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Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Inside the mountain cabin Minerva stirred a pot of venison stew. She brushed a wayward lock of golden blonde hair from a white furred cheek and jerked once again to swat at an annoying fly. Tanned hides hung from the beams above and a warm fire crackled in the old stone hearth. The walls were made of rough-hewn timbers fused together with a mixture of mud, sand, and grass, which kept the coldest winter blasts at bay. One small window had been fitted with glass panes and because they were a luxury, she kept them sparkling clean.

The primitive abode was a drastic change from the enormous ranch house she had grown up in. There were no more parties or barbecues to excuse the purchase of a new silk dress.

Gone were the days when she and her sister, Mona, would spend hours bathing in copper tubs filled with luxurious, hot, rose-scented water, and Carmencita, the housemaid, would curl their hair with irons. How they used to tease each other and pretend to fight over hair ribbons and petticoats.

How proud Papa had been that both his daughters were not only the prettiest minks in Nevada but the best shots, and next to Rex, the foreman, the best horseback riders in the county. Papa had taught them everything he knew about breeding and raising cattle, and given them the managerial skills to do so successfully.

He often joked about the kind of man it would take to tame one of his daughters. Not only were they smart and pretty, but they were every inch--a woman.

How well Minerva knew that! As her body had blossomed into the soft, rounded curves of a woman, her desires had grown with them. Many times she had been forced to walk in the cool evening air to chill the fires that burned within her.

Now it seemed that everything inside her was dead, and it was useless to dwell on the past and the way things used to be--the way she used to be.

She liked this time of afternoon when only the sound of the tumbling waters from the nearby stream broke the stillness. She took care not to splash her doeskin skirt or the tattered lace camisole she wore, for they were all she had.

Suddenly the bolted door was ripped from its hinges as a gigantic boot kicked through the wooden planks. Minerva whirled from the old stove and gaped at the dark hulk of a wolverine filling the doorway. A lit cigarette dangled from his parched black lips as he cocked one of the twin hammers of his double-barrel shotgun and aimed it at her half-exposed breasts.

"What's it gonna be, Minerva?" His guttural voice boomed like breaking granite.

Minerva stood frozen, thinking it impossible that Creego had found her. She had been so naïvely certain that she had lost him at the Amargosa River during the winter of 1877. Would his pursuit of her never end?

From the shadow of a broad-brimmed Wasey, baleful yellow eyes glowed demonically as they prowled over Minerva's comely young form with feral savagery. When his gaze captured hers again did the dread and hatred he saw brewing within her sea green eyes stoke the malevolent fires that burned in his decayed soul.

"You can die two ways, angel. Quick like the tongue of a snake, or slower than the molasses in January." He then thumbed back the other iron hammer of his shotgun with a deathly click.

Minerva found her bravery and her voice at this. "It's October," she venomously spat.

"I'd kill ya, goddammit, if it was the Fourth of July!" Creego lashed at her in a spittle-flinging rage, snarling through his awful, oversized canines. "Where is it?"

Minerva watched as his insidious amber eyes scoured the squalor of the cabin, then zeroed in on the saddlebags that hung over the post on the bunk. A side of his basilisk mouth crooked upward in an ugly half-grin as a growl rumbled dangerously in his craw. With a commanding jerk of his weapon, Creego ordered her away from his quarry. "Git over thar!"

Minerva scampered aside as the towering umber-furred wolverine stalked past her, the fetid reek of him watering her eyes and making bile rise in her throat. The lethal end of his shotgun never lost its sight of her as he made his way across the tiny dwelling, his spurs jangling a foreboding tune to his heavy footfalls. He collected the saddlebags and with great ease lifted the swollen leather satchels by the sash, testing their heft in his meaty fist. Gold coinage chimed melodiously from within the bloated pouches. A low, satisfied growl thrummed deep inside Creego's barreled chest as he slung the saddlebags over his massive shoulder.

"You got what you came for, now get out!" Minerva spat at him, fire branding her words.

Slowly Creego turned, his grisly, bearlike face splitting into a fearsome grin that made an icy fist clench in the pit of Minerva's stomach. "Not quite." He canted his shaggy head and spat out his cigarette, his purple, mottled tongue slipping grotesquely between his rubbery black lips. "Take off them rags."

Aghast, Minerva recoiled; but before she could even begin to conjure a protest, Creego raised both shotgun barrels to point directly at her head. "Do it!" he bellowed. "Or I'll blow yer pretty li'l head cleeeean off."

It was then that Minerva realized what else the vile bastard wanted. Perhaps that was what he truly wanted all along.

"C'mon!" Creego snapped testily at her defiance, and would brook no more.

Slowly, submissively, Minerva bent at the waist, her lithe fingers reaching for the lacings that kept the doeskin skirt fitted around her shapely hips. As she leaned her heavy breasts nearly spilled out of the front of her camisole, looking ever so lush and ripe.

Creego watched, crazed lust blazing in his ravenous eyes as silvery strands of saliva seeped from his gleaming, yellowed fangs.

Minerva peeled apart the slit of her skirt, baring to the fiend one long, beautifully slender leg. Through tendrils of unkempt blonde hair, Minerva's eyes covertly angled upward to spy him. When she saw how wholly consumed Creego was in his own bestial depravity did her hand creep surreptitiously for the dagger that was strapped high on her thigh by a garter, out of his view.

In one graceful movement, Minerva grabbed the dagger's hilt and flipped it underhand. A silver flash streaked through the air and sank deep into Creego's gut. The shotgun fell from his hand with a clatter and the giant wolverine quickly followed as he dropped thunderously to his knees. Minerva approached and bore deep into Creego's bewildered eyes, watching with damnable relish as the luminescence of life dulled within their horrid golden glow. His last dying breath Creego spent on a swear before toppling to the dusty wooden floorboards like a freshly cut pine. With trembling hands Minerva threw on a doeskin poncho and retrieved the precious saddlebags from under the outlaw's corpse.

That was the end of Creego, she thought, the wolverine who had killed her father, raped and murdered her sister, burned down her ranch, shot her dog...and stole her Bible.

