[18+] Cliffy, a constantly sex-crazed fox seeks the comfort of the Red Light District when his boyfriend is no longer in the mood.

Today’s story is the first of two parts of “When the Needs are Denied by MikasiWolf, a Singaporean Wolf Mercenary writer. “When the Needs are Denied” formerly appeared in the BREEDS: FOXES anthology, published by Thurston Howl Publications (Now Bound Tales). His works have been published by FurPlanet, Rabbit Valley, Goal Publications among others. You can find links to more of his stories on his FA or WikiFur page.

Today’s story will be read for you by Crimson Ruari, the Mountain Smith.

This week's two-parter is an adult story for mature listeners.

If that's not your cup of tea,

or there are youngsters listening,

you can skip these

and there'll be new stories for you next week.

week.You’re listening to The Voice of Dog. I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is the first of two parts of

“When the Needs are Denied

by MikasiWolf, a Singaporean Wolf Mercenary writer.

“When the Needs are Denied” formerly appeared in the

FOXES anthology,

published by Thurston Howl Publications

(Now Bound Tales). His works have been published by FurPlanet,

Rabbit Valley, Goal Publications among others.

You can find links to more of his stories

on his FA or WikiFur

page. Today’s story will be read for you

by Crimson Ruari,

the Mountain Smith.

“When the Needs are Denied”

by MikasiWolf, Part 1

of 2 As a fox, I just can’t get enough of it.

You know what? Fuck that.

No one can get enough sex.

Anyone who says otherwise is a lying weasel or a snitching ferret.

And that includes those two species as well.

It doesn’t matter if you’re dog or bear,

wolf or hare, everyone feels the instinct at some point in their life.

Or should I say, every point in their life.

Since I turned 18, I’ve been hooking up with guys and girls every other week.

They don’t call it the freedom of adulthood for nothing.

It started off as an experiment to see which end of the scale I turned to,

along with the more tangible

and, well, pleasurable benefits.

By the end of Year Two of my sexual journey, I’ve come to but one conclusion;

I was neither straight

nor gay. A most happy dilemma,

I would say. Then I started seeing this guy I met at the Air Show.

I was always one for technology, especially the kind that goes boom and whoosh, so I’d been going ever since I moved to this city.

It’s among the best choices I’ve made;

I don’t think my parents would’ve liked finding what I got up to each every night,

and I can’t exactly have anyone sleep over at a place that wasn’t mine.

Even if we went at it all quiet-like, I’ve no doubt my parents would have a fit if they heard and smelt something

that resembled whatever they did to have me and my bros.

Dad probably wouldn’t mind too much; my ma caught him a couple of times with some vixen or other.

But my ma; she called the shots in the house.

My parents were good,

but they can be a pain when it came to giving orders and all that.

I went to the all the schools and lessons they told me to,

and even got a job that they found somewhat acceptable for one of the vulpine.

We foxes prided ourselves on having good jobs and education,

however one might define it. I must however say that knowledge in the streets is just as important as that in the sheets.

Not knowledge I could use first-hand at my day job in Engineering,

though I’m sure I would have made a great sex toy designer. Oh, the sights I’ve seen.

But back to the Air Show.

I was examining an unmanned drone built by some company or other.

Something about the sleek curves along with its most phallic design had me wondering what it would be like to have it at my disposal,

forget the 2.5 million dollar price tag.

Figuratively, I mean.

They don’t have paper tags on things that ex.

Granted, I was also wondering about the engine propulsion that went into this thing, and how smooth and comfortable it would be to ride on.

The things about foxes is that

we tend to have a stronger scent than most other species.

Not that we stink,

though many speciesists would say otherwise.

Because of that, most other species could easily notice every little scent we give off.

And in the case of the Fox Caressing the Phallic Drone, the scent of my arousal.

Unlike the other visitors and exhibitors, Sasha noticed me.

He was representing the company whose drone I was getting all wet over,

and being a sable meant that he was used to picking out the finer smells beneath the stronger overlying scents.

He told me more about the drone’s features such as range,

payload, along with how well it would give ground-based troops a run for their money.

