FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

--1

A wisp of steam billowed out of Ryan's cocoa, and he huffed it away before taking a sip. In his cold hands, against his lips, and in his mouth, still dry from frigid mountain air, it was pleasant; soothing, not scalding. "So, yeah," he said with a tight, impish smile, "I got laid today."

Huddled around the fireplace in a rustic lodge were those in Ryan's audience, an assortment of effeminate knockouts like himself. Just casual friends, ones who had put up the money to split the costs of a trip to Colorado for skiing and sightseeing, but not so pedestrian that he didn't talk of or (sometimes) partake in sex with.

The lot of them being twinks who looked utterly perfect in skiing suits, every single one of them had a story to tell. Ryan's was to be told last, and he had just so happened to be the only one to bag one of the instructors - on duty, no less.

"We all figured that," one of the listeners chimed in, smiling mischievously A cheetah, his short muzzle and sharp features were well-suited to such a smile. "We wanna hear the good part."

There was a mutual agreement, and Ryan giggled. "Okay, okay," he said, standing and fluffing the pillow he was sitting on. Easing back down onto the sofa, he picked his cocoa back up for a sip. Then, calmly, and with a remembering smile on his lips, he said, "His name was Desmond..."

--2

By all rights, Ryan was an accomplished skier He'd never tried out in competitions, but only because he wasn't a competitive person. Skiing was fun, and he rationalized that it should stay that way - even if he could have probably won a medal or a trophy.

However sweet and calm he was, Ryan could also be clever if he needed to be. At the resort's store, while checking out gear, he spotted Desmond; a fox, clearly, with some raccoon markings. Interesting to look at, and pretty, too, with his slender body and blonde, silky hair.

Sidling up to the tod, who conspicuously wore a staff badge, Ryan calmly asked, "Excuse me - can you tell me where to get, uh...?"

Snapping his head to the cute, brown stallion, Desmond suddenly had a curt smile, and a lewd slant to his eyes. Ryan had seen that look; he was just giving it to the foxcoon while his back was turned. Very simply, it implied that he was checking the horse out.

"What's up?" Desmond asked.

Ryan smiled sweetly. "I'm trying to find some gear to go skiing," he explained. "I need some of those, um," he falsely grabbed at words, with appropriate pantomime, "those sticks."

Obligingly, Desmond said, "Ski poles?"

"That's it!" Ryan triumphantly said.

"Sure," the fox chuckled, patting Ryan's shoulder, although he thought of going for the flank or, even better, the hip; beautiful stallions who weren't three feet taller than everything else in the room were a rare commodity. "Over here," he said, walking the horse up to a sprawling, impossible-to-miss selection of ski poles.

Just as the fox started to walk off, Ryan pawed at his arm and coaxed him back. Meeting Desmond's patient smile with a sheepish one of his own, Ryan glanced at the poles, and as convincingly as he could play the ditz, he said, "Can you help me pick something?"

"Sure," Desmond said again, and he grilled the horse about what he was looking for, albeit not too intensely. When, some ten minutes later, he finally helped the equine make his choice (which Ryan would have gone for on his own anyway), he asked, "Is that all you needed?" He was thinking to himself, I doubt it. Sticking around the cute stallion wasn't unenjoyable, though.

"I don't think so," Ryan mused. "You were really helpful, thanks."

"That's what they pay me the big bucks for," the foxcoon deadpanned. It might have ended right then and there, they could have gone the whole trip without interacting again (and without ever fucking), but before he turned away, Desmond said, "Oh - and I think you could benefit from this."

"Huh?"

Rather than explain, Desmond pulled a card out of his breast pocket - a business card, grayscale, but shiny and professional-looking. Skiing Lessons Monday-Friday: 9AM-6PM, it read. Saturday-Sunday: 11AM-3PM on the second line.

"Oh, thanks," Ryan chuckled, slipping the card into his pocket, with the intent to toss it out later, "although my roommates are probably gonna show me how to ski."

"That's fine," Desmond smiled. "I'm just one of the instructors, I like to make sure we don't have anybody out there getting--"

"Um, I might be by later," Ryan said, his ears perking ever so slightly. A hint of blush was apparent on his cheeks, under his brown fur.

