In no particular order, completely random excerpts from stories I've been working on:
(From "You Two Have Fun")
"Anybody around to see where we're going? We don't want to give away the Secret Spot."
Kimberly looked up and down the trail. They hadn't passed anybody while hiking, and there was only one car besides theirs back at the parking area. It was early spring, so it was wet, muddy, cold, and dreary with only a few trees starting to leaf out. There weren't many other hikers around to enjoy all that.
"Nope."
They started on that heading with her father once again in the lead. Kimberly occasionally checked their bearing on the compass and kept track of her pace for a while—every 74th time her right foot came down she'd move one bead—but she grew bored of that. Her father was keeping pace and knew where they were going. She'd never been, but she had heard of the Secret Spot. A place buried in the Appalachans that her great-grandfather had discovered long ago and had taken her grandfather, who in turn took her father and uncle. A place where the boys could be boys. She wasn't a boy, but since she had no brothers she was getting dragged into this "guy's trip" by default. Having a tomboy daughter was as close to a son as her father was likely to get. Her great-grandfather was gone before she was even born. Grandfather had passed away last year, and her uncle was too busy with work for such things, so it was up to her father to attempt to pass on the annual tradition. She had been camping many times, but this was going to be new for her. This wasn't a KOA with a souvenir store, facilities that were cleaned five times daily, and outlets to plug into at every campsite, this was honest-to-gosh "pooping in the woods and wiping with pine cones" camping. Of course she had several rolls of toilet paper in sealed bags in her backpack because there was an absolute limit to how primitive she was willing to get.
The going was slower than it had been on the trail and they had to pick their way carefully on the slopes. The rain, a dense layer of the previous autumn's leaves, and rocky terrain meant untrustworthy footing. Kimberly's had slipped once and landed on her tail, but her stick helped prevent most tumbles. It was much wetter off the trail even though it was still the same light drizzle. Where before she had only been damp under her poncho raincoat, now she was soaked down to her fur. Pushing their way through shrubs and underbrush allowed water to find its way up the sleeves and down the neck. Her boots were wet and her jeans under her rain pants were cold. Even though they were down the valley and out of the wind, she was even more miserable.
They came across a low line of stone jutting from the ground to their right. As they descended, the stones rose up to a wall and then to an escarpment looming over them, with cascades of tiny waterfalls rolling down the face. They kept a healthy distance from the cliff face, the broken off rocks and boulders at its base highlighted the danger of walking in its shadow, especially so soon after the winter freezes. Her father stopped to catch his breath and Kimberly was thankful for that.
"How are you holding up, pumpkin?" he asked.
"Good," she said breathlessly.
He glanced at her ranger beads. "So how much further do we have to go? I haven't been keeping track."
"Um..." Kimberly held up her arm. The beads on her wrist indicated they had gone precisely 400 meters, but she knew it had been way further than that. "I donno."
Her father sighed. "Do you mean we're going to have to go back and start over?" Before Kimberly could work up a good panic about climbing all that way back to the rock that marked the starting point, her father laughed.
"No, no, we're here."
She scanned the area. It wasn't what she had expected for a place that was known as the "Secret Spot". There was nothing special at all, and It looked like any other part of the mountains. Just a tree-covered slope under a high, granite outcropping.
"Don't you like it?" her father asked.
"There's nowhere to pitch the tent."
"That's fine because I didn't bring the tent. They're too darn heavy." He was eyeing the granite outcropping above, satisfied that nothing looked loose or dangerous.
"Daddy! Stop teasing! Where are we going to sleep?"
He held out his paws, letting the rain fall on them. "You don't want to sleep under the stars?"
"Daddy!"
Her father chuckled. "It's a secret spot, so that means it's hidden. Look around."
Kimberly circled her father, trying to figure out what he wanted her to find. There was nothing but trees and rocks. She was cold, wet, and getting frustrated. "I donno, what am I looking for?"
He shook his head. "You'll have to find it. I won't cave."
