I sit fidgeting restlessly in my lounge, curling sharp, freshly manicured ivory nails almost painfully into the palms of my hands, the last quarter of a long G&T perspires on the coffee table. I'm in my own home, my own belongings surround me. There is really no need for me to feel so apprehensive. No one is making me do anything I don’t want to. No one is forcing me. No one is coercing or blackmailing me.
On the other hand. No one knows. My husband of eight years has no idea of my plans this night. He is away on a stag weekend to Prague with a dozen of his friends and colleagues. Goodness knows what will be going on there. I do wonder sometimes. Perhaps it isn’t just me that is chronically unfaithful. Perhaps we are both living in an open relationship, and just don’t know it. He tells me not. He tells me he has no interest in the pole dancers, the lap dancers, the whores of eastern Europe. He’s just going along to make up the numbers. I can’t really question him hard on it without my stomach turning itself inside out and declaring myself an outright hypocrite.
None of my friends know either, nor my colleagues. I could hardly tell them, could I? Tell them that I am headed out alone to a London fetish club. Good god! I can imagine their faces! Their utter lack of comprehension. Me at a fetish club some of them might understand. Just. My closer, older female friends. Some of them know at least a little of my somewhat liberal delectations. They know that I am not exactly the simplest woman to keep amused in bed. But Furry night? I doubt they’d even grasp the concept, and certainly they wouldn't in a million years understand the attraction.
My family? Not a chance! My sister is the only one I could possibly imagine telling, but even that would be like opening a can of writhing worms. Especially the fact that I am going alone. She knows about some of my past dalliances and quietly disapproves already. This would certainly not enhance her view of me!
No. There is only one person that knows anything of my plan for this evening, and that is my mind-warping, reality-shifting lover. My dirty online secret, my deviant, torrid affair of the last five years. Someone I have shared every intimacy with and yet never met. Someone who has found and explored dark recesses of my mind that I never imagined might exist, from three thousand miles away in another capital city across a vast ocean. Someone who has slowly, progressively dismantled the barriers that civilised humanity would seek to maintain, and unlocked my raw, hungry, animal desire. That someone, of course, is you.
But that safety of distance, that intercontinental gulf that is a founding part of our relationship, which has so often kept us safe from each others hunger, now means that I face tonight alone, when I could most use you at my side, my mentor, my tutor, my love.
I glance at the antique clock on the mantlepiece above the dying embers of the log fire. Almost five o’clock. She will be here soon. I take another long sip, draining the glass in the hope that the iced drink might help settle my nerves. Freshly showered, I am sat in a black silk kimono, oriental dragons embroidered down my spine, my outfit for tonight laid out on my bed upstairs.
To say no-one else knows anything about isn’t entirely true. There is one person who at least has an inkling of some of it. A complete stranger, barring two brief telephone conversations. A make-up artist. I found her online, someone who specialises in films during the week, and children’s parties at the weekend. Painting animals onto the faces of innocent children.
Her name is Beth and I’ve seen bits of her work (half the western world has seen bits of her work) and it is impressive. As a professional, she has worked on the latest Star Wars films, creating all manner of alien creatures. And in her spare time, her children’s party face painted animals are exquisite. We’ve discussed a little bit of what I want. She knows I am going out and want a very particular look I guess she assume’s a fancy dress party or some such thing.
My heart skips a beat as the doorbell rings. Fuck it, she is early. Well, a couple of minutes early anyway. In need of the dutch courage it might afford, I hastily finish the rest of my drink before stepping bare-foot to the hallway. I pause for a steadying moment, taking a deep breath before releasing the latch.
I open the door to a pretty young woman carrying two large, wheeled cases. Beth is younger than I expected. Not that I knew what to expect, and these days, a lot of people seem young to me. The drawbacks of being the wrong side of forty I guess. She smiles a warm, friendly smile, but I struggle to relax.
‘Beth?’ I open the door wider, inviting her in out of the cold.
She nods, warm brown eyes meeting mine for a second before she steps inside, her makeup cases rattling. ‘You must be Katlyn’ she checks as she steps across the threshold.
‘Call me Kat’ My smile belying the churning in my stomach as I close the door behind her, and with my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest, I show her into the lounge. Oh God! This is really happening.