A sneer slunk across Desmond's muzzle. "Right," he said. "Well, I go on duty at 2 PM. Maybe I'll see you," he winked. "You take care."

"You too," Ryan said, glancing at the foxcoon's name tag, "Desmond."

Glancing back, Desmond said, "Just Dez."

"Sure," Ryan grinned.

--3

"I think he was hot for me," Ryan chuckled, and then he took another sip. By then, his cocoa was hardly steaming, but he wasn't cold anymore.

"Come on, keep going," the cheetah urged him, by far his most vocal listener.

Ryan shifted on the pillow again. Teasingly, he huffed, "Ah, jeez - knots are nice, but they leave you so sore..."

"Oh, come on," one of the other listeners chimed in, speaking with a needy whine.

"All right, all ri-i-ight," Ryan giggled. "Someone get me some more cocoa, okay?" And while one of his devout audience members did just that, the stallion relaxed back against the plush sofa, and he said, "So at 2 o'clock, I showed up over by the bunny slope..."

--4

Not even someone as charming and sexy as Desmond could make the basics of skiing sound interesting, but at least he was informative. Ryan was doing his very best to listen to what the fox had to say, but it was just too dull - things he already knew, things even an idiot who had never gone skiing in their entire life would know just from common sense.

Sitting (or rather, standing) through the lecture out in the cold was worthwhile every time Desmond crunched past him, anyway; he got to look at the foxcoon's behind, showcased in snug pants. None of the skiers were wearing one-piece bodysuits, but the tod's clothing was tight enough that no detail of his slim ass was left up to Ryan's imagination. (Neither were the details of his own behind, but Desmond was, sadly, focused on his work.)

When he guided the group through posture and the positioning of one's legs, it proved to be another fine piece of eye candy; the handsome foxcoon squatting, bending, and otherwise exerting himself - there was plenty to think about there.

Finally, over the course of an hour, Desmond helped his trainees down the slope one by one, if they so wanted more hands-on help. A good number of them just left of their own accord; Ryan hung around off to the side, feigning fear to go down the slope, claiming a preference to wait "a little while longer."

Eventually, it came to be that Ryan was Desmond's lone charge. Paws on his lips, a coy smile on his face, Desmond asked the stallion, "So, are you ever gonna go down?" Realizing what he'd said after the fact, he blushed and chuckled.

Ryan did, too. Grinning coyly, he leaned in closer to Desmond and said, "I could go down right now."

Desmond slightly pulled back, but not far or fast enough that Ryan's nose didn't bump his. Plunging one of his ski poles into the snow, he reached up and ran his fingers through the stallion's mane; the hair as silky and conditioned as his own was. Nobody was looking, but then again, nobody would have really cared, either; he kissed the small stallion, his tongue briskly swabbing the flat tops of the equine's teeth. Then, "Are you talking about me, or the slope?"

Blushing, but grinning wider than ever, Ryan nipped at Desmond's neck and plucked a few follicles of fur. Twisting his body and juking before the fox could nip back (and clearly, he was about to), he shoved off and rocketed down the slope, descending with far more finesse than a rookie had any right to exhibit.

All at once, the foxcoon knew he'd been strung along from the beginning, but he didn't care. Not over such a cute thing like that stallion, whatever his name was. Snatching up his other pole from the snow, he threw himself down the slope too, hunkering down low to make up speed.

Ryan was quick, but Desmond, a professional, was quicker. It wasn't his intention to overtake the stallion - he would have much rather gotten him from behind as they stopped - but that was exactly what he ended up doing. Gliding down to the flat bottom of the slope, where few others congregated (most of them were getting back on the lift to go again, none paying any mind to the foxcoon and the stallion), Desmond whipped around and dug his skis into the snow sideways, halting.

Joining the foxcoon, Ryan twisted his skis before he could pass the fox, and the effect was immediate and obvious; he slung fresh powder all over the vulpine. Laughing riotously, he fell to his rear, pointing at the well-dusted fox. "Hey, that's a good look for you!"

Tiredly wiping the melting powder from his face, Desmond said, "So you're not a newbie, huh?"

"Uh, I'm a really quick learner?" Ryan said, smiling.