She didn't feel the first pang of guilt over the murder she had just committed or the shotgun she pilfered off Creego's rotten carcass. Carefully she stepped out into the blazing afternoon sun. She cocked the gun and scanned the area, on guard for any inexplicable movements. She bolted for her horse, which was tethered near Creego's mount. She held the reins steady and gripped the sides of the horse with her firm white thighs. Creego had come alone, she knew, but if there was one law in the west... bastards had brothers.

Who seemed to ride forever...

Galloping over the badlands, Minerva suddenly reined in her horse as she approached the end of the gulch. There in front of her were four matching stallions thundering down the gorge. The riders wore identical ankle length dusters, dark hats, and bandannas to shield them from the blowing winds and dirt. Simultaneously they pulled up short and squinted into the sun behind her.

Minerva glanced over her shoulder, focusing on the high ridge. The silhouette of a tall man cast a menacing shadow on those below him. From the erect manner he sat the horse and the particular tilt to the brim of his hat, Minerva knew in a flash it was her beloved Wilford.

Wilford Wolfe was her man, for she had claimed him two years ago when she had willingly given herself to him. It had been on the night of one of her father's infamous barbecues at the end of roundup season.

All day long the cooks had roasted and basted two whole steers over open pits. There were mountains of corn-on-the-cob, fresh green beans, and cooked okra; pots of beans and chili, and baskets of sweet cornbread. Homemade pecan pies, peach cobbler and strawberry ice cream were made especially for the festivities.

The Mexican tiled patio with its huge oak in the center was decorated with colorful lanterns and round clay pots filled with red geraniums, Minerva's favorite. A five-piece band played music while the guests danced beneath the wisteria arbor overhead.

Minerva had spent over a month with Carmencita making her dress, which was a copy of a Worth original from Paris. Minerva had ordered the scarlet silk satin from Zootopia along with the wide lace she used for the sleeves. The dress was cut square across the breasts, with a tight-fitting waist. The skirt gathered in folds over the bustle in back, which gracefully fell into a train. The short puff sleeves she lined in the lace as well as the back of the train, using two layers of lace along the hem in front. When the dress was finished, she stood in front of the cheval mirror appraising herself.

Something was not quite right, though Carmencita, proud of her needlework, disagreed with her. It didn't take Minerva long to realize what was wrong with the dress. Two nights before the party, Minerva secreted herself away in her room and did not emerge until morning, when she successfully lowered the neck by a full three inches. Now when she wore the dress, everyone would know that Minerva had indeed grown up.

Never had she felt so womanly, so sensual. She spent hours in her toilette, creaming her white fur with rosewater and verbena. She wore ruby studs in her round ears, a gift from her father last year on her seventeenth birthday. Around her neck she wore a scarlet satin ribbon with her mother's cameo. Her voluminous blonde hair glistened like finely spun gold. As Minerva stared at herself in the mirror, she wondered if it was the dress or had her eyes altered somehow in the last few days, for they had acquired a sparkle she'd never seen before.

Mona stood aghast in the doorway, the white mink a vision in pink and burgundy satin. "Minerva, what have you done to your dress!? Papa will murder you flat on the spot!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Minerva's chest swelled with pride, and the strain nearly split the satin. "If I'm to die, then I shall live life to the fullest tonight! What do you say to that, little sister?"

Mona shook her head, her strawberry blonde curls dancing merrily over her bare young shoulders. "It's your life," she said, and giggled mischievously. "You want to live it as short as a snowflake in blazes, why you go right ahead, Minerva."

"Why thank you kindly, little sister. I just knew you'd approve." Minerva giggled cheekily at her sister from the mirror's reflection. "Now you go downstairs first. I want to make an entrance."

"Those will make an entrance before you do, Minerva," Mona retorted as she glared at her sister's overflowing décolletage. "Oh, I almost forgot what I came up here to tell you! You know that man Papa was talking about? Wilford Wolfe--who snatched up the old Lasseter ranch when they went bankrupt last spring?"

"Yes, yes," Minerva said, exasperated with her sister's sense of the dramatic.

"Well, he's here! Right in our very own parlor! Can you imagine the nerve he has showing up here when he knows every rancher in the territory hates him for forcing the Lasseters out in the cold."

"Really, Mona, I hardly think he did that. Mr. Lasseter lost his ranch all by himself. It wasn't Mr. Wolfe's fault at all. Still," she said pertly, "it sure takes a lot of guts for him to be here tonight."

"Minerva! Your language has got a lot to be desired, and it's not fitting of a young lady to talk the way you do. But don't you worry, I won't tell Papa. You're gonna have your hands full explaining that dress."

Minerva picked up her lacy fan, checked herself one last time in the mirror and started toward the door. "I can handle Papa. And as for some old geezer who bought the Lasseter ranch--"

"That's just it! He isn't old at all. I'm not quite sure if he's even in his thirties yet. 'Course you're a better judge at that than I am." Mona said, deferring to the year in age between them.

"Well now, Mona, I'm surprised at you! You sound as if you were taken by this man, despite your view of his jaded character."

Mona flashed an amused smile at her sister. "You'll see," she said, and swished her skirts as she turned and went downstairs.

Minerva adored her little sister dearly but believed she had a great deal of maturing ahead of her. As Minerva reached the landing she marveled at the decorations Carmencita had made.

The banister of the curved staircase was draped with garlands of woven vines and wild flowers. Below her in the parqueted reception area were blue and white porcelain crockery filled with pink begonias, and baskets of pink geraniums hung from the beamed ceilings above. Black wrought-iron floor candelabra held fat white candles that cast a romantic glow about the spacious main rooms of the ranch house.

Minerva started down the stairs, noting the familiar faces of their neighbors and friends. At the base of the staircase, her father was talking to a man she had never seen before.

He stood under the soft caress of a dancing hall candelabra, a handsome pale gray timber wolf; his long white mane draping down the sides of his stark lupine face giving him an untamed, Scandinavian appearance. He was tall and strapping, with broad shoulders and a torso that narrowed into muscular flanks. He wore a black frockcoat, white ruffled shirt, and string tie. Never had she seen a man's trousers fit that snugly!

When her father glanced up the stairs and saw her, his jaw dropped in astonishment. The gray wolf, noting the elder mink's reaction, followed his gaze. It was then that Minerva's eyes locked with the stranger's.

