tongue dredging the boar's deep and hairy crack before coming to the fragrant bud of his anus. There Desmond's tongue prodded and teased, and the boar clenched involuntarily. Greg took a few deep breaths to relax, then sighed pleasantly.

"Mm. I was going to give you a choice," he resumed after a beat. "I was going to let you pick what comes next - either you ride me, or I fuck your brains out. But honestly? I'm going to just fuck the shit out of you, little man. We both know it's what you need. I'll be honest, you're going to limp out of here, and your asshole's not going to close all the way for a week, but it's what you need, boy."

Greg thought he heard a noise of agreement. It just as easily could have been disagreement but the matter was closed.

"Enjoying that musk, boy?" Greg needlessly asked, as he could plainly see Desmond's throbbing penis. He pinched it, tweaked it. Then he fondled his own briefly but was bored by the prospect of masturbation when there was a fox in need of a proper reaming.

Desmond gave no answer; he was preoccupied with the great bounty of Greg's ass. His tongue pushed against the rim of Greg's anus, and with further pushes he worked in the tip of his wide tongue. Within Desmond could not only smell but also taste the musk. It was rich and earthy like sweat gone rancid, but the boar was now a drug to him, something to snort and crave.

"That's a good boy, damn good boy," Greg sighed, relaxing on his knees so that his rump sank further still. Desmond's paws skittered across Greg's smooth ass cheeks in a moment of panic, but then this too leveled off. Desmond's tongue slunk around the very entrance to Greg's ass, and then it pulled back only for the fox's lips to wrap around the rim. He suckled Greg's asshole and the boar moaned, arched his back, and squirted a thick wad of precum from his pulsing cock.

"Ooh, that feels great," Greg groaned, impressed by the boy's ingenuity. But Greg was hungry and the time for Desmond's reaming was well past due. He reached back and palmed Desmond's head softly. He said to the fox, "That's enough now, son. It's time for that fucking I promised you."

Desmond whined as Greg pulled away his ass. He followed the boar, trying to steal sniffs, once pecking a kiss on one of the boar's broad, hot ass cheeks. Greg chuckled and paused at the edge of the bed. He patted his rump and said to Desmond, "All right. One more snort, and then I want to see that ass up in the air, boy."

"Thank you so much, daddy," Desmond cooed, and the title made Greg smile. Desmond crammed his snout into Greg's ass crack - he did not bother to spread them - and his nose mashed into the boar's slippery, sweaty rim. He sucked in a few snorts, and then he sat back, shuddering and masturbating.

"You're a good kid," Greg fondly said, giving Desmond's mussed hair a ruffle. "Now just give daddy a moment."

Desmond watched Greg's wide, pink ass with love and lust as the boar first took a cigar from a box atop the dresser and lit it with care. Then he bent over and reached into the bottom drawer of his dresser. He took out a long white tube which reminded the fox of industrial things like caulk or epoxy. But when the boar came back and generously squeezed some of the contents onto his fingers, it was clear to see that it was thick opaque lube. The tube proudly proclaimed it to be the finest fisting lube available anywhere.

"Ass in the air now, son," Greg said around the cigar. "Daddy's gotta get you all lubed up. With this stuff, you'll be so slick you could fit a bowling ball in there. And by the time we're done," he watched as his boy rolled over and pulled up onto his knees, "that's how you're gonna feel, too."

It was with much care and excess that Greg lubed Desmond. His fingers slipped inside carrying fat dollops of lube; the liquid smeared across the boy's saliva-soaked asshole easily, making the reentry of Greg's thick digits painless. The fox softly moaned, and Greg, unable to help himself, gave the boy's prostate the briefest rub as he caked on the lube.

By the time Greg was through, Desmond's anus and the fur surrounding it gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The boar added yet more lube to his fingers then stroked his penis, which was still entirely erect. After several caking strokes from head to balls, Greg tossed the closed tube aside, tamped the ash of his cigar off into an ashtray on the nightstand and clambered over his adopted boy once more.

The boar grumbled as his gut came to rest on Desmond's back, hemming in the soft brush of the boy's tail. His cock poked at Desmond's ass cheeks and he guided it between their plush curves. Sixty-two years on the planet had taught Greg how to fuck a boy by touch alone; he did not need to check and see if he was against the fox's asshole. He pressed against its thickened, loosened rim and Desmond crooned and arched his spine.

"That piercing," he whispered, "is it gonna hurt?"

"On the contrary, little man," Greg said around his cigar. "It's for my pleasure and yours. You just hold onto the bed, you're in for one hell of a ride."