As I pour her a drink, she asks what the occasion for my make-up is. I stiffen slightly, the knot in my stomach turning to ice, but if I can’t even tell this... Beth - a complete stranger - about it, what hope have I got of summoning up the nerve and actually walking into The Torture Garden later tonight?
‘I... ummm.. it’s a...’ I stutter for a second, before steeling myself. It’s not as if I ever need to see the woman again, or like she knows my Mum. ‘I’m going to a fetish club’ I manage to say, as if it’s not completely freaking me out inside.
‘Oh my god! Wow, really?’ She suddenly seems really excited. Animated. ‘As a fox? Wow! Thats so cool… Kat the Fox, huh?’ she giggles softly, clearly amused.
‘I… guess…’ my voice still wavering almost beyond my control.
‘I’d love to go to one… someday, you know… just from a professional point of view… all those amazing costumes, make up, tattoos…’ she seems genuinely thrilled to be involved with the event ‘You must tell me afterwards how you get on!’ she beams… then suddenly looks around… ‘You’re going with someone?’
‘I… errr…’ It is so obvious that I live with someone in a relationship, there are photos everywhere, but Steve is in Prague, and… ‘No… it’s not really my husband’s thing, he’s away this weekend’ sometimes, honesty is just easier.
‘Wow… he must be so trusting of you…’ she reads the colour that is flaring in my cheeks… ‘He doesn’t even know… does he?’ she giggles impishly and I catch myself staring at her for a moment… ‘Oh my goodness… Kat… thats so naughty! He know’s about your fetish thing though, right?’
I shake my head, finding it strangely cathartic to be able to talk to someone… someone I’ve never met, and likely never will again, and who seems more amused and intrigued than judgemental. 'Steve... he doesn’t know anything about it… not the fetish, not the club, not… nothing’
Beth smiles conspiratorially.. ‘Jesus…’ she whispers. ‘Thats so… seriously… like… proper secrets..’ she pauses a second, her mind racing to catch up with the news… ‘So… if not Steve… how? Who… got you in to this, I mean, it’s your first time, right?’
I guess I didn’t hide my nerves as well as I thought. ‘I have a friend… online… they’ve… we’ve been doing things… they’ve introduced me to a lot of things in the last five years…’
‘Five years?!’ Beth’s eyes widen. ‘You’ve had a secret, online fetish lover for five years, and your husband knows nothing?! Holy Fuck!’ and she seems quite speechless. For a moment, I am too. When someone puts it as bluntly as that, out loud. ‘Your online friend must be quite a guy’ she purrs, and I wonder if there is a touch of envy.
‘He’s a she.’ I say bluntly, as it occurs to me that I am actually enjoying the power to shock and thrill this young make-up artist, who has finished the Southern Comfort she was drinking, and twirling the glass in a ‘More please..’ kind of way. I stand up, taking the glass and refilling it. ‘She’s American, she’s a dancer, or she used to be… and she’s got the most remarkable imagination I’ve ever known’
‘A woman?’ and her voice as risen another octave, she takes another draught from her refilled glass, ice-cube chinking, and I can sense the myriad thoughts going by as she pauses. ‘I mean… not that I mind… I’ve… ‘ she hesitates and blushes slightly, and I can imagine that the after-show parties she’s attended can be quite… liberal events. ‘But really? An online affair with a woman has led to you going to a Fetish club, alone, made up as a fox, while your husband knows nothing about it?’
I shrug… in a nutshell, thats it. ‘I suppose so…’ I smile, my nerves, for a moment at least, outrun…
‘Well… wow…’ she whispers. ‘I mean… I’ve done some interesting jobs before… but… just.. fuck’. The breathy way she says the last word draws my gaze sharply to her, but the moment is gone before its begun. She glances me up and down, before suddenly getting business like.
‘So… when you said you wanted making up as a fox… I was originally assuming, just your face right… I mean, thats what most private work requests are… but now I[‘m thinking.. fetish club… you want the whole body thing right? Top to toe?'
Suddenly it is my turn to be lost for words. I hadn’t considered that at all. I was just thinking face makeup, then add in my Vixen top, a sluttishly inviting skirt, heels and tail. I had never considered full body makeup.
