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Lydia - a furry sex fantasy
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
"Lydia"
The first time I saw her, I have to admit I wasn't thinking
about who she was. I was just admiring her curves. She was wearing
jogging shorts and a tight T-shirt, and she really filled them
out. Her fur was smooth and glossy, and seemed to glow in the
bright afternoon sun. She looked strong. I like strong women.
Then I noticed what she was doing. Anyone else, looking at
her, would have thought she was just giving directions to an
elderly Dalmation couple. They were holding up a map of the
amusement park between them, and she was leaning over the map,
giving the old guy a good view of her breasts, while she pointed
at the map with one hand.
From where I was standing, however, I could see between her
and the guy's wife. I watched while she lifted the flap on the
lady's purse and reached inside.
I walked over quickly, grabbing her right shoulder with my
left hand, and spun her around.
"Lydia," I cried. "How great to see you again!"
Her eyes lit up, and her muzzle opened in an enormous smile.
"Jonathan! Where have you been keeping yourself? I haven't heard
from you in months!"
I turned to the oldsters. "Pardon me, we're old friends, I
didn't mean to interrupt."
They smiled, and made polite sounds, thanking Lydia for her
help, and then walked off. I turned back to Lydia and gave her a
big hug, talking quietly into her ear.
"Don't look now, but there's a cop watching you. Keep
smiling, maybe he'll go away."
I could hear her smiling as she responded. "Where's the cop?"
I spun her around. "See the Alsatian in the guayabera shirt
and blue slacks?" She nodded. "He's been watching you for ten or
fifteen minutes."
"Thanks," she said. "Let's go." She grabbed my arm and we
walked quickly away. She pulled me into an unused doorway, wrapped
her arms around my lower back, and kissed me.
"What was that for?" I asked. "Not that I mind," I added,
grinning.
"I just wanted to say 'thanks' again."
"Well, you're welcome! But I can think of a better way to do
it."
She stood back and looked annoyed. "Listen, buster, just
because you did me a favor doesn't mean I'm ready to go to bed
with you."
I laughed. "No, no, I was just going to suggest that you have
lunch with me." She looked skeptical, so I put on my best innocent
look, and said, "I'm hungry, okay?"
She smiled, and relaxed. "Okay. Fair enough. Where?"
"How about the Hyatt? There's a nice restaurant there with
private booths."
"I can't afford the Hyatt!"
"That's okay. I'm buying," I said. "If, that is, you'll give
me my wallet back."
She looked sheepish, which is a silly way for a beautiful
wolf lady to look. "I was just going to see who you were." Now it
was my turn to look skeptical. "I was going to put it back.
Honestly!"
"Go ahead and look," I said, laughing again.
She shrugged, and pulled my wallet back out of her purse,
where she had stashed it while kissing me. She looked through it
quickly, then handed it back. Nothing in there to see, really,
just a driver's license, a few credit cards, and some cash. "Well,
Mister Douglas Nichols, let's go have lunch."
I held out my arm, and she took it, and we walked off. "Call
me Doug. You have the advantage of me, by the way," I said.
"What's your name?"
"Call me Lydia," she said.
"Oh, come on, do you want me to take your purse and find out
for myself?"
She looked over at me, and pinched my biceps. "You're big,
but you're not big enough to do that."
I reached into my left front pocket, and removed a thin
billfold. I started thumbing through it. She looked down, and
stopped suddenly, turning me around. "Give that back," she yelled,
snatching at it.
"Not 'til I find out your name," I said, holding it out of
her reach. I continued flipping through the billfold, but there
was no ID of any kind. Just pictures, a business card from a well-
known lawyer, and a little cash.
"Well, you won't find out from that," she said, obviously
pleased with herself. Defeated, I handed it back. She put it away,
looking at me speculatively. "Well, at least I know what you do
for a living. When did you take it, anyway? I didn't notice a
thing. You're pretty good."
"Thanks. Same time you took mine. I knew you were
distracted."
"Hmm." She took my arm again, and we resumed walking.
Lunch was uneventful. Conversation was light-- the weather,
the rides in the park, things like that. A few times, to emphasize
a point, she reached across the table to touch my hand. She was
cheerful and charming, and after I paid the check, she fell silent
for a moment, and then looked into my eyes, and asked, "Would you
like to go to bed with me?"
It seemed like such a natural question. I honestly hadn't
thought about it more than fifty or sixty times, but I said "yes"
without even hesitating.
"Should we get a room?" she asked. "I don't have a place in
town."
"I'm staying here in the hotel."
"Okay," she said, almost shyly. We got up and left the
restaurant.
I opened the door to my room, and held it open so she could
enter first. As the door closed behind me, she turned, and put a
hand alongside my jaw, and kissed me. "This isn't just a thank-
you. I think you're nice."
