Sweat glistened on his hide, lining his muscles, his forelock hanging down the side of his face, though the anthro was hardly concentrating on his wor...out anymore.No… No, the slut of a fox on his knees before him was far more alluring, whimpering and whining, rubbing his muzzle into the horse’s nuts and thick, heavy cock. His sheath wrinkled, pulling back from that fat length, throbbing with desire, and the fox couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d tried. The thick equine musk was too. I don't do it for him. I do it mainly for myself. Once in a while I have to indulge. It is like the need to plunge into a shimmering pool on a scourging day. Like the soothing balm on a parched skin. A cooled can against a sweaty brow.You get it, I'm sure.It is my escape from yawning boredom. It saves my life. And George's, my husband's, for that matter. So in the end, I guess I do it for him, too. In a way.But yes, it can't last. I push myself closer to disaster with every step. The lusting. More

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