Little Red Light
Author's Note: the following is a work of furry fiction. It may and does contain acts of yiffery including sexual situations, hetero (icky!) stuff, and otherwise mature content suitable for pawing off but not for irresponsible eyes. If you are too young to read this, or do not want to, feel free to go away. Otherwise, please read and enjoy...
FEEDBACK always welcome to: [email protected]
Little Red Light ©MMV Whyte Yoté
The familiar group of four burly furs, clothed in stained blue coveralls, wave as they pass by the security station and spread to each corner of the first of thirty floors to be cleaned tonight. Waving back, a lone security guard yawns and pats his ample belly before turning a casual eye back to the array of monitors sitting in front of him. An unnatural glow casts multiple shadows on the blank wall behind the big bulldog.
Monday nights are always the longest, always the hardest to get through. It is the shortest night for the cleaning crew, however, and when they leave after only a few hours the guard has nothing else to watch on the monitors. Eight hours, ten cups of coffee, and two trips to the snack machine later, the guard clocks out as the first businessfurs stagger into their clean offices for another day at the grind, unaware of the diligence it has taken to make their workplace livable for another day.
But tonight there may be a chance, and it's that same chance that has made recent Mondays much more interesting. There is still light shining under the closed door of a certain corner office on the thirtieth floor.
The big canine leans back in his chair, hearing it creak and groan under his bulk. He scans the monitors again, flicking switches this way and that, putting the stationary cameras on slideshow mode and activating the panning cameras in the garage so that he can see every corner of the business complex with one quick thirteen-second glance. So boring, so dead; there's not even any traffic passing by outside. He breaks out his playing cards, but that one thing is never far from his mind.
Keeping a close eye on the monitors, the guard hardly notices the time passing faster than he would have thought possible. Suddenly he realizes the cleaning crew is on the eighth floor, and an hour has elapsed. How many card games has he played so far? he wonders. Twenty? Thirty? It doesn't matter; one camera flips its channels and the light is still on underneath the heavy cherry door far above him. Somebody must be working late, or...or...
"No, they can't," he almost whines. How could they deny him? Don't they know how boring it gets down here, in this little cubicle, night after night?
The guard stares intently at the same monitor for minutes on end. The light never changes. Images of the cleaning crew do not merit his attention; a fur mopping a bathroom here, another pushing a cart of supplies down a carpeted hallway there. When the door opens on the thirtieth floor, it takes more than two seconds before the guard registers the change. Startled, he pushes back, rolling a ways on the casters before braking himself with his feet and pulling closer again.
"'Bout time, you," the dog murmurs as a pair of furs walk out of the office door. The wolf in an obviously expensive suit turns and locks the door after turning off the light, then goes back to talking with his companion, a young vixen, short and typical secretary material. Pretty schoolgirl looks, tastefully dressed with just a few remnants of teen rebellion showing in her semi-casual office attire. The wolf's headfur is slicked back in a no-nonsense style, and he strides with confidence next to the fox, talking animatedly with his paws. The vixen looks to be giggling. The guard scoots closer, wishing the cameras recorded in color.
It is awfully late to be working this early in the week, when deadlines are still a few days away, yet the vixen has papers and a legal pad she keeps showing to her boss, as if she were going over a proposal or financial plans. Just one more corner to turn and soon they will be in the elevator, riding quickly down to the lobby. Or, if things turn out like last week, there won't be much talking going on at all.
The two arrive in front of the elevators and the wolf reaches out to press the down button. The guard can see on another screen that the closest lift is on the twenty-third floor, and it will take only twenty-one seconds to reach them...a relatively short wait. Watching the numbers flash inside the elevator on one screen and the couple waiting patiently on another, the bulldog can't help but feel like he's invading someone's privacy. But then again, comes that lovely voice of justification, it's his job to watch these screens for criminals and vandals, and anyone on the premises, especially those who work in the building, knows they're on camera wherever they go.
At last the elevator arrives at the thirtieth floor and the ornate copper doors (they're just a grey blur to the guard) open to let in the wolf and his secretary. This is the moment of truth; the guard presses a button, switching the camera's display from a small sidescreen to the bigger monitor in the center of his workstation. He can see in much better detail now, all the way down to the reflection of the fluorescent lights in the wolf's dark eyes. He puts a paw on the vixen's shoulder as the doors close, sealing them off.
Even on the low-grade quality of closed-circuit television, it is clear that the atmosphere has changed dramatically from just a few seconds ago. The wolf's paw squeezes the fox's waist, moves down to her rump, and slides beneath her skirt, lifting it up to reveal absolutely nothing underneath. Two fingers slide effortlessly out of view and hook into her cleft, gently massaging.
