It was one of Nico's strange litlte habits, something he'd picked up after his time in the woods. He never could explain why it started, nor could he explain why he did it, but the thrill was indescribable. It was a secret he had to keep, though, well hidden from his family and friends. It was his private sin. 
This was precisely why he'd driven to that secluded spot, that dead-end road near the hiking trails, the dead-end road that only saw joggers in the morning and parked cars full of hormonally driven teenagers at night. Today, though, in the afternoon, in the pouring rain, sat a lone blue pickup truck, occupied by two, though only one fox sat in the driver's seat of the pickup, his pants unbuckled, his palms sweaty. On a back road littered with empty malt cans and used condoms, bags of junk food, littered with life decisions tossed out passenger windows on departure, Nico sat there, seatbelt unbuckled. The fox would turn and sit sideways across the bench seat and let his scrawny legs stretch out a bit as his back pressed against the driver's side door. He was in blue jeans, briefs, an unimportant t-shirt and hat.
The wonderful thing about this dead-end road, too, was that it was right next to a creek, a wonderful fishing spot, so sitting parked alone even in the broad daylight was unlikely to cause any suspicion. People just assumed you were at the water's edge enjoying the day. The privacy was right there, accessible for whatever intentions you had on that dead-end road. Nico slid down his jeans with his underwear, pulling one leg free, letting the fabric gather in a pile around his left ankle as he spread his posture a bit. His hand slid downward, feeling the sex between his legs. He was wet, highly aroused. His lower half knew as well as his upper half what was about to happen, and he'd use his fingers to part the lips of his sex and the generous hair around it to feel the silky soft folds of the flesh beneath. 
His home had recently gotten a bit of a field mouse problem, the little wild critters making their ways inside from the overgrown yard out back and the distant treeline that marked the entrance to the woods. Why live there when you could scurry your way into the singlewide and live off boxed cereals and tortilla chips? Field mice become house mice, and they become a problem rather quickly. Nico had set up catch-and-release traps around the house, touting the importance of cruelty-free handling of wild animals. Sometimes it is better to do as someone says, though, not as someone does. The fox had a packpack in the passenger seat floorboard, and as the torrential rain battered his windshield, he'd produce from it a dildo, wasting no time easing it inside him as his body gave a satisfied sigh, not so much from the pleasure of penetration, but from the thrill of knowing what was coming, the impending aftermath of opening his body. 
The road was situated in such a way that parking at the far end, as Nico had, gave you ample opportunity to see anyone approaching. Headlights would be certain, in this day, so as he relaxed and prepared himself, he knew well that any sort of thread to his private time would be easily recognized before it became a problem. The fox would ease the toy to a hilt inside him, silicone testicles sitting mashed against a generously hairy vulva as he sat forward and rummaged in the backpack, careful not to knock things around inside too much. What was produced next was a plastic tube, the uncomfortable part. A hollow plastic tube, no better way to progress into the next step. A speculum would be too tricky, and it never worked without an instrument of some sort. The toy was removed and replaced with the tube, and Nico would wince as the uncomfortable edges of the plastic eased into him. The rain only seemed to have grown more intense, the thunder rumbling in the air as the storm continued it's onslaught on their rural town. It was a storm that would certainly be settled in for the day, if not longer.
Nico's hand went into his backpack again and this time produced a black retangular shape, some sort of contraption that teeter-tottered on a center piece. It had a small door on one end, and the fox knew well what purpose it served. He'd try to make himself as comfortable as possible in the growing humidity of the truck interior. He was already sweating a bit, and the steam of his own body was resulting in a rather warm, slipper experience as he would guide that contraption to the opposite end of the tube resting inside his body. The plastic door was removed, and the mouth of the contraption was held flush against the tube, and the fox would wait. He could've sped up the process, but he liked the wait, he liked the rising tension of wondering when it was going to happen. It always happened.
