Full-Service Fox
Author's Note: the following story is adult in nature and may contain acts of yiffery, including but not limited to sexual acts between two males of a furry nature. If you don't want to read anything like this, or there is some stupid law preventing you from reading this, you shouldn't even have come close to here in the first place. If all is well, and you're just here to have some fun, by all means...read and enjoy!
FEEDBACK always welcome to: [email protected]
Full-Service Fox ©MMIV Whyte Yoté
Like an ebony ribbon of oil carelessly spilled onto a warped, rusted piece of scrap metal, Nevada County Highway RR wound its way haphazardly around crags of ancient stone carvings and in between stands of Joshua trees. RR stood for Red Rock, a county which found itself lonely in central Nevada, far from any interstates and, consequently, civilization as well. A tall bluff stretched its arched back to the unforgiving sky, lazing away another desert day.
The road itself was subject both to the hellish heat of the day and the barren chills of nighttime. When the sun set reluctantly over the western horizon, the temperature dropped fiercely, sometimes by forty degrees or more when there were no clouds in which to trap residual heat. Despite these harsh circumstances, the Double-R (as the locals chose to call it) was lightly-trafficked and needed rare maintenance. Its smooth asphalt surface was surprisingly free of cracks, its double yellow line shining as brightly as the day it had been laid.
The ghost-shadows of passing clouds made their way along the sprawling scorched valley, painting the land in two shades of iron-rust red. They moved swiftly but there was no breeze. The air was still, dry, but stifling nonetheless. From a distance came the soft staccato caw of a lone crow, most likely in search of dinner. Or maybe complaining about the heat.
At the intersection of the Double-R and County Road W-M was a stoplight. W-M was short for Warren-Main, because the road turned into the Main Street of Warren, Nevada, a bustling metropolis of seventy-seven. The light stood dead, its triple-eyed stare unblinking in the bright day. It had not worked since 1996, but no one had ever seen fit to take it down. It was a sign of the lifestyle out here; things happened slowly if they were important, and not at all if they weren't. The power lines attached to it sagged like umbilical cords waiting to be cut. They yearned to be free, just like the person who was staring at them from inside his cramped little office.
Besides the stoplight, a few cliffs of red rock and the occasional coyote or wandering vulture, was a gas station. Built first during the silver boom to refresh and provide miners with equipment, the site had seen many incarnations in the ensuing years: Pony Express stop, law office, speakeasy, squat house for hippies, and porn shop and brothel. Since 1981 it had stayed a gas station, but the sign out front often changed: Chevron, Amoco, Sinclair, and now Shell.
Its single pump stood under a gigantic awning painted white with the typical yellow-and-red coloration of its parent corporation. The colors were obnoxious and out of sync with their naturally beautiful surroundings. The entire station consisted of the one pump, an office about the size of a Port-a-Potty (at least in the attendant's humble opinion), a junk pile out back and a large white cylindrical tank that had once been used to pump well-water for weary miners.
The sun shone straight down and cast almost no shadow from the building, which was good because Toby had been avoiding the shifting light all morning. He was easy to perspire, and the longer he could put off having to go outside for anything, the better. Eight vehicles had passed the gas station since he opened up at eight o'clock that morning-a busy day so far-and two of them had stopped for gas, both serving themselves and not entering the office at all. This had left the fox plenty of time to catch up on his sketching.
Toby had his bare feet propped up on the counter and was busily pondering them as he drew his pencil furiously over his sketchpad. Since they were covered in black fur from the knee down, he had to imagine light and shadow out of the diffuse indoor shade. His pencil flew in circles and long, quick lines. After a few moments, he uttered a curse under his breath, drew a big X over the page, and tossed pad and pencil onto the counter. There was no denying it: he was absolutely certain sure that he had never been this bored in his entire life.
Of the citizens of Warren, Toby was one of the few who had ever been more than a county away from his hometown. Having spent one summer in Los Angeles, and now forced to be a gas-jockey this summer, the fox pined for life outside the box of Red Rock County. Day by day he could feel his creativity waning, sucked from his soul by the unforgiving sun. The sketchbook, which lay half-open on the counter, its contents splayed out like a Chinese fan, was filled with half-finished pencil works, a multitude of five-minute doodles and page after page of dark X's. He had seen not one piece to completion, and it drove him crazy.
Soon, he thought. As soon as I find a decent school I am gone. I don't care what Mom and Dad say...I need a life! Mom and Dad, who had left town only once for Toby's birth twenty years ago, wanted him to stay and work on the family farm. They never stopped to consider their son might not want the same thing. So in a way, being fifteen miles from home every day had its advantages. It got him out of the house and away from farm work, plus he could make enough money to skip out and go to school where there were people who would appreciate him.