He then told me we could talk more about it later when he was off his shift.

We then got to know each other better.

You’ll excuse me if it just happened, but I find it was an good an introduction to someone as any.

Dad always said that one should find someone of similar interests to spend your time and life with,

and I can’t quite say I disagreed with him.

Sasha sure knew a pent-up guy when he smelled one,

and though I offered to show him a good time, all we did was feel each other up.

Some of the empty booths of the exhibition hall were perfect for such endeavors,

though not so suitable for any hard action, if you get my meaning.

We left separately after that, dripping and satisfied, and with his musk tingling in my nostrils, I knew I’d found the one for me.

I returned to the Air Show the next couple of days and met up with Sasha each time.

He was surprised I turned up again after all that, but from his peaked ears and bright eyes, it was clear he appreciated the sentiment.

When he was sure I wasn’t just hooking up with him for an easy source of one-on-one action, we started going out.

And that, as they say,

was that. We had a good thing going.

Both of us were about the same age and from engineering backgrounds, so we understood the life;

such as how some inane last-minute documentation could make the difference between going back on time or a lost weekend.

He likes reading up on military technology;

I liked doing that alongside playing Call of Duty.

He likes going to the range to pop some rounds;

I liked going there and pretending I’m

playing Call of Duty.

That got me in trouble a few times with the range owner, but there were plenty of laughs between Sasha and I. It’s almost like we’re made for each other.

As for our more personal encounters, Sasha enjoyed sex as much as the next guy.

A great match, don’t you think?

The thing was, he’s not as zealous about it as I was.

Not that he didn’t like it or perform poorly on one side of the equation; he was as enthusiastic a bottom as he was a top.

He could even give and receive head like no equal.

But it was his frequency of it that got to me.

We had been together for about a year now.

Sasha had moved into my rental apartment six months before.

Early in the relationship, he’d commented how sex must be taken in moderation, such as how it depletes one’s energy, mood and all that.

That would have been a warning sign to someone of my sensibilities, were it not for the fact that I understood it as well-meaning advice a loved one would give.

Someone like him would give.

He never really denied it to me for the first few months we were together either,

and I wasn’t naive enough to believe it was due to a submissive nature.

Sasha wasn’t a yes-man,

he said what he meant, and disagreed with things he felt wasn’t right and fair.

He could be equally persuasive at work or in the street, and once,

my sable even stood up to a bear taking up two seats in the bus we’d taken for a night out,

and I was sure it would finally be curtains for him.

But lo and behold,

the bear chose to stand,

letting another couple sit.

I kept looking and sniffing over my shoulder all the way back, just in case the bear was sucking it up just to get even with us in an alley somewhere.

Smaller species such as us both were far more likely to become victims, according to countless government statistics.

But the one person Sasha couldn’t sway was me.

Maybe we were far too alike, or maybe I felt I was always

right, but our arguments, be it over what groceries to buy or movie to watch always ended in compromise.

Except the question of sex.

Sasha never liked having sex during weekdays, and even Sundays at times.

He says he needed to conserve his energy so that he doesn’t feel like he’d been wasted on booze.

He said his boss had already threatened to fire him if he comes to work looking like shit, and he can’t possibly tell his boss what he’d been up to

the night before.

Even in the 21st century,

there were people who couldn’t get round the fact that sex was a natural part of life and recreation.

So I compromised, holding back my urges so that I was asking him to play every two or three days instead of one. Cunning, ain’t I? Sasha relented half of the time, but I could see he wasn’t quite into it after that.

He went through the motions whenever we went at it.

Several times, when I was topping him, I finished only to find that he had dozed off. He didn’t even get to cum.

About seven times after that we started quarreling,

till he told me he could always leave if I didn’t like it.

So I let it be. If I was crafty,

he could be even more so.

From then on, he took to coming back late, with the excuse that he had work to do.

I’d read all the smut available online and from mail-order catalogues, so initially thought he was sucking off the boss or something.

But Sasha denied it whenever I asked. He wasn’t one to lie,

and given that every relationship was built on trust, like what we both had,

I let it be. Besides,

he always commented on getting a house of our own one day, and I couldn’t fault him for all that overtime put towards it.