Nico looked down over his own body, black shirt sticking somewhat to a sweaty torso and his scrawny red-furred legs spread apart, the dark body hair around his vulva concealing the point at which that tube entered him, but the plastic of the tube was clear, and it made it easy to watch as it happened. Nico sat there, waiting for it to happen. The miniscule sounds of claws made clear it was close at hand, and the fox could feel his sex squeeze the tube a bit as he finally saw the snout of a field mouse emerge from the opaque black plastic of the contraption as it made its way down the clear hallway of the tube. He'd tried so many times to just hold the contraption to his sex but it never worked, they never budged. The tube, though, completely changed their behavior. A small brown-and-grey pelted creature moved curiously down the length of the tube, unbothered by Nico's whispered "attaboy" as it began to explore the immediate warmth and slime of the anthro's body, it's nails sharp enough to cause the fox to jump a bit, but familiar enough that he wouldn't panic. He'd done this before, he knew what to expect.
With the mouse's body all but entirely in the tube, Nico would hold it with one hand and toss the contraption with the other, plugging the opposite end of the tube with that dildo from earlier, which fit almost snug in the opening of the plastic. He was careful not to catch the rodent's tail as he allowed it to bunch up inside the plastic passageway, the sex toy bumping the backside of the mouse, coaxing him inward. The feral would move forward, and Nico would suck air through his teeth as he pushed the toy downward, the mouse entering the hot insides of his sex, the murkiness of a deceitfully warm hole. The fox used the toy to push the mouse entirely inside him, the intense senations of claws, whiskers, a squirming small body inside him, it all made the fox want to writhe, his boney hips shifting a bit as he felt that the entire creature was past his labia, only a long hairless tail sticking out from his sex as he suddenly pulled back the tube, causing his body to quiver close around the creature, surrounding it with the tight confines of his vagina.
Immediately, the creature would struggle, as Nico knew it would, and the fox's teeth would chew on his own tongue as his expression squinted. He'd press the top of his head against his truck window, causing the grease of a well-worn hat to leave streaks on the glass as his body rose up a bit, tensing. He had to be careful not to tense too much, though, so as not to crush it. But as it struggled, he could feel his body squeezing the creature, which squirmed around inside him as it tried to make it's way deeper, to what it only could assume was a sense of safety. One of Nico's hands held the tail pinched though, so as not to lose it inside him, and the other one fervently rubbed his clitoris, that twitching bump of his sex that ached with a neediness to release as the fox stimulated himself with this poor feral inside him. He could feel the way it pressed its feet around, struggled, and he would let it descend an inch or so deeper into him before pulling back, letting it explore enough to edge the poor male to a dangerously close climax, something he could not allow himself, for the safety of the creature. 
Nico could feel as his sex flushed with excitement though, the way his fingers were getting wetter, and he knew he had to cut his thrills short, as he always did, to allow the mouse to breathe. Pulling gently, he would extract the field mouse, it's fur matted and soaked with vaginal fluid, holding the critter by it's tail as it dangled before him. His head was foggy, his climax dreadfully close, his body begging him for just one more touch, one more rub between his slit to allow him to push over that edge. He denied himself that, though, intending to make this last, as he always did. This was not the first, nor would it be the last time at the end of this secluded trail.
Over the next few minutes, Nico would allow his climax to ebb, his tense body beginning to relax a bit as he held the mouse in his hands, watching it wiggle about as it too seemed to be calming down, no longer lost in the confines of a skinny fox's reproductive organs. The rain had not lessened, and the silence still hung heavy in the air, no signs of life around Nico, no signs of curiosity cutting this lecherous little act of his short. With that certainty in mind, the tube was reinserted, and the mouse was coaxed back into him with the toy to its back, prodding it to enter his sex a second time, the tube removed and the tail thrashing around as the mouse now struggled to back itself out of him. Nico's two fingers would press at the maw of his vulva, though, making sure that the creature could not escape, and as he sat there letting it sexually pleasure him, letting his vulva quiver and squeeze it more, he could feel his climax rising faster than the first time. He wanted so badly to cum with it inside, but he couldn't. He couldn't ruin the fun like that. He would allow his body to ride the waves of edging for a moment before producing the mouse again, watching as it looked around curiously when pulled from his pussy once more.
