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The Soulflower Festival

• By Kichigai Kitsune

Disclaimer: this story contains graphic scenes of "semi non-consensual" eroticism and sexual activity between young furry creatures (cubs). If you are not legally allowed to read such material, or find this material distasteful, do not proceed beyond this disclaimer.

If you do proceed, you agree to not hold the author or the hosting site responsible for any consequences or complain to anybody about your offended sensibilities after you made the informed choice to read on.

Part 1.

The creaking was getting to him now.

Incessantly and for God only knew how long, the scummy fishing boat had creaked its way through the choppy water while Lachlan clung weakly to the handrail, leaning his head overboard. For some reason, the arctic fox kit did not feel exceedingly happy; and the seasickness was only part of it.

"Are you alright?" asked a familiar voice. A paw touched his shoulder, but the kit couldn't find the energy to look around.

"Of course not, dad," he groaned plaintively.

With a knowing chuckle, the grownup ruffled the fur on his son's head. "Don't worry, kiddo, we're almost there. You can see the mooring from here already."

At last, Lachlan straightened, staggering away from the boat's edge. "Good, because I was gonna puke again." With a slightly shaking paw, he brushed his snowy, neck-length head-fur away from his slender muzzle; the fine spray rising from the sea had soaked his face, giving him a much needed distraction from the dull discomfort in his belly. For the first time in what seemed like hours, he opened his blue eyes in spite of the salty water that had begun to irritate them. "Ugh. Why don't they have an airport here?"

"It's a small island, Lockie." His father, a tall arctic fox unfazed by the rocking of their vessel, took his place at the railing. "The only airport they have is for small planes."

"So you mean an airstrip, right?" Lachlan blinked, rubbing now at his eyes. "Why couldn't we have just hitched a ride on a little plane then?"

"Would've cost much more... and it's not like we knew you'd get seasick, you know."

"Ugh." The kit put a paw to his stomach. "Shit!" he moaned.

His father turned to him, rebuke in his expression. "Don't swear, Lockie! I - Oh, right."

As the boy immediately dashed to the side of the boat again and started retching, he took comfort in his father's sympathy - expressed, of course, through delighted laughter.

When he was finished, Lachlan collapsed against the handrail. "Urrghh... where's mom?"

"Below deck, getting everything ready." Rubbing his son's shoulder once more, the grownup turned back to the cabin. "I should be helping too. Don't worry, you're excused. Can't have you hurling over our clothes, can we?"

Lachlan huffed. "Get lost, dad." Thankfully, his father did so without comment. The embittered preteen tried to look out over the water, towards the verdant little island he had never heard of but hated so much already. It was indeed in sight, quite close, though still so far apart across the churning, almost black waves their rickety vessel pitched and bobbed upon.

His eyes narrowed with disgust.

This had better be worth it, he thought. If not, he was never going to forgive his parents.

The adults had gone on several steps ahead, leaving the recovering cub to stagger along behind them. Thankfully, Lachlan only had to carry his own messenger bag - his father had thankfully opted to lug his son's suitcase.

Despite not being in any mood to sightsee, Lachlan found himself observing his environment with anxious curiosity. The remote jetty from which they had disembarked was in the middle of a quiet cove; though the islanders had the presence of mind to lay a trail of quaint cobblestones from the pier heading inland, all around them was nothing but wet peat, moss and black, jagged rocks. The same powerful wind that had so irritated Lachlan on the boat lashed at them still, almost knocking the boy off his trembling legs and roaring in his ears.

Though the sun was out, there was a chill in the air that gave Lachlan reason to be glad he was wearing his hoodie.

Dejectedly, he just followed his parents as they led the way uphill.

Eventually they seemed to remember him, pausing to let him catch up. As he stumbled closer, his mother reached out and caressed his head.

"Unh," he grunted. "Don't."

His mother smiled at him. "Don't be so glum," admonished the vixen. "You'll like it here."