I put my hands on her hips, and began stroking her fur
through her shorts. "I like you, too."
She took a deep breath, then reached up, and pulled her T-
shirt off. Her breasts were round and firm, nipples standing up in
the bare pink patches of her aureola. I slid my hands up, rubbing
first one pair, then the other. She gasped, and leaned forward
against me, and began to unbutton my shirt. Reaching inside, she
ran her hands through my chest fur, scratching lightly.
It felt good, and I returned the favor, gently tracing lines
down her back, feeling her arch in response. I nuzzled the side of
her throat, licking the fur there.
I put an arm across her shoulders, and turned her, leading
her into the room to where I could see her better in the light
filtering in through the drapes. I could feel her breathing
quicken when she saw the bed, and she looked at me, and said,
"Make love to me, now."
She dropped a hand to my groin, squeezing my sheath between
thumb and fingers, through the fabric. I felt myself responding,
and I reached down to open my pants. As I kicked my shoes off and
stepped out of my pants, she knelt before me, and started to lick
my penis as it extended from its sheath. As it became fully erect,
she stood again, sliding down her shorts, removing them along with
her shoes. I slipped my shirt off my arms, and embraced her,
pressing my hips against hers, rubbing my penis through the soft
fur on her belly.
We walked together to the bed. I eased her down onto it, and
she turned, and reclined, pulling me down on top of her. I entered
her at once. My penis began to swell, and I thrust firmly, locking
myself deeply within her vagina.
She cried out, and wrapped her legs around the small of my
back, pulling me in. I felt her tail lashing back and forth
between my legs, and I pushed mine down to meet it. She began
moaning, squeezing my cock. I don't know what she did, but it felt
absolutely incredible. I couldn't hold back. After only a few deep
thrusts, I howled as we came together.
Our climax seemed to last for hours, although it couldn't
have been more than a minute or two. We continued to move against
each other slowly until my erection subsided enough for me to
withdraw. I rolled off her, and we lay side by side, looking at
each other, panting heavily.
Eventually I got up the strength to move again. I reached
over and began to stroke her belly fur, hot and damp from our
exertions. "Wow!" I said, smiling.
She smiled back. "Thank you."
We stayed like that for a while. She was looking at me
closely, seemingly searching my face for something. "What is it?"
I asked.
"I was just wondering why you really helped me."
"I couldn't just let that cop get you," I said.
"That wasn't a cop," she replied. "That was Virgil Gibbs of
Montgomery, Alabama. I lifted his wallet about ten minutes before
you showed up."
"Urrr..." I couldn't think of much to say. Bad luck.
"So how about it?"
"Uh, well, actually..."
"Go on, spit it out."
"Okay. I wanted to offer you a job."
She stared at me for a moment, and then started laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"I... I..." She was having a hard time talking.
"Go on, spit it out," I said, grinning.
"I thought you were a cop!"
Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. "Huh? But why'd you..."
She patted my chest. "Oh, I think you're nice. But you
couldn't very well arrest me after this, could you?"
I fell back on the bed and sighed heavily. "Oh, hell. And I
was worried that you might not take the job because I'd slept with
you."
I thought about it for a moment, and then the whole thing
struck me as funny, and I started to laugh. Pretty soon we were
both rolling around on the bed, tears staining the fur on our
cheeks. When she came within reach, I grabbed her, and pulled her
against me. We held each other, still laughing, until the laughter
faded. She stiffened, and I realized I was hard again.
I looked into her eyes, only a few inches away, and asked the
question without speaking. Without speaking, she agreed. I hugged
her tightly, and then she rolled me on top of me, and wiggled, and
I felt myself reentering her.
As good as it had been the first time, it was better the
second time around. We were both more aware of the act, thinking
more about each other. It lasted a long, long time. She brought me
close to the edge over and over, and I'm sure she came several
times before our final climax. She fell asleep on my chest with my
penis still firm inside her, and I followed her into sleep a few
moments later.
When I awoke, she wasn't in the bed anymore. I went from a
crushing sense of loss to an almost unbearable feeling of joy when
I heard that most mundane of sounds, the flushing of the toilet in
the bathroom.
She looked at me when she came out. "What's that silly grin
for?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Well, get up, I'm hungry."
I thought about it for a moment, and decided I was, too. I
rolled out of bed, feeling my strength slowly returning as the
motion restored my circulation.
I noticed my belly fur was quite sticky, and grimaced. "I
think I need a shower."
"So do I," she said.
So we took a shower, and in the course of things we found
ourselves back on the bed, and it was over an hour before we
finally made it to the hotel restaurant.
"So what's this job?" she asked, while we waited for the
waitress to come over.
I looked one way, then the other, making a big deal out of
it. "I think it's safe to talk here," I said, grinning. Then I got
serious. "Would it bother you if I was a cop?"
