It had been several weeks since Frankie ran away from her foster home. She didn't know exactly where she was going, she only knew that, like any other predator, she needed to find greener pastures and fresher prey. She didn't have much in the way of supplies, but she trusted that her fearsome charisma and unique skill set would be enough to earn her enough to eat and a warm place to sleep as she moved along.

For the last several days, she had been cutting through farmland, trying to find a shortcut to the next town. She knew that people in these parts could go a little nuts defending their property, so she did her best to stay out of sight, sleeping in hay lofts and corn fields.

It was after one night in the corn fields that Frankie was woken up by a rustling nearby. She scrambled onto all fours, locking eyes with a short goat kid maybe half her age standing over her. He was far too well-dressed to be in a cornfield - he wore long black pants and black suspenders over a long-sleeve baby-blue dress shirt, a leather belt with a metal buckle and a wide-brimmed straw had that cast a dappled light over his angular face. What little exposed fur he had was a very light brown, almost the colour of honey.

Both parties stepped back before Frankie put a finger to her lips and shushed the kid from making noise, but he seemed more curious than scared.

"Who're you?" the kid asked. His vowels slurred together in a way that made him sound almost drunk. Frankie thought it was a very strange accent for a species that looked so . . . domestic. Perhaps he wasn't from here, Frankie thought, or perhaps he was so sheltered that he wasn't used to people who didn't look and sound like him.

"I'm just passing through," she answered, "I must have fallen asleep. Who are you?"

"I'm Jericho," the kid answered, "Where's your ma?"

"My ma?" Frankie answered. If only this kid knew. "I don't need a 'ma'," she deflected, "where's yours?"

"She's doing the wash, and then we're off to the Schmitt's for church! You should come and meet my ma and listen to preacher Silas and-"

Frankie held up a hand to silence him. "I don't think that's a good idea," she replied politely, thinking in her head that she was sure to get struck by lightning or something if she went anywhere near a church. "In fact, I really should be on my way. But before I go . . ." The gears turned in her head as she thought about how best to take advantage of this one. He seemed remarkably friendly, which was not something Frankie was used to. Perhaps he would be agreeable and submissive enough that she wouldn't have to resort to her usual tricks. She just had to frame it in the right way.

"Before I go," he repeated with a bit more confidence, "I want to give you a little something. Call it a blessing, or a just reward for helping someone so helpless as little ol' me. Is anyone around?"

Jericho looked around. The corn was taller than he was, providing almost complete cover. "No?"

"Good. Now take off your pants for me, Jericho."

"But ma said-"

"Don't argue, kid," she warned, trying not to sneer, "I'm trying to reward you for being nice to me, remember?"

"O-okay," Jericho hesitated, then began the arduous process of undressing. He unclipped his suspenders, unbuckled his belt, and at last undid the buckle on his pants to reveal a surprisingly old-fashioned pair of undergarments. 

"Those too," she insisted.

"but-"

"Jericho," Frankie warned again, "trust me. Young men like you are often tasked with mysterious missions in the name of a higher power, are they not?" She hoped a more biblical approach would sway him further, even if she used a lot of big words he might not understand. But the kid nodded, pulling down his drawers. Frankie shuffled up to her knees and pushed her nose right into his crotch. The goat bleated in surprise.

"Shh!" Frankie commanded, lowering her voice to a whisper. "If others see, they'll want a reward too. But they don't deserve it like you do, do they?" She winked, and then put her face back in the kid's groin. He smelled like hay and cotton, only vaguely boyish.

She rubbed her nose up and down the boy's flaccid member, then gingerly took the tip in her mouth. It fit easily, and she was able to cradle it with her tongue. Little Jericho wasn't even the slightest bit afraid, and even put a hand on her head for balance as Frankie pushed a little, moving her tongue back and forth. Jericho's organ throbbed to life in her jaws, and in only a few seconds was big and hard enough for her to begin to suck. 

The goat kid squirmed nervously, looking around. Frankie grabbed his rear and held him close against her face, forcing the boy to lean down and hold onto her head with both hands. The canine was undeterred, even picking up speed until a massive shudder ran through Jericho's entire body, making his knees buckle. he almost collapsed onto Frankie before she pulled away and held him straight. 

The wolf-mutt looked up with a grin and licked her lips. Her throat was still dry, of course, the boy was incapable of producing anything yet. But the feeling she gave him was unmistakable. When she looked up, she swore she could see the little birds circling his head as he struggled to process what just happened. 

"You've been blessed, Jericho," Frankie grinned toothily as she rose to her feet and gathered her things, "Now be sure to tell your church all about it!"