Things were such that I rarely saw him anymore.

He would return just after midnight, and go for a quick shower before going to bed.

He didn’t smell like he’d been fucking anyone, boss or otherwise,

so I figured he’d been telling the truth about that.

Part of me wanted to make it up to him for all that hard work he’d been doing,

but he was always real tired at that time, same as I, so I kept myself in check.

In the morning, I would see him briefly in the kitchen,

where we had a quick bite before he left with a nuzzle on my cheek.

Then off we went to the office, where insane bosses and pointless documentation awaited.

I respected Sasha’s wishes, I really did. But always an uncomfortable tension in my loins kept me on the edge,

such that I couldn’t even get to sleep.

And yet Sasha tempted me by lying oh-so-close every night,

and only his wishes kept me from jumping him in the middle of the night,

gasping and panting to a satisfying release.

Jacking off barely helped;

the lone scent of my own musk reminded me what my sable was denying me,

and always left me feeling frustrated and sour afterward.

I wanted to hold him,

breath in his scent, and even taste him if I’m so inclined.

By the 3rd month without a warm body above or beneath me, I made my decision.

I had to find it elsewhere.

Not that I was dumping my sable or anything like that.

Despite his lack of enthusiasm with regards to higher pleasures, he didn’t deserve this.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve been in a relationship. Granted, my previous, and first relationship lasting longer than three consecutive nights went on for a full month,

only for my then-boyfriend Randy to bail on me one night.

I later found out that he had needed a place to crash while he’s waiting for his house renovations to complete.

Tragic, but true. The fact that Sasha and I hit it off from the start,

with so many things in common made me appreciate him all the more.

I just needed to find someone who didn’t mind getting to know good old foxy better,

even if it were just for one night.

Or day. It didn’t make a difference, unless I’ve got to run back to work straight after. Even if I go straight to the office showers, some colleagues might catch a whiff of what I’ve been up to, and get the whole department talking. I’ve heard of cabbies and delivery guys who cruise around with their Grindr app on and score several times in the space of the day,

though they have a flexibility with their schedule I didn’t have.

But the problem with one-night-stands were that they worked best when you weren’t committed to anyone.

Sasha had never said he wanted our relationship to be closed, but just who actually says that out loud?

Hey, Cliffy. Can we have a closed relationship?

No fucking around behind each other’s back, ‘kay?

You get the picture.

If I were to go back to my usual hangouts, and cruise round the way I had,

there’s always the chance that word of my deeds would spread.

Sasha and I weren’t recluses;

we had friends and acquaintances just like any other guy,

and who’s to say someone we knew won’t inform on the other?

I needed a more foolproof plan, somewhere where discretion was key, and also where a guy having a night out was commonplace.

To the east side of the city

lies the Red Light District,

known locally as “The Night Market”.

This was a holdover from colonial days when prostitution was illegal.

During then, patrons had to use code words in their conversation, for fear of being arrested by undercover cops.

It was perfectly fine to tell someone you’re heading over to the Market

rather than The Palace of Treasures.

A part of me felt this was cheating, but way I saw it,

Sasha had it coming.

It wasn’t like I’m leaving him for whoever I would be fucking at the Night Market,

and it’s criminal of him to denyme what every man needed.

Hell, what every organism needed. Even amoebae see the need to split or multiply or whatever their manner of self-fucking is called.

That said, I could easily get what I came for there,

and make my way back long before Sasha returned.

The two of us would remain together, happy and satisfied with life.

The moment I finished work the next day, I got my stuff in order.

Enough cash for the ride home,

with a couple hundred more for the services of an impressionable stud.

Loose fitting casual clothes, so that onlookers don’t assume they know where I’m headed.

Driver’s ID, in case someone needed to identify my badly-beaten self.

I’ve had many an experience with bouncers before, and they rarely ever play nice.

Even the mice don’t mess around.

Public transport was out of the question; chances are someone I knew might see where I’m headed.

I called a cab, and while I waited, I strolled up and down the street, sniffing around for anyone who might be watching from the sides and alleys

I took a last look down both ends of the street as my cab arrived,

giving directions quickly

as I sat on the back.