Lachlan took a deep breath and held it a moment, hoping it would quiet his stomach. He expelled it in an exasperated sigh. "Why couldn't we have gone to California for my birthday instead?"

"Because we have to visit Aunt Ruth, that's why."

"Tsk. I don't even know who she is." Rolling his eyes, Lachlan started to walk on. "I need to lie down. Let's go."

His parents both laughed at him.

When they crested the hill, Lachlan stopped to observe the little village that would be his home for the next four weeks.

To him, it was something out of a movie or television show. Houses of dark brick and wood, cobblestone pavement, expanses of lush, green grass and gilded by a dense forest... it was as quintessential a 'rural British village' as he could imagine. That made sense - they had travelled to Wales first, then taken the boat offshore.

Though it was vastly different to the American suburbia where Lachlan had grown up, he had to admit it looked fascinating. In fact, it was beautiful.

"Furs live in places like this?" he grumped aloud. "This is gonna be so boring."

As they walked down to the center of the village, Lachlan notices his earlier nausea was ebbing away. He took deep breaths, inhaling the brisk air and catching a myriad scents he had never smelled before in his entire young life. The air was filled with the essence of flowers, grass and more.

As they passed a small field between several of the houses, Lachlan spotted three younger children playing in the grass. He found himself staring in surprise - their clothing was very unusual.

Two girls, raccoons, wore nothing but cotton crop-tops around their upper torsos, while a similar material was wrapped around their waists in a short skirt that came to their knees. White flowers were braided into their head-fur, and their paws were bare as they chased a young male cat about the field. The feline boy was shirtless, with nothing on him but a pair of tan-brown shorts.

"Isn't it cold to be wearing just that?" Lachlan murmured, watching them with interest.

His father, suddenly beside him, gave a shrug. "Probably not when you're running about like that. The furs here wear unusual clothes, Lockie. I wouldn't comment on it if I were you."

"Right, right, okay. Whatever."

Their destination was the largest building in the village that was still conceivably a house. Like the others, it was a building of dark bricks and wooden fixtures, with a gently sloping roof made of burgundy, shill-like tiles. There was a lavish flower garden out the front, filled with roses, sunflowers and more. Peculiar small, white flowers with a strange lavender center were most common, however.

As they approached the oak-wood door, it swung open.

A tall, white-furred vixen swept out, holding a watering can and dressed in a simple linen dress. Lachlan blinked - she looked strikingly like his mother, and was roughly the same age too.

When she spotted the small family, she smiled broadly and put her watering can down. "Lilly! Andy!" Her voice was throaty and warm, tinged with a slight accent. With an almost childlike laugh, she bustled over to them and hugged the two adults while Lachlan watched on in confusion.

Come to think of it, before this trip was announced, he didn't even know he had an aunt.

Curious, he watched the reunion occurring in front of him in silence.

At long last, the new lady turned her warm gaze to him, and she swept over to him. "And you must be Lockie!" she exclaimed, smiling at him. "I've heard so much about you. Wonderful to meet you at last!"

A potent smell, perfume of some kind, wafted into Lachlan's nose. It was sweet and flowery - there was a definite flower-motif about the island, he noticed.

He found himself smiling at the lady, despite the sudden shyness that overcame him. Though she resembled his mother, she was quite attractive and her face was friendly.

"Come on in, everyone!" Ruth exclaimed, waving for them all to enter the house. "I'll be right on in myself, just have to water the garden! Take a look around, and get settled in!"

While the vixen went into the garden, Lachlan followed his parents into the quaint home.

Wooden pillars, furniture and ornaments were everywhere. As were vases filled with yet more vibrantly colored flowers.

The furniture was leather and wood, looking hand-made, yet sturdy and attractive. A wide stone chimney was set in the middle of the living room, while a gentle fire crackled in the open fireplace. Lachlan looked around and was glad to spot a television on the opposite wall. The walls were wallpapered, something he hadn't seen very often at home.

His room was small, yet certainly cozy. With a happy smile, the kit hopped onto the double-bed; his own bed back home was still a mere single.

