The condemned man walked with a dignity few men can muster at their time of death. He did not sob or plead or try to incur a touch of mercy in his executioners. His stride was arrogant and boastful, as if he were walking into a grand gala, and not the gallows. He never rushed nor slowed down; his stride was simply easy going. The guards who were tasked with assuring that no prisoners escaped exchanged confused looks, wondering just what the hell their purpose was. Normally, their job entailed carrying the condemned, kicking and screaming, before the executioner's axe. Now, their presence seemed wholly arbitrary.
The condemned man was a lion named Craven. For close to two decades, he had evaded the law, and so there was quite a turnout to watch him be publicly beheaded. Hundreds, if not thousands of people were stuffed into the courtyard, and all gawked and stared as the lion made his way up the stairs and onto the elevated stage, never breaking his arrogant strut. They were disappointed in that. They wanted to see him blubbering like a child, begging for mercy, calling upon his false god to deliver him from this fate before him. Instead, they were treated to a man who showed no fear of the Executioner who was presently sharpening his blade. Where was the fun in that?
The Executioner was a giant of a wolf, who had been on the stage already several hours, preparing and assuring that everything would go along smoothly. His identity was concealed within a black hood, but he was definitely a wolf by the bushy tail that stretched out of his lower back.
Some believed that executioners were sadistic cowards, who hid their identity to avoid public scrutiny, and lived for the thrill of ending the lives of others. While soldiers were glorified for the same pursuit, there was something detestable about an executioner. But to know this particular executioner's feelings of the murder he was about to commit, one need only examine his tail, laying limp out behind him. Some may have believed that the methodical sharpening of his axe was to intimidate the offending party. In fact, it was simply pragmatic: a sharp axe easier cut through flesh, and allowed a quicker, cleaner kill. An executioner shared something with the butcher and the blacksmith, all professions that intrigued the nobility as violent and mysterious, barbaric in a civilized world but with a purpose that could not be discarded. The perceptions of violence, however, were the product of idle imagination, and in no way based on fact. In fact, such professionals as executioners, butchers, and blacksmiths all prided themselves on efficiency. Although this particular executioner may have been disgusted at the public display his murder had become, he believed in doing his job right regardless, and even a man as disgusting as Craven did not deserve to suffer needlessly.
The Executioner lifted his axe, and flicked it gently with a gloved hand. Apparently satisfied with its sharpness, he set his sharpening stone down and hoisted the massive axe over his broad shoulder. He was a giant of a wolf, as mentioned, with a thick body and powerful arms, and so he of course carried an equally massive axe. His face was concealed, but his build and brown fur were easily recognizable, as was the distinct axe he brandished. He was well-known to the bloodthirsty masses as the top executioner of the courts, his efficiency called upon when the State needed someone "killed right." He walked over to the lion, who was on his knees before the chopping block. Carefully the Executioner stroked the lion's long, thick mane, and deciding that it may cause a blow to glance, he ordered it cut and shaven by the local barber, who happened to be in the crowd. At best, a glancing blow would simply slide off the lion's neck and the axe would fall into the stage, be pulled out, and prepared for use again. At worse, the blunt impact of the axe dropping would sever the lion's spinal column, and left crippled but aware of the intolerable pain he was in, the Executioner would have to hastily hack and slash until finally dealing death. The Executioner was a professional, and a few seconds to cut and shave such offending fur was the best of options.
In the meantime, he looked out over the crowd. In his civilian life, he was a simple woodcutter. He had reached the rank of Centurion, the highest position in the State's army, but as the State was not at war, there was little need for his service. It was comical, to his mind. On any other day of the year, the crowd would never spare a second glance to a woodcutter such as himself. And yet, when he put on a hood, he was the object of so much attention and desire. The Executioner did not enjoy his work, but he was not ashamed of it. He performed his duty for the State, as any citizen and soldier should. The reason he wore the mask was to avoid the attention. That was what he hated.
"That's enough," the Executioner said of the barber. A substantial amount of the mane had been removed, revealing the lion's neck underneath. The barber, happy to be done, climbed off the stage and returned to the anonymity of the crowd.
"William Wesley Craven," the squire called out, reading from an official looking parchment. "For all your many crimes against the State, the most heinous of which: piracy, murder, and rape, you have been sentenced to death."
"I am aware," Craven said with a smile.
The Executioner squatted before the condemned man, and asked, "Have you any last requests."
"Everything is as it should be," was his only response.