I looked behind as the cab rolled onward, heaving a sigh of relief when it was clear no one was following me.

It would be a real bitch if Sasha hired a private eye to keep tabs on me, but I was probably thinking too much into it.

There was a faint scent of the past two customers coming from the back seats, some rodent or

other. Some cab driverssprayed descentifier in their car every now and then, especially the canids, and this was no different.

The cab driver, a tawny-colored coyote with graying fur looked into the rear view mirror at me.

He grinned knowingly as I returned the gaze.

“Aye, the first time’s the most jittery of all,” the coyote nodded. “Then it starts getting easier.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I fought to stay calm, because curse it—we canines could smell fear.

The directions I’d given didn’t lead directly into the Night Market itself. It would

be a fine thing to say “Head to the Red Light District,” and face the hard silent stare of the driver who was to bring me there. I’d instead given directions to the streets adjacent to the area, which was famous for its fruit stalls and eateries.

“Son, I’ve been in this biz long enough to know what’s what!”

the driver laughed.

I’ve always been creeped out by the way wolves and coyotes laughed.

It sounded a lot like a staccato of barks, interspersed with an underlying howl beneath it.

“Everyone thinks they got it covered, taking the long way to the Night Market. Always alighting two to three streets away, looking over their shoulders when they do.

Some even tell me they’re there to enjoy the food!” “I’m not—” I began, but the coyote waved my comment aside.

We’d left the residential district where I lived, and I almost couldn’t recognize the roads we were taking.

The bus route to my office was in the exact opposite direction to wherever we’re heading.

I used to recall kids back in school speaking of the things that happen in the East

Side, such as gang wars and crackheads lining the alleys.

It’s supposed to be all cleaned up now, but the stories of my youth still had weight on my apprehension.

Like many Red Light Districts across the world,

the streets that made up the Night Market was supposed to be officially gazetted for that very purpose,

though the government didn’t exactly make it known. It would

be quite the scandal for a minister to admit that the government agreed to such a demarcation.

“I’m not judging you, son. There are

so many reasons to seek the pleasures of another.

Would you really fault anyone for that?

If the big guy above didn’t want us fucking, he wouldn’t have given us the stuff to.”

I wasn’t religious or anything like that, but I couldn’t quite disagree with him.

“Listen, Mr err...”

“You can call me Kasi.

Or Cabbie. Whichever you prefer,” The driver nodded at me.

“Right. Well, Kasi, you’re right.

Everyone wants to have a good one every now and then.

I’m no different,”

I eyed Kasi in the rear-view mirror,

trying to gauge if he was homophobic or not.

Then I figured, hell, even if he was, he’d be hard-pressed to beat me down at his age.

“But my boyfriend, he doesn’t understand how it feels to not get any.

He even tries avoiding me to get out of it.

Not that it’s my right to impose on him, but...”

“I do understand. It’s one of the more common reasons for it to happen,” Kasi replied.

I didn’t have to ask if he meant my cheating rather than Sasha’s avoiding me.

“But folks aren’t all born alike,

otherwise the world would be boring as hell.

The fact that you two’re still together

—I’m guessing this isn’t a short-term thing—means that your differences probably complement one another.

It’s fine if you go have your fix or whatever you call it somewhere else, but you have to remember that

when other people gets involved,

that’s when you start seeing the faults and flaws in one another.”

The coyote gave a sigh.

Flaws that would otherwise be accepted as part of the person.

Whores know better than to get attached, but they’re professionals. The same can’t always be said for their clients, and Old Kasi’s been there.

And here’s your stop.”

I was so engrossed in Kasi’s verbiage, I hadn’t noticed the streets around us.

I could now see that we were right outside a most colorfully-lit street,

illuminated with neon and all those newfangled digital lighting contraptions. Pink lighting predominated much of the streetscape, and then I realized Kasi decided to drop my off at my actual intended destination, directions be damned. “This isn’t

the place I asked for—” I protested.

“Save it, son. If you step out now, the ride’s on me.” replied Kasi.