Though bland, the sheets were linen and felt warm. Comfortable. Immediately, Lachlan collapsed to his side and groaned his pleasure. After the boat-ride, he wanted nothing more than to relax. Even if it was in a strange bed in a strange land; he felt safe enough.

But after only a few minutes, his mother called him back into the living room. "Ugh." It took some effort to haul himself back to his shod paws, and he padded lethargically to the door.

His parents and his hitherto unknown aunt had seated themselves at a small oak coffee table near the fire, and there was a spare seat for him between his parents. Slightly nervously, the kit walked over and sat down.

"I hope the trip wasn't too bad for you all," Ruth said, her features somewhat apologetic. "The sea can be a bit rough at this time of year."

Lachlan managed to not comment.

"We were fine." His father smirked. "Except for some mild nausea."

Lachlan shot him a glare.

"Oh dear." Ruth stood. "I'll see what I can do about that. Would you all care for some tea?"

Though his parents agreed, Lachlan stayed silent. He didn't think the question was directed at him too.

"Lachlan, dear?" his aunt asked. He blinked. "Would you like some tea?"

"O-oh! Uh." The kit flushed. "I d-don't know. Never had tea."

"Well, how about some root beer? Made right here. Believe me, it's at least as good as what you'd get back in the States."

Unable to refuse a second time, Lachlan nodded. "Yeah. Yes, please."

"Oh, is the flower festival tomorrow, Ruth?" his father enquired all of a sudden, frowning slightly. "I saw some kits in their festival clothes."

Ruth was busy in the kitchen. A kettle started to boil, and Lachlan heard her open a fridge - so there was definitely power here. That was good. He half expected to find out the television was bicycle-powered or something.

"That's right," the vixen in the kitchen called back. "Though they're meant to wear those clothes and all of that for three days before and after the festival."

Lachlan took note of that. At least there was an explanation for the kits to have been wearing that odd garb. Though his ears perked up at the mention of a festival. He doubted some quirky festival would be of interest to him, but it might explain why his parents opted to come here instead of somewhere more... not-weird for his eleventh birthday.

After a moment, Ruth swept up to the table and set a tall glass of gently fizzing, dark liquid right in front of him. "Thanks," mumbled Lachlan, taking it into a paw. When his aunt looked away, he gingerly sniffed it. It was, in fact, root beer as he was used to. Carbonated and sickly sweet. As the adults continued talking, he finally gave a mental shrug and lifted it to his muzzle.

The moment it touched his tongue, the sugary flavor won him over and he realized how thirsty he was. He hadn't been able to drink anything while he was on the darn boat, and all the puking had left him dehydrated. Unable to help it, he downed the entire glass in seconds.

When the matronly vixen returned and laid out the steaming cups of tea, she noticed the empty tumbler with a smile. "More?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Lachlan gave a sheepish nod. "Yes please. It's good."

Ruth took the tumbler and gave the boy a wink.

Lachlan refocused his gaze on the smooth wooden tabletop, fairly sure he was being smirked at by his parents for some reason.

Man, he hated when they did that.

When the second cup arrived, Lachlan made sure to take things a little more slowly, tuning out the rambling discussion of the adults as they flowed from topic to topic. Instead of listening to them, he considered his fate for the school holidays.

Coming here had not been something he wanted to do. The dreary Welsh island was quaint and pretty, but without any friends there, Lachlan knew things were going to be painfully boring. Already he was convinced this was going to be the worst school break he had ever had the misfortune of looking forward to.

He raised his eyes and stared out the window, taking a generous gulp from the locally made soft-drink. It really was shockingly good. Not at all what he expected.

Slowly, he came to the realization that his vision had become ever so slightly blurred. He gave his eyes an owlish blink. A warm flush and a crawling tingle had come all over him as well - he let out a shuddering breath, finding it strangely pleasant but confusing.

His heart stopped for a brief moment.