She eyed him suspiciously, and he smirked back. Was that a clue hidden in a dad joke? She turned to examine the granite outcropping. It stood over them about forty feet high; the sedimentary layers of it angled sharply, indicating this part of the mountain had slowly shifted over many millions of years. At the base of the outcropping, there were more rocks that didn't appear to sit the same, as if they had been stacked in place in layers. There were vines growing over them with shrubbery and branches leaning against the stone face, like someone was trying to hide something. Kimberly moved some of the branches and discovered a door. An old and worn door that was only about three feet tall. It appeared to be made from scrap wood nailed together, and had been painted to match the stone. Although the paint has faded and peeled.
"This is the Secret Spot?"
(From "The Long Ride Home")
"Hey, Shep,"
"Afternoon, Mr. Brooks." Shepard was an old wirehaired pointer wearing overalls and a baseball cap so grease stained the team patch on it couldn't be read anymore. "Been fishing lately?"
"Picked up two rainbows on Saturday down the bend."
"Anything worth talking about?"
Martin shrugged. "Eh, they fried up fine."
Shep nodded solemnly. "I was at the dam last week and got a small black bass and a couple of sunnies, but that was it. Seems like it's all slowing down now."
"Yeah."
"Alright. What'll it be today? Just a fill-up and fluid check for the ol' Schoolmaster?"
"Yep, and uh... is Babka serving up ice cream today?"
Shep nodded. "Vanilla, chocolate, and boysenberry. Which can she do you for?"
Martin turned to Loribelle. "Tell him what you want."
The doe's face brightened. "For serious, Mr. Marty?"
"Sure, I got an extra nickel in my pocket that I don't need."
Loribelle was out of her seat and rushed to lean over Martin, sticking her head out the window. "Hi, Mr. Shep!"
"Hey, little lady! How was school today?"
"It was pretty good! Patricia threw up on the lunchroom floor, and then Sister Beth had to clean it up!"
"Oh... that, uh... does sound like a good day."
She leaned even further forward with her hooves on the door frame, laying across Martin's lap. Her feet kicked idly and her tail flicked. "What flavors do you have?"
"Well, unless it changed in the last ten seconds, it should still be vanilla, chocolate, and boysenberry."
"Boysenberry, please, sir!"
Martin found himself drawn to the doe's bright tail flashing under his nose. Loribelle was a knobby-kneed bean pole, but there was something alluring about a girl in a growth spurt. A wiry body where the bones have outpaced the muscle tone intrigued him.
"Mr. Marty!"
Martin yanked his paw off her thigh. "Huh?"
"Did you want ice cream too?" Loribelle asked.
"Oh... yeah," he said, "Get me a vanilla, Shep."
"Sure thing." The old male cupped his paw next to his muzzle. "Babka! Customers! One boysenberry and one vanilla!" he shouted.
"What?" a voice called back from inside the garage.
"Ice cream! A boysenberry and a vanilla!"
A brief pause. "What?"
"Lordamighty!" Shep muttered as he stomped over to the garage and poked his head in. "Boysenberry and vanilla!"
"You don't have to shout! I can hear just fine!"
(From "Some Sort of Story")
Charles rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a plastic bag of loose tobacco. Smoking was either a costly habit or a free one, depending on what you were willing to do to get it. He opted for the free route. A smoker only smokes 50 to 80 percent of a cigarette, tossing the rest away. As long as it was dry there's always good tobacco left in a discarded butt. A little tougher to find dry butts in the winter, but store entrances and factory back doors where smokers congregated were good places to look for them, and occasionally even bum a fresh one from a friendly smoker. He had no interest in effectively french kissing half the city so he didn't smoke the butts (or at least rarely did), but the tobacco could be teased out and bagged. Charles stuffed a small pipe with his exclusive "street blend" and lit it. Cigarette tobacco hits hard and fast when unfiltered—a dancing, heavy sensation through the face and around the ears—and he closed his eyes to enjoy it.