For the first time, he turned around and regarded his passenger.

“Just remember what I’ve said, and consider it square.”

Huh, some preacher this guy was.

But I could always save on cash. I muttered my thanks and exited, the thud of the door behind me louder than I intended. Kasi drove away,

and I lifted my muzzle to catch the sights and sounds.

It turned out that despite trying to maintain some semblance of unobtrusiveness, by being a good sixty meters from a side

road, the entrance to the district advertised its wares glaringly enough.

A flashing lit bulb sign alternated from a right-pointing arrow to the word “Enter”.

Two foxes, one fennec, and one grey sidled up to me,

but I did my best to ignore their words and paws,

deciding to head deeper into the Market for a choicer look.

I stepped through the lightly-illuminated alleyway, sidestepping working girls and boys alike,

including a couple of dazed-looking patrons.

I wrinkled my nose at the stench of sex coming off one of them.

Weasel, ferret and skunk,

tinged with the underlying scent of rodent.

A most enjoyable and pungent foursome, if I had to hazard a guess.

Then I stepped into the main square, where the sights and sounds of the Night Market assailed me.

More neon signs crafted in a myriad of species outlines showed itself, all voluptuous and dainty legs.

I could identify those of cats and horses fairly easily,

but generic canine and mustelid outlines could refer to any number of subspecies.

Loud booming music could be heard from multiple joints, all meandering into an unintelligible noise.

The smell of roasting meat and steamed vegetables

emanated from several eateries, which had

me wondering who actually came here to eat.

I guessed even working boys and girls had meal breaks.

There were so many establishments to visit, so many tastes to savor,

and I didn’t know which one to go to.

Someone gripped my tail lightly and I spun in surprise,

my brush slipping out of my accoster’s grip.

It was yet another fox,

a red just like me. s.

“New here? Show me a good time?” giggled the fox.

I stared agape at her, eyes travelling from her head to toes.

She really cut a good figure, which my eyes and sheath very much appreciated, with manageable but not overly large breasts visible through the light fabric scarf

she draped across her person.

I figured patrons would normally go for those of a similar species.

There was something to be said for species familiarity, much like how rats would rather hang out with other rats, and wildcats would rather hang out with other smaller cats.

Her scent, accentuated by a perfume

resembling that of a vixen on heat

had me tempted to hire her right there and then, but years of shopping for entirely different merchandise told me to take a look around first.

“No, thanks,” I stuttered.

The vixen gave a mock pout. “Not that

you aren’t pretty or anything, but err...”

“Ahh, it’s okay,” the fox flapped her paw in playful dismissal.

“Come to try another flavor besides fox, eh?

Just what are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

She gave loud smack on her left rump. “I’m

Virgo, by the way.”

Crap, I’d not thought any further than that.

The plan was to play it by ear,

and make a decision based on where the fancy takes me.

But if I’m going to have to pay,

I might as well get my money’s worth.

From my understanding, working boys and girls weren’t generally priced according to species, but popularity.

That said, some species would be more popular than others for whatever preferences patrons may be.

I wanted a good time that rivaled the best of my experiences, but try as I might, I couldn’t recall any encounterthat stood out.

There was the badger lady,

there was the skunk guy;

there was even this she-bear that near squashed the life out of me when she rode cowgirl.

Then there was this sable.

sable... Sable. Sasha wasn’t the most skilled of bedmates, but he sure was energetic, even enthusiastic when we’d first met.

He would leave me panting be it when he was bouncing across my shaft, each squelch and slurp a testament to his vigor.

And when he topped, he would grip my tail and yank my foxy self towards him,

sinking his needlelike fangs into my ass, a virtue of musteline flexibility.

It made me hard—I meant harder—just thinking about it.

But the truth was that

he no longer did all that for me.

I would just have to find someone to do the same.

Virgo’s smile lit up when I told her what I needed.

This was the first of two parts of

“When the Needs are Denied”

by MikasiWolf, read for you by Crimson Ruari,

the Mountain Smith.

Tune in next time to find out how far will Cliffy go? Will he get the experience of a lifetime,

or lose whatever’s left of his integrity?

As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog, or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.