It had to be the root beer. Maybe it was like actual beer. Maybe his aunt had just given him a real alcoholic drink!

A smirk curled the corners of his muzzle, though Lachlan remained silent. If his parents didn't know, there was no reason to let them find out. Not only was Lachlan curious, wanting to explore the neat sensations and altered perception, but saying anything could cause all kinds of problems.

Last thing he wanted to do was get his mom upset at her sister over a slight cultural misunderstanding.

But he absolutely did hurry to down the rest of the root beer.

As their host busied herself in the kitchen again, seemingly cooking something - rabbit, Lachlan was fairly sure someone said - the chatter continued. For his part, Lachlan just sat silently, still a little too shy to join in. His parents usually encouraged him to be outgoing, and he loved to talk, to be the center of attention, though most certainly not with furs he had never met before. Instead, he started to focus on the feelings now coursing through him.

Over time, they had intensified, and Lachlan took note of everything. His heart-rate had increased slightly, he could feel it. The warm tingling had gotten stronger, and even his breathing had gotten faster. Restlessly, he shifted in his chair, struggling to keep his movements unnoticed.

So this was what it was like to be drunk! It was so cool! No wonder-

His eyes widened.

Oh, holy crap...

With pulse after pulse, his blood was being sent south. His little soldier was thickening implacably, reacting strongly to the delightful tingle that had come over every, every, inch of him. It was a lot like the tingle he felt when -

"Lachlan, are you okay?" asked his father, sounding amused. "You look a little fidgety there."

Lachlan nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah." He pressed his legs together under the table, seeking to stop the boner from reaching full intensity, but all that did was rub it against the slick satin of his boxers. Having already had experience with inconvenient boners, Lachlan kicked himself mentally - he should've known better.

He almost fainted in relief when his dad nodded gravely and spoke again. "You look out of it, kiddo. Finish your drink and lie down for a bit, okay?"

"Okay," the kit said, jerkily lifting the glass to his muzzle and finishing off his drink. The taste seemed suddenly amplified. Every sense seemed affected, though when he stood - making sure to position himself so the little bump at the front of his jeans wasn't visible to any of the adults - he didn't seem dizzy or anything.

Regardless, he almost staggered back to his new room in this odd little cottage, hurrying while trying to appear like he wasn't.

Once the door was shut, Lockie collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto his back. He lifted his knees restlessly and kicked his runners off so he could rest his paws on the mattress without fear of being yelled at, then stretched his legs out below him.

"Whoa..." he gasped under his breath, staring blearily at the ceiling. "Oh man."

A paw, evidently with a mind of its own, slipped up his shirt to rub over all over his chest, sides and stomach - a stomach made flat and taut by Lachlan's many hours of sports and general aimless running around. Wherever his little fingers went, they left threads of sensation behind. Everywhere, every part of him felt... sensitive.

Maybe this was why kids weren't meant to drink, he reasoned.

Guilt suddenly gnawed at him. Not for what he was definitely, no-questions-asked about to do, but for the sudden desire he felt to avail himself of much, much more of his aunt's delicious 'soft drink'

Never in his entire life had he wanted to touch illegal drugs, and he admitted he didn't have the guts - or the means - to try booze before now. But this wasn't his fault, the fox boy reminded himself. He was, despite his occasional flippancy and cynical-appearing attitude, a good kid and proud of it. Shy, considerate and even polite!

Heck, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even dream of doing what he knew he absolutely needed to do when his mom, dad and aunt were scarcely a room away. But there was absolutely no denying that gentle warmth and delightful tingle. It almost felt like his body was buzzing quietly. Somehow.

"Unhh... oh man..." With only a quick glance at the door to make sure it hadn't somehow swung open again, Lachlan lifted his hips and unbuttoned his fly. While his left paw slipped back between his t-shirt and downy furred torso, his right urgently delved into his boxers and took hold of a certain something. The kit couldn't keep a moan away.