For a moment, I can feel and hear you, perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, and I know what you would say, what you would choose. There would never be a moment’s doubt.
‘You can do… that? The full thing?’ I ask quietly, imagining for a moment.
‘Oh sure… I mean.. it’ll take a little longer, but all the detail work is in your face.. the rest, its mostly broad strokes… a few details here and there… What are you going to be wearing with it Kat? You aren’t going naked are you?’ She giggles mischievously again and I sense her wondering gaze on me.
‘No, not naked, Beth’ I smile primly. Not to begin with, I don't add. Although, it occurs to me, I’d be naked, or near enough if she is to give me a full body make up, and the thought isn’t a terrible one, not at all. I allow my own eyes to drift over Beth’s form, her legs curled beneath her as she sips her drink. I hadn’t noticed her take her shoes off, but her feet are bare, and skin tight blue denim hugs her calves, her lean thighs - gazelle comes to mind. Like many people I find attractive, these days I can't help but assign some animal to them, in my head, and for Beth, lean, athletic but still with curves, Gazelle fits - the fabric stretched taut over her rump. Keen eyed, but not predatorial.
‘I.. ummm, you want to see?’ My mouth dries as I realise Beth is watching me intently. ‘My outfit I mean, it’s laid out upstairs’
‘Sure’ she replies, and is on her feet before I am.
I’m certain that I can feel her eyes boring into my ass as her bare feet pad silently up the stairs behind me, glass still in hand. As we near the top of the stairs my hand suddenly tightens about the bannister. Fuck it! Fuck. It. The tail! The real fox tail, with its immaculate crystal plug. Laid out on my bed besides the skirt and top.
There is nothing I can do about it now, the door to my bedroom just across the hall way, and Beth is enthusiastically chatting away right behind me, something about waterproof, smudge-proof makeup, and the developments in professional makeup that aren’t available on the high street til years later. I am barely listening as I swallow hard and lead her into my room.
For a brief moment which seems eternal we are silent, and I can hear my blood racing as her gaze falls on the bed, the black top with its bold VIXEN logo emblazened across the chest, the short, pleated skirt that screams ‘bend me over and fuck me’ even from the bed, and then the tail, its luxurious, rust red fur, tipped in white, and the clear, crystal plug, sized Large on the website. sized comfortably unambitious to my own way of thinking.
Of course, that was when I was unwrapping it in private. Not when it was laid out for public viewing. Now the whole thing looks… well..
‘Jesus…’ Beth whispers quietly, surveying the whole outfit. ‘If your husband, only knew… huh?’ and she makes no mention of the tail at all, though I can see it is still holding her attention. ‘Obviously… it *has* to be the full body paint job? Anything less simply wouldn’t do all this…’ she pauses, sweeping her now empty glass above the bed ‘… justice’.
Again, I can hear your persuasive voice in my head. ‘Do it, my hungry little vixen. If you are doing this at all, then you can’t do it by half measures… its time for a bold statement Katlyn. It’s time to become my vixen, be all that you can be’.
‘Alright’ I’m picturing myself leaving the house, a fully painted fox, and there’s pulsing warmth in the pit of my stomach as I imagine it. ‘If we must’.
Her eyes finally leave the fox tail on the bed and meet my own ‘Oh you must, Katlyn, I’m quite sure of that’ her voice has a soothing quality to it, but also a richness of tone that belies her youth. ‘I’ll fetch my kit’.
For a moment I’m alone in my bedroom. ‘What the fuck are you doing Katlyn? Are you really doing this? This is really happening’ I whisper silently, staring at myself in the mirror as I sit at my dressing table.
Before I've had time to answer myself Beth is back, wheeling her two large cases beside my bed. Unclipping the fronts of them, revealing myriad drawers and compartments.
Her voice is business like again, the professional makeup artist ‘This club, it’s going to be hot, right? You’re going to be dancing, touching... fucking’ she says it so matter of factly that it cuts right through me. It’s the sort of thing you would say when you're trying to fuck with my head, which is most of the time.
‘We'll see...' and my lack of denial speaks volumes, my eyes meeting hers in the glass of my dressing table mirror, again I can feel an intensity in her stare.