Suddenly a clatter of cans and bottles carried through the lot. The delightful nicotine high faded quickly as he realized someone had tripped one of his alarms. His paw slid under the edge of a blanket on the floor, and he withdrew his knife. A butcher knife that had its broken handle replaced with multiple wraps of duct tape. He made efforts to keep the location of his tent a secret and the lot as unassuming as possible. Despite multiple entryways to avoid beating one into an obvious "welcome mat" (a more difficult feat with winter snow showing his tracks), urban explorers did occasionally stumble through. Sometimes they had ill intent for anyone they happened to find.
The racket of the alarm continued and someone cursed. The voice sounded young, but that didn't mean he could drop his guard. On the streets, sometimes cubs can be just as dangerous as adults. Two years ago he had been beaten by a group of teens at a different location. After they messed him up they destroyed his living space and the few items he owned. They had no reason for it since he had nothing they wanted, they just did it to do it.
Charles slipped out of the tent to avoid being cornered in it and eased his way along a tangle of vines and stunted trees. The clamor of his alarm covered any noise he made. The racket ceased, and Charles crouched down and waited, hoping that whoever it was would just leave. They should know someone savvy enough to set up traps was also likely to be armed. That should make them wary. There was a low voice, and a second voice responded. They didn't sound like they were leaving.
"Just hold still."
"I am h-holdin' still."
"No, you're not! You're shaking!"
"I'm f-fuckin' cold!"
Charles moved in. "What are you doing here?" he growled.
The two cubs shrieked. In the low light, Charles' silhouette brandishing a knife looked like a scene from a slasher flick.
(From "The Custodian")
"I've never seen anyone wake up like this," Randy said. "Bix, upload a full audit report on this pod since the previous rotation."
The robot attached a secondary monitor to the pod. After a few moments, Randy was scrolling through the touch screen to scan a long string of display information. He worked around the girl hanging on him, keeping one arm around to keep her in place. Eventually, he found an error.
"The sequencer is offline. It's been offline since... Oh, no..." He quickly tapped the screen to bring up the recorded brain activity, and his eyes widened in horror at the spiked numbers. The dream sequencer is an essential part of long-term cryogenics. It creates a structured and safe mental environment for the sleepers and prevents the psyche from degenerating into a series of nightmares. Nicole had spent nearly forty years without its aid and no way to wake up from the ruthless terror her free-reigning subconscious provided for her.
Randy held her and rubbed her white-spotted back. "You poor thing. I'm so sorry. All the bad stuff is gone, and I'm here. I'll make sure nothing will hurt you." He had no experience with such a failure and was unsure what the consequences would be. So far, Nicole has not spoken beyond screams and crying. He didn't know what sort of trauma was to be expected, and he'd have to wing it as far as treatment was concerned. But for now, his objective should be to access her physical condition.
"Nicki, I need you to let go for a moment so I can look you over. Can you do that for me?" He tried to pry her away, but her grip tightened, painfully pulling his fur.
"No," she mewed.
Okay, a real word. That was a good sign, so Randy relented. "That's fine. You can hold on as long as you need to. Bix, bring me an armband monitor." With some coaxing to loosen her grip, they managed to get the band wrapped around the girl's arm. The readings were green across the board, so no physical issues of note with the cursory scan. A deep scan could be done later.
Floating orbs of yellow liquid were scattered about in the air accompanied by the light odor of piss, and there was a warm and wet sensation on Randy's stomach. "Bix, save a bit of this for testing then run a sanitation cycle for the room while I take her to the lavatory. And mark this pod for a diagnosis as well as a known sequencer failure."
"At once, Head Custodian."
Randy positioned the mobility arm at the receiving room doorway before he unbuckled himself, taking care not to dislodge the girl. He slipped into the interlock between receiving and the "play area". The door quietly closed, sealing them in the airlock.