They were the color of bluebonnets in the spring, a blue so vivid they mesmerized her. His mustache was trimmed thin, and beneath his sensual lips parted in an approving smile. She watched how his eyes seemed to access every inch of her, lingering a bit too long and too leeringly at her bosom. She felt her heart pound and her nipples harden against the thin silk of her gown. An unfamiliar excitement stirred within her and she found herself smiling back at him. Boldly, she continued to stare into his bright blue eyes.

Her father walked up and took her hand, and, though he kept smiling, she knew he was none too pleased with her wanton display of her "charms." Minerva, still smiling at the stranger, thought it was the best decision she'd ever made in her life.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to our new guest?" she asked her father sweetly, ignoring his sideways glances.

"Of course," was all he could say. "Minerva, meet Wilford Wolfe."

"A pleasure to meet you, Minerva." From the moment he took her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon it, she knew she would be his. He straightened and returned to gazing into her eyes. "Truly a pleasure."

Her smile couldn't have been more radiant, or her passions more inflamed. "Likewise, Mr. Wolfe."

At her suggestion they walked out to the patio. They conversed about his ranch, the weather, anything and everything, and she introduced him to several of her guests. When the band played a particularly romantic song, he asked her to dance.

Minerva was convinced there had to be something special about a man who could elicit such strong emotions in her. As he held her in his strong arms, one moment she felt as if she would break out in a sweat and the next moment goose bumps formed under her fur.

When supper was served, Wilford disappeared for seemingly endless moments and when she saw him again, he was seated at a round table near the edge of the patio conversing with Mona!

Minerva's temper raged.

Quickly she grabbed the arm of Buster Warner, a young teal hare whose family's spread bordered her father's ranch to the south, and asked him to share barbecue with her. Buster had long been infatuated with Minerva and his constant mooning over her usually bored her to tears; yet brought about very gratifying fits of jealousy from Mona, as she had always fancied the young rabbit. Tonight, though, she intended to put him to good use. All through supper, Minerva ignored her food, keeping one eye on Mona and the other on Wilford Wolfe. Not once did he look her way, so intense was his absorption with her little sister.

When the dancing resumed once again, Minerva found herself dancing with every young man at the party except Wilford Wolfe. By midnight, her father and some of the older ranchers were discussing local politics over brandy in the salon, and Minerva had decided that she hated Wilford Wolfe for spoiling her party.

She excused herself from her last dance partner and decided to go for a walk to cool her anger. As she walked through the cool pines and listened to the wind rustle through the trees, she chided herself for being foolish. Wilford Wolfe was just a man, after all, and she could have any man she wanted. Damn him! she thought furiously as she kicked a small rock with her foot. A sharp pain shot up her shin.

"Aaargh! Night of misery!" she seethed. "Forgot I was wearing dancing slippers and not my boots!" She leaned against a tree and massaged her stubbed toe.

When she looked up, she saw a tiny red glow coming toward her. A cloud passed over the full moon closing off its light so that she could not see what it was.

"Isn't it dangerous for you to be out here all alone, ma'am?" a deep voice posed from the darkness.

Just then a ray of moonlight illuminated his face and Minerva saw it was Wilford Wolfe smoking a cheroot.

"I don't think so. It's my property, Mr. Wolfe," she answered him with crisp authority.

The tall gray wolf inclined his head and smiled, "Please, call me Wilford."

"As I was saying, Wilford," she sassed his Christian name, arms folding under bountiful breasts. "It's my property. I reckon I can protect myself."

He chuckled and flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the toe of his boot. "And who, do you reckon, will protect you from me, Minerva?" he said, his face drawing nearer to hers. He placed an outstretched arm on the tree trunk and leaned his body very close to hers.

Minerva's breath hitched in her throat at his intimate proximity. "I-I-I think I should see to m-my guests," she stammered, heat rising to her face.

"I am one of your guests," Wilford said in low, breathy tones. He placed one hand on her waist and the other on her flushed satiny cheek. Minerva nearly swooned as she began to lose herself in the torrid depths of his gold-flecked eyes.

Suddenly she bristled as the remembrance of his earlier indiscretions with her little sister reignited her scorn. "Take your filthy hands off me," she told him, struggling to escape his grasp. "I said unhand me, you hear?"

Wilford chuckled again as he held her fast, for he believed her protest no more than he did her halfhearted struggles. "And would the lady send me away if I dared to kiss her?"

Minerva stilled at his scandalous proposal. He wouldn't! she thought in alarm as she looked up at him and saw his desire, the smoldering flame that burned for her and her alone.

She tugged once more, just briefly, a show, then surrendered when he would not let her go but instead pulled her closer. In his tight embrace she relented, lifting her tiny hands not to push him away but instead to rest them upon his shoulders, feeling the hard steel of his muscles beneath her palms.

Wilford's masculine scent washed over her, filling her senses. She caught the hint of sandalwood and pine, the aromatic spiciness of Kentucky cheroot, her father's brandy, and something that was wildly, uniquely his. She felt her mouth go dry, her breasts grow heavy, and heat pool at the juncture of her thighs as his large hand sank into her resplendent curls to cradle her by the back of the head. Her lips parted, and a small, fluttery gasp escaped them when she was pulled to her toes toward his temptuous mouth. Minerva held her breath as she listened to the thundering of her heart in her tiny round ears.

When his lips met hers it was a gentle touch, as if he were exploring the territory for gold and was unsure if he had found it. Then, more hungrily, his lips pressed firmer against hers, deepening the kiss into one of fervent wanting. Minerva's eyelids closed, and behind them she saw white and blue streaks of lightning. A sharp, sweet spear of sensation pierced through her body as Wilford's mouth continued to move sensually over hers. A whimper rose up from within her as she melted against his powerful frame, and soon all of the silly misgivings she harbored against him were instantly forgiven and quickly forgotten.

Arms like bands of iron pulled her tightly against him as he kissed her soft, trembling mouth until she was quivering all over. His tongue stroked the supple curve of her bottom lip, taunting her to open up to him. Daring her to match him.

Kiss for kiss.

And she did, for suddenly he was all she craved. All that she'd been missing. She opened up to him and reveled in the heat and taste of his mouth, the texture of his tongue twirling with hers, their bodies twining together. The pleasure of touching him, of him touching her, made her shiver all over with dreadful yearning.