None of that mattered right now, as Toby sat and watched the dead highway. He would leave when he was ready, but getting through the day without going mad was more important. Sighing, he picked up the sketchbook again, but not before reaching over to turn on the ancient transistor radio to his right. It crackled into life with a hiss of static, and a quick twist of his claw proved that, like every other day, there were no radio waves to be picked up this far out in...well, nowhere.
Toby turned the radio off and settled for counting himself lucky that at least the small fan in the office worked. He flipped to a blank page and closed his eyes, feeling the gentle breeze in his spiky blond headfur, the only rebellious thing his parents hadn't grounded him over because it would eventually grow out.
Out of the shadows of his mind came flashes of disjointed light, images and color. He sifted through a mental clipart collection, looking for a freepaw subject. In a matter of seconds he considered and discarded hundreds of potential objects, tossing them to and fro with abandon. He stopped for a moment, and settled on a nude torso. It floated and rotated, and he took in the curves of muscle, saw the dark cleaves made on its surface by the direction of the light, the detailed pinpoints that were the nipples, and each and every fur that covered the form.
His paw flew, outlining the image and then sketching it raw, the details growing more intricate as he filled them in on the paper. Encouraged by his sudden wave of creative energy, Toby watched as the torso emerged where blank white had been. After a while he didn't even need to think about it; two dimensions became three with deft strokes of his pencil.
All was quiet, save for the scratchings of lead on paper and the fox's shallow, anticipatory breaths. His brown eyes were wide, clear; finally he felt like his artist's block had been broken!
All of his concentration was centered on the sketch in front of him, but his black-tipped ears perked at the sound of an approaching low rumble from the west. Toby's hearing had improved since taking the job at the gas station, and when the wind was right he could hear a car coming from a mile or more away. He looked up and through the open door, which gave an unobstructed view of where the highway curved and disappeared between two tall cliffs of rock. Far off in the distance, where the sky met the horizon, the blue melted into a ruddy brown dust. The vehicle had to be booking it across the desert to make dust fly on the asphalt like that.
Still reclined in his chair, feet up on the counter, the fox now watched intently to see what was traveling so fast in his direction. The sound was almost lost to his sensitive ears, but then came back full-force as a glint of chrome topped the curve. The flash reflected off the car's windshield and covered the office's interior in stars and sparks of light. Then it was gone in an instant as the convertible (Toby could tell that much now) roared around the gentle curve, dust flying behind it in a futile effort to keep pace.
At once the vulpine knew this was no ordinary car, and certainly not one you would want to take for a Cannonball Run-type drive around the desert. His feet left the counter and he stood, swaying a bit as blood rushed to his head. He padded out from behind the counter and to the door, leaning on its frame with his right arm raised for support. He squinted, and the car started to take shape as it rushed toward him, seeming to carry the sun on its shiny surface.
It disappeared below a rise, only to leap into full view again, bullying its way along and straddling the double yellow lines. A splash of color in an otherwise dull landscape, its sea foam-green body rocked and settled on its springs, taking the undulating road with deft authority. Polished hubcaps shined within giant white walls of rubber, the smooth treads eating up the last half mile of road before the intersection.
Toby licked his whiskers. His throat made a dry clicking sound. Even if the car didn't stop, his day had already gotten much more interesting than usual.
The 1955 Ford Thunderbird's throaty American V-8 lost volume, signaling that the car would at least slow down. When it reached the intersection, the fox was standing just outside the front door, thinking that it would pass up such a sorry-looking place for better facilities downroad. But, like an afterthought, the sculpted front end swerved toward the fox, the whine of shifting gears accentuating the spray of gravel that fanned out behind its skirted rear fenders and showered the old pump.
The driver slammed on the brake, sending the car into a low-speed angled skid, and the T-Bird stopped in a cloud of dust, its gas cap less than two feet from the nozzle. Toby sighed, partly in relief, and partly because he hadn't breathed in a while.
Wind whirled the cloud from in front of the car, revealing it in all its chromed and painted glory. Toby approached, almost reverently, taking in the surfaces, which looked to be free of imperfections and concours-quality. It was almost too much to look at; a car that was almost fifty years old shouldn't look that good, and definitely shouldn't be anywhere near a sun-drenched desert. As he rounded the pump he noted the rare continental kit mounted on the back bumper and-his heart jumped a little when he saw it-the fake foxtail tied to the antenna. It was a relic from the era of rock 'n' roll, no doubt about it.
Smiling now, because he actually had something to do, Toby walked around to the passenger side to see the driver. "Hi!" he said in a cheery voice, although he had already begun to perspire. "What can I do for you, sir?"