‘So... we’ll go professional. This stuff, it’s not coming off until you want it to.’ She sets a small bottle on my dresser. ‘When you’re back here tonight, or tomorrow morning’ she gives me a sly smile, ‘use this in the shower, the makeup will come straight off, without this, well, let’s just say you won’t be smudging, no matter how much you bump and grind’.
My stomach tightens a little. Permanent makeup that needs a special solution to remove? It makes me think of you again. Of some of our scenes. Of times you’ve painted me, and the effect has been... permanent. It should probably scare me, but instead, it just adds to the gnawing heat in my loins.
‘Ok’. I smile, best not lose that bottle then, huh?’
‘Best not’ She agrees, 'unless you want to be a fox at work tomorrow' she giggles again innocently as her comment strikes another chord she couldn't possibly know about in a corner of my mind, and she continues opening drawers in her cases, pulling out other bottles, tubes, brushes, pencils until the top of my dressing table is littered with the tools of her trade.
Finally, from a large drawer in one of her cases, she pulls a black sheet, turning and draping it over the mirror. ‘No mirror Katlyn, not till we’re done, there’s nothing worse than seeing half-finished work’.
In front of the shrouded mirror, she leans a large glossy photo of a real fox’s face. The ratchet around my stomach tightens several more clicks as I stare at the photo. There’s something profoundly different about a real, printed photo, as compared with a picture on a computer or phone screen. Something more... tangible. More real. The fox is staring back at me. As if challenging me. Daring me.
‘Ready, Kat?’ She has a sponge in her hand, and is looking at the picture too.
‘As I’ll ever be’ I swallow drily.
She begins, applying a light foundation. I’ve never had makeup applied without being able to watch, it is an unnerving sensation to start with, but after a while, also a little liberating. Apart from the occasional glimpse of colour on her brushes and sponges, I really don’t have any idea how she is making me look.
We don’t talk much, partly because I can tell she is concentrating hard, looking back and forth between my face and the photo. Partly because she doesn’t want my face moving as she works. And largely because my mind is so awash with thoughts and emotions that I am not sure I could spin a sentence together just now.
Quickly Beth progresses from broad strokes to fine details, working with small delicate brush strokes, she has a deft touch, working confidently, never reaching for the solvent to make a correction.
As she continues to work, I can’t help but study her own face as she stares so intently at mine. High cheek bones, a strong jawline, a cute nose. The full, soft lips of the young. When she is concentrating hard her lips part, the tip of her tongue unconsciously grazing across her teeth. Occasionally, frown lines decorate her forehead.
After a long period of intense concentration I can’t help but ask how it’s going.
‘Oh, good. Really good. You’re gonna get laid tonight, foxy lady’ she smirks. ‘Your husband, he didn’t ask about this hair cut, this colour? I mean, it’s perfect for this, totally perfect, but... well, it’s quite... you know?’
‘Dykish?’ I smile, recalling a growled comment of a stranger I was kneeling before a couple of weeks ago. ‘Yes, isn’t it. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, if he even noticed.’
‘He would be, if he saw it now.’ She giggles for a second, combing her fingers through my short, russet hair.
Behind me, she is retrieving something else from her case. ‘Mmm, perfect, just perfect’ and I can here the delight in her voice, the next thing I feel is a momentary cool moistness as she brushes back my hair, pressing something firmly against my scalp.
‘Ears...’ she whispers in my ear. ‘No self respecting fox can be seen without ears’ and she combs back the hair on the other side of my head, another momentary wet contact.
‘That same bottle will dissolve the adhesive in seconds’ she assures me, as she tugs lightly on whatever she’s just attached, and it feels just like someone pulling at my hair.
‘I’m no stylist’ she says modestly, as I feel her fingers combing through my hair, 'but your hair suits it so well already.’
She steps back, glancing at the photo on my dressing table, then at me. ‘Ok’ she smiles widely, ‘that’s the hard part done’.
I swallow drily, I am aching to see how I look, but I know she is going to insist on waiting til the whole job is finished, the fox in the photo still staring back at me... in recognition now, I wonder quietly.
Beth has moved my outfit from the bed, not seeming at all phased by the tail, and is spreading a dark sheet over the mattress. 'It's probably best if we don't turn your bed all fox red, huh?' she grins, watching me as I stand up.