This must be lust, she sent to herself, for surely desires this exciting and wonderful could not be anything but evil.

He lowered his head and nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply of her camellia perfume. He branded her throat and the heaving swells of her bosom with searing kisses. Minerva's breasts and nipples ached for the touch of his lips and the feel of his strong hands upon them. It was she who wantonly moved her hands to her bust and lowered her bodice. She heard the catch of Wilford's intaken breath when he gazed upon her naked breasts, coated in a down of creamy white softness that sheened like fine cotton in the moonglow.

"My God, you're beautiful. And every inch a woman," Wilford breathed as he filled his hand with one jutting, voluptuous breast. He squeezed and kneaded her, plucked and pulled the tiny nipple emerging through the snowy white fluff until it swelled with need, and she thought she would scream aloud from the pleasure this brought.

He took her mouth again, this time his kiss was rougher, more primal as both his big hands took possession of her breasts, molding them, pressing them upward to meet the hot demand of his mouth as he took her nipple between his lips and suckled it, hard, making her whole body burn with frenzied excitement. He tormented both her pebbled nipples this way, alternating from one turgid peak to the other, and she sagged against him, the rosy little tips tightening even harder under his tongue and lips as she shuddered and sobbed, helpless to his seething passion.

Somehow he had unfastened the back of her gown and it fell into a heap on the ground. He took off his black frockcoat and, as if she were a fragile, newborn calf, laid her gently upon it, taking infinite care to arrange her slender limbs with arms spread over her head and legs long and straight on the immaculate broadcloth. Her spill of golden blonde curls she sprawled out across the ground with her hands; one knee she cocked upward like Venus, and with her long, luxuriant tail she curled over her modesty, hiding her treasures from the wolf in a provocative pose.

With a hungered growl Wilford rose over her, and Minerva watched as he divested himself of the rest of his clothing. The light of the full moon cast heavenly highlights upon the chiseled muscles of his body as they rippled and flexed under his sleek gray fur... and she drank in his beauty. She dropped her gaze lower, taking in the magnificence of his platelike chest, powerful arms, and rock-ribbed stomach. Her eyes continued downward, to his slim hips, and long, sinewy legs, where the moonlight glistened on the prodigious red length of his unsheathed wolf cock standing upright between his thighs.

Her heartbeat skittered. With fear? Anticipation? Probably a mixture of both. He was massive. His fully aroused organ rose regally against his stomach, its crimson head moist and throbbing. It looked alive; thick, bluish veins wrapped their way along its turgid length, pulsing with its own energy. Minerva felt a moment's panic wondering how such a thing could possibly fit inside her! She shrank back in fear but at the same time was intrigued. Wilford's blue eyes gleamed with the heat of passion as he lay down next to her warm, nude body.

With his tongue and lips he blazed a trail from the tips of her fingers, down her arm, and onto her breasts. He massaged and caressed her, memorizing every inch of his claim. Down across the valley of her abdomen, around the hills of her hips and thighs he traveled. His head came to rest at the oasis between her legs, where he tasted her sweet juices.

Minerva convulsed, crying out at the tumult of sensations that exploded within her. She bucked and writhed, winding her fingers in Wilford's long white mane, holding him against the swelter of her need and praying to the Lord above he would not stop. His tongue pushed inside her, parting open the delicate folds and soothing the smooth, swollen flesh that suddenly felt feverish and taut. Her hips churned, her thighs quaked, and as the slick heat of his long flat tongue striped fully across the dewy cleft of her femininity, the world dissolved around her.

She went wild beneath him; never in her wildest dreams did she think such wickedness existed. But what wonderful, glorious wickedness! She felt wet pleasure flowing in torrents from her, felt the tremors begin deep within her core and made her arch against him, made her loose mewling sounds of exultant pleasure.

Wilford stabbed his long canine tongue into her, probing gently at first and then going deeper, reaching depths that were driving her mad. Soon he had filled her completely, his trilling, coiling tongue lashing at her most intimate recesses, lapping up the liquid essence of her desire with ravenous relish. He started darting its heated length in and out of her, collecting all of her sweet cream and hitting secret pleasure spots one after another.

All her thoughts shattered, her mind wiped clean as every nerve focused on what his skillful mouth was doing to her. He wasn't slow, he wasn't quick--he somehow found the exact tempo that would have her melting, whimpering, begging in his arms. His tongue flickered over her hooded bud once, twice, a hundred times, until she tried to lift her hips off the ground, but Wilford's strong hands held her down, pinned her where he wanted her. He licked at her, sucked at her. She screamed and undulated beneath him, unable to contain the overwhelming sensations roiling through her.

Just as she'd reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, he slipped away, simply laving the tender petals of her blossoming womanhood, that velvet touch dipping into her slick passage and adding to the copious moisture his hungered ministrations had already made. And when her breathing grew a fraction less ragged, and her thoughts began to return, he restarted the punishing process, returning to torment her until she was weeping, thrashing helplessly beneath him again.

It was heaven.

It was hell!

She was going to come apart. Never had she felt such blinding pleasure! She wanted this molten torture to go on and on, and yet every stroke of that wicked lupine tongue made her groan in frustration for--for what she did not know.

She lost count how many times he did this, but she felt her whole body were in flames, her thighs quivering uncontrollably around him as he continued his ravenous onslaught. Her feet struggled in vain, pushing up little piles of dirt in her passionate throes as she kicked and shifted, dainty mink toes curling and straining like clenching fists in the cool Nevada soil. Her head tossed to and fro, her breathing became shaky, words failing her as Wilford stroked her swollen mons harder and faster, softer and slower, and she felt all of her need coiling for him, spiraling upward, tighter and tighter to a point that almost felt like pain.

Her own tongue loosened, forming unintelligible words and high-pitched sounds with each scrape of that long rough tongue against her sacred flesh. Before long she felt the pressure mounting, fiery ripples beginning deep in her belly, at the very center of her being, and spread in ever widening waves until they consumed her utterly. Pleasure, relentless, fervent, held her in its grip as Wilford hungrily lapped and sucked, kissed and nuzzled, nibbled and chewed.