"Do not try to pull away," the Executioner said. "People try; they think they are faster than the axe. They are wrong, and instead of a quick, painless death, their agony inches on for minutes. It's easier if you close your eyes. The last thing you feel will be a breath of fresh air over your nape."
But the man's eyes never even blinked, as he stared transfixed upon the wolf, who shrugged and hoisted his axe up. With his great strength, he lifted it over his head and down his back, spreading his stance to brace himself. One swing, that was what he required, that was all he required if the condemned man did not move.
But before he could shift his weight and swing the axe overhead, and fell the man in the same manner he cut logs of wood for the market, he heard a gunshot. He looked to the crowd, to see one of the guards fall to the ground. His rifle lay smoking at his feet. The crowd spread apart from him in fear. By the dent in the guard's helmet, something large and heavy had smashed his crown to knock him out.
"Get him out of here," the Executioner growled to the two guards who had escorted Craven to the platform. Craven, sensing a chance, attempted to flee, but was caught by one of the burly guards. Taking an arm each, they began to drag him, kicking and fighting them, towards the courthouse building that was not far away.
The Executioner turned back to the crowd. In a panic, they were all attempting to flee at once, overwhelming the guards who were attempting to reach their fallen comrade, or catch the perpetrator who was responsible. There was chaos and confusion on the ground level; no one was sure what to do. But the Executioner, at his elevated platform, was able to see the Assassin first.
She moved against the crowd, instead of with it, fighting to reach the platform, which was his first clue that she was the Assassin. The Executioner hoisted his axe overhead, and just as the Assassin reached the platform, he swung his axe down, intending to slay her.
She was faster, however, and ducked to her side. With a mighty leap, she had cleared the six foot height of the platform, and rolled onto her feet. From beneath her cloak, she drew a pair of elegant swords, holding them at the ready, as the Executioner prepared his axe.
She was a foxtaur; the Executioner knew this by the four feet that were firmly planted in the ground, and the additional two arms that were brandishing weapons. She was dressed in a khaki cloak that covered almost all of her body, but not wanting the hood to impede her vision, she lowered it, revealing a vixen's face. Long locks of golden hair ran down her back, and she shook her head, removing the hair from obstructing her vision.
"You will not free the traitor," the Executioner said, to which the Assassin smiled.
"Free him? Silly faceless doggy, I have been hired to slay him, before your axe falls."
The Executioner took a step to his side. The Assassin returned the gesture, keeping the maximum distance from the wolf she could manage. "What sense is there in slaying a condemned man?"
The Assassin's response was to thrust her sword forward. It was such a quick maneuver, so fluid, that the Executioner was almost taken off guard. He had been watching her eyes, expecting an answer, and so her feet were free to move without his notice. She had covered the distance between them in one fluid motion, one sword out, prepared to run the Executioner through, but he managed to use the shaft of his axe to parry. In an instant, her other sword was whistling through the air, as she brought it over her head and down to bare upon him. His only option was to duck to his side. The Assassin turned as well, though in the opposing way, and soon her hind quarters were facing the wolf. He was confused about that, until she lowered her upper body and braced it on the ground, and lifted her rear most feet. Coiling her body, she struck suddenly, like a bucking donkey, and kicked the Executioner square in the chest, knocking him far off the stage.
With her closest threat incapacitated, the Assassin attention turned to Craven. In one swift move, the lion had lifted his knee and brought it to bear in one of his guard's sides. For the other, he spun, and swung a back fist into his muzzle, knocking him back. Grabbing the first guard by the skull, Craven braced his head under his arm, and pulled back. Twisting sharply, the guard's body tensed, and then went limp, neck broken. Craven grabbed the second guard by the neck, and prepared to do the same, until he noticed the Assassin was charging at him. Instead he threw the guard aside and braced himself, until the Executioner's arm caught the Assassin in a vicious lariat, knocking her to the ground.
The Executioner hoisted his axe above his head, and brought it down upon the Assassin, but she managed to roll to her side. On her belly, she braced her upper half onto the ground and attempted to kick the wolf once more, but this time he caught her flailing legs. Yanking her off balance, he pulled his fist back, and delivered a stiff, powerful punch into the back of her head. The Assassin gasped, stumbling forward. She attempted to turn and ward off any additional attacks, but a stiff uppercut hit her jaw, actually knocking her off the ground. Another uppercut hit her stomach, and holding her up, the wolf delivered a third uppercut into her underside. Ribs were broken by the crack and pop he heard and felt under his knuckles. She stumbled down, holding her chest, as one final punch struck her in the face.