He pressed a button on the wall panel. "Nicki, there's going to be some mist, and you'll start to feel heavy as the gravity turns back on."
There was a soft hiss as the air clouded momentarily before fans cycled it out. His feet touched the floor as gravity slowly returned at a slow, but steady pace. Nicole started to fuss in alarm since she lacked strength due to the sedatives.
"No, no, no!" Randy attempted to assure her. "I got you. I won't let go." But there was a warm sensation that flowed through the fingers of his paw under her rump. The heat quickly soaked through the front of his shorts and ran down his legs.
After a moment the door opened to allow access and Randy left wet pawprints behind as he walked down the corridor. "Nan, body fluid sterilization required," he called out. The robot appeared at the far end of the corridor.
"What's the nature of the contamination?"
"Just some urine." Randy stopped in front of the lavatory door. "How is everything going back there?"
"There was one altercation, and I was forced to separate two of them. Otherwise, they are all doing well and are currently eating."
"Is Liem drinking?"
"He is on his third juice packet. His mobility and balance appear normal, and I was about to give him a shower."
"Hold off on the shower. I'm going to be using the lavatory for a while. If any of the boys have an emergency, they can use the other latrine."
"Understood." Nan's eye fixed on the fawn. "Shall I take this young lady from you?" Nicole clung to Randy in panic, turning away from the hoverbot.
Randy stroked Nicole's hair. "Shh, shh, it's okay. No, Nan, she is a special case, and I'll take care of her. If you get some time, bring me a change of shorts and something for her to wear."
"Understood, Head Custodian."
Randy closed the door behind and set Nicole on the toilet. He knelt in front of her so she didn't have to let go of him while doing her business. However, there were only a few drops left.
"I guess I'm wearing all of it," Randy said with a chuckle.
"S-sorry," the fawn whispered.
(From "The Mad Cuddler Strikes Again")
This story has become all too common. Last month, local plumber Reginald Hawthorn was assaulted in his work van. The 35-year-old labradoodle was parked in an alley behind Tate's Party and Liquor store on the corner of Main and 11th Street when he was forced into the back of the vehicle and violated for nearly two grueling hours.
"Yeah, all he did was cuddle," Reginald told reporters. "I mean, I don't mind being the little spoon, but as least he could have called afterward. My number is clearly printed on the van."
Vicky and Reginald are just the most recent survivors of a criminal that has been dubbed "The Bayside Snuggler" by the press. The serial offender has been credited with no less than 50 incidents over two years, but police admit that most victims have been hesitant to come forward. The actual number may well be in excess of 100, and these attacks may have been occurring for up to five years. Despite so many assaults with survivors giving their account, police have been unable to apprehend a suspect. Descriptions of this degenerate have been conflicting, but authorities are currently looking for a male approximately 6' 4", 250 to 300 lbs, between the ages of 35 and 50. He has brown eyes and is either ursine race or large breed of canine with "floofy" dark fur. Victims describe his odor as clean and tastefully perfumed with minty breath, and his face was characterized as "OwO".
"We do not tolerate this sort of criminal behavior in our town," Sheriff John McReady assured the press in October of 2023. "We have every available detective working on this case. We're going to nail the perp and we're going to nail him hard."
Yet a year has passed, and nobody has been nailed for the crimes, hard or otherwise. The attacks continue unabated. In April, the mayor of Bayside released funds to create a special task force to handle the investigation. Heading this team is noted psychiatrist Dr. Braydon Marrone. The Daily Fleeced managed to get an exclusive interview with him:
"I have nearly forty years of experience studying this sort of behavior, but I've never encountered one quite so brazen," Dr. Marrone told us. "Typically offenders of this sort have a pattern when choosing victims, but there are none here. Victims may be old, young, male, female, herbivore, omnivore, carnivore, upper-class, or poor."
The Fleeced reporter noted that despite this, Dr. Marrone claims to have a profile on the suspect.