"I bet," Desmond said with a mock-stern glare. "I'm gonna teach you another lesson, let's see how quick you learn this one."

Climbing up to his feet, picking his poles back up, Ryan grinned. "Really, now?"

Grabbing up his own poles, Desmond nodded off the course - over toward the trees. Specifically, a sparse swatch that marked the beginning of the snow-capped forest. "Yeah, now get moving. I sure don't want to take time out from training newbies, but you need to learn how to behave," he grinned.

--5

"So I followed him," Ryan said, finishing his second cup of cocoa - this one had little marshmallows bobbing in it. Glancing at his audience, all listening with rapt attention, he smiled, "Then he taught me a lesson - he told me how to behave on the slopes, and said next time he caught me covering someone in snow, he'd call my parents and send me home."

"Awww, come on!"

"You tease!"

"Did he really do that?"

Ryan fluffed his pillow again, but when sitting down was still wince-inducing, he instead lay on his side, resting his head on the armrest and pillow, using it for its' intended purpose. "I'm kidding," he said - mostly unnecessarily. "So when he got me just outside the forest, he pinned me to a tree, and..."

--6

Desmond's long, canid tongue snaked past Ryan's lips. Not for a benign swab as before, but for the full monty. Tangling it up with Ryan's own tongue, stroking fervently through the stallion's mane and earning the same in return, he made his lust painfully obvious - roughly as obvious as the swollen bulge in his snug pants, which he ground against a similar (albeit, for the moment, lifeless) bulge in Ryan's own crotch.

Now this is a skiing lesson, Ryan thought, suckling hotly on Desmond's maw, feeling the instructor's strong (and barbell-studded!) tongue grinding all over his own, squeezing and teasing, while padded paws did the same about his head and neck.

Desmond's hair was so touchably soft, and that was just what Ryan did to it, stroking it, combing through it with his fingers, but despite all the skiing the foxcoon did that day, there were almost no knots in it. Maybe Ryan's fingers were just lucky in where they combed, but to the stallion, it added to the air of physical perfection he got from the foxcoon.

Sliding eager hands down Desmond's body, Ryan clutched the twink fox's rump cheeks, admiring their curve under his trembling fingers. To perhaps every other stallion, molesting such an ass would've brought around thoughts of fucking it, but not Ryan; friends joked that he was a fox in horse's clothing. But if Desmond was so eager to dominate, what did that say about the actual fox in the situation?

Breaking the kiss and groaning in a heated, sexy way, Desmond turned his attention on Ryan's neck. Slim and cute, it demanded to be gnawed, and a gnawing is what it got.

While Desmond's teeth prickled his flesh and made it tingle in the frigid air, Ryan slipped his fingers under the waistband of Desmond's pants and boxers. Partly for warmth and partly for sexuality's sake, he curled them around the cheeks beneath, but didn't venture to the especially warm crack between them. "Ooh, god," he huffed, along with a cloud of steam, "I don't think anybody's ever screwed me in the snow..."

"S'fun," Desmond grunted through a mouthful of horse neck, which he afterward relinquished Pecking the stallion on the cheek, he went on to say, "It's a little cold at first - but once you get into it, you don't even notice." After a quick grin, he bumped noses with the equine, reaching down between their slim bodies. Ryan's fly was a trivial obstacle to a well-experienced slut like Desmond. (Likewise, a zipper and button combo couldn't stop somebody like Ryan, either.)

Obligingly, Ryan slipped his fingers out of Desmond's pants, and he slid his own down. The boxers, a drab brown much less vibrant than his hide, stayed - but only because Desmond apprehended his hands before he could get those down.

Holding his "trainee" by the wrists, Desmond gnawed at the stallion's chin, plucked follicles from it, and made an all-around tease of himself. Even more so when he ground crotch-to-crotch with the horse again, finding the blunt, swelling cock behind those boxers to be enthralling, though not what he was after.

"Ahhh, come o-o-on," Ryan whined, with a playful quality.

"Hey, I said you were gonna learn a lesson," Desmond cooed, grinning.

"All I'm learning is that foxes in Colorado are awful teases," Ryan huffed.