Her body began to go rigid as she rushed to her completion. It was all too much, making Minerva's green eyes roll in her head and her mouth gape open in a silent scream, the pressure in her belly about to burst. Just as she'd reached the summit, Wilford's taloned hand rose up and found her breast, squeezing it tight, pawing it roughly; and the unexpected caress was all that was needed to send her flying over the edge...

The earth stood still and in that instant she knew pure lust.

"Oh my god!!!" she screamed, crumbling as something like release, like falling, swept through her like a raging wildfire across the grasslands. Hot tears streamed from her eyes as her body shattered into a chain of uncontrollable spasms within and without, one ending, and the next beginning, and the next. Without his hand across her waist to restrain her, she drove her hips upward, almost violent in her passion--and he followed her shuddering, quaking movements; kept his mouth latched to her gushing quim until he had wrung every last drop of sweet ambrosia from her.

Minerva lay panting on the ground, a numb, trembling thing, her ample breasts rising and falling heavily atop her chest, quivering slightly as she breathed. When she came back from the ether, she found Wilford laying atop her, his chest pinning her to the ground. She brought an inquisitive hand upward and with her dainty fingertips tenderly traced the stark angular features of his canine face, lethargic in its explorations as it stroked his furry cheek, his broad muzzle, his firm black lips still glossy with her essence, until her head stopped spinning. He turned and pressed his mouth to her palm, licking and nipping at her.

She smiled uncertainly, utterly amazed. "I had no idea..."

He glanced up at the glowing young creature beneath him, his half-lidded eyes heavy with intent. "Good?"

She slowly curled her arms around his neck, a languid little smile flitting across her pink lips. "Good doesn't even come close."

Wilford's grin grew sinfully wicked. "There's more."

"More!?" Unbelievably, a coil of desire tightened her womb to a tense spring of heated wanting. The wolf was the Devil incarnate!

He moved and she felt the thick, steely length of him nestle against the opening he had made so wet with his kiss. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he ordered, nipping at her neck when she didn't obey fast enough. His arms slid around her and held her in a tight embrace. A tremulous breath hitched in Minerva's lungs as she felt the plum-shaped tip of him push into her slick passage, stopping when it met resistance.

Wilford paused and stared down at her. "I am your first," he said with wonder in his eyes.

Minerva dug her fingers into his shoulders and braced herself in his strength. "Yes," she whispered, her face burning anew.

With a feral growl, he grasped her hips and held her immobile. "Don't be scared, Minerva. A moment of discomfort for a lifetime of bliss, I promise you."

He thrust into her, taking her innocence with one swift, forceful stroke. Minerva shrieked at the sharp pain of the breaching, her red fingernails clawing into wolf fur scoring flesh; but it was over as soon as it started. She felt him throb inside her, a huge, hard presence filling her where before there had been only emptiness. He felt so very big and... heavy inside her. And so exquisitely perfect.

Wilford's face grew rigid with restraint as he paused again to look into her eyes. "Are you all right?" he said in a low, husky groan.

Her green eyes twinkled like precious gemstones as they smiled up at him, and she lightly nodded her head. "Yes, Wilford."

Minerva's body adjusted to him quickly, and when he began to move inside her, she met each thrust with an ecstatic sigh. She felt his large hands slide under her buttocks, encompassing, pressing, stroking, and squeezing their softness as he bent to kiss first one round breast and then the other, lifting her to him as he pushed deep, retreated, and pushed in again, causing the most soul-stirring sensations.

His broad chest crushed against her bosoms, the heavy globes pillowing between them, and she tried to rub them against him, tried to feel as much of him as she could. The sensation of him being inside her, her tender flesh stretched taut around his plundering phallus, was almost too much to bear.

A hungered sound ripped through Wilford's chest as his muscled body ground into hers. He covered her mouth and plunged into her, sucking, biting, laving every surface he could with his fiendishly clever tongue. Minerva closed her eyes, drowning in the wonderfully lascivious sensations he wrought upon her, each one more delicious than the next. Working her mouth thoroughly, he seized the back of her knee in his powerful hand and lifted, stretching her wide. His tongue mimicked his cock, ravishing her mouth as he ravished her body.

The strange erotic thrills she'd experienced under the tutelage of his mouth and tongue reemerged, unfolding now like ghostly fingers to strum a blissful tune along her taut nerves. His strong arms crushed her to his chest as she felt his hardened length drive into her time after time, stroke after shaft-long stroke, euphoric pleasure bombarding her as she answered his kisses and echoed his moans with wild, passionate, uninhibited ones of her own. She felt totally claimed, consumed, filled. Whole.

Yes, for the first time in her life, she felt whole.

Over and over he sank his potent male shaft into her, plunging in and out, in and out, until she thought she would ignite. Gasping and panting she clung to his hard body as he rode her, spurring her faster and faster to a beautiful, primitive ecstasy. With each meeting of their bodies, hard to soft, and soft to hard, her rapture intensified, and she knew then that there could be nothing evil about their lovemaking. Not ever. She was certain stars and meteors were exploding around. Surely it was the end of the world!

"Come for me, Minerva," Wilford urged, his voice gnarled with raw passion. "Let that sweet cunny burn."

His bulging back muscles leapt and strained under her small hands, his hips crashed mercilessly against hers. He scythed into her, her soft, pliant body screaming in savage pleasure as the edges of her vision prismed into a million bright colors. His words had her shaking, quaking with excitement, her tight, wet sheath pulsating around his thick cock as her whole body strung tight as a bow, back arching and sumptuous breasts bouncing wildly to each of his pounding, driving thrusts. As the great swell of pressure brewed like a storm inside her, every muscle within tightened and clenched, squeezing, and squeezing. Finally her desire mounted, rippling waves of ecstasy washing over her until it finally burst upon her in an all-consuming flood of unbearable physical delight.

"WILFORD!!!" His name tore from her lips in an anguished cry.

As she went limp beneath him, Wilford gave one final violent thrust, and with a carnal howl of conquest, spent his lust in a spill of hot seed deep inside her silken walls. He collapsed heavily atop her, and they both lay spent and exhausted, tangled in each other's arms, fighting for breath. Wilford's hair and fur were matted with sweat as he gathered Minerva into his arms. He pressed his furry chest against her bare breasts and held her tighter still.

"You're mine now, Minerva. And no man will ever have you except me. Do you understand?"