Greg pushed into Desmond smoothly and slowly, cock gliding on the lubricant just as intended. The barbells of the piercing ground against the fox's anal walls, smooth enough to brush, not catch; Desmond loosed a low, shuddering moan as the fat boar entered him. His ears splayed back and he crooned to Greg, "Oh fuck yes, that's it..."

"Desmond, I'm not given to stereotyping," he said between puffs, "but you're just about the most foxy fox I've ever had my dick in." His burly arm slid around the fox, pulled him in close to fatty flesh and wiry hair. His cock bottomed out in the fox. His balls, dangling low though they were, did brush with Desmond's smaller, fuzzier sack. Thick wads of precum disgorged regularly into the fox, spreading warmth deep inside, and he said close to an ear and around the cigar, "I'm gonna pound you now, son. Might hurt a little bit. But I'm your old man and I think I owe you a little bit of tough love."

He squeezed Desmond, giving just a moment of reassurance to tell the fox he was in capable hands. Then his hips drew back - slowly, but there was an energy in the boar's body, almost an anxiety that the fox could feel in the tensing of muscles and the brief catch of the boar's breath. Like driving a post into cold ground, Greg rammed into the fox. Desmond cried out, his body bunkering, fists gripping the bed. Tears sprouted at the corners of his eyes and he knew, with a word, he could have made the boar stop. He had no intention of asking daddy to do such a thing. Instead he hissed, "Oh-, holy fuck!"

Despite his size and his age, Greg still had the stamina of a young buck. He fucked his fox with quick and vicious thrusts which made his balls slap with Desmond's own. The quality lube prevented any and all friction but the sheer, throbbing girth of Greg's cock in Desmond's demure ass caused the fox great sexual pain. With each slamming thrust, Greg gouged open the foxcoon, savagely reaming the boy. Beneath the bed creaked with the heaving motions of Greg's heavy form. Around his cigar the boar huffed, "You take it, boy, you take what daddy's giving."

Greg pushed all his weight onto Desmond. The fox gasped as his arms wobbled, then gave, and he fell forward onto the bed. Greg hemmed him inside like the top half of a bun. Still the boar's hips moved with a nearly industrial viciousness, the great and fatherly swine unleashing all his pent-up lust onto a boy who could take, and in fact needed such a savage pounding. He supported his weight on his elbows just enough that his boy could breathe, but he kept Desmond pinned, kept the foxcoon aware of just who was in control.

"Love it, boy, I know you love it," Greg hissed around the cigar, now sporting quite a cap of ash. It tumbled onto the bed, jostled free by his sharp thrusts. It was not the first or last time for that particular bed sheet.

"I do, I do!" Desmond squealed, and he was indeed crying but everything about his body language screamed for more. He was tight around Greg, anal muscles gripping like a fist. Greg guessed rightly that the fox had a raging erection.

Hips slapping, nailing Desmond down into the bed, Greg made free use of what was his - what had been offered and given by the daddy-hungry fox. He fostered a shallow love for the fox, this enterprising young man who worked hard but needed a father figure in his life. He thought he might keep the boy around; keep giving him work to do, spend time with him doing more than just yardwork and savage anal sex, but there would be plenty of both.

Pulling back sharply, Greg freed his cock and caused Desmond a stab of pain which the fox voiced immediately. Greg pushed off of the bed and lifted Desmond onto his paws and knees again, speaking gently to the fox, telling him what a good boy he was. There was no menace in his voice: he was proud of his boy and he made it clear. Desmond, whining, anus throbbing, put himself onto paws and knees with tail hiked high.

"Please, daddy," he bleated. "Finish inside me?"

"There was never a question of that, son," Greg warmly said as he stood up on the bed, squatting and grabbing his boy by the hips. Without even a bracing hand he pushed his cock back into the fox, spurring a groan from Desmond; the boy's cock spurted clear, thin precum onto the bed.

Hunkered over the foxcoon, back hunched and legs bent, Greg had a posture which was very nearly bestial. Still puffing, sweat rolling off of his hide, the boar fucked his foxcoon now with a ferocity the boys never seemed to anticipate from such an old boar. Though Greg was old, a senior in fact, his heart was perfectly healthy, his lungs just fine, and his muscles were dense and mighty after a lifetime spent working hard and power lifting. All in all he was a terror in bed; he fucked Desmond with everything he had to give, his hips moving with vicious speed, his nuts hanging low and swinging like a big meaty hammer. The room stunk of his rich, manly musk and Desmond's squealing and whimpering cries filled the house.

On and on Greg went, the boar nothing if not an enduring lover. Sometimes even eager masturbation could take him an hour. Sex with a yowling boy in need of fatherly love was far more stimulating than porn, but even then, Greg had fucked many a tight ass and throat; Desmond's pleasures were wonderful but nothing new. He had to work for his climax.

