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vulpine so fine with verve in his gait—\nHe found himself flustered when deprived of his fix;\nHe floundered and fretted, searching to sate;\n\nHis cure unconcoted, the fox made his own mix—\nThree frog-footed dogs whose legs numbered eight—\nA half-dozen cat eggs, parchment inked with a six;\nFeathers and gold somehow equal in weight;\n\nThe cold cauldron he mixed with a few careful kicks— \nNo hours had passed, and yet long did he wait—\nThe fox bundled the brew between bunches of sticks; \nUnable to drink, the mixture he ate;\n\nHe felt he was melting, delivered unto the Styx,\nAnd to the hard-ons of hell, to those demon-y dicks;\n\nThough disturbed and perturbed, he was still a red fox—\nHis thirst intrinsic, incessant, innate—\nHis power to take castles and towers of cocks;\nHis meaning momentous, a predestined fate;\n\nHis family fondness, an affliction, a pox—\nThe one thing on which a Tod does fixate—\nAn unending need to help one off with one's rocks;\nWhenever in heat, a fox does await;\n\nThe land of his stranding was devoid of all clocks—\nInfernals eternal, he was their mate—\nAnd they fucked him in front of the souls at the stocks;\nFrom there to the gates, the seat of the state;\n\nWhere the Princes of Hell locked the fox in a box—\nAfter rivers of cum came the keys to its locks—\nYet when offered return (and a ride from an ox),\nIn the palace of phallus did stay the red fox.\n\n-Charles Michael Averin","writing_bbcode_parsed":"Legend of the Red Fox
A red troublesome fox who did often turn tricks—
A vulpine so fine with verve in his gait—
He found himself flustered when deprived of his fix;
He floundered and fretted, searching to sate;
His cure unconcoted, the fox made his own mix—
Three frog-footed dogs whose legs numbered eight—
A half-dozen cat eggs, parchment inked with a six;
Feathers and gold somehow equal in weight;
The cold cauldron he mixed with a few careful kicks—
No hours had passed, and yet long did he wait—
The fox bundled the brew between bunches of sticks;
Unable to drink, the mixture he ate;
He felt he was melting, delivered unto the Styx,
And to the hard-ons of hell, to those demon-y dicks;
Though disturbed and perturbed, he was still a red fox—
His thirst intrinsic, incessant, innate—
His power to take castles and towers of cocks;
His meaning momentous, a predestined fate;
His family fondness, an affliction, a pox—
The one thing on which a Tod does fixate—
An unending need to help one off with one's rocks;
Whenever in heat, a fox does await;
The land of his stranding was devoid of all clocks—
Infernals eternal, he was their mate—
And they fucked him in front of the souls at the stocks;
From there to the gates, the seat of the state;
Where the Princes of Hell locked the fox in a box—
After rivers of cum came the keys to its locks—
Yet when offered return (and a ride from an ox),
In the palace of phallus did stay the red fox.
-Charles Michael Averin","pools_count":2,"title":"Legend of the Red Fox","deleted":"f","public":"t","mimetype":"text/plain","pagecount":"1","rating_id":"2","rating_name":"Adult","ratings":[{"content_tag_id":"4","name":"Sexual Themes","description":"Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal","rating_id":"2"}],"submission_type_id":"12","type_name":"Writing - Document","guest_block":"f","friends_only":"f","comments_count":"1","views":"10","sales_description":null,"forsale":"f","digitalsales":"f","printsales":"f","digital_price":""}