Minerva said nothing. Somehow his words left her feeling empty, when only moments before she had been so full. "No! I don't understand!" she said, jerking away from him and sitting upright.

Wilford yanked her arm and pulled her down on top of him. His blue eyes were fiercely intent when she looked at him.

"I love you, Minerva. Is that what you wanted to hear?" he told her. "I promise you that from this day, nothing will keep us apart. I will always take care of you and be there when you need me. I always keep my promises."

Minerva smiled. "We shall see about that, Wilford Wolfe."

Theirs had been a tempest-tossed love affair over the years. Misunderstandings, distance, tragedy, and natural disasters had kept them apart. But Wilford had been right. When Creego had laid waste to everything that was precious in life to Minerva, Wilford had promised to stop Creego and his brothers.

As Minerva sat on her horse looking at him on the ridge above her, she knew in her heart that Wilford always kept his promises.

As his horse bolted down the slope, Minerva saw Creego's brothers draw their guns and rifles. Galloping past her, Wilford whipped out a lever-action Winchester and began firing with shots that were quick and sure. The first of his bullets spun a revolver high into the air and the second blew a hole into the hat of the wolverine at the end of the line. Wilford's third shot snapped a saddle cinch, which resulted in dumping the rider. Wilford fired at the wolverine in the middle and the bullet hit the barrel of his rifle, which exploded in the feral predator's face. The wolverine's screams echoed hauntingly through the gulch.

Wilford gave chase after the remaining wolverine brothers, the fallen rider grabbing a fistful of mane and jumping his horse bareback. Minerva's heart swelled as she spurred her steed on. She was a rider in the whirlwind, as she roared away into the twees...

Judith Hopps, a light gray bunny rabbit, stared at the computer screen in front of her. Her little finger tapped the backspace key and erased the error underscored in red before her fingers swiftly clacked out the word she had meant to use: trees.

Judith saved the document and stretched her arms over her head, her stiff elbows cracking. She rolled her head and shoulders and massaged her aching neck. Minerva was certainly her antithesis, she thought, knowing her heroine would not be physically undone by a day at the keyboard. She reached over and found her "I Love Zootopia" coffee mug was empty. With customary resignation she had turned back to her work when the doorbell buzzed. She hesitated for a moment, then checked her calendar. Odd, she thought. She had no appointments for that day. The bell buzzed again.

She stood and tied the belt of her terrycloth robe around her waist. As she moved toward the intercom, she passed her exercise bike, promising herself she would use it tomorrow. On the wall next to the buzzer hung her many literary awards and the framed, poster-sized covers of her first two and most beloved romance novels, The Revengers and The Return Of Minerva Mink.

When the buzzer sounded twice more in rapid succession, she depressed the speaker button.

"Hello?"

"Judith Hopps?" the voice asked in a deep, gravelly tone.

"Yes?"

This time, a hacking cough, like that of an elderly man, answered her.

"Hello?" she said. "Hello?" At first the continued silence was unsettling, but as she continued to speak to someone who obviously was not there anymore, an eerie sensation gripped her. She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to still her nerves. She was always such a spaz when things like this happened. Self-confidence was not one of her strong suits and she no longer tried to buck it, either.

Judith crossed to the window and peered three stories down into the street. She failed to notice the ominous-looking man in a dark overcoat and aviator sunglasses climb into a waiting taxi. Judith's eyes were intent on the young lemming couple who strolled hand and hand along the sidewalk. They stopped under an oak tree that was frosted with last night's snowfall and kissed. She watched as the male took off his neck scarf and tied it around the female's face to cut the blistery cold.

They were very much in love, Judith thought, and wondered what it would be like to have a man care for her and want to protect her from the Zootopia winter. As she drew back from the window, she knew there would never be a chance of that happening to her. Judith Hopps was a spectator. She lived amid her books and maps, an antique globe, and stacks of National Geographic, observing life but never living it.

She was intelligent. That was why she knew that no worth-having man would ever take a second look at her. She possessed a great deal of control, and if her body and instincts were at war within herself, she successfully crushed them both and claimed her mind as the conqueror. Judith chose not to remember the painful moments in her life, priding herself on the stability and security of her lifestyle, never realizing that her only victory lay in the fact that she seldom met any challenges head on.

Judith let the curtain fall. On the table next to her was a photograph of herself and her sister, Hannah. Hannah stood in the foreground, a radiant smile on her lovely lapine face, and a damn-near doppelgänger of Judith were it not for the slight tinge of cinnamon brown in her gray fur coat, while Judith (Judy for short) cowered behind Hannah as if afraid the camera would steal some of her essence.

Judy and Hannah's childhood in Bunnyburrow, Kansas had been a normal and happy one. Judy's father operated a profitable little carrot farm, and in between harvesting the seasonal crops, he spent all his free time with his family. Every year Stu Hopps used his two-week vacation to tour North Animerica by car, so that by the time Judy was eighteen she had visited all forty-eight continental states. The year that the family was planning to fly to Hawaii, state #49, and Judy's first plane flight, Stu and Bonnie Hopps were killed in an automobile accident coming home from a National Farmers Union Convention.

Hannah was two years older than Judy and was enrolled at Zootopia University. Hannah "the manager," as their mother had nicknamed her, took financial matters into her own hands. She spoke to the family lawyer, arranged for the farm to be put up for sale, and insisted that Judy move to Zootopia and live with her. Together, she said, they could both continue their education, split expenses and invest their inheritance as wisely as possible. Hannah changed her major from fine arts to business, and Judy enrolled as a history and English major. Judy always marveled at Hannah's quick, realistic decisions despite her young age.

Hannah had always been the more popular of the two Hopps sisters and in high school she had been both Prom Queen and Homecoming Queen. Judy had failed to be elected even as a representative to Student Council. Judy knew that luck had nothing to do with her sister's successes, for Hannah just simply never knew when to stop trying. The few times Judy had tried to be more outgoing, she had always met dismal results.

High school had been a fairly harmless time in Judy's life. Her parents were still alive and during her junior and senior years, Hannah had been off at college. Judy and her small clique of four girl friends did most of the things that came naturally to teenagers. They snuck out of the house to attend rock concerts, went to slumber parties and drank too much beer, and went to every home football and basketball game, chasing the jocks. There were class parties and outings and lake parties in the summer. And one by one they all discovered the world of dating.