Desmond snickered and unhanded Ryan's wrists, but pressed so flush to him that the stallion couldn't grab for his own cock. "I'm from Kentucky, but thanks for playing." Swiftly pulling back, he whipped the stallion around faster than he could think, and he pressed him against the tree. Not flush, for fear of scraping him on the bark, but firmly enough that the horse learned that this was to be his place.

For Ryan, being showed where and how to submit was perfectly fine; fox in horse's clothing, indeed. Keeping the pretty, black shock of his tail high over the barely-decent curve of his behind, he glanced back at Desmond with need in his eyes and a heavy, visually-apparent pace of breathing.

"Ah, you're sexy as hell," Desmond grunted, giving his own cock one tweak through his pants. He knelt, and the ungroomed snow crunched underneath, chilling and exhilarating him even through his clothes.

More exhilarating than that was the stallion's taut behind, by then right in his face; first he bit at a thigh, then he wrapped his arm around one and nuzzled into the other. By all rights, Ryan was beautiful, a twink for the ages, much like Desmond was. Speaking volumes of his admiration for the equine was a low, lewd rumble in his chest, a steady murr, which Ryan could feel but not hear.

Biting down on Ryan's boxers, Desmond slowly pulled them downwards, exposing the stallion's delectable, naked ass. In between taut cheeks, ever so subtly winking, was a pitch-black tail hole that begged for love; a black, furless taint led down to balls with identical qualities, and then a cock that, though black for the first few inches, fast gave over to bubblegum-pink, relenting back into black for only a few misplaced splotches.

Unarguably, Ryan was gorgeous from head to hooves. Upon the right ass cheek, etched in black into the brown fur, were a trio of adorable star markings. Grinning coyly, Desmond remarked, "It's the middle of the afternoon, but I see stars and a full moon."

Ryan laughed softly, but it was undermined by pleasure-driven shivers and coos from Desmond's persistent nuzzling and nibbling. "I've never heard anyone put it like that, but, yeah..."

Chuckling to himself, but in Ryan's earshot, Desmond gently pried the cheeks apart, more greatly exposing the pucker between. Though it clenched, shying away from the cold, dry air of the mountain, Desmond warmed it with a soft kiss, then a lick, in which he ever so gently dug the tip of his tongue into the ring. Amidst Ryan's dreamy moaning, Desmond wriggled and pushed against it, parting the ring with his tongue, slipping it just inside, but no further.

The fact that Desmond pulled his tongue back before he even got the piercing close to it spurred Ryan to groan distastefully, and he brushed his tail teasingly over the twink fox's face. "Tease," he pouted.

"A little bit, but," Desmond chuckled, "as nice as it is, I'd rather not get my tongue frozen to your asshole, sweetheart."

Ryan doubted if that was possible, but he wasn't arguing with the fox - especially not as he stood up and did away with his own pants. More than ever, Ryan braced against the tree and kept his tail high, even swaying his hips a little bit - anything he could think of to offer his hindquarters, though the tod was already hooked.

Desmond shoved down his boxers, and his look suggested, to anyone who might stumble across them, that he was in a hurry; pants around his ankles, boxers clinging around his knees, the portrait of a slut in the middle of a quickie.

Gripping his pink flesh around the knot (Ryan got hardly a glance at it before it was too late), Desmond guided his cock in-between the stallion's taut cheeks, and then he prodded its' pointed tip against that wet, black pucker. "I bet you're gonna be tight as fuck," he growled, his free paw finding purpose in holding onto Ryan's tail.

"Better find out," Ryan whispered, looking back at Desmond with a blushing, needy expression. "Fuck me, come on..."

Finally, Desmond pushed forward; trading the cold, open air for the warmth of Ryan's anal passage made the fox shudder. In kissing his knot up to the stallion's asshole, he found the contrast amazing, making Ryan seem that much hotter inside. "God, that's so good," he chuckled, leaning over the stallion, giving him a kiss on the nose.

"Mhm," Ryan squeaked, gripping the tree tightly. Around Desmond, his anal walls writhed and clenched, doing their best to reject that invading member, but their tender nerves gave the stallion so much pleasure; had he had toes instead of hooves, they would have certainly been curling, especially as that fat knot pressed against him. Down in-between his legs, his thick endowment, twice Desmond's length, throbbed uselessly and spat its' pre into the snow.