The cab of his truck had filled with his body odor, the musky smell of male pheromones mingling with the skunky smell of fox, and he could tell he was deep in his own fog, in the stupefied state of sex drunkenness, his own musk and the thrill of these taboo acts coaxing him to finally release. It was an unbearable sensation, and as he sat there holding the mouse's tail in his fingers he'd shift his thighs about in his seat, his vulva quivering and clenching, the muscles of his thighs visibly tensing as his pelvic region desperately wanted to free itself from the tortures of this chastity. He would bring the mouth to his face and smell it, squinting at the smell of his own body, the fishy odor of his confines, of an unhygienic lifestyle, the salty taste on his tongue as the creature was dropped into his mouth, where he would close his muzzle and let the mouse panic a bit in his maw, on the slobbery spit-soaked muscle of his tongue. He had been salivating, and there was a pool of it for the mouse to slip around on amidst whiskey breath and plaque-plagued gums. He would lash his tongue a bit and push it around, daring to open his mouth enough to feel the creature's snout press against his teeth in thes spaces where molars were missing, where his poor dental care had left him lacking several of them, leaving windows to last glimpses of the outside world as otherwise clamped jaws kept the mouse trapped.
Keeping his jaw snapped shut, he'd grope around under his seats for old clothes, a t-shirt to lay between his legs to protect the upholstery the best he could as his back pressed against the driver's side door once more, and the toy was once more inserted into him, to a hilt, his vaginal walls clenching it and begging for release as the fox fingered his nub, his sensitive clitoris that trembled with the rest of his sex, being brought miserably once more to the edge of release. This time, though, it would not be denied. Hairy-knuckled fox fingers would stay stimulating it, and just as the fox could feel he was about to cascade over the edge into climax, his head would tilt upward, the mouse falling to the back of his maw as he offered it a short "sorry" through clenched teeth as he swallowed. 
All but the tail went down, and the fox would immediately swallow again, feeling the feral's entire body disappear past his esophagus, a lump in his neck that sank downward through the fluids of his digestive tract, palpably moving and struggling against the inevitable descent into the anthro's body, which was currently spasming with the throes of the most intense orgasm he could give himself, far better than sex, far better than any sort of other carnal desire he could satiate. He'd immediately relieve himself with a messy rush of urine jetted from his sex, the tell-tale squirting onto that old t-shirt that only came from his most intense climaxes. The movement in his throat ceased as the mouse descended to his stomach, where he could feel the slightest amounts of movement from deep within his body, practically disappearing from his senses from how intense an orgasm he was having. He would stimulate himself to the point of exhaustion, a sweating mess sinking sloppily into the truck cab seats as he let his head slide downward until it rested on the door itself, his feet drawn up and pressing pads flat against the passenger window, his knees drawn up. His belly rested housing prey for as long as it needed, the primal desires of a species satiated, his body properly fatigued from pleasuring himself.
Nico laid in that position for some time, eyes closed, half-asleep, occasionally just staring at the roof of his truck, listening to the rain batter the machine as the fog of the sexual fever subsided from his head. He was left with a strange sinful feeling, that pull of energy away from the stomach to the limbs, a nervousness like being caught doing something you weren't supposed to do. Nico felt it strange to feel, as eating ferals was perfectly normal. It was how he did it, though, the events leading up to it, the thrills he got from the act, he knew as well as his subconscious that it was strange, that it was something he shouldn't be doing, and he felt even stranger having left home telling everyone he was going to "release it and go for a drive". The exhilerating feeling of the act, though, was too good to resist. It wasn't his first mouse and it certainly wouldn't be his last. He had no idea why the itch struck, but when it did...he had to scratch it. He'd clean up and dress himself, start the truck, pull out into the rain and head for home. One day the field mice would stop coming in his home, and it would be behind him, he was sure of it. For now, though, he saw no fun in a little indulgence, the thrill of his dormant wild brain and it's lust for prey satiated. The traps needed to be set again, anyway, before they got into the pantry...