"God-, oh gawd," Desmond blubbered, his face in the bed but his ass held high. His leg twitched as if were a dog getting a good belly rub. His cock twitched and pulsed and then it shot a thin and watery rope of semen, then a few more, all of this without fanfare. Greg however felt the tightening of Desmond's anal muscles and he grinned around his cigar, delighted by his boy's release.

Once again Greg pulled his cock free of the fox and a wet, sharp pop came with it this time. Desmond shrieked with pain and he grimaced against the bed. "That-, that fucking hurts," he whined.

"I know it does, boy," Greg said, fatherly and kind, "but it's the kind of love you need right now. You begged for a daddy in your life, don't forget." He tamped off the ash in his tray as his cock throbbed, leaking precum onto Desmond's upturned ass. Its length was magnificent: fat and pink and busy with plump veins. Lube and precum blended together on its shaft.

Greg sat on the bed now, his back against the headboard and rump on the pillows. He called his boy over and Desmond came. He beckoned Desmond into his lap and the fox obeyed. Then Greg took his hips in meaty hands and he impaled the foxcoon once more. Desmond groaned a weak, almost miserable noise, but there was a twitch in the boy's flaccid cock. His paws brushed across Greg's hairy chest and he moaned, "Please, no more, please... I'm worn out, I'm so sore..."

"Let daddy finish," Greg said, his voice both warm and stern. "You came twice and I haven't even shot once. I think you're being just a little bit inconsiderate, son."

"I-, sorry. I'm sorry, daddy," Desmond murmured, leaning against the boar.

Greg took out his cigar a moment and smooched Desmond between the eyes. "It's all right, boy. You're taking this well, I can tell you. A lot better than the last boy did." In went the cigar again and Greg held fast to the foxcoon's hips. If Desmond expected to ride Greg, he found himself mistaken; the boar bucked up into the fox, moving still with an energy the young and rather athletic fox found astonishing. His cock plunged deep into Desmond no less savagely than when the boar had been on top; only now the foxcoon could cling to Greg, and cling he did, burying his face in the wiry carpet of hair on Greg's chest.

On and on went the sex in this new position, Greg pounding the fox, hoping privately to finagle a third orgasm out of the foxcoon. He himself was beginning to feel haggard - but not altogether exhausted. He could have gone the rest of the day, if he paced himself, but he was getting close finally. He even let the fox know when he whispered around his cigar, "Daddy's about to fill you up, son."

Greg expected a reply of relief, if he got one at all, but Desmond surprised him: "Oh, please. Please cream me. I need it."

The boar squeezed his boy's hips tightly, almost certainly causing a little bruising but the fox was taking it so well. His eyes rolled back and closed; he shuddered and grunted, almost bit through his cigar. Greg pushed into Desmond twice more, then he pulled the foxcoon down as his hips also fell. His body quaked as his nuts drained, thick white ropes still fertile and very hot slopping into Desmond's gaped and broken anal passage. It drizzled out of the plumped and reddened ring of Desmond's anus but still filled the boy so thoroughly that he moaned and clung onto Greg, thanking him with tears in his eyes and ears splayed fully back.

"Good boy, good boy," Greg grunted, holding the fox now in a one-armed hug, his other hand tamping off the ash again. Though the cigar now sported some rather deep teeth marks, it still smoked fine. He pecked his boy between the ears before mouthing the cigar again. "Enjoyed yourself, didn't you, boy? You needed that."

"I did, I really did," Desmond shuddered. "Thank you, daddy."

Greg grinned. There was nothing dirty about it, only happiness and fondness. He ran a hand gently down the boy's back, savoring the plush orange fur, the supple lines of a young and trim body. His hand came to the rump and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sure my grass will need to be mowed again next week."

Desmond pulled back enough that he could look the boar in the eye. He did so with a smile, his expression foxy yet visibly exhausted. "Actually," he said with a hint of slyness, "I thought tomorrow I'd come trim. Bring the weed wacker."

The boar chuckled. He offered the boy his cigar and watched, proudly, as Desmond puffed comfortably from it. "You sure you'll be up to yard work tomorrow? I think you're gonna have trouble just pushing that mower home."

Desmond exhaled some smoke, then kissed Greg. He said as he handed the cigar back, "I do feel pretty weak. I think I could just stay here for the night."

Greg chuckled. "I am famous for my aftercare. I'd like having you here." He kissed his fox and he said warmly, "You're a good kid."

"And you're a good daddy," Desmond replied, and leaned again on Greg, eyes closing. "You're a real good daddy."