For the sake of the sex, Desmond would have liked to go slow. A twink like Ryan was something to savor and enjoy every facet of, like a fine wine - but the cold air, even through their partial dress and dense coats, demanded that they act quickly. That was fine for the both of them; horny twinks could take it slow or fast, and men in general could always be counted on for a quick fuck.

Pulling back quickly, grinding in hard and making great use of his knot, Desmond's fucking blurred the line between satisfaction and maddening teasing. Ryan loved the actual penetration, having that pointed vulpine cock poking around inside of him, grinding against his walls, pleasing wherever it went, but he could hardly stand that teasing knot. It wasn't the threat of its' size that bothered him - it was just the fact that he wasn't getting it yet.

Voicing his concerns, Ryan needfully whined, "God, that knot feels so good... Are you gonna stick it in me, or what?"

"Don't rush me," Desmond huffed, gripping Ryan's shoulder in one paw, holding onto his tail with the other. That tail proved to be a good thing to hold; even the slightest tug was enough to make the stallion clench down like a vise, like a much less crude donkey punch, and of course Desmond abused that fact.

Each tug and subsequent clench felt good not just for Desmond, but for the star-marked stallion, too. Every time Desmond did it (which was often), he would groan, but Ryan would gasp, or yelp, or make any number of other hysterical noises in pleasure. He loved to be fucked, to just be bent over and used, and Desmond seemed to get that. The foxcoon had finesse and skill, but he was callous, too; a balanced lay.

"Mmh, hey, sorry I'm not giving you a reacharound," Desmond grunted, pressing down harder on Ryan's shoulder, tugging up more sharply on his tail. "It's hard enough to keep up this pace without reaching down between your legs..."

"Ahhh, fuh-fuck it, don't worry about that," Ryan whimpered, then clenching his teeth. After hissing through them while Desmond's knot ground particularly hard, almost gratifyingly so into his pucker, he said, "I think I'm gonna cum anyway..."

Desmond grinned, but spoke in a haggard tone; he was getting close, too. "Well, hey-- ahh, god, that's nice. If you don't jizz, you can come back to my lodge - I have a hot tub."

Ryan wanted to giggle at the invitation (and say yes to it), but he was suddenly tongue-tied with pleasure. Desmond's vulpine cock was hitting all the right spots, his prostate, especially; that pointed, so very subtly hooked tip was just perfect for digging against his tender walls and stirring up mind-bending pleasure. Panting hard, a near-constant plume of steam erupting from his maw, Ryan glanced back at the twink foxcoon in blatant need.

Desmond had fucked enough men to know what a behind did when its' owner was cumming; Ryan's spasming walls and constant clenches were dead giveaways. Bracing his paw on the stallion's hip, pulling on his tail for that added effect, he crudely ground his fat knot against that equine tail hole.

"Ooh! Ahhh, get it in me, come on!" Ryan whined, his eyes rolling back as that supreme pleasure overtook him. Thick, fertile seed gushed from his spasming, mottled cock, splattering into the snow underfoot in rope after rope.

It was all made so much better for Ryan when Desmond did as the stallion commanded: he wedged his knot past the threshold of Ryan's ass, spreading him wide to the tune of a sharp cry from the horse, followed by a deep, content moan.

Desmond knotted the star-marked stallion in personal silence, save for a lewd rumble in his chest, and moments after that equine rump swallowed up his bulbous knot entirely, he hunkered down over the stallion, pressed flush to him, squeezed him tightly, and shot a load so thick and potent, it surprised even the virile stallion.

"Uhhhn, shit," Desmond panted, laying his chin between Ryan's ears.

"Mmh, yeah," Ryan cooed in satisfaction. "I'm so gonna be back here next Winter..."

--7

"And that's why I can't sit down," Ryan concluded, back upright, by then seated on two pillows. There was a hush over the room; everyone was glaze-eyed and hard from his vivid recollection. It had happened, after all, just hours before.

"But, wait," the cheetah said, raising a paw like a student to his teacher, "what about the hot tub?"

"Ah, well," Ryan chuckled, "that's another story. After he got his knot out of me..."

Ryan kept everybody up, in more ways than one, through most of the night. And the next day, he went up to Desmond's lodge again.