The fox's smile evaporated when he saw the driver, who stood as he exited the convertible. The tiger was enormous, noticeably older than him and at least a head taller. He raised his bulky frame from the T-Bird and shut the door with purpose. Even in the shade his dark orange fur screamed against black stripes, the white of his neck and chest contrasting with the black leather vest and pants he was wearing. A plain gold chain adorned his thick neck, and there were three studs in a line up the side of his right ear. His face was shaded by a black leather driving cap, but when the tiger removed his sunglasses his green eyes fairly glowed the same color as his car.
"What can I do for you?" repeated Toby in a much smaller voice. Although the car separated them, he still felt intimidated by the big feline.
"Top it off, I guess, if you want to," the tiger said in a throaty baritone as he removed his driving gloves and turned to walk toward the station. Toby nodded at the broad back and swaying tail, then opened the fuel door and proceeded to try and fill the vintage automobile without touching its perfect surfaces.
When he was finished (the tank had already been half-full, but fuel was scarce in this part of the country), the fox made his way back into the gas station, wiping beads of sweat from his brow and off his snout. He made sure to close the door to keep the heat out, and when he glanced up he was surprised to see the big tiger sitting in his chair, bare feet upon the counter, looking at his sketchbook.
He blushed, something he did whenever anyone else looked at his work, and wondered how to handle this situation. He didn't like anything in that book; they were all junk, but he also didn't want to do anything to piss his customer off. A few items sat on the counter, waiting to be paid for. There was no harm to just let the big male satisfy his curiosity, so Toby decided to wait.
The leather-clad feline hummed an unrecognizable tune as he studied the sketchbook, his head cocking this way and that. He tapped his footpads absently on the countertop, and the fox found himself oddly thinking that the chair would be warm when he next sat down on it. Smiling at such a silly thought, he walked back to the storeroom to get a mop and bucket for the daily floor-cleaning. He rolled the clunky contraption back to the front, where the tiger still sat regarding the pages of drawings.
Toby was just turning around to retrieve some detergent when a deep bass rumble vibrated the hairs in his ears. It tickled, and they flicked in reaction to such a low frequency. The fox looked up toward the tiger, but his face was hidden by the pad. Slowly, carefully, he crept up to peek around the pad.
The big cat's face was drawn into a savant grin, his upper lip trembling slightly as he growled...no, purred...at what he saw on the page. Curious as to what sketch of his could elicit such a reaction, Toby looked in the direction of the tiger's gaze, and fought to suppress a low moan of embarrassment when he saw what was there.
It was only a pencil-sketch, but it was something Toby had drawn months ago, in school. He had been in Life Drawing, and the model that day had been an exercise in physical perfection. Toby had taken the time and opportunity to focus all his efforts on recreating the model in his entirety, all the way down to the pubic fur curled slightly around his sheath. At the time, he had only been concentrating on the details, but the more he looked at it the more it excited him. Not only the fact that the model was good-looking, but the fact that he had actually drawn that well. The fox had been trying to repeat that all summer, with no success.
The fox turned away, clutching his face in his paws. His heart beat wildly inside him; he had never meant for anyone to see that, but he had forgotten it was even there! At least the tiger hadn't reprimanded him for his "lack of discretion," as his art teacher had put it.
A claw skritched behind Toby's right ear, and he shuddered all the way down to his tailtip.
"Hey, kid. What's your name?" The voice had an added trace of lustful vibrato now.
Toby turned around and faced the tiger, who, despite his reclined position, still seemed intimidating. He realized the tiger had tapped him with a toeclaw. The sketchpad lay on the counter, its dark, unabashed lines open to all the world. Toby couldn't help but glance at it, then up at the tiger, his eyes falling for just a split-second on the bulge in his pants which seemed to flex of its own accord. His head felt light and airy.
He cleared his throat and managed to speak, "Toby, sir." It felt more like an act of supplication than a polite address to a customer.
The tiger chuckled, his body shaking the chair under its weight. "Please don't call me sir. It makes me feel a whole helluva lot older than I really am. Why do you think I drive that antique out there?"
Toby's eyes were drawn downward again, but he forced his gaze steady and changed the subject. "Yeah, that thing's spotless! How much did it cost to restore?"
"That paint's original, you better believe it. You can't get a green like that nowadays, with the chemicals they're mixing. The thing only had a hundred miles or so on it when I bought it."
The fox's eyes went wide. "How can that be?" he practically shouted, leaning over the counter. "How do you come up with something like that?"
The tiger's paws were crossed over his broad chest. "An old couple. The guy bought it as a present to his wife for their wedding in 1955. She drove it for a week and didn't like it. He was too stubborn to return it, so they garaged it until now. Beats me why they didn't sell it, but I don't look a gift horse in the mouth. So now I'm out here, giving her some legs to run on for a change."
"Dang," Toby muttered. The tiger's eyes were on the sketchpad again, and the fox knew what was coming. He blushed again, cursing himself for doing so.