"But you said you weren't!"
"No, I didn't."
"Well, are you?" she said, impatiently.
"Sort of. I work for the FBI, but I'm not really in law
enforcement. And I was a pickpocket myself a long time ago."
"What do you do, then?"
"I'm in a special operations unit. I guess you'd say we're a
sort of dirty-tricks squad."
"Oh, like 'Mission: Impossible'," she deadpanned.
"Well, it is, actually. What can I say? Sometimes that sort
of thing is necessary."
She paused, looking thoughtfully at me. "So why are you
dragging me into this? Aren't you violating security?"
"Lydia, you've already been checked out. Thoroughly."
Again, a pause. "Lydia isn't my real name, you know." It was
a statement, not a question.
"I know."
"You can call me Rosa."
"Thanks," I said, smiling warmly. "But 'Lydia' will be
better, I think. My name is really Ted, but please do call me
'Doug'. I do think about security."
"Okay."
The waitress finally showed up and took our orders.
"So, why me?" she asked.
"Well... this gets a little complex, so bear with me. Do you
remember about a month ago, when you were in Washington? You
boosted a thick billfold from an elderly leopard? There was a
diplomatic passport in there, right?"
"Yes, I remember that!" she said. "I was a little scared
because I don't normally mess with diplomats. Too much heat. But
he wasn't dressed very well, some kind of overcoat, and I didn't
know he was anyone until afterwards. And he had a lot of money,
too, over five thousand bucks. That was when I decided to visit
Florida. His name was Darra Mabra, wasn't it?"
"Right. He grew up in this country, and he's ambitious. He
was about to make a connection with one of his agents."
"Espionage?"
"No. Drugs. And strictly independent. He's trying to build a
distribution network for some stuff he gets from back home. His
government doesn't approve, but they don't want to call him back,
and they can't let us move on him officially. So they've
sanctioned some covert action. We can take him down as long as it
looks like the regular cops just stumble on his operation."
"So where do I come in?"
"He remembers you. He was asking around. He thinks you work
for the Families. He wants to see you again. And not for small
talk, either."
"Ugh. I can imagine. Well, you don't want to just give me to
him, do you?"
"No, not at all. Here's the deal..."
Washington in the summer is absolutely intolerable. I
wouldn't stay there myself, except that the Bureau had a certain
hold on my talents for another couple of years-- part of the the
deal which got me out of jail three years before.
I got Lydia set up in an expensive cheap apartment in Vienna,
Virginia. It seems like we have all our safe houses in Vienna. One
of these days, someone's going to notice.
We'd been keeping an eye on Mabra, of course. When he snuck
out the back of his embassy, wearing that conspicuous black
leather overcoat, we were ready. He headed for one of the shopping
malls which surround the District, and we followed him cautiously,
Lydia and I in one car and three more agents in another.
We stayed well back, and he found a parking space a few
minutes before we did. We filtered in through different entrances,
and found him soon enough. He was sitting, waiting for someone.
I spoke softly, testing our comm links. These were the latest
in high tech, and they worked great. The electronics were
completely contained within soft, thin packs about half the size
of a slice of cheese, which we wore stuck to the inside of our
thighs. The earphones were less than 2 millimeters in diameter by
5 long, and fit completely within the ear canal. The microphones
were the same size, nestling into the fur under the chin. These
were connected to the electronics by hair-thin optical fibers--
totally invisible, completely flexible, almost unbreakable.
Without a strip search, there was no way to detect the units.
"Lydia, Mabra is outside the Sears."
"Okay," came the answer, whispered in my ear.
"Show time, folks."
I walked casually into the Sears, stopping at the jewelry
counter where I had a good view of the mall. I told the clerk I
was just browsing, and she left me alone.
Outside, I saw Lydia walking back and forth nervously,
looking at the passers-by. She seemed to be distracted. A pudgy
beagle walked out of the Orange Julius across the way, carrying a
drink, his wallet hanging half out of his back pocket.
She got suddenly very casual, and headed after him. She
passed him, then stopped and turned around quickly, as if she had
forgotten something... and crashed into him. His drink splashed
all over both of them, and she made a big production out of trying
to wipe it off his clothes. In the process she lifted his wallet.
It was a pretty clumsy job, which was perfect. He saw his
wallet disappearing into her purse, and screamed bloody murder. In
due course, a mall security guard came running up, demanding an
explanation.
Mabra had been startled by the initial outburst, but he was
too cool to just run off. A few moments later he recognized Lydia,
and then you couldn't have dragged him away. When the security
guard showed up, he moved over quickly. I could hear him through
Lydia's microphone.
"Pardon me," he said, in deep cultured tones. "What seems to
be the trouble?"
"Move along, Mac," the guard said. "Show's over."