"I've used the extensive blueprinting software that I've created to map out [the suspect's] profile," he explained. "Due to a strained relationship with his mother, he was a bed-wetter as a child. He's unmarried and without children. He has a deep-seeded hatred of females, but is capable of dealing with them amicably in his day to day life. Probably works in construction, but has difficulty holding down a job for long. Frustration with his life leads him to commit these vile acts."
When it was pointed out that the profile he created matches those of most other cases he's worked on, including the malapropism of the term "deep-seated", Dr. Marrone abruptly ended the interview.
(From "The Final Year")
Frank yawned as he went down the stairs, his cock swinging freely and the shotgun on his shoulder. He walked into the kitchen, giving no notice to Dave sitting motionless in the dining room chair. Frank set the shotgun on the kitchen counter before rummaging through the unfamiliar cabinets. After some searching, he found everything to make coffee. A few minutes later, he was sitting on the living room couch with his legs crossed and sipping a mug.
He fiddled with the five different remotes on the coffee table until he had the TV on with the sound low and scanned through the broadcast channels. Most of them were either snow, a blank screen, or a display claiming technical difficulties. Eventually, he found one with live footage playing. Shaky, hand-held footage of a city street, mostly of someone's feet. There was heavy breathing from the cameraman as he ran. Eventually, he stopped, and the camera wildly searched around, showing the Chicago skyline with black smoke billowing from a skyscraper before settling on a man sitting at a bus shelter. More running, and the image bounced as the man grew closer.
"Sir! Sir!" the cameraman called out as the camera was pressed uncomfortably close to the man's face. The man, an elderly gentleman with a full, gray mustache, gave no indication that he was conscious of the camera.
"Sir, are you aware that the bus isn't coming?"
The man didn't answer, just sat patiently.
"The bus isn't coming, you dumb fuck!" The camera was pressed into the man's face, his nose leaving a smudge on the lens. The man didn't appear fazed by what had happened and waved lightly in front of his face as if shooing a fly. He glanced down the road expectantly, but sat back in disappointment.
"You know what is coming?" the cameraman said as a Glock was raised up in view of the lens. There was wet blood on the gun, indicating this wasn't the first kill that had been broadcast. "This is coming!" The muzzle of the pistol was jammed into the man's forehead, shoving his head back. The man once again waived at the pesky fly, the circular indention of the gun's muzzle impressed on his forehead.
The man started to shrink as the cameraman stepped back from him, with the gun still raised up. "Oh, yes. This is coming." The camera steadied after stepping off the curb, and the weapon leveled on the old man.
"Bye-bye, dumb fuck."
Suddenly, there was a blare of a horn, and the camera turned just in time to catch the grill of a bus. The image flickered and pixelated as city and sky spun by rapidly, then a clatter and crunch, and the camera rolled for a while before coming to a rest. It fluttered on and off as its cracked lens broadcast the broken, bloody face of the cameraman, whose eyes were staring unblinking into nothingness.
Frank nearly spilled scalding coffee on his lap when he burst out laughing.
There was a creak of a floorboard upstairs, followed by the flush of a toilet a few minutes later. Then Kala came down and leaned over the back of the couch to embrace Frank around the neck from behind, pressing her head next to his.
"G' mornin'," she murmured with a sleepy voice.
Frank set the coffee mug aside. "Good morning. Did I wake you up?"
"Mmm-hmm. What was so funny?"
"Just some irony. Sorry."
"Ssokay," she muttered before crawling over the back of the couch to flop down on it with her head in his lap and her legs splayed. The naked girl regarded him with barely open eyes. "Your hair is a mess."
"Yours is beautiful."
She smiled softly. "Thanks."
He stroked her cheek. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore and tired," she admitted. "But not angry anymore."
"That's good. Want a coffee?"
She groaned. "I hate coffee."
"How about I make you some breakfast?"
"That sounds great, but I want a shower first," she said, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. "A long, long, long shower where I get all pruney and use up all the hot water."