It was the summer between Judy's junior and senior years that, on a lark, her friends dared her to buy her first bikini. Sharla Woolsten's father had just installed a new swimming pool and Sharla was bound and determined that her first pool party was going to be kick-ass!

Sharla, a black wooly sheep who tended toward the plump side, had purchased a two-piece, pink-and-teal, gingham bathing suit. When Judy walked out of the dressing room at dELia*s, wearing a one-piece black suit, she was immediately booed and hissed back into the dressing room. When Sharla handed her a scandalously small red bikini, Judy pretended indignation at the idea of the two skimpy pieces of cloth, but was secretly pleased with the shapely form her body had acquired since last summer. Suddenly she had breasts, rounded hips, a flat tummy, and fabulously long, slender legs. Rather than show her friends, she stepped out of the suit and told the saleswoman she would buy it. Her friends were startled by her daring, but pleased they had finished their shopping and could now stop at Starbucks for iced lattes and frappuccinos.

The night of the pool party was warm, with a star-filled sky and soft, silky breezes that only those who grew up in Bunnyburrow can appreciate.

Mr. and Mrs. Woolsten had gone all out for Sharla's party. Picnic tables were draped with Hawaiian print cloths and centered with pots of summer blooms. Two carved watermelons were filled with fruit compote and there were barbecue, hamburgers, salad, and chicken. Washtubs full of ice and sodas sat next to the stereo that blasted Sharla's favorite rock tunes. The pool deck was crowded with over thirty of Sharla's and Judy's classmates.

Sixteen to seventeen-year-old boys have been known on occasion to be insensitive to others and overly sensitive about themselves.

When Judy arrived at the party wearing a white eyelet cover-up, not much was said about her attire. Two hours after the party had begun and every other girl had been tossed into the pool by one or more boys, Judy was conspicuous by the fact of her dry clothes. For a long while no one seemed to pay much attention, but then out of the corner of her eye, Judy noticed a group of three members of the football team whispering to each other and pointing at her.

It was Sharla who warned Judy that they were plotting against her and were fully intent upon tossing her into the pool with the rest of the girls.

Judy watched as they broke up and began circling the pool, each taking a different position, so that no matter which direction she went, she would run into one of them.

Slowly Judy unbuttoned her cover-up and placed it over a lawn chair. Watching them carefully, she turned and walked toward the diving board. By the time she reached the end of the pool she noticed that not one of them was making a move toward her and that everyone in the pool and on the deck was watching her. Now she really felt as if they were plotting against her. She stepped onto the diving board, walked out to the end, tested its spring, and walked back to the edge again. Still no one moved toward her. She took a running walk, jumped on the edge of the board, sprung up into the air, and did a perfect jackknife into the water.

She surfaced, swam to the edge and climbed out of the pool. Her girl friends were staring at her with gaping mouths. Judy couldn't for the life of her understand what she had done wrong.

At that moment, Gideon Grey, a stocky red fox and local school miscreant, burst into laughter. "Well looky here. Check out Miss All-That-And-A-Bag-O'-Chips!" he yelled across the pool. "Whaddaya think this is, Animerica's Top Model ? Who you tryin' to impress, ya dumb bunny?" The rest of the boys pointed and laughed. "Go somewhere else with that perfect princess shit, Tinkerbell!"

Judy grabbed her towel and cover-up, and raced inside the house before anyone could distinguish between pool water on her face and tears.

What Judy didn't realize at the time was that her body clad in that red bikini, coupled with the precision of her dive, made every single person present feel inferior to her. It was an incident she never forgot. Often when she wanted to buy something sensual and feminine, she would decline, remembering the party and how she had felt wretched for weeks thereafter.

During her senior year she often thought it odd that none of the boys from her own class asked her out on dates, but the boys from the nearby school did.

It was not until her sophomore year at Zootopia U, that Judy found herself in love for the first time. Early September that year had been blazingly hot. Judy had been pleased with most of her classes, except Eighteenth-Century Literature. Not only did she not like the period, but the professor was new to the university and no one knew anything about M. Midnight.

As usual, Judy sat in the front row, so she could concentrate and pretend she was alone in the classroom and not have to look over a sea of heads. When M. Midnight walked into the room, Judy blessed her proclivity for front row seats. Standing in front of her was the most gorgeous buck to hit a college school room since a young Henry Jones Jr.

M. Midnight was a tall, sable-furred jackrabbit with baby blue eyes and a little boy smile that she could tell he used often and well to melt many a female heart. That day he was dressed in summer whites, and before the class was over, he had discarded his jacket and blue silk tie. Within three hours after class, Judy had put her investigative powers to work and discovered that M. (for Max) Midnight was from a wealthy background. His family hailed from Fox Chapel, Pennsylvania; he had attended Penn State, and was working on a novel, which had been sold to a publisher from four chapters of the manuscript and a short summary. He taught this one class at Zootopia U, out of love for the period and its writers.

Judy decided that day she possessed a disdain for anything that was not born of the eighteenth century. After her fourth day in M. Midnight's class, Judy found she was having excruciating difficulty understanding the period and its particular word usages and style. She simply had to plead her case to M. Midnight.

But before she did, though, she'd paid a visit to the Zootopia Galleria Mall and picked up the clingy silk print copy of an Yves Saint-Laurent original she'd had her eye on for quite some time. She purchased a new pair of Charles Jourdan shoes, had a makeup demonstration at the Estée Lauder counter, and had her fur groomed at the La Sashay Salon.

One week to the day after she had first seen him, she sat across the table in a small Italian restaurant from M. Midnight who was more than passingly interested in her plight. They agreed it would take much out-of-class work for her to understand the eighteenth century.

Judy met him in Central Park on Saturdays, at Midlothian's on Thursday nights, and at the Zootopia Museum of Art on Monday afternoons. Judy thought she could listen to him for hours, no matter how dull the eighteenth century sounded to her, M. Midnight loved it.

They had been meeting for over a month when one Saturday afternoon, he suggested they take a room at the Plaza. Even though she was only nineteen years old, it had never occurred to him that she was still a virgin and he told her so. Judy suddenly felt as if she had leprosy, but, wonderfully, he didn't laugh at her. Instead, he took her in his arms and kissed her. It was then she knew this was no ordinary love affair and he was no ordinary hare.