The Executioner retrieved his axe, and quickly leapt off the stage. Craven swung a foot into a guard's crotch, knocking him to his knees. Gripping the poor guard's skull, he thrust his knee forward, smashing the guard's face in. The Executioner approached him, although the aching in his chest from when the foxtaur had kicked him was slowing him down. Craven looked left, and then right, seeing that the other guards were still lost in the crowd, and grinned cruelly as he approached the wounded wolf, taking one of the guard's rapier for himself.
An orange streak brushed past the wolf. The Executioner looked to his side to see the foxtaur dashing forward on all four feet, both blades pulled back. Craven assumed a combat stance, preparing to deal with her instead. The way she ran at him, full tilt, he was sure he could run her through before she could stop herself, and was prepared for a sudden thrust. But just as his blade dashed through the air, the foxtaur leapt. Clearly, Craven was not prepared to deal with several hundred pounds of foxtaur suddenly airborne, because he lifted his hands in a feeble attempt to shield himself. With one of her forepaws, the Assassin gripped Craven's head, and as her weight came down, his skull crashed into the cobblestone street, leaving a bloodied dent. To be sure, however, the Assassin twirled both her swords, and then drove them down deep into Craven's chest. The lion's body went tense, and then still.
The Assassin looked to the Executioner, and retrieved her blades. She shook them, freeing them of the coating of red, before sheathing them, and suddenly, she was dashing. She knocked down one of the guards who attempted to stop her, and pressed her way into the crowd that was still struggling to pour of the courtyard, quickly disappearing into the flood of panicked people.
Ty surveyed the construction of the new cathedral with pride in his heart. This project had been his main one for almost four years now, and finally, the building was starting to take a shape that matched his vision. A cathedral, of course, should be grand, and with the general shape of the building finally completed, there could be no doubt the building would be just that. The building's shape could best be described as a square. There were four corners to it, each marked with a great, spiraling tower that stretched up several stories taller than the central building. They were for decoration mostly, but housed inside each tower would be a single room, large enough for one resident to live, perhaps not comfortably, but live nonetheless. The rooms were to be kept a secret to the general public. If any condemned criminal or traitor to the State sought sanctuary, they would be housed within the tower until it was safe. The main building, which existed between the four corner towers, had a cone shaped roof: the highest point being at the center with the sides spiraling down and widening until they reached the sides of the main frame. It was a unique design, one that Ty had wanted to try on a building for a long time, and his employer had approved the initial sketches and blueprints. His employer actually adored the idea, claiming that a great mural could be painted on the cone's inside.
Ty was a foxtaur, with grayish fur of various shades. He was heavily built, as a foxtaur tended to be, with a massive second half, and even his upper body as quite toned and muscular from all the heavy lifting he did on a regular basis. This job had certainly kept him busy, and he was certainly happy for it. Not just the payment, though this was the biggest contract his firm had ever secured. This job kept him from thinking about Emily...
It was not easy, being the one who was left behind. While she traveled the world, fulfilling her own contracts, he was left here. Rarely did he know where she was, if she was safe or if something had happened. The clandestine nature of her employment meant, even if something did happen, how would he ever know? He kept busy: he took extra contracts when she was not in his life, and occupied his free time with drawing blue prints or laying bricks or anything that might kept him from thinking about her. He had moved through the ranks of engineering, starting at the bottom and now owning his own contracting company, so he knew how every level of the construction process worked. But try as he might, his mind always lingered back to his beloved sister, Emily, and what she was doing at this time.
He arrived home that night, tired and exhausted from the long hours he had put into work. With the foundation and frame of the cathedral done, it was now the more tedious process of laying bricks, pouring cement, and assuring that the structural integrity of the cathedral would not falter under its own weight. Even if the foundation could support the weight of the building itself, an engineer had to consider the added weight of the church's gold, the pews, and of course, the hundreds of people who would occupy the cathedral daily. Ty enjoyed every minute of it, because when he was doing math problems and accounting for additional weight, he was not thinking about Emily. But when he came home, it would be a long night spent fretting and worrying.
He had built his house on the outskirts of the city, not interested in the hustle and bustle of city life, instead favoring someplace more quiet and passive and tranquil. His engineering and construction company was doing well, and so he could afford to purchase a large swath of land. He liked the great outdoors, liked the trees that hid his home from view. In fact, compared to how much land he had, his house was a rather small two story home. But it was his, and Emily whenever she was not out on her... "business."
