The Coming of the White Fox

Every night Han prayed. He burned cedar at the altar, kneeling nude there for hours in supplication. His father had taught him the ritual; he'd seen it work so long ago. Now he was of age and his own offerings went ignored.

Weeks passed into months. The trees blossomed and died and snow lay mute on the world. Still he worshipped. The longer he was ignored, the more desperate he became. His wife noticed, but he was in the grip of fervor. He forsook his work, his family, the world as one unified distraction. He ate at the altar, albeit seldom. His wife and son left as the green and the warmth burgeoned once more and Han was growing skinny and despondent.

One night, Han's resolve crumbled. Like his flesh, it had been wasting away. Dressed in his gold robe, Han swept the floor around the altar, burned cedar, and then went out into his empty home to find his father's sword. All was dark. The moon was new and the stars were cloaked in cloud. His home seemed haunted. He had cast everything away. Sword in hand, he went back to the altar and prepared to sacrifice himself.

Only then did the white fox come. She stepped from the shadows, resplendent in gossamer robes. She was as beautiful as he had remembered her.

"Faithful one," she asked, "why do you wane now after so long?" Her voice came from the walls, the earth, the midnight sky. Her blood-black eyes shimmered as she took the sword from his hand.

All he could manage to say was, "Why?"

But the white fox did not reply. Her robes floated away, revealing her svelte, furred form. Her heavy breasts swayed as she sighed toward him. Thin ears tapered to black tips, a bristling tail lashed the air, and the white fox pushed him to the floor.

Han was ready. He was empty and sick and sad; but he felt healed and whole in the presence of this beautiful spirit. The room reeked of cedar. The white fox straddled Han and put her human hands on his face.

Wide-eyed and trembling, Han put his hands on her breasts. The pale fur was short and coarse and sweet smelling. He ran his fingers through that immaculate pelt to find the taut buds of the fox's nipples. As he rolled them between his calloused fingers, the white fox hummed in pleasure. She opened his gold robe and leaned close as her hands found his pulsing erection. She nipped the flesh of his throat ever so gently.

Was Han's father smiling down on him at last? Han's destiny was realized.

The white fox gripped the root of Han's shaft and, as he pushed his mouth against one teat, she guided him into her breathtaking warmth.

Immediately, he was overcome with joy. The fox rippled over him; she pushed with her canine legs and slid lusciously to his hilt. Her tail tickled his inner thighs. She braced herself with her hands on his shoulders and rode him slowly. All the time she stared into his eyes. Han felt tears burning on his cheeks. He gripped the white fox around the waist and begun to pump upward. Sublime bliss rolled over him in waves, mounting and mounting as the fox began to increase her gyrations, and it was worth the waste of his life and love. Her breasts heaved as her breaths became shallow and, where black fur was on her throat, he could see the white fox's pulse quicken. This was celestial pleasure. His sweat gleamed on the white coat, he could no longer keep deep moans at bay, and the fox pushed him hard against the wall as she ground onto his throbbing shaft. He was now so hard it hurt, but the balm of the fox's divine sex milked blind ecstasy from his painful arousal.

And the white fox was coming. Her body jerked in a paroxysm which, finally, tore a whine of delight from her lungs. Her wetness clamped hard around him, seeming to suck him from the base to the crown of the head – as if to draw him into herself forever. This was more than any man could have endured. Han jammed his cock deep, pressing hard her against him, and emptied all his seed into her at once. The impossible pleasure seemed to last a lifetime. The white fox bore the storm as he cried out and his hips convulsed, shoving him into her for the last time.

When it was done, the white fox stood. Han felt reborn. Briefly, the fox knelt and ran out her ruby tongue to lap the remains of Han's come from his quivering penis. And then she was gone. He did not see her leave. He had closed his eyes, exhausted and content. And the house was dead silent around him, and the night burned into red dawn while he slipped peacefully from sleep to long-coming death.