Their room was beautiful with a black marble antique fireplace which the room steward lit for them. The draperies were a lovely shade of gold damask that blended with the soft blue in the wallpaper and carpeting. The king-sized bed was turned down, displaying fine Irish linen sheets and lace-edged pillow shams.

Judy was surprised at the knock on the door, but M. Midnight was not. He had ordered wine, shrimp cocktail, crisp green salad, and Red Snapper Pontchartrain from the Oak Room downstairs.

Judy found it difficult not to succumb to the romance of it all. After their meal, they sat in brocade fauteuil chairs in front of the fire, sipping Courvoisier from enormous brandy balloons.

When he took her glass from her hand, placed it on the glass coffee table, and kissed her, Judy thought that her life had began with the touch of his lips.

He escorted her to the bed and gently laid her down, his lips never leaving hers. He peeled off his clothing and slowly discarded hers. They lay naked next to each other, only their fingertips touching. He kissed her once, long and forcefully, and then moved over her. With no other preparation he entered her.

It was painful for Judy, even though a sticky wetness inside her relieved the chaffing she felt with every one of his strokes. She felt as if she were being hammered. He whispered lewd words in her ear, which caused her to turn her head away. He pushed his hands under her hips and brought her up to him for his last penetration before he came. He collapsed in a heap on top of her.

Judy looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand and realized with a shock that making love took less than ten minutes.

While M. Midnight napped in the king-sized bed, Judy went to the white-tiled bathroom and washed the blood off her leg. She returned to the table, and finished the red snapper she had been too excited to eat. She drained the rest of the wine and searched in his pockets for a cigarette.

She was just pulling her pink slip over her head when M. Midnight awoke. He pulled her onto the bed beside him.

"You were wonderful, Judy. I had no idea what a luscious body you had hidden beneath those baggy clothes you're always wearing to class."

Judy tried to tell herself for weeks afterward that everything was still the same, but she knew it wasn't.

One day while she was sitting in a coffee shop near campus, Molly Cunningham, a young brown bear who sat next to her in M. Midnight's class, spied her and sat down next to her.

"Hey, Molly." Judy looked up and noticed the downtrodden expression on the young bruin's face. "Hey, what's the matter? You look a little down."

"I am," Molly replied miserably. "It's the worst thing ever!"

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Judy commiserated. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," Molly shook her head. "I wish there was."

"Well, maybe it'll help if you talked about it, hm?" Judy intoned thoughtfully. "Perhaps you'll feel better."

"Maybe. I guess," Molly moped. "I mean, I haven't told anybody about this. But I guess I can tell you, right?"

"Sure." Judy placed a consoling hand atop Molly's.

"'Kay." Molly worked up some courage with a deep sigh, hesitated, then began. "See, I've had this awful crush on Mr. Midnight ever since the first day of class, right? I know what you're thinking. I've told myself all of those things too, but they didn't help. I mean... he's just so good-looking."

Judy stiffened, slowly removing her hand from atop Molly's. She found herself quickly growing impatient and feeling a bit guilty. "Uh..., I don't see--"

"Today I found out that Mr. Midnight is freaking married! Can you believe that, Judy? I was so devastated!"

Judy couldn't believe her piqued tall ears. "H--how do you know that!?"

"How? His wife came by his office while I was there picking up my term paper. You know, the one I flunked? God, I wanted to just die!"

"Yeah, th-that is bad news..." Judy wanted to die too, but first she ran to the nearest restroom to throw up. Molly chased in after her, finding the gray bunny in a stall knelt over a toilet, heaving her back out.

"Judy, you okay?" Molly asked before her face curdled in disgust. "Eeeew, God, what did you eat!?"

Fools, Judy decided, deserved what they got, and as she sat there on her knees, watching the freshly expelled contents of her stomach float lazily in a pool of Ty-D-Bol-blue water, she was determined never to be the fool again.

When Judy graduated from college she had no plans for the future, unlike Hannah, who was immediately hired as the assistant to the director of financial planning for the Wilt/Dansey Corporation. Everything Judy thought of doing gave her an instant case of hives. It was during one of her worst attacks of nerves that she began to write The Revengers. When Judy finished the novel, it was Hannah who submitted the manuscript to a friend of a friend who was a literary agent. In less than three months, the novel was sold to Blackadder Publishing, and the editor wanted to know when her next novel would be finished.

To Judy, her newfound talent was a godsend. She no longer had to subject herself to ulcer-inducing interviews to jobs she didn't want in the first place. Hannah no longer badgered her about the way she dressed (not enough tight-fitting slacks or sexy dresses) nor scolded her for looking down at the floor rather than people's eyes. Since she now had deadlines to meet, research to compile, and storylines to complete, she no longer had to search for excuses when Hannah tried to bully her into going out for the weekends.

Just over a year ago, Hannah had met a handsome and likeable hare who swept her off her feet. In four months time, Hannah had called Judy at two o'clock in the morning from Las Vegas to inform her that she had just eloped. Judy was thrilled for her sister, thinking it about time the Animerican male public did something about this wonderful, gorgeous sister of hers. Judy now had the apartment to herself. She could come and go as she pleased, write all night and sleep all day without disturbing anyone. She tried not to pay attention to the voice that kept telling her she was lonely.

Judy stole one last peek at the lemming lovers on the street before she returned to her computer. With renewed determination her fingers raced across the keyboard.

Minerva and her mount melded into one as they galloped off into the foothills. Her eyes darted over her shoulder.

"I knew then that Wilford would never disappoint me. He was the man I loved, the only man I could trust. And we would spend the rest of our lives...together."

Judy took her computer mouse and dragged the cursor over to the word "together", italicized it, then underscored it. With a satisfied smile she leaned back in her chair, dabbing away an errant tear from her eye. "The End."

---

This fanfic is based off one of my favorite adventure romance comedies, Romancing The Stone from Twentieth Century Fox, 1984.

All Disney, Warner Bros., and Illumination Entertainment characters, as well as all other properties trademark of their respective owners.

All famous persons mentioned herein have been anthropomorphized.