On his feet now, the big tiger came around the counter to stand behind the fox. Toby could practically feel his body encircling him, and he knew that if he looked up a white-furred chin would be staring into his face. It wasn't enough to make him uncomfortable, though. The stomach behind him growled loudly, almost enough so that Toby could feel it on his back.
"These are good," the tiger admonished. "By the way, the name's Thor. No, it's not my real name, but it's good enough." He offered his paw, extending it across the vulpine's chest, and Toby offered his in return. Thor's grip threatened to crush the fox's fingers, but he held on just the same.
"There's only the one that's really good, the one you looked at. The rest are junk I couldn't finish." Toby was finding it a little hard to speak with the big cat standing right behind him.
Thor chuckled and flipped a couple of pages back from the nude. "Maybe it would be easier if all these X's weren't in the way." A heavy paw came to rest on the fox's left shoulder. "See here?" he said, indicating a model sitting, facing away from the viewer. "On his back, the way you drew the spine? Either that's spot-on, or the model had a perfect back."
Warmth surrounded Toby's face, and he could feel red creeping into his ears. "Actually," he said, trying not to sound too boastful, "I drew that freepaw."
"Bullshit." It came out more as a statement than an exclamation. "How do you do something like that from memory?" He cleared his throat, challenging the little fox to answer.
"
I don't know; I've never had an explanation for it. I just pick something out of my mind and concentrate on it. Once I've memorized everything about it, I just start drawing. The rest kind of comes as the picture takes shape." Toby was surprised that Thor was interested at all in his work; he also hadn't expected the tiger to be so forthcoming. He hated that he couldn't explain himself in a more thorough manner, but it was all he knew. He'd never thought about it before.
Thor flipped forward in the sketchbook again, and stopped when he saw the torso Toby had been sketching when he had pulled up. Considering it for a few moments, he scratched his chin, his dark green eyes glinting and reflecting the bright outdoor light.
"This is very, very detailed, Toby. It isn't crossed out, so I take it you like this one?"
"Actually, no." The fox stared at the floor, feeling the bulk behind him. "I was doing that one when I heard your car coming. I haven't had a chance to finish it yet."
The tiger traced a claw over the lines of the torso's muscles. "Hmm...oh, I know!"
"What?" Toby asked, perplexed.
Thor pointed repeatedly at the drawing, as if he were trying to jog his memory. "I suspected something wasn't right with this, and it's clear to me now. Do you see here, where the abdominal muscles come together?"
The fox nodded, happy to be receiving feedback of any kind, even criticism.
"You have the angle just slightly off. See, you have the abs straight across the chest." Thor turned away and spread his vest, exposing his bare chest. Toby backed away a bit, finding all he could do was stare at the sculpted mass of snowy white fur in front of him. The tiger shrugged the leather vest off. "In real life-" he pointed to himself, outlining his abs for the fox to see-"the muscles angle slightly downward as you reach the side. Here, feel."
Before Toby could react, the tiger grasped his wrist and drew his paw to his hard chest. The muscles were hard to the touch, and gently undulated with his rumbly breath. They did, indeed, fall off a bit as he traced their outlines to the sides and down. Except now Toby wasn't thinking at all about drawing correctly. His claw ran over the bumps of muscle, and before he knew it he was just above the beltline of Thor's leather pants. Coming back to the world, he jerked his paw back as if from a flame, heat rushing over his face. He knew his ears were beet-red. Also, he couldn't deny the tightness behind the zipper of his jean shorts.
Thor closed his vest back up and scowled a little, looking down at the vulpine. "Is something the matter?"
Forcing himself to look the tiger straight in the eyes, Toby said, "No, no...I guess I was wrong about the abs. I'll have to fix it later." He smiled weakly, and Thor seemed satisfied.
"Lift up your arms," said the big cat suddenly. Toby had no idea why he should do this, but there was something hidden in Thor's voice that told him to obey nonetheless. He complied, and his shirt was lifted off of him in one solid motion. He yipped in surprise, quickly covering his mouth at the cubbish sound.
The tiger looked him over appraisingly. Then he was on his knees, his head level with Toby's navel. The fox stood still, not knowing the intent of his very unusual but very attractive customer, and when he clasped his paws just above his tail, he realized they were trembling. If he couldn't remain decent now, there was no way Thor wouldn't notice. Big, pink-padded paws smoothed down where the shirt had pulled his white chestfur against the grain, running up to his neck and down to his belt, his claws even curling under a little bit. Still, Thor's touch was platonic and nothing more.
The wide muzzle smiled, then turned down in concentration, and finally relaxed. "Dang, I was going to say you could practice on yourself if you wanted to draw muscular anatomy, but you're not as defined as I thought you were. Just wanted to check."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. That doesn't mean you can't find somebody to pose for you, just for practice. I would, but I'm kind of on a tight schedule."
