Architectural Marvel

The house at my paws—no, not under them, yet, unless you count the three-car garage that just became a zero-car garage—is genuinely beautiful. All the homes in this subdivision think they’re beautiful, but they’re mostly just big, ostentatious, like homes in so many other gated communities. I’ve helped at least two dozen of those get a head start on remodeling.

This one, though, is a three-level home in mid-century style, stone and wood facades, big beautiful windows, set in a hillside. It’s gorgeous. The coyote woman who’s run out of the house’s third story onto the wide balcony to see what’s going on is also gorgeous: tall (not compared to me, but you know), leggy, expensive sun dress, black hair pulled back in a braid. She’s stopped, staring up at me with a thunderstruck expression. Hmm. She must be able to tell my eyes have settled on her. While she looks like she wants to run screaming back into her mansion, she hasn’t yet.

Hmm. She might be fun. I slowly crouch down, one of my broad paws settling in the back yard.

She opens her muzzle, but no noise comes out. Her green eyes lock onto my brown ones. “You’re…her?” she finally gets out, rising tone making it a question.

“I must be getting a reputation.”

“A mouse woman who could be a fashion model, if she wasn’t six stories tall.” Her gaze sweeps up and down my body. All I’m wearing is an anklet and an earring. For the record, I think I’m closer to eight stories. “Should…” She swallows, looking overheated. “I should be running.”

“If you want.” I smile, reaching for her. “I’m faster.”

She gasps, letting go of the railing and backing up hurriedly. When my fingers close around her, my thumb pinning her against my palm pad, she squeals, and as I lift her up she kicks.

I bring her in front of my muzzle and take a big sniff, and my ears come forward. Oh, very interesting.

The coyote’s ears color deeply and she squirms more. I part my lips and drag my tongue up her legs and torso, and the squirm becomes a shiver, her bark about three-quarters terror and one-quarter…not.

“Want to know what that’d feel like inside my mouth?” I murmur to her, letting my lips brush against her front. “I do.”

“No, no!”

“Yes. Come on.” I lick her cute little digitigrade paws.

She squeals again, ears folding back. “H-how do I know you won’t swallow me?”

“You don’t.” I close my lips around those paws, then slowly suck her legs in. Then her hips.

She’s already breathing so fast it’s almost panting, and as I run my tongue over her trapped legs and hips and thighs and sex she is panting in short order. I’m starting to breathe pretty hard, too. I scoot backward, away from the house, and sit down by the remains of the garage. I pull her into my mouth more, up to her shoulders, tongue sliding out behind her head. It’s hard for me to see her tiny face now, but I can hear her protests and pleadings and moans and they all just make her more delicious. I keep my tongue between her legs as I start to moan myself.

“Oh, God,” she barks. “Are you—you—”

“Mmm-hmm,” I breathe around her. I am.

She still tastes and sounds frightened, but now it’s about one-quarter terror and three-quarters not.

As she presses herself down against my tongue, I suck her all the way into my mouth, and press her against the back of my front teeth. She squeals again and shudders, and makes the most amazing noise as my moan vibrates through her.

I pin her against my palate and swallow the saliva that’s built up. Suddenly it’s all too intense, the feeling of her trapped little body writhing and wriggling and pressing itself into me. I roll onto all fours, down against her glorious home, squeezing it with my thighs, twisting, thrusting. It resists—then cracks and shatters and crumbles—in just the right ways. I suck on my helpless little predator hard as I fuck her architectural marvel to rubble.

“Yes! Yes!” Her voice dissolves into a tiny, beautiful howl in my mouth, and her flavor explodes like salt candy. Her cry is utterly subsumed in mine as I swallow, groaning loudly enough to rattle windows.

I fall onto my back in the ruins of the house, putting my hand on my stomach. I think I still feel her. I like that. A lot.

I hear sirens in the distance, but this subdivision has only its one gated entrance, and they’ll find the rubble there quite hard to get through. So I take a few minutes to lie in glorious afterglow.