Science Friction (intro)
This is the first scene from my novella "Science Friction," coming soon from FurPlanet (late September 2011). Hope you enjoy it!
In the movies, scientists are always frantically watching boiling beakers, timing reactions, pacing while a mechanical device ticks off experiments in seconds. In the movies, the beautiful assistant has to wait until the problem has been solved to get a good lay.
In reality, science is boring ninety percent of the time. I know scientists whose entire research focuses on watching plants grow. The professor I work for monitors slight changes in a number of different physiological measurements caused by bacterial activity in a variety of simulated internal organ areas with an eye toward developing some kind of early detection procedure for bacterial diseases. As a result, his job mostly consists of coming up with new ways to test things, and mine consists of writing numbers down about once an hour.
Which leaves plenty of time for us to fuck in the closet (since the lab has a glass door and all). He's even put an old armchair in there.
Hey, don't get me wrong. I'd be getting an A even without letting that beautiful cock up under my tail. I just happen to like foxes, especially older ones with a touch of grey around the ears and muzzle. And I like having secrets, like when other students walk into the lab and flirt with Dr. Forrest and he smiles politely, and they tell me over drinks that night that it's such a pity he's straight, what a waste at Hoffridge U. And I keep my muzzle shut and say, "It's okay, you got plenty of places to get laid at Hot Fudge U."
And I do. I mean, I'm a good little pine marten. I'm discreet both during and after the sex. Like how nobody but me and Tom, the lemur who graduated from Dr. Forrest's lab last year, know he's gay. Or like how nobody knows that me and Jay once sucked each other off during a Hoffridge football game a few years back--Jay being a big mule deer who played for the team. I told him he didn't have to do me once he was done, but he said he liked tasting me in his mouth while he was running at the opposing defense, and who was I to argue?
So anyway, it's another boring afternoon, and Dr. Forrest has this adorable way of waggling his ears when he wants to fuck me. I think it's okay if I want to say no. I mean, I never have. But I'm pretty sure he'd just go back to grading papers or playing Internet poker. But like always, I scamper over to the door and lock it, and then we go to the closet, where he sits in the armchair with his pants down. He's hard already, and when I climb up into his lap and wrap my legs around his waist, he grabs me and thrusts up hungrily.
"We got time," I say, rubbing my paws over his ears. "Ten minutes at least."
He growls and bites at my chest through my lab smock. "Can't a fellow be eager?"
He says things like 'fellow' and 'incidentally' and 'happenstance' all the time. I love that. "You su-ure! Uh. Are." He's just pushed his cock right up inside me, and I don't mind that, but I like to be a bit theatrical.
He likes that too. He reaches between us, finding my own hardness and wrapping his fingers around it. I suck in a breath as he pumps a few times. "You're pretty eager too, Mister Donovan."
I buck up and down on him, making him shudder. "Well, you know. It isn't every day I get to sit in the lap of a handsome--"
"Brilliant."
"--and brilliant fox." I lean down and bite the edge of his ear.
The ripple of tension that runs through his body at that gives me a nice thrill, both because I like doing that to him and because his fingers tighten around my cock. "Grrf," he pants. "More like every other day."
He holds me tight, hips thrusting up, his nice long cock pushing deeper into me until my rear settles against his balls. His knot's getting bigger, but not big enough to tie me to him yet. I wriggle there atop him, and try to ride him up and down, but he won't let me go. So I wait on his pleasure, looking down into his foxish grin, as he works his paw up and down. I let the sensations build, let my squirming come naturally, my fluffy tail whipping back and forth between his thighs.
I like to make soft noises during sex. The fact that we're in a public lab, even with the closet door closed and the lab door locked, makes me feel cautious. The intensity and the hurrying without carelessness makes me feel like we're stealing moments, in the last act of a war movie, or in a posh drama where it's our last night before he has to marry to fulfill the duty of his estate. Those stories give depth and feeling to my soft moans that I don't get elsewhere. And doing it every other day doesn't detract from these fantasies at all.
Now his knot's getting bigger, and when he lets me up, I feel it, full and warm, slipping out of me. He pushes again, clenching his teeth, and his knot fills me all up again. "You're...delightful," he pants, holding me on him. I know he wants to fill me as much as possible, get his knot almost all the way full, and then pull out. Sometimes he likes to tie, but most times he doesn't. Me, I just love feeling his warmth inside me, like part of me moving around, teasing and rubbing those tingling spots inside me. Sometimes I come just from that. Most times I come in his paw.
He pumps me a few more times, then stops, his hips squirming under me, his body alive with tense joy and anticipation. I bite his other ear and hold it, panting through my teeth. I've got a little play with my hips, back and forth, which I use to tug on his knot while I'm clenching around him. He groans and holds me tighter, his long tail lashing against the side of the armchair. I bounce around and kick at one of his legs, struggling a bit against his knot. I love it in me, but I also want to make sure he doesn't leave it in for too long.
Then again, if he wants to, there's not much I can do about it right now. And honestly, I wouldn't mind being locked to him for a little while to press against him, pant and nuzzle, and make happy noises. But we both get bored after a couple minutes, and then it's not as much fun.