Ty did not like his sister's choice of career. An assassin, she traveled the world, meeting interesting people, and then killing them. The reason she killed who she did, she could never say. It was simply who she was paid to kill. And why she did it, why she killed instead of accepting a more mundane job like Ty had, she simply said, "It's what I'm good at."
Emily and Ty's early life had not been pleasant. Orphaned at a young age, trained as government killers, they had escaped that life... or at least Ty had. He had never had the affinity for murder like Emily did, nor the skills. It was easy for him to turn his back. But despite his dislike of her chosen profession, he supported her, and at least recognized she as a consummate professional; rarely, if ever, killing anyone outside of her target. And, if her target incurred her employer's wrath in the first place, surely they had done something to earn a quick death, right?
Ty opened the door to his home and walked inside, kicking the door closed with one of his rear legs. A fire was already built, so the interior was already warm and felt nice on his fur. He looked up, and smiled to see Emily squatting before the roaring fire, feeding it a large log.
She looked over her shoulder as Ty came in, and returned his smile. There was a slight limp in her steps as she moved closer. Ty moved towards her and wrapped his arms around her, supporting her. "Are you alright?"
Emily rested against her big brother, sighing gently. "Yeah, contract just got a bit away from me, that is all."
Ty helped her walk. The fact that she was showing any pain at all must have meant she was badly hurt. She had dealt with broken fingers or concussions without even wincing. "What happened?" her brother asked as they left the living room and headed into the bedroom on the ground floor.
"I had him," she said. "Well, I almost had him, but then he went running into the arms of a couple of royal guards, just up and surrendered, the bastard. I couldn't get to him in prison. Would have been too much collateral damage no matter how I went in, so I had to wait, and plan. I did manage to get him when they brought him out for public execution, though."
"If he was going to get executed anyway, why did you have to bother?"
Emily laughed, gentle and sweet. "Cause that's what the job is. He stole from my employer, so she wanted him dead on her terms, not anyone else's. If the State got him, she would have lost face."
Ty shook his head.
"I know, I know, it's stupid, but that's what she pays me for. His executioner put up a bit of a fight though. I thought he wouldn't be any trouble. He's supposed to be a simple woodcutter. I should have dug deeper. Turns out he's a reserve Centurion. I would have taken him out first, then the target."
"How are you doing?" Ty asked, eager to change the subject.
"Couple broken ribs," she said, "in my lower half. Makes walking a bit hard. I think he damaged one of the disks in my spine too. Should have just shot the target, but it was such a big crowd, and those bullets just don't go where I want them to. I hate guns." She sighed, brushing over her face with a delicate paw. The ugly black eye the Executioner had given her was starting to fade, and her teeth were no longer loose. As they came into the bedroom, her eyes caught a mirror, and she sighed at the tired, haggard, bruised vixen that was staring back.
In one corner of the bedroom was a very, very large mattress that stretched over the ground. It wasn't elevated on a frame or anything, so it was easy for Emily to climb on despite her wounds. Ty took hold of her, and very carefully laid her down on her side. Folding his own legs beneath him, he settled down, facing her underside, and gently brushed his hands over her lower body, inspecting her chest. Parting the fur carefully, he found a very large bruise against her peachy skin. Touching her very gently with his fingertips, he felt no less than three ribs absolutely shattered, and others cracked maliciously. He leaned his head down, and softly nuzzled and kissed her, earning a gentle giggle from his sister.
"How have you been spending your time?" Emily asked.
Ty shrugged. "Erected a couple monuments, demolished a few condemned buildings. Same old, same old."
"Meet anyone nice vixens while I've been away?"
Ty smiled, and shook his head. "You know you are the only girl for me, my love."
"...Even when I'm ugly and bruised and broken?"
"You are never ugly in my eyes."
Emily braced herself with her middle legs, and pushed herself off the bed. She gently took hold of Ty around the neck, and pulled herself closer. Gently, she kissed him, her puckered lips softly touching over his muzzle and cheek and face, before she pressed their lips together and attempted to work her tongue inside his mouth. At first, Ty provided token resistance against her. Emily was strong and toned, like a ballerina, but the brute strength in Ty body was far superior, and even his tongue was strong enough to keep hers from entering his mouth. She got a little frustrated at that, but the moment she attempted to pull back, his thick, powerful arms were wrapped around her, keeping her close. She wiggled and squirmed, but her wounds kept her at bay, until she looked into Ty's green eyes and saw him smiling. "Lay down," he whispered.