"Aw hell, man," the guard murmurs vulgar words of encouragement in a thick drawl, now sitting back with one paw between his legs working his zipper down. "Go get her."
As if hearing the guard through the camera, the wolf takes the vixen by the hips and swings her around to the wall opposite his point of view, pinning her near the array of floor call-buttons. His paws are everywhere on her legs, up her skirt, over her pert breasts and around her head as he bends forward and clamps his muzzle onto hers, which openly accepts the kiss and reciprocates with gusto.
If there were audio in the elevator car, the guard would hear the rustling of fur and fabric, the familiar wet sounds of two muzzles entwined, punctuated by small grunts and moans as the illicit lovers embrace. But even if the guard could hear all this, he would never know, nor care about, how this relationship was started. He would not know that the vixen, a junior in college, begged her boss's help with a late-night cram session that turned from anatomy to sex in the course of a few minutes. He would not know that the wolf feels no guilt about his secret matings, or that the vixen has no idea he is married. All he knows is that for the last month, each Monday night at the same time, the last two people to leave the building yiff in the elevator on their way down to the ground, and go their separate ways as if nothing happened. And that is perfectly fine with him, because he gets to watch the whole thing and stroke off.
By the time the wolf gets around to pushing the button for the ground floor, his female companion is rubbing him thoroughly through his expensive pants, making sure his cock is nice and hard before the car starts to move. The guard has released his own penis, which pulses lazily up the length of his large belly, its purple head swelling as much as his knot. His flabby sheath comes down over the shining pink veined flesh and one pudgy paw grips the shaft, stroking it like a joystick. He watches the hot fox unzip her boss and peel the pants from over his sheath, sees the wolf's boxers pop out at an angle, starts to salivate when he sees the shapely lupine member come into view, glistening and dripping already.
All this has happened in the time it takes for the elevator's doors to close without a sound. There is a jerk as they start to descend, and the wolf knows his time is limited. He covers the vixen's body with his own, hiking up her skirt and giving the guard a flashing view of her sex before grabbing his cock and lining it up to her opening. One powerful thrust of his hips and he's inside, the smaller fox's muzzle opening wide in what the bulldog can only assume is a scream or gasp of ecstasy. Immediately the horny wolf is deep into a series of thrusts, upward and in towards the wall, deeper and deeper until he can feel his knot growing too large to contain within his temporary mate. With a grimace he withdraws slightly but doesn't slow down.
The guard runs his paw faster over his stubby but thick maleness, pounding the underside of the tapered head, knowing it is the fastest way to draw the most pleasure from within. He watches the wolf's hips in a blur on the screen, his long grey (at least he thinks it's grey) tail wobbling and smacking his buttocks like his feral relatives. The bulldog lifts his hips a little, thinking, like he has done for the past three weeks, that there's no way they can finish their business in time. He knows it takes three seconds for this particular elevator to go from floor to floor, and the couple has roughly a minute and a half to finish their dirty deed...and so does he to finish his own.
As the little red light looks blindly on, the elevator passes the twentieth floor.
Now the wolf does something different from past trysts: he lifts the vixen's legs up by the knees, bending her at the waist and pulling her open wider for deeper, easier penetration. The pawing bulldog, cock leaking over his big fingers, can now clearly see the wolf's shaft as it pounds upward and into the tight vulpine hole which swallows each inch easily up to the knot. The lupine humps faster, his legs straining and purposeful.
The vixen claws at her boss's arched back, head thrown against the wall, long hair splayed out over her shoulders in a messy radial pattern. She helps him thrust deeper, her mouth moving and speaking words, probably shouting, but the guard can't hear a thing. Too bad he's a terrible lip-reader, or he would be getting off a lot quicker than he already is.
Suddenly the lupine backs away from the wall, causing the fox to lose her support and lean. He tries to hold her up but they tip forward, forcing him to go to his knees. He never loses contact with her sex, though, and never stops pounding. With nowhere else to go but down, the young vixen wraps her legs around the wolf's back and lies below him on the elevator's floor. He gets the idea and shifts also, finding he can go even faster in a more natural position.
The now sweaty couple, still unaware of the little red light glowing in one dark corner of the elevator, passes the tenth floor.