No worries about that, though, not this time. He arches his neck, tugging his ear out of my mouth and pointing his muzzle to the ceiling, pulling his hips downward. His paws squeeze me, clenching in the fur of my hips as his knot stretches me delightfully and then pops free. Both of us gasp, him a bit more deeply, and he thrusts again, hard and fast, going all the way to the knot but not pushing it in. He's squirming and bouncing and sliding up and down inside me all warm and slick. And then he gets that final groan on, the one that builds in his chest and strains in his throat and then makes it way out of his long muzzle through his teeth. It turns into a series of barks, his arms tight and hard as his cock, and the rapid fire of his hips leaves no doubt that he's emptying himself into me, and just thinking of that makes my cock jump. If he were stroking me I'd be emptying myself into his paw right now.
Or my shirt, I have time to think as he crests and shudders, and then sinks back into the chair. His paw stays firm around my shaft, but he isn't stroking, and I'm almost there. So I think about whether he's going to jerk me off into my shirt. He does that sometimes, and I hope he doesn't do it this time, because it's kind of a nice shirt. Not that I haven't gotten stains on half my wardrobe at one time or another, but I like this shirt. It's silk, and it moves with me, where cotton always seems to be a half-second behind.
But god, in another minute of twisting around on his cock, I'm not gonna care if he jerks me off onto my best French cut blazer as long as he gets me off. He recovers his breath, finally, and looks up with a long, wide, foxy smile. "Ah, sweet weasel," he says. "Yes, you have performed admirably today, as always." In the ceiling lights, his eyes twinkle. "And you are very patiently waiting for your reward. I shall ensure that you enjoy it."
"I already have," I breathe, but holy shit he can do amazing things with his paws, so I'm all a-tingle with anticipation. I don't even mind that he called me 'weasel,' because I know that for him it's a term of endearment. Hell, I'm so worked up that he could've called me 'bitch,' and I would be giving him the same slack-jawed grin.
He gives me one stroke up, and there's a loud knocking at the door of the lab.
We both freeze. "They'll come back later," he says, smiling. His paw slides up and down, tight over my tip, and I jump and shudder.
The knocking sounds again. He pauses, gives me another stroke. Then his ears go straight up and he squeezes me so tightly that I jump. His eyes go all wide. "It's her!" he hisses.
I'm finding it hard to say words, with my tongue hanging partly out of my mouth. "Uh. Dr. Cornier?"
"No!" He lets go of my cock and stares at the closet door. "It's my wife!"
Okay, I promise you, I promise you, I did not know he was married. Christ, he spends sixteen hours a day in the office, fucks his grad students, doesn't have pictures up of any family anywhere, never talks about his home life. Besides which, what are the odds that this mysterious wife would actually show up right in the middle of our steamy moment?
Well, honestly, given the frequency of our steamy moments, perhaps greater than you would think. But still, considering my position and, er, condition, you'll forgive me if my first thought was, "Okay, finish me off and then whatever."
But he's kind of freaking out, trying to wriggle out from under me, and I am still kind of bucking into his paw, because I can see the summit from here and I wanna get there before the whole mountain slides out from under me. He pushes me away, sliding out of me with a soft, slick pop, and that moment almost does it. Almost. Now I don't have him filling me up any more, but I'm still sitting on his thighs. I grab myself, thinking I can just get this done real quick. Yeah, yeah. Like you wouldn't do the same.
A couple seconds later, my brain takes over for my cock and I scoot back and off the chair. The summit's receding, no matter how badly I still want to get there. Over the protests of my--hell, pretty much my whole body, I pull my pants up. At least I still have the feeling of his warmth in me.
"Well," I say, gesturing at his lap where his glistening cock is still bobbing and dripping, his knot all full. "Go ahead, get dressed."
The knocking comes again, this time with a louder voice. "Laurence? Laurence?" From the urgency in it, I'm guessing she was calling him earlier, when I couldn't hear it, but his big fox ears could.
"She'll smell it!" he hissed, his eyes still so wide I could see the whites. "I can't just...walk out of the closet smelling of sex!"
"Okay," I say, "I'll go tell her you're with a student." I hop off the chair.
He grabs my arm as I reach for the closet door. "You smell of sex! With me!"
I fold my arms. "I guess we can just stay in here until she goes away. You might have gone somewhere and locked up the lab, right?" I start to unzip my pants, because hell, if we're going to wait her out, I've got some unfinished business to take care of.
"Except..." He chews his lip. "Number 477."
The current trial we're observing, requiring readings every half hour. Which is currently on a timer. Hooked up to an alarm. Set to go off in, oh, about two minutes. Maybe less; I lose track of time during sex, especially during good sex.
Dr. Forrest looks wildly around the closet and his eyes light on something over my head. I crane my neck back to see what it is, but all I see is the bottom of a shelf. He jumps up to the cushion of the chair, then the arm, braces one paw on the shelf, and grabs something that makes a sloshing noise off of it. I don't see what the bottle is right away because his balls and knot are right at my eye level this way, and it's kind of a distracting view.