"That's all right. Just you stopping here made my day. Usually I'm lucky if I get to talk to two people a day working here. It's boring, but you fixed that. I'm sure I can get back to sketching in no time." Toby couldn't stop the thought of Thor posing for him from entering his mind, and his sheath pulsed against the cotton of his briefs, right in front of the tiger's eyes. He swallowed again; his throat was as dry as the air outside.
There was an awkward silence from both furs: Toby looking down at the kneeling feline, Thor gazing pensively at the floor. Only the faraway call of a crow penetrated the office's open door. No cars had come since the T-Bird.
Toby's breath was consciously slow, and he was unable to think of anything to say to carry the conversation. He didn't have to, because in the next moment Thor thrust his head forward, turning it slightly, and bit around the fox's covered hardness. The tiger inhaled sharply, snarling, and let go with a sigh of pleasure. His eyes were closed but fluttering as if he were dreaming...or fantasizing. The fox felt the tip of his penis rubbing his briefs; his knot was becoming painfully obvious through his shorts.
At once Thor stood up, blushing and embarrassed. Toby was surprised to see such an expression on a rough-and-tumble exterior. The tiger turned to the counter, sighing again for a different reason, and braced himself. "I apologize, Toby. I was out of line. You should not have been subjected to that. I'd best just pay and be on my way." His tone was submissive and distracted.
The fox, still a bit stunned but as hard as ever, could do nothing but watch the big cat as he opened his wallet, fumbled with weak fingers, and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. Toby saw the bill and became alarmed.
"This should cover it," said Thor, refusing to meet the vulpine's gaze but handing him the bill. Toby took it but knew it was of no use.
"I can't accept anything bigger than a twenty," he said, and Thor's face flashed past anger, and grew into slight worry.
"Do you take credit cards, then?" he said, sounding annoyed to make up for his embarrassment.
Toby cringed a bit, but his eyes were someplace not on the conversation. Thor was wrapping and unwrapping the fifty in front of his zipper, which still stood out quite easily from the crotch of his pants. "We only take cash," he muttered apologetically.
"Oh, great..." Thor rolled his eyes and scratched behind his head with one busy paw. He sighed a third time, obviously uncomfortable. "I don't know how I'm supposed to pay for this, so unless you have any big ideas we're both screwed." He was looking at the ceiling now, and when the fox didn't answer he brought his head down. Toby was thinking hard, all right...but in a much more obvious way.
A rustling caught his ear, and he realized he was twirling the money in front of his crotch. Self-consciously, he put the bill on the counter and his paw into his pocket, but Toby's eyes remained glued. All of a sudden he didn't feel as bad about giving in to the temptation to smell the little vulpine. The money forgotten, he watched, flattered, as Toby licked his lips, looking for all purposes like a hungry predator. It contradicted his personality, or at least what the tiger had gathered so far.
Entranced, the fox saw Thor put the bill up but couldn't move. He kept remembering the day with the perfect model, and how he had memorized every small detail about him. He almost whimpered from the uncomfortable pressure between his legs, but he dared not move or make a sound. The money problem was all but forgotten for the moment. He licked his lips; his whole body felt dried out and needy. Finally, he looked up at Thor's face, unable to hide anything.
The tiger's right paw came out of its pocket and up over the leather-clad waist, under one sleeve of the vest and pulled the material off, so now both furs were shirtless in the stuffy office. He leaned against the counter, the pressure on his tail enough to make his hips jut out just farther than the rest of him. Carefully, and without leaving Toby's stare, Thor hooked a claw on the zipper of his fly and brought it down slowly. The noise seemed deafening in the heavy silence. Following it was a barely audible groan of relief from the tiger.
Toby still looked into Thor's green eyes, but when he caught a flash of white from a place lower he averted his gaze. As the zipper came down, soft white fur filled the space where black leather had sealed it off. The feline finished by undoing the button on his pants, and it snapped open to reveal its pink-tipped prize, full but not yet exposed. The vulpine's heart felt about to burst.
At last he found the strength to speak. Smiling and giggling, he managed, "Man, I would love to draw you..."
Taking advantage of the comment, Thor walked over to the fox, his sheath bobbing a little further from his body. Leaning in past the russet muzzle, he simultaneously pinched his trapped bulge and whispered in one ear: "I can think of something you would enjoy much, much more, Toby."
The fox was taken off guard by the comment. He knew what the big, handsome tiger proposed, and his cock begged for release. This was certainly turning out to be a good day. "Okay," he said in a breathy voice.
And then Thor was on his knees again; as Toby watched he buried his broad, pink nose between his legs and sniffed hard, then clamped down around his concealed member, gnawing up and down its sheathed length and making him meep! and yip! and erf! in falsetto. One paw made its way easily under the loose fabric and went all the way to his balls, tickling them with a claw as the other undid his fly. The shorts came open, and both them and his pre-stained briefs were around his ankles.