Emily carefully extracted herself from Ty's embrace, and slowly lowered herself onto the mattress, minding the sharp pain in her ribs. A wiggle of Ty's finger, and she knew to lie on her back, which she at last managed after several wiggles and squirms. Laying on one's back was perhaps the most difficult thing a foxtaur could do. Everything about it just felt unnatural, but she balanced with her arms and middle legs on the ground, her rear most legs up in the air, her tail wagging gently. Ty rested down before her, on his belly and chest. His arms reached forward and gently stroked over Emily's chest, feeling the ribs gently yield under his careful fingers. Eventually, he reached her belly, and gave it a soft, gentle push and squeeze. Despite how toned and strong she was, a foxtaur never could quite lose a little paunch of extra weight on their underside. Ty did not mind, and found fun stroking and pushing against the yielding tummy, earning cute giggles from his sister. It was nice to hear her laugh. Sometimes, after a mission, she was quiet and tense and angry at everything, angry at the world. He gave her space when she was like that, afraid of making it worse, and afraid that she might hurt him in a fight of rage. But now, she was happy, happy to be home, happy to be with him. And he was happy as well.
A female foxtaur had a unique shape. Emily's upper chest bore two cute mounds of flesh known as her breasts, like one would find on any normal vixen. However, her lower body also bore six teats, each as functional as the two mounds on her chest, the erect pink heads only barely noticeably against her white underside. Ty took the time to treat each teat with affection, kissing and nibbling on one, before moving on to the next. He worked in a crisscross pattern, taking care of one row and then moving down, until he had no more teats to kiss and lick. Instead, his gaze turned to the tender flesh between Emily's rear most legs, the pinkish, furless skin noticeable against its white surroundings.
Emily bit her lip, trying to push Ty away with one of her rear paws, but of course he was strong enough to resist her. He stared for a moment or two, before lifting himself up and looking over her long body to her face. "Do you think you're up to some fun?" he asked.
With her middle legs, Emily gently rubbed her bruised and broken ribs. It had been so long since she could finally lay back and just relax. Four years of tension and waiting and planning, and now a chance for a full night of blissful abandon. Her lips finally turned into a smile, and she gently said, "Just be careful."
Ty got to work immediately. Gripping one of her thighs in a paw each, he carefully spread her legs wider apart. Most likely the first thing Emily had done upon arriving back home was take a bath, washing away the grim and blood of her four year contract, but the water and soaps had done nothing to curb the scent of her womanhood. Sweet and natural and rich, she smelled absolutely heavenly to his keen, vulpine nose. It smelled as if four years of lust had been built up and was now finally being release in waves of her delicious scent. Ty licked his lips gently, before leaning closer, and brushing his wet nose against the warm, furless lips between his sister's legs.
Emily giggled, and her body tensed. One of her rear legs shot out and kicked Ty in the shoulder, earning a little yelp from him. She blushed, and looked away, trying to apologize but feeling so utterly embarrassed that all that came out was a little whine. Ty chuckled, and with new sensitivity, gripped her legs, holding them wide as he lowered his muzzle and began to nuzzle and sniff.
A foxtaur's body prevented them from pleasuring themselves as easily as a more mundane creature could. Of course a foxtaur could mount a toy on the ground and lower themselves down, but the amount of effort and the lack of intimacy made it hardly worth it. Long nights Emily had spent thinking about Ty just like this, spreading her gently, his delicate tongue exploring her eager nethers. He was an expert with his tongue. He started with soft sniffs and nuzzles, his cold, wet nose feeling wonderful against her hot, aching lips. When he exhaled, warmth blew over her, making her muscles grip and quiver hungrily. From there, he moved to careful licks, starting with the tasty fur over her muscular thighs, soon moving more center and puckering his lips to hers.
Emily's claws poked little holes in the mattress beneath her as her brother got to work, spreading soft kisses over the length of her large slit. Given the size of her lower body, comparable to a horse, her nethers were quite massive, more than enough for Ty's tongue... and then his muzzle, gently pressing inside her so when he exhaled, his warm breath blew through her entire body. She shivered and whined each time she felt him breath, but then went limp as a greater portion of his long muzzle slipped inside her slit, providing her with a pleasant bulk.