Little drops of precum, thin and clear but shining in the glow of the TV sets, fly from the tip of the guard's cock and hit his thighs, chest and stain his shirt a darker blue than its standard-issue color. Watching that perfect lupine ass go, his tail raised in dominance and his fuzzy balls slapping against the fox's slit at a rocket's pace and getting more erratic all the time, he now has to work hard to suppress his climax. His paw will speed up and then stop, hovering just off the surface of the flesh while the canine fights off the urge to let himself go over. Little grunts of effort puff out his jowls and whiskers.
His head lifted to the hard lights of the elevator, the wolf's tongue hangs limply and dangles from one corner of his open muzzle. The fur on the back of his neck is shiny with perspiration and effort. His balls slap noiselessly against the vulpine labia, swelled and ready for release. The fox hugs her lover close, resting her muzzle on one of his strong, tweed-covered shoulders. Her teeth are gritted, her eyes rolled: she is in the throes of orgasm, barely hanging on for dear life as the wolf pounds her into a stratospheric level of pleasure, his hips a blur as he too gives in to the needs of his cock.
The guard feels his knot, an uncomfortable pressure on his lower belly, throb heavily with blood and the beginnings of a very large come. Onscreen, the wolf's paws leave the vixen's waist and slap the walls, making them bow and wobble. His hips stop after one final thrust, his tail raised over his back as he empties himself into his lover. For a time there is no movement, only the wolf's quivering legs and curling toes. Panting, the fox opens her eyes, seeming to stare into space for a moment. Suddenly her gaze rises and stares straight ahead...directly at the bulldog. As her boss mates her in the corner, she realizes they are not alone in their deed. After a moment, she smiles at the little red light.
Pumping through to the end, the guard keeps his eye glued to the spot of their connected flesh, the underside of the lupine's shaft and the separation of the vixen's flesh as it accommodates his girth. He thinks he can even see the wolfseed pulsing through the urethra as it spurts home. Then his eyes catch the vixen's stare; she seems to be looking right at him, a thought which both scares and excites him deeply. The bulldog watches her smile back at the camera, taunting him to do something about it but knowing he wouldn't dare give up a show this good. She dares him to complete his voyeuristic fantasy, and he never looks away even as thick, white ropes splash against his own belly, making a pool in his navel and running thickly down his chubby fingers. His muzzle hangs wide open.
A soft chime comes from just down the hall, and the effect is immediate: the wolf clutches his member, sliding a finger along the length to get the last drops out, and stands to tuck himself back in. It won't do much good, as his knot will not subside for at least another ten minutes. The vixen follows suit right after, picking herself up off the floor and trying to hold in a very large amount of semen without the benefit of panties. She smoothes down her dress, looking around guiltily, and points to the floor. The lupine quickly runs a polished shoe over a puddle, spreading it around but failing to cover it up.
Another chime comes from down the hall, and the elevator doors open. The guard watches both on the screen and in real life as he can see the lifts from his little station. A cold sensation on his paw reminds him he has cum cooling all over himself, and with only seconds to spare he scrambles, managing to grab a cloth and wipe his chest and crotch down, tucking in his still-stained shirt and pulling his jacket as tight as it will allow over his belly before sitting up.
The pair are chatting again, all business talk and professional. The wolf has a paw on her shoulder and is gesturing with the other again as if trying to get a tough point across. She only nods and murmurs affirmations as they approach the guard's station before making their way out to the street. The bulldog watches them approach, wondering if the vixen even considered there might be someone on the other end of the CCTV camera. He looks her over like any male would, but something captures his attention: as the wolf ushers her along rather quickly, he can see a trail of dubiously white drips left where she steps.
Stopping for a moment to acknowledge the guard, the wolf smiles warmly, makes a perfunctory salute and tells him to keep up the good work. As much as he tries to keep eye contact, the canine can only watch as a small puddle grows beneath the vixen's legs. He can see the drips as they splash directly beneath her skirt. The guard nods back with a thank you and good wishes for the rest of the evening, to which he gets a wink from the female fox. That wink is unmistakable; they both know there was someone behind the little red light.
The guard sits down again, grateful to hide his newly-recharged erection. Chatting again as if none of it had ever happened, the wolf walks his secret lover out the main doors and into the night. A regretful sigh fills the guard station as the bulldog settles his bulk back into the chair, switching his cameras to their proper screens and positions. All is silent and dull again, and the cleaning crew can be seen running their machinery on the twenty-ninth floor. One more and they will be done for another evening, leaving him alone to stand watch over an empty building once again. Before he clocks out, he thinks, he will have to take a certain VCR tape home with him.
He smiles as another thought occurs: tonight, the crew will need to make a second visit to the lobby before their job is done. Thankfully, cum is easy enough to clean...
FIN
2/12-2/19/05