The tiger took a moment to admire the vulpine's tapered tip of flesh before licking its seeping entrance and pulling the white fur around it down and over Toby's growing knot. The fox stared into space now, thankful to be freed from his clothing. No attention was paid to the fact that a car could pull up for gas at any moment. There were more important matters to be attended to.
Thor stroked the seven-inch foxcock, narrow but shapely, noticing its pink surface was splashed with a black birthmark on one side. It was an amoebic shape, resembling nothing, but it was cute. The big tiger kissed it and stroked some more, keeping Toby's leaking tip free of fluid.
He stood up, placed a paw on each of his buttocks, lifted, and carried him to the counter. His sheath was just inside the cleft of Toby's rump, and he murred at the feeling. After setting the fox down, Thor spread his legs so that the vulpine's cock was unobstructed and his crotch fully exposed. The member bobbed slightly and twitched with a quickened, excited pulse.
"Hold on," the tiger warned, and Toby clutched his burly shoulders as he bent down to the fox's most vulnerable area.
Toby saw the striped muzzle go for his length, watched the tiger take every inch down to the knot, but he was beyond belief that what he was feeling could be possible from the simple touch of lips to skin. He was aware of his toes curling under, and the sound of claws being dug into the countertop.
Thor sealed his muzzle tightly around the shaft, slowing his movements to an agonizing pace. He started with his lips only, first in a straight up-and-down motion, then twisting his head to increase friction and Toby's resulting pleasure. Each of his paws was rubbing a corresponding thigh, skritching as they went, feeling the contours of the fox's sinewy muscles and soft buttocks. The vulpine's cock contrasted with the bright white of his sheath...at least what cock he could see in front of his nose.
Grasping the counter for balance and dear life, Toby closed his eyes to the pleasure. It was still only early afternoon, and the strong light penetrated his eyelids. The fur inside his ears and his whiskers swayed in the gentle breeze from the lone fan, and his wagging tongue felt cooled for the first time that day. Beyond the soft whirr were gentle wet slurps and Thor's breathing through his nose as he serviced the fox.
Satisfied that his partner was sufficiently warmed up, Thor struck out his tongue on an up-thrust, and caught the underside of the fox's head with its rough surface. He heard a yelp from above him, and suddenly his wrists were bathed in sharp pain, but he couldn't tell if the sound was from pain or pleasure. Keeping up his ministrations, the fox settled into a series of strained moans, which meant he was doing something right.
Toby let go of the tiger's injured wrists, making a mental note to apologize later for hurting him. At the moment, however, the cat's raspy tongue was making quick work of him. He placed his palms flat against the counter and thrust upward to meet that wonderful warm muzzle. Since he couldn't touch himself, he raised his head back, out of the harsh light a little, and fell victim to the orgasm that quickly built up in his loins.
Humming in a low register around the fox's cock, Thor slowed up again, opening his jaw wide enough to just take in Toby's knot. He felt the balls below his chin draw up tight against the vulpine's body, and he darted his tongue out one last time. The poor fox jerked and held onto his forearms with determination, and the back of his throat was sprayed with hot fluid.
Toby gritted his teeth and held his breath, only to let it out again forcefully. Little streams of saliva fell from in between his teeth; he felt like he had no control over his own body. The fact was, Thor had all the control right now, and that only made his climax twice as strong. He felt it leaving his body in great spurts, felt the tiger's throat working to swallow all of his seed, that rough tongue caressing his knot and the stretched sheath close to his body.
The rest of the fox's load trickled out of him as Thor eased off the swollen knot before it could trap his muzzle open. He retreated, drawing a lower fang over his urethra to milk the last out. He stood to his full height again, licking his lips and smiling. That was one of the better tasting loads, to his knowledge, that he had taken.
"I've never tasted fox before," the big cat said, wiping himself on a forearm to make sure he didn't miss anything. He could see deep furrows in both the counter's top and sides, from four sets of claw marks. Toby's head was lowered, his tongue flaccid and moving with every ragged breath he took. After catching his breath, he slid off the counter, but his legs buckled beneath his weight. He stumbled into Thor, who caught him before he fell all the way to the floor.
He did fall far enough, however, to bump his nose into a couple inches of tigercock peeking out of leather. Before Thor could pull him up, he gave a few bobbing passes to the barbed member. A loud growl signaled the tiger's assent.
Toby finally got to his feet...and to his senses, pulling on his shorts just as soon as he was resheathed. One last drop of cum glistened at the tip, and the fox swiped it up and onto his tongue, smiling cheekily at Thor across from him. "I've never tasted tiger before, either."