With the feminine scent engulfing him, it was slightly difficult to breathe, but Ty did not mind. His sister's sweet aroma flooded his senses. He breathed deep, gently, slowly, whining softly as he felt his girth pushing out from between his rear most legs, but since he was lying on his belly; his penis was grinding softly against the mattress instead of free to grow. It was both pleasant and painful at once, and left him wiggling and shaking softly.
At last he pulled his head away, and took a soft breath of clean air. Emily's face spoke of the dreamy bliss that he had put her into, though she lifted her head sadly when the oh so pleasant bulk of his snout was removed. Ty began to walk forward, carefully placing his feet down so he corralled Emily between his legs. At first she thought he would take her, and she was slightly worried about the hovering body coming down onto her broken ribs, but he continued walking along, showing off the vastness of his underside, and the cute pink nipples that males for some reason had. He did not stop until his rear legs were at her underarms, and if she looked up, she was treated to the sight of his enormous sheath and the two bulges beneath it that showed off his fuzzy testicles. His erection was already half peeking out, the girth of grey flesh looking absolutely mouthwatering to Emily, who kept having to slurp the drool that was oozing down her lips.
Ty slowly bent his upper body forward and braced himself on his arms. His middle legs remained locked, but his rear legs began to bend slowly as well. He was careful not to place any weight onto Emily, afraid he might crush her under his girth, but eventually he managed to lower enough that his engorged erection was bobbing right in Emily's face. Emily realized what to do quickly, and took hold of the shaft, lifting it up with both hands. She puckered her lips, and began to softly kiss it, gently brushing her lips over the throbbing head and musky length, using her tongue to taste the flavors that were just inside the cracks and crevices. She reached her head forward, and softly nuzzled and kissed at his heavy, hanging testicles, squeezing the hot rod of flesh on and off.
Now, it was Emily's chance to lay back and enjoy the rich smells that radiated from her lover. Ty had not had a chance to wash the day's scents away, of course, so his scent was that much stronger. The warm, rich musk of male radiated from his sizable girth in thick waves. Beyond that was the scent of his sweat and grim and sheer manliness that was natural to a man like Ty. And of course, his erection was a sight to behold, and how it was positioned, she was treated to an up close and very personal view of her lover's genitals. The same grayish color as his back, the erection emerged from the fleshy lips of the sheath between his thick, powerful legs. Ty had a beautiful shape, truth be told, one that Emily envied. Emily was strong, but her body was built for speed and agility, not the raw power that Ty used on a daily basis in his construction contracts. Resting beneath him, she could see every muscle in his legs tense and lock in place, in order to keep his great form supported. Leaning just a little closer to his underbelly, she could see his second heart pounding behind his ribs. She wanted to rest her head against his belly and listen to his throbbing pulse, but at the moment she couldn't, and that was alright. Because in her mouth, his erection was throbbing just fine.
Ty whined as Emily began to apply pressure to his penis, on and off. When she squeezed with her strong hands, his erection was embraced so tight he saw stars. Emily released, a steady stream of cream oozed out of the slit. Emily once more squeezed the shaft, so tight not a drop of cream could pass through the long, flesh tunnel. She lapped at the heavy headed shaft, cleaning it carefully, and released it again, letting the steady stream of cream emerge. When she squeezed, both the seed and blood was left to build up in Ty's quickly swelling testicles, but just before he feared they may pop, Emily eased her grip and always allowed his erection to release. She rubbed penis softly, supplely, never struggling or going too fast, letting Ty build up at a gradual pace.
"Emily," he finally whined. "You gotta stop... teasing me... I can't keep standing much longer."
Emily smiled warmly. She gave Ty's aching erection one more tight squeeze, making him see stars and his testicles nearly pop, before she eased her mouth open and leaned herself back. She poked his chest gently, and he backed away from her, and then with a great deal of effort she managed to at last right herself without causing a shot of agony to run through her chest. Ty sat down on the ground, and whimpered softly. His magnificent erection pressed out from between his legs, resting on the ground between his rear feet. A puddle of white had formed at the erection's head, growing larger gradually, although the shape of Ty's body meant it was nearly impossible to relieve himself, and he feared he was cursed to dance on the edge of a climax without reaching it.