What the heck was happening to him? His heart was pounding in his ears, and a tense frustration demanded that he placate the little spike that had suddenly appeared in place of his dick. He had felt excitement like this before - concluded it was what everyone meant when they talked about being 'horny' or 'turned on' and whatnot - and quite liked it and his usual methods of dealing with it, but this was at a level he had never felt before! Not even that time when he -

Oh, that was a mistake. His face seemed to burst into flames as an aggressive blush settled under his cheek-fur. Embarrassment and the memory itself doubled the already unbearable, undeniable, erotic thrill that made his entire body vibrate delightfully.

Already, he was tugging on his dick, still contained in his underwear. Rolling it between his fingers and palm and up against the silky fuzz that covered his groin and thighs.

Breathing ragged, the snowy furred boy sped up his ministrations, lying spread-eagled and raising his hips slightly. Unable to contain himself any longer, he pushed his boxers and jeans down to his thighs and gripped his toy firmly in his oddly hot, sweaty little paw. He started to pump. Urgently.

There was no finesse. Not slow buildup like there usually was. Lockie couldn't believe how horny he was, and how much every single part of him was getting into what he was doing. His buttocks tensed and pushed his little member upwards into his eager paw. His stomach tightened visibly, becoming outright concave, and all over he trembled. Confident - though possibly a confidence born of desperate need - that he wasn't audible to his parents or aunt, the fox boy relaxed and was stunned to realize he was panting and moaning aloud.

His eyes rolled back and eventually closed altogether.

The sensation in his penis had intensified to the point it was less a feeling, more a pressure. A concentrated point, a singularity of pleasure. Getting stronger... more intense. More focused.

But suddenly it exploded, and Lachlan bit his lip to stifle a humiliating groan. A wave of blissful fire raced outwards from his dick, igniting every tingling nerve from his groin to his toe-tips; a firestorm of orgasmic bliss that burned through his body with literally dizzying speed. It didn't stop burning for what seemed like eons. With a whimper, he fell still on the bed, his breath utterly stolen away.

"Whoa," he repeated when he found his voice again. The feelings still lingered, ever so slightly lessened by his desperate jerk off session.

The ten-year-old sluggishly lifted his hips and pulled his boxers and jeans back up. Though he still tingled all over, a warm, wooly blanket had descended on his senses, and he felt so incredibly comfortable. If a little too hot. Sitting up, he pulled his shirt off before grabbing a pillow and squeezing it tightly to his chest. For some reason, he wanted to cuddle something. He just had to.

Eyes fluttering, Lachlan curled up slightly and sighed. He hadn't slept in eighteen hours, a short nap at the airport in Los Angeles, curled up between his parents, and whatever the hell just happened to him had decimated whatever energy reserves he thought he had.

With the slightest hint of surprise, the arctic realized that he was already drifting off.

He had just arrived in this weird place.

But what a hell of a welcome.

The wind cooed softly through the open window. A subdued, serene whisper in the darkness of the moonless night.

Ruth sighed and put away the last of the plates. It was going to be wonderful to have her sister here for the festival. It had been so long since they had been together. So much had changed, so much had been discussed that evening, all seated by the warm fireplace. Lily was just as vibrant as always, and Andy possibly even more of a sweetheart than before.

Even more amazing was the guest of honor himself though. Lachlan, the sweet-natured boy she hadn't seen since he still wore nappies, was adorable. Shy, polite and handsome. Absolutely perfect in every way.

Oh, this year was going to be the best flower festival the island had ever been blessed with.

Humming a happy tune, the vixen moved over to her refrigerator and tugged it open. She reached for the fresh milk, but stopped when her eyes fell upon the simple glass bottle of 'root beer' on the middle shelf of the fridge's door.

A mirthful chuckle escaped her muzzle, and she shut the door.

As she padded off to get herself ready for bed, glass of milk in paw, Ruth found herself smiling broadly.

She hoped the boy enjoyed his present. After all, she had made it especially for his young, American pallet.

Only the best would do.

For the sacrifice.

• Copyright Kichigai Kitsune 2011.