"I've got a better idea," Thor said, zipping his half-hard member back into his pants and leading the fox by the paw out of the station.
"Where are we going? I can't leave the office unattended," said Toby as they passed around the corner of the building and into the clearing of dead brush between the station and the old white well-cylinder. He was practically dragged behind the structure; tumbleweeds scraped his bare footpads. When Thor had gone far enough so that the cylinder blocked any view from the road, he turned to face the fox.
The tiger had a smile on his face. Whatever he was planning, it couldn't be done inside. His curiosity was piqued when the tiger asked him, in a hushed whisper even though they were alone, "Have you gone to the bathroom yet today?"
Toby paused. "Actually, no." But just the thought of answering such a question stirred his bladder into announcing its fullness. He did have to piss, now that he thought about it.
"Good."
"Why do you want...oh, no. No, no, no." The fox started to back away slowly, but halfheartedly. Thor followed him, imploring.
"Come on, Toby. Do me a favor and mark me. Who's it gonna hurt? Oh, God, I sound like a Saturday morning special." The big, built tiger ran his paws through his headfur and laughed in a high, barking tone. He saw that Toby was thinking, so he walked up and embraced the smaller fox, holding him in his tight, huge arms. "Please?" he asked, although he knew the answer already. He let go of the fox.
Toby didn't have to think very hard. Yeah, it was weird, but who cared after what Thor had done for him? He turned around to answer, but held his tongue when he saw the feline was already naked, kneeling before him, muzzle wide open. It was funny, and a little unnerving to see a tiger, who had pulled up leather-clad in the classic American sports car, the very picture of masculinity, submitting before him in the dusty backyard of a desert gas station.
"You're crazy," the fox stated incredulously, and stepped forward while unzipping his shorts again. Thor ran his paws through his chestfur, tweaking his nipples so hard he made himself yowl in pain. Nonetheless, his half-hard cock sprang to its full nine inches, the length emerging straight out from his groin. As the fox released his sheath, a drop of precum oozed from Thor's tip, stayed there for a moment glinting in the sunlight, and drooled to the ground, never breaking. The tiger milked his member, and more added to the small puddle.
One eye scanning around, the other watching the begging cat, and his ears waiting for the sound of approaching engines, Toby drew the first few inches of his penis out and down, aiming directly for Thor's muzzle. The big cat stroked himself vigorously, his paw slick and matted with pre, and his mouth opened wide. The green eyes focused on the vulpine cock aimed at him, awaiting a rare treat he seldom had the pleasure to experience. He was actually whimpering a little.
"Um, Thor..." Toby was finding it difficult to let himself go. He tried, but his bladder refused to cooperate. "I don't think it's working."
"Fine then," said the tiger authoritatively, reaching out with his free paw and using a light touch to massage just behind Toby's scrotum. As the fox moaned from the massage, Thor extended a claw and dug it into the skin, hard. Toby jumped; his bladder let go in a sudden rush of acidic warmth, and he had just enough time to aim before a stream of yellow fluid arced out of him and directly onto Thor's broad nose.
Seeing the inevitable, the big tiger drew back and let the warm spray shower him from the head down, his broad tongue lapping up whatever happened to land upon it. Toby aimed lower, soaking the white chest, watching the fur mat, the nipples harden. It pooled in the sheath that was bunched up around the base of his cock, his paw catching it and flinging urine and precum over the ground in front of his legs.
"Mmmm, oh yeah," he mumbled in between breaths and swallows.
Toby saw the look of pure simplistic enjoyment on the tiger's face, and began to see a little bit of what the feline was getting out of this. He smiled and renewed his efforts, aiming to cover the rest of Thor, whose solid chest now heaved with effort.
Eyes closed, the tiger felt the warmth penetrate him down to the skin, tasted salt on his tongue. The craving grew along with his arousal, and he covered the short distance to Toby on his knees. Toby's stream was dying but still strong, and Thor had to finish before the flow reduced to nothing. He rooted around the fox's groin, snuffling and taking in the very essence of vulpine...young, sweet and unspoiled. Then Toby's member disappeared, his paw shoved out of the way as Thor sucked what little he had left to give.
A grunt emanated from his crotch, but Toby paid it no mind. The fox's head was lifted to the sky to release a constant breathy sound that would have been a moan, had it had more power behind it. His right leg felt as if it were in a vice, and then Thor slid off his cock, which had released all it had to give and started to harden again. At last the big tiger exhaled, his body collapsing from the effort of strained muscles. Leaning back on his knees, he looked up gratefully at the fox, who shook his head in disbelief.
"I really need to do that more often," Thor muttered, looking at his cum- and urine-stained chestfur. There was quite a load mixed in with the white, and spots also covered the orange and black stripes on his thighs.