"Here we go," he says. "This'll work."
He sets a bottle of orange liquid with a peeling label on the arm of the chair and pulls his pants up fast, snapping the fastenings so fast I'm sure he catches some fur in them. Then he opens the bottle and pours it out over his stomach and groin. I smell ammonia and orange, powerful waves of it. "Doctor Forrest..."
"Stay in here," he says. He opens the door, shaking orange cleanser off his paws, and kicks it closed behind him. Then trips the thumblatch to lock it.
Well, fuck. I collapse into the chair on my knees--my behind is still too wet for me to want to sit on it--and rest a paw on my groin. Probably it'd be discreet to wait until he and the wife leave. I squeeze my shaft through the pants and sigh. It's hard being a good pine marten.
I can hear him through the door, running to the lab door, opening it. "Sorry, honey," he says. "You surprised me as I was getting this down from the closet, and the cap was loose..."
She has a sharp voice. "Oh, we need to clean that up!"
There's a general bustle outside. He murmurs something, and I hear her say, "Where do you keep your cloths? In the closet?"
The door rattles. I'm still kneeling in the armchair, very aware of the dampness under my tail and what it smells like.
"Laurence, why is the door locked?"
"It...it does that automatically."
His voice sounds as if someone was playing it through a weak filter. It sets me on edge for some reason, that little wobble. I've never heard it before. If they're coming in here, I need to hide, but I have no idea where. I wish the closet had a closet.
Maybe I can hide behind the chair. I shift to get down from it and it betrays me with a creak.
Dr. Forrest coughs loudly. I let myself slide to the floor, pressing myself flat against the wall beside the door. There's about six inches there between the door and the shelves. I suck in my stomach and make myself as thin as I can. There are benefits to being a marten, sometimes. A lot of the time, actually.
"But you were just in there." Her voice gets sharper, which I couldn't have thought possible. "Is there someone in there?"
Why the hell would she leap to that assumption? Dr. Forrest laughs, surprisingly naturally. "The door creaks, darling. Can you smell anyone in there?"
It's risky. Mostly what she can smell is ammonia, I'm sure. I make myself even thinner as her voice gets closer. "No...but I can't tell without going inside."
"I have some rags out here, dear," he says.
"Laurence." The tone of her voice makes me jump. "Open this door."
He doesn't speak, but a moment later, the key rattles in the lock. I stand frozen as the door swings open.
A black nose appears in the door, swiveling back and forth, followed by a russet muzzle. I hold my breath. I'm standing right near the pool of cleanser Dr. Forrest spilled. And I get an idea. Hey, it worked in "Maid in Anglia."
"Why is this chair in here?"
I reach way, way up and knock another bottle of cleanser off the shelf. Then I make a loud kinda surprised yelp as it hits the floor.
She yelps too, and jumps back. I make a show of jumping up onto the chair and fluffing up the fur on my neck, like I was really shocked. "Who's there? Dr. Forrest?"
I get my first good look at Dr. Forrest's wife. She's a short vixen wearing a severe black blouse with a pearl necklace, and blue jeans over her wide hips, her long tail twitching back and forth. I'm pretty sure I saw Courtney wearing that ensemble at the beginning of the last "Survivor." Dr. Forrest stands behind her, eyes wide, ears flat, wringing his paws.
The vixen's narrow brown eyes glare at me. Her muzzle is narrower, sharper than her husband's. "I'm Janine Forrest. Who are you?"
"Vacqui Donovan, I'm a grad student here in the lab." I climb down and look down at the cleanser. "Sorry. I was trying to straighten up in here after Dr. Forrest spilled the cleanser. He said he was going to clean up. I didn't hear you out there."
She looks at my small ears. Foxes always think they're the shit when it comes to hearing things. I see her relax, just a little bit. "You two were in the closet, together?" Her eyes drift down to the armchair.
The ammonia smell is so strong in here that she can't possibly smell the sex. I don't think. "That's where the cleanser is," I say.
"And it takes two of you to get it down?" Her tail tip's still twitching, even if she's a little more relaxed.
Dr. Forrest forces a laugh, again. "Clearly we could have used one more. Mister Donovan, thank you for cleaning up the floor in here. My wife and I are going to attend to my clothes."
When she turns her back, he gives me a silently-mouthed 'thank you' and that adorable ear-waggle, though maybe it's just nervous ears. I make an exaggerated thumbs-up with a big toothy smile, and he rolls his eyes. The wife turns back immediately, so I change the thumbs-up into a chin-scratching.
"Jacqui, was it?" She smiles sweetly.
"Vacqui," I say. "It's Sonoran. My mother met my father when she spilled a taco on his best suit on his way to a job interview." True story. He always says he was never so happy to not get a job.
Her ears flick. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Vacqui. I'm sorry for my husband's mess."
They walk out, Dr. Forrest giving me one last look as he escorts his wife out the door that sets me to wiping up the spill with a smile on my pointy muzzle. And that, I think, is that.
Clearly, Vaxy is a little optimistic there at the end. :)
Look for "Science Friction" at RainFurrest at the FurPlanet table, or at FurPlanet.com in October!