Frank ran a hand down her body and to her belly. "Can I join you?"
Kala grabbed his hand before it could get to her groin and clutched his arm to her chest. "No! You're the reason I need a long shower," she pouted.
"That's fair."
She examined his fingers thoughtfully, putting her hand against his palm to compare the size. "You know, there is something good about what happened to me," she said.
"How so?"
"I've been gone so long that everything seems almost new. How you smell, being tired, the morning sun, getting fucked, even taking a piss... it's all fresh and real. I remember before that I barely noticed anything, barely cared about anything, but now... being alive is kinda nice. I think I'm actually looking forward to what comes next."
"What comes next is boring."
"Boring sounds great." She laced her fingers with his. "Frank, how long was I gone? Really?"
"Six... seven hundred at the most."
"And you didn't forget about me after all that time?"
Frank shrugged. "I like you."
She snuggled the back of his hand to her face. "That's sweet. I'm glad you're here." She glared across the living room and at David in the dining room. "And I'm glad he's not."
"Want me to take care of him while you're in the shower?"
"No," she said bitterly. "I want to leave him there until he starves."
"What about the other one?"
She thought for a moment. "I'll take care of her before we go."
(From "The Pact")
Bridget was crouched down on the floor, huddled below the sink where the mirror couldn't see her. Her eyes were wide with horror, and both paws were clasped over her mouth. Did she scream? She thought she might have screamed.
"You did," a voice assured her.
There was an urgent knock on the door. "Bridge! Are you okay? Did you fall?"
"Better say something before he starts to panic."
"I'm... I'm fine!" Bridget said, but immediately realized that was wrong. "Wait! No! There's something in here with me!"
"What!" The doorknob rattled. "Unlock the door, please!"
"I'm just... I'm not dressed."
"Unlock the door or I'll have to break it down!"
"Might want to open it," the voice suggested. "He'll be angry if he has to kick it down."
Bridget crawled on her hands and knees, staying out of the mirror's line of sight. "I'm coming, just a sec." She snagged up a towel and wrapped it around her chest under her arms before opening the door. Her father nearly tripped over her when he came in.
He crouched and put his paws on her shoulders. "What are you doing down here?"
"There's something in the mirror!" Bridget insisted.
"What?"
"The mirror! Just look!"
He stood up and examined the mirror in confusion. "What's wrong with it?"
Bridget clasped her fingers on the edge of the sink and peeked over. Her reflection wasn't corresponding to her; instead, it had an elbow propped on the sink and its head resting on a paw. Her father's reflection was doing what it was supposed to be doing, but he took no notice that her counterpart was not doing the same.
"I'm not sure if they do padded rooms, shock therapy, or lobotomies in this world," Nara explained with bored indifference, "but if you keep acting crazy, they'll start treating you like you are. He can't see or hear me, you know." Her head perked up, leaning close to the male. "But I sure can smell him! There's nothing like a dad-bod to get me going." She snagged the waistband of his reflection's pajama bottoms, stretching the elastic and whistling when she peeked down the front. "I bet he can cum buckets."
"Don't you—!" Bridget started before remembering what Nara said.
"Don't I what?" her father asked.
"Uh, don't you... see the spider anywhere?"
"A spider? You were screaming like that about a spider?"
"It was a really big one?"
"No, Bridge, I don't see it. It must have run down the drain." He turned on the faucet. "We'll let that run for a minute and drown him, alright?"
"All...right." Bridget kept her eyes on the mirror, where her visage wore a soft smirk of amusement as it fondled Father's bulge.
"Oh, wow! They're huge on your species, and he's loaded!" Nara noted with approval, "But that's no surprise given the size of your family."
"Stop it!" Bridget demanded.
Her father shut off the water. "It's just a spider."
"No, get out!" Bridget pushed at her father. "I'm fine now, just get out!"
"Why are you acting like—?"
"Just let me finish up and get dressed!" She shoved him toward the door.
"Okay, I'm going... if you need anything..."