"That was...different." Toby meant it to sound slightly sarcastic, but in his mind he had actually enjoyed it...and wondered what it would feel like to trade places with the tiger. At the moment he was too spent to care. Then, he snapped to reality with a sickening thought. "How are you going to wash all that off? I don't think you wanna get dressed like that." He offered a paw to Thor, who took it.
The tiger pulled himself up and said, "No need to worry." He pointed to an old garden hose, attached to a rusty and peeling spigot in the side of the cylinder. "I never do this sort of thing unless I have a way to clean up. I may be a little kinky, but I'm not stupid." He reached down and, with an effort that made his body tense up and give the young fox quite a show, turned the knob. There was a rush of brackish, rust-colored water for a time, then it ran clear and cold.
Toby was nonplussed. "Huh! I never thought that thing would actually work."
"Could you help me?" Thor handed him the hose, and the fox rinsed his friend down with the freezing water, watching him dance and shiver, making sure to put his thumb to the spray and jet several crucial areas of his body. After Thor was satisfied, he held onto a ladder on the cylinder and shook himself vigorously. The air was full of rainbows, and then they were gone. He picked up his pants and slid them on, then both furs walked in silence back to the station's office.
"I still don't know how I'm going to pay for this stuff," Thor said as he held the door for the fox.
Toby went behind the counter where the bill still sat, looked at it in the light and opened the register. He made change and handed it back to the tiger. "I'll just go to my house in town at the end of my shift, get change from my parents, and come back to the till. The bill's good, and besides..." the fox jingled something in his pocket... "I have the keys." The tiger chuckled. "People are too trusting in this fucking town. Sorry, I've been here too long."
"I could tell that the minute you walked out that door and offered to fill up my car. Seeing your sketches there, I feel sorry for you that you are here at all. Tell me...why are you stuck pumping gas instead of selling your art?"
Toby almost laughed, but knew it would be inappropriate. He swiped his arm in a wide, encompassing arc. "Look around, pal. All these people want are cowboys, God and mountains. I'm sick of all three, and I don't even draw the first two. Tell me how I'm supposed to sell anything." He couldn't help the note of cynicism in his voice, and suddenly he felt very alone.
The tiger patted him on the back, and looked down into his eyes. "I can't really help that, but I can do something." He took out his wallet and pulled out a card. Toby took it and looked at it. "Thor Vaalkson, Talent Scout, Napa Galleries, Sacramento CA" was printed in neat letters on the front. The fox gasped and stared back at the grinning tiger.
"Told you. My boss is always looking for new talent, and I know what he likes. And that just happens to be what you're doing. At least what I've seen so far. Do you use anything besides pencils?"
Sputtering at first, Toby managed, "Uh, yeah. Oils, watercolors, digital...you name it. I've done a little bit of everything."
"Well, that's great. I can think of a couple people looking for graphic designers out west off the top of my head. What I can't find, my connections can." Thor put his vest back on and took his change. "Say, you don't have a paper bag to put this stuff in, do you?"
The fox didn't respond. He stood there, turning the card over in his paw, at a loss for words. Finally he spoke. "Why are you doing this? I mean, I don't even know you...well, you know." Both furs smiled. "Do you think I could finally get out of here?"
"You look like a nice enough kid. And you really do great work. My boss'll say the same thing. Besides, you're very cute." The fox blushed, naturally. "Hey...I like to help out when I can. The world needs talent like yours not to be wasted in the desert. Call me in a week; I'll be in town. Anytime." The big feline extended his paw. The fox shook it, his grip stronger this time, and followed Thor out to his car.
"You're all topped off," said Toby as he watched the thin orange tail tuck itself under as Thor slid easily into the convertible. The door shut heavily, the big engine roared to life and settled into a throaty idle.
The tiger glanced at the fox through the rearview mirror, and saw the expression of abandonment on his muzzle. There was a sting of regret in his gut, but he gunned the engine a little. Toby smiled at hearing the exhaust note, and they were both okay.
"In a week!" the fox yelled as Thor sped away down the road, dust flying behind the T-Bird as it headed west, to the city. Maybe, even, to Toby's future. And just like that, silence took the day back for itself.
The fox walked back to the safe, cooler shade of the office, humming a Beach Boys tune as he did so. Closing the door and sitting back down, he quickly replayed what had happened in his mind. What had possessed Thor to come to this gas station? Why had he trusted the fox to take him up on his kinky request? And why, oh why, did he have to be a talent scout? There was some deeper meaning to all this, but he was satisfied to just let it be.
He hummed the tune absently. His feet went back onto the counter, crossed, his pawpads leaving traces of dust on the surface. The young fox leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. They jerked to and fro, as if searching for something. Suddenly they reopened, and his muzzle spread into a wide, knowing grin.
The small business card twirled in one paw. The other paw flew over the paper.
FIN
10/27-11/12/04