Emily gestured for Ty to follow her, as she sauntered out of the room and back into the living room. Ty, great erection swinging side to side, followed her, and then watched and drooled as she stretched her upper half over the couch. Her middle legs were firmly planted on the ground, while her rear feet lifted to their toes, showing more of the appealing curve of her buttocks. Her tail lifted up and out of the way, showing her furless crack, the quivering pucker of her anus, and the eager, hungry lips of her vagina, and Ty nearly climaxed simply from the sight. Steps shaky, he approached the gorgeous vixen. He came to mount her in a very feral fashion: his hands on her shoulders, his middle legs over her lower torso, and his rear most feet firmly planted on the ground. He scooted forward very carefully, inching along, his full erection gradually approaching the hungry lips of Emily's vagina, until the warm, dribbling head poked at her gently.
Emily shivered at the touch. A soft breath escaped her, and she carefully lowered her head down, resting it on the couch. A cute whimper escaped her throat as she felt the full girth of the head poking at her hungry lips. She stretched herself over the couch, and Ty began to hump gingerly, girth gently widening her vagina. Emily was big, but Ty was simply massive, and it was a tight fit to shove his erection inside the warm cavern between her legs. But oh, as it slowly sank into the tight, warm, gripping muscles, that was heavenly.
Emily's pants grew in volume and speed as she felt her lover's shaft pressing into her madly gripping muscles. Every inch slipped inside sent shivers through her, and though her ribs began to ache, she ignored the pain, as much to help sate Ty's lust as her own. God, it had been too long, too long away from Ty. Everything about this seemed new, as if her body had somehow reset and it was her first time once again. She had forgotten how absolutely massive he was, and yet how sensitive. Some men just shoved themselves inside her like horny dogs. She did not enjoy those situations, but sometimes her masquerade required her to... she simply did not enjoy it, anything about it, and how selfish those men were, she was happy when she finally got the chance to cut open their throat.
But Ty... Ty was different. Ty was so tender and loving. The motion of his hips, pushing inside her, and how he wiggled and worked his hips back and forth, that was so delightful. He never slammed himself inside, every movement was careful and sweet and loving and left her lying on the couch, drooling. Even when he was forceful, there was always a sweetness to him.
Ty took a deep breath, and pressed himself forward, sliding his erection all the way inside his sister, hilting fully. He arched his back, weighing down heavier upon her as he drove his erection just a little bit deeper, slamming his hips against her buttocks and driving her over the couch. Ty snarled loudly, holding his hips against her, as Emily's body suddenly closed tight, her muscles clamping down upon his erection. It felt as if his penis might break right off, but god it felt amazing, being squeezed so tight by her like this. He felt himself hit climax, and yet how tightly his erection was being embraced, he could not release. He gasped, a throaty wheeze coming out of his throat as he felt his erection squeezed harder and harder, tighter and tighter, the climax now trapped in his testicles.
Emily grunted as she felt her body finally loosen, and a quick spurt of cream shoot into her. She tore a large gash in the couch beneath her, a choked whine gripping her throat as she felt the wetness rush out of her and fill her with his sweet love. Spurt after spurt, pump after pump. Their bodies locked into one great mass, spurt after spurt ripping out of Ty and sinking into her.
Eventually, she remembered how to breathe, and with a low whine she rested her head down upon the cushion. Ty was above her, panting and groaning as his climax began to slow down, but he was still reluctant to pull out of her. And it wasn't just the waves of bliss that being inside his long lost sister sent through his body. He craved the touch, the connection he had to her, and gave her a careful hug around the middle, minding her ribs.
It was not easy, but they managed to get back to the bed, where Ty plopped down comfortably. Emily was more careful, her chest still aching, now even more than before because of all she had been through, but she didn't show it. She came to rest with her back to Ty. Ty wrapped his arms and legs around her, stroked her softly, and kissed her on the crown.
"I have another contract," Emily said, sighing sadly. "It's a big one. I know you don't approve of my methods, but this woman I have to kill; she really, really has it coming. If I could tell you about it, you would understand why I need to do this."
Ty sighed, and nodded. "Wait till after we have sex to tell me?"
"I didn't... I didn't want to... I just wanted to be with you, Ty. I didn't want the worry or the fear or the-"
"It's alright," he said, resuming his soft nuzzles and nips over her ear.
"I might be a while... A few months, maybe even a year, but I'll be back. I promise." She set her head down. "I promise. And after this, I'm taking a shit load of vacation time." She closed her eyes. "Will you wait for me?"
Ty rubbed his paw in a soft circle, earning a giggle from the vixen. "For you, my love, forever."