"I beg your pardon, young man, this young lady works for me."
He looked from the old cat to the young wolf, obviously
skeptical. "Yeah? Well, she's got some explaining to do."
Mabra put his arm around the Doberman's shoulders, turning
him away. He spoke quietly, but I could still hear him... the
guard was one of our people, of course.
"I'm very sorry. She has a problem..."
"You're damn right, she does," the guard exclaimed.
"I want to handle this myself, if I could," Mabra said
smoothly. He reached into his coat pocket, bringing out another
wallet, this one also bulging with cash. He deftly extracted a
few hundred dollar bills, and handed them to the Dobe' where the
beagle couldn't see. "Perhaps you could use these to fix things
with the gentleman?"
The guard licked his chops, and said quickly, "Okay. But
don't bring her back here again."
"Done," said Mabra.
They turned back to Lydia and the beagle.
"Give him back his wallet, bitch," said the guard. She
complied, meekly. He took the beagle aside and they talked for a
moment, the Doberman handing over one of Mabra's bills, which
seemed to mollify the offended victim. The guard reached behind
him and waved at Mabra, who promptly took Lydia by the arm-- very
firmly, judging by the little gasp of pain I heard from her-- and
walked her out the nearest door.
I left the Sears, giving a thumbs-up to the two agents
outside, picking up the third who had been waiting in a clothing
store just adjacent to the scene of the confrontation. We hurried
out into the parking lot.
Mabra had taken her purse from her, and was pawing through
it. He was casually discarding a variety of men's and women's
wallets after checking the ID in each. Then he came across a thin
grey folder-- and threw her whole purse down between two cars as
they continued to walk. She tried to run back after it, but he
grabbed her arm again, and pulled her along.
"Where'd you get this, bitch?" he asked, consciously
repeating the term the guard had used, putting her in her place.
"I... I don't remember..." she stuttered.
"Sure you do, bitch. You stole it from me!" His voice was
trembling with rage, and he just got angrier as he flipped through
the pages of the passport. "What the fuck did you do? What the
fuck is this?" he demanded, waving the picture page in front of
her face. The altered document had her picture on it now, showing
her name as "Terry Mabra"-- a poorly-done modification, done by
one of the most skillful artists in the CIA.
"I... that is..."
He slapped her hard, and I winced at the sound. "Tell me!"
"I thought I could use it to get out of trouble sometime."
"Well, it just got you into a world of hurt, bitch."
"What are you going to do with me?"
"I don't know," he muttered. They continued to walk for a few
more paces, then he stopped suddenly, yanking her around. "Damn
you, bitch, you made me forget about my appointment!" He turned
and started walking back to the mall. I could see the tip of his
tail twitching quickly back and forth just below his overcoat.
"I can't go back in there!" she cried.
He stopped again, clearly frustrated. "Shit! Shit!" After a
moment, he turned back, and they resumed walking towards his car.
"What am I going to do with you?" he asked himself, cooling
off. "If you'd been working for someone, I could have used you,
but you're just a petty thief. Maybe I'll just kill you," he
mused.
"No! Oh, please, no! I can..." She broke off.
"What, bitch?" he asked, his chain of thought broken.
"I can work for you... or whatever you want," she said,
licking her lips, reaching timidly over to stroke his chest.
"Fuck a dog? Not a chance, bitch. Try again," he laughed,
cruelly.
"My family will pay you to let me go," she offered.
"Don't make me laugh."
"No, really," she insisted. "My real name is DiTomazzio, my
family... has connections, you know?"
He looked at her sharply. "You putting me on, bitch? You mean
your family is Mafia?"
"Yes... I'm sure they'll make it up to you."
He thought for a minute, then smiled suddenly, a very phony
smile. "Ah, screw it, I got a better idea. You need a job, don't
you? You're no fucking good at this pickpocket shit."
She said nothing, but nodded.
"Okay, so you work for me now."
"You mean it?" she asked, hopefully.
"Sure. I need someone with connections."
This change of heart was so transparently phony, I wasn't
sure if she could even pretend to believe it-- but evidently she
convinced him that she did. He even let her go get her purse back,
watching carefully to make sure she didn't run away, and was
clearly pleased when she came back to him.
They finally reached his car, and Robbins and I hurried to
ours. We had to stay within about a half mile to pick up the
signal from Lydia's body mike, even with the more sensitive
antenna on the car.
We had a Doppler direction finder to follow Mabra's car,
although he just got her address from her, and took her back to
her place. He didn't seem to have a whole lot of time, so he
talked quickly, trying to persuade Lydia that he could make her
rich, protect her, and so forth-- I was thinking he missed his
calling. He should have been a pimp.
He didn't stay long, just made a quick phone call, and gave
Lydia a thousand dollars so she could buy herself some better
clothes.
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