Her eyes are still on my as I hesitate. I can barely feel the makeup on my face, but I can sense a change in the way she is looking at me. Not something I can put my finger on, but just, different.
'I've seen it all before Katlyn' she whispers softly, waiting for me to shrug off the kimono and lie on the bed.
I'm sure she has, but this wasn't part of my plan. This is off script. In my hesitation, I can hear you on my shoulder again, whispering. 'What are you waiting for, my little vixen slut? Show the pretty young make up girl your hot body. Show her your smooth, glistening cunt, let her paint you as the fox-slut you are' Oh god..
Almost without realising it, my hands have unfastened the silk rope of the kimono and shrugged it off my shoulders, hissing as it slithers against my skin to land crumpled on the floor about my feet.
Again, I get a curious, strange sense of power as I feel Beth's stare travelling over me, enjoying the ease with which I can apparently captivate her.
'You're husband must be crazy... fucking crazy' she purrs.quietly, 'You work out? have a personal trainer?' she asks, barely masking her interest as her eyes follow my contours.
'I do triathlon... you know.. swim, cycle, run...' I climb onto the bed, pausing again, kneeling... 'Front or back?'
'What? oh.. I'll do your back first, lay on your front' she watches with barely-concealed hunger as I stretch out on the black sheet. 'No.. arms by your sides Kat, as if you're standing... yes, just out a bit... there'
I tense for a moment at the first cool strokes of the sponge as Beth daubs across my shoulders in broad strokes.
'Thats it my vixen, feel her painting your body... feel your skin being stained with the mark of the fox... I bet your hot little pussy is dripping into the sheet isn't it, having Beth attend to you'
With my head turned to the side, my cheek pressed against the black satin sheet, my vision is filled with Beth's denim-clad legs as she works over me, and I can't help but watch, focusing on the pale blue fabric, appearing shrink-wrapped around the tops of her thighs.
'So, you know all about me now Beth... what about you... there must be a boyfriend waiting at home for you?' My blunt directness surprises me, but she doesn't seem phased, and oh god that sponge... slightly damp, slightly rough... almost like a tongue licking every inch of my body, as she works it down into the small of my back. I can barely suppress a small sigh.
'Not just at the moment... no boyfriend... no.. anyone.' she starts applying the makeup over the curves of my ass. No anyone? Saying no Girlfriend would have been too obvious perhaps. but 'No anyone'? Surely she means something by that?
'Excuse me... this may seem a little... invasive' and she is anything but sorry, as she lightly parts the cleft of my ass with one hand, the cool sponge eliciting a sharp intake of breath as Beth presses it closer onwards my heat.
She works with deliberate slowness down the backs of my thighs, ticklishly across the backs of my knees, and then slowly down my calves, before dabbing delicately at the soles of my feet.
'Head to toe is just that...' I whisper up at her.
'Every inch' she grins... now... turn over on to your back...'.
As I roll over, Beth is staring down at me, 'Do you mind if I...' she kneels on the bed beside me... 'It's just easier than bending over for so long'
'She wants to fuck her creation... vixen-slut... she's kneeling beside you... but she'd rather be astride you... of course, you're my creation really...'
'You look so... I don't mean to brag about my own make up, but you look SO damn fox-like, it's almost unnerving' she is staring down at me, an artists palette in her left hand, a stained sponge in her right.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back slightly as she starts colouring my neck, the touch of the sponge exquisitely delicate as she traces the hollow of my throat and down onto my chest.
Deftly she colours across my shoulders, mixing different shades on her palette, the warm, vibrant brown slowly extending down my arms, my flanks, and striking creamy white blaze down my centre.
WIth no apparent shyness, she quietly colours my breasts, the outer curves painted red, whilst my cleavage extends the pale centreline marking. The knot in my stomach tightens as her touch passes below my belly button, the russet brown encroaching as the pale strip tapers out.
I can't help but gasp slightly, my hips rocking a little as she starts to work the sponge over the curves of my mound. Jesus... you waxed for this too?' her question as the sponge glides silkily across my pussy lips.
'What? uh...' it takes me a moment to register the question, tendrils of pleasure twisting their way up my spine, and she must know. she must fucking know how that feels. 'No... no... laser... IPL' I gasp as she strokes at the hollows of my thighs with her artistry.