"I won't," Bridget said as she shut the door. She leaned against it and listened for a moment, making sure he moved away, then positioned the step stool and stood on it. Yserlynara grinned as Bridget leaned over the sink and narrowed her eyes.
"What do you want?" Bridget demanded quietly.
"The same thing as you," Nara said. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."
"How do I get you out? What do I have to do?"
"You? There's nothing you can do." Nara tapped a finger in thought on the exposed incisors poking from her mouth. "However, if I had enough carnal energy, I could create a communication port and contact one of the co-heads of my department. Maybe then I can get a line over to an advocate in transposition. They might know of a loophole that will get me out of this."
"Okay... So do that."
"I'd love to, but I need far more energy than..." Nara gave a disapproving gesture toward Bridget, "...this."
Bridget put her paws on herself, as if expecting to find what Nara suggested was missing. "What's wrong with me?"
"You're a virgin and you're eight years old. That little bit of fun you had with yourself in the shower helped me out, but there's barely enough in here to keep me awake, let alone create portals."
"You were watching me?" the cub said with dismay. "Wait, are you what's making me feel so weird?"
"Bridget, I'm a succubus. A demon of lust. Making people feel "weird" is what I do."
"Stop it!"
"I can't stop it any more than you can stop growing your fur. It's my nature, and it flows out of me like sweat."
Bridget glowered and crossed her arms. "Do I have to keep doing that to get you more caramel energy?"
"Carnal energy! No, you can't give me enough even if you did that all day. I need sex. I need cum. The more the better. Preferably from a male, but females can work too."
Bridget was appalled. "I can't do sex!" She slapped a paw over her mouth, realizing she said that too loudly.
"That's fine, I can teach you what you need to know."
"No, I mean, I'm too young," the cub whispered.
"Bridget, you have all the parts necessary, and we don't have time to wait. The longer I'm in you, the stronger our bond will be. In a year or two, it won't matter what loophole I can find; I'll be as much a part of you as your tail, and just as painful to remove."
"But... I'm not ready for that! I won't do it!"
"Well then, get used to me being here," Nara said, "but pretty soon I'll begin to starve. I can't die, but I can certainly feel pain."
"I don't care!"
"You will."
(From "Risk I can a Ford")
A particular ringtone emanated from my pocket that only meant one thing. Tammy groaned and collapsed limply in my arms, dropping her head back in annoyance. "Ugh! Really, Mom?"
"She has incredible timing," I chuckled. "I have to get it."
"I know," Tammy muttered as I set her down. "Don't talk too long. I'm so tingly I think I'm gonna pop!"
I answered the phone. "Hello, Miss Holder, how are you today?"
"I'm doing well, Steven. You?"
"Great. I'm great. We were just about to sit on the couch and watch TV."
"She do her homework yet?"
"Yep. We knocked it out as soon as she got here."
"Okay, well, I won't take up much of your time," Clara promised, "but I wanted to ask if you could take Tammy to school on Monday morning? She could just stay there Sunday night if that's okay? And, uh... you know what? Could you pick her up too? Bill and I might not be back until late Monday."
That sounded just swell to me. "If you're going to be late anyway, I could keep her through Monday night and I'll drop her off at school on Tuesday as well."
"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Clara agreed. "If we get delayed I won't be anxious about leaving her alone for that long. Yeah, that's a better plan. Thanks."
I gave Tammy a thumbs-up, and she grinned with excitement, realizing that I had just negotiated two more nights. She gave a "hell yeah" fist pump.
"Not a problem," I assured.
"So how is that truck coming along?" Clara asked.
Tammy, getting restless, groped at the front of my slacks, unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper. She pried down the front of my underwear and popped my cock out. Glancing up at me slyly, pleased that it was ready for use as she grasped it with both paws.
"The Ford?" I tried to keep my voice steady. "Actually, we had a big breakthrough today. It was running for a few minutes."
"That's great! Tammy was getting frustrated that it wouldn't run. She talks about that thing all the time. It's all mechanic talk so I don't understand any of it, but she's really picking up on that stuff."
"She's, uh... certainly learning a lot," I agreed as Tammy put some of her new skills to the test, taking the tip of my tool in her mouth. She wasn't deep-throating yet, but she was gaining confidence around the head, learning to suck, lick, and pump on the shaft in rhythm. I put an encouraging paw on her head, and she took a break from my cock long enough to let down her curly hair. She knew I liked the way her curls bobbed when set free.
"She calls it 'cool', which you know is her highest compliment," Clara chuckled.
"Yeah."
Tammy's butt swayed as she went to work. Such a lovely view of her shape and fuzzy little tail above her panties.
"Oh, before I let you go," her mom's tone shifted to serious, "I wanted to let you know that Tammy's teacher called me today. Turns out she got a D minus on her math exam."
"She got a what on her math exam?"
Tammy abruptly halted, her dark eyes regarding me with sudden dread from under her brow. My cock slowly popped out of her mouth and rolled off her tongue, which remained hanging out. The frozen expression would have been adorable if I hadn't been so dismayed. I put my paw over the phone's mic.
"D minus? Seriously? We studied for that exam! I made flash cards and everything!"
"I know! I know! I just got all nervous and forgot stuff! That test was hard!"
"You know we have to keep your grades up!"
"I know! I'm sorry!"
I sighed and lowered my paw. "I apologize, Miss Holder, but she promised to get an A on the next one." Tammy balked at that but I waved at her to stay quiet. There was visible pain in her face just before she ran out of the kitchen.
"Tammy, wait!"
"She promises?"
I put my ear back to the phone. "I promise she will."
"Alright... I'm not happy with a D minus."
"Neither am I."
"For your sake, I hope to see some improvement." There was little doubt about the underlying meaning there.
I rubbed my forehead. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
Her tone softened. "Okay, well I have to get going so I'll leave you to it. Tell "Junior" hi for me and have a good weekend."
I could practically hear the air quotes. "You too, Mrs. Holder."
"Buhbye."
"Bye."
I hung up and sighed deeply. Tammy and I had managed to keep our relationship a secret for barely a month before a buxom polar bear appeared on my front porch with her distraught daughter in tow. Due to a certain diary (and Clara's disregard for her daughter's privacy), everything had been discovered, including intimate details. What followed had been easily the most distressing moments of my life, occurring through a terrified haze where I fully expected the police to show up and end my life as I knew it. What would my family think? Would it be in the news? Could I survive prison?
Was it all worth it?
Fortunately the law was never involved. As it turns out, Clara had noticed a behavioral change. Tammy's outbursts and general surliness, especially toward Bill, had decreased significantly, and she did her chores without the usual complaints. Two teachers had called to express their delight in Tammy's mood, attention to study, and that she hadn't graced the detention room for weeks. Since Tammy always had poor study habits and social difficulty, Clara had no other explanation for the improvement other than a suspicion that—regardless of how inappropriate the relationship was—it was a positive influence. It was decided since I was good for her daughter's emotional well-being, Clara would maintain a position of plausible deniability provided certain criteria were met: no injury was to come to Tammy, she continued to maintain academic progress, and we took greater care to keep everything secret. Of course, the fact that Clara effectively had me by the balls meant she could take advantage of the situation when she wanted to. When she asked me for any favors, I was in no position to deny her. Luckily, most of her demands were related to Tammy and things I would do for a girlfriend anyway. Keep her safe and entertained, drive her places and buy her things, that sort of stuff. Basically I was a free babysitter who would make himself available 24/7 and allowed Clara to be as irresponsible with her own time as she wanted. I just hoped that didn't change.
After hunting around, I found Tammy under the bed. She's normally especially good at hide-and-go-seek, but crying gave her away. I peeked under.
"Hey, cutie."
She turned her back to me. "Go away."
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