'Well... damn.. that smoothness all the time... your husband's a total jerk-off... I mean, seriously. I wouldn't let you... I mean, if I was him, I wouldn't let you out of bed', a hint of colour rising in her cheeks as she stumbles over the end of the sentence, her flirtations becoming less disguised.
'See... she wants you, vixen-slut. She want's your sly foxy cunt...'
The moment of tension eventually passes as Beth slowly works colour down my thighs, as she passes my knees, gradually blending the colour darker and darker, applying the progressive shades to my lower legs, and also my forearms, virtually black by the time she reaches my hands and feet.
She swaps the sponge for a fine paint brush, swirling it in the black on her palette, silently holding my gaze with her own for a long moment, before whispering 'Its the little details, that make a good makeup great', then with what seems to be deliberate slowness, colouring each of my nipples, just the very tips of my breasts, a striking black.
I unconsciously bite my lip... plainly she has researched the subject before arriving, and it isn't going to be just the tips of my nipples with the black paint, not if she knows all the little details.
As if I've read her mind, her gaze flickers from my brown and white and black breasts back to my face, which I'm now aching to see. 'Ummm.. you know what else is black, don't you...?' she whispers.
For a moment I'm tempted to play dumb, to call her bluff, to see if the young make-up artist has the nerve to actually ask me to spread my legs wider so she can colour my pussy lips black. Instead, I swallow drily... 'you paint a lot of fetish foxes then?' my voice is a low, gravelly whisper that I know only comes out when I am aroused to fuck.
'I research all my creations... but you're my first vulpine subject, honest' she watches as I draw my knees wide, the centre of my cunt glistening hungrily and pink between smooth, rusty brown out lips.
I have no idea how much longer I can maintain the pretence of disinterest, as she shuffles across the bed, kneeling between my legs, then reaching with the fingers of one hand to unfurl my lips as she wields the brush with the other.
'Mmmm...ohhh...' I try to stifle the obvious pleasure as her fingers tease me, the touch of the brush excruciatingly light, and she knows it.
'My little vixen all hot and bothered?' your silent words in my ear are like pouring petrol on a fire.. 'why don't you just show her what you want...'
'I can't...' I whisper aloud, causing Beth to look up.
'I think you already have' she giggles... 'we're all done', she still has hold of one of my inner labia, stretched taut in her finger tips, and now coal black. My eyes flicker from her face, down to my own body, which I barely recognise as my own. It is unmistakably vulpine in it's appearance.
'Ummm....' I glance down to where she still has hold of me.
'Oh jesus... sorry' except she isn't, as she immediately releases me, smoothing her fingers over my mound, black cunt lips contrasting sharply as they nestle between the fox-red either side. I half expect her to continue, to stroke me properly, to slip her fingers into me, to do what ever the fuck she wants... I know I wouldn't stop her.. indeed I am silently begging her to, laid like this, her kneeling between my legs.
Instead though, Beth has sprung off the bed, and is standing in front of the shrouded full length mirror. 'Time for the vixen to be revealed, I think?' she grins, evidently pleased with her work, and I find her ability to switch between gratuitous, overtly sexual flirting, and professional makeup artist almost impossible, and more than a little frustrating. Doesn't she want it? Have I read her wrong... just seeing what I want to see.
'Oh, she wants it... she wants you... vixen-whore' your voice is no help at all. You are hopelessly biassed, and always on the side of depravity.
I tentatively touch my black hand to my brown legs, doubtful whether the make-up or paint or whatever it is can be dry yet, but it is... oddly it still feels just like touching my skin, even though it looks completely alien.
Beth is stood watching me patiently with faint amusement written in her eyes, her hands poised on the fabric draped over the mirror in hushed anticipation as she waits for me to gather myself and join her in front of the dressing table
Suddenly, the nerves are back. This isn't just about me hoping to get hands-on with the make-up girl. I have somewhere to be later on, and people, a lot of complete strangers are going to see me like this... well, give or take a top and skirt.
Tentatively I stand up. an approach the mirror, wondering for a moment whether I am the artist's muse, or her canvas, or her client. All three I suppose, grateful for any distraction as I stare at the black sheet covering the mirror.