:writing:fiction:sawtooth:novel:chapter:erotica:kink:furry:
Matthew Lederer had been prowling around the outer edges of the swinger and BDSM party circuit, such as it was, for a few months now. Although he still called himself a transplant, he'd been in the area for almost three years, and the excuse had started to wear thin. He was more than past due to get back to the explorations he'd left behind with the move.
The move had been planned --- long planned, even --- but all the same, it came as a shock to his system to be withdrawn from a community in which he was just starting to feel at home. An introduction to bondage, an introduction to power dynamics, an introduction into another couple's relationship all had come a scant year before the move.
And then the job offer.
The scene wasn't coming with him, the couple wasn't moving. With the triad broken and his boxes packed, all he had to do was to say goodbye to the life he'd built and the things he'd started to explore, and hope that he'd find more of the same soon.
There had been some false starts, as there were with any venture. The first party he'd found had turned out to be a such a bust that he'd almost given up and gone back to a more regular dating scene after that. 'Settling', as he now thought of it. "Swinger party", to some, apparently meant getting really high and having a lot of sex while seemingly trying to be as unsafe as possible.
Not his bag.
After that, he'd started asking around rather than simply hunting for such parties on some of the skeevier sites on the web. Having face-to-face conversations seemed to reduce the number of gross entries in the field, even if it meant reducing the overall number as well.
There were some good times and some awkward times after that, but no downright bad times. He'd played a bit here and there, exploring how to engage his dommy side. On one occasion he'd even gotten himself delightfully tied up, Shibari-style.
And always, as he asked around at the parties, people talked in an almost worshipful tone of Joan and Elise's parties, and how well they seemed to run.
His 'in' had been through Joan herself, let off the leash to go have some fun of her own while Elise had a night of recharging and wine at home.
Joan and Matthew had gotten to talking after the party --- a long party that was half demonstration, half play --- the two mustelids lounging on a couch. It had been too warm (and the couch too messy) to cuddle, but they'd made do with simply making the gestures, not needing to actually make contact. No building up heat while still remaining close felt like a good move.
She'd asked him if he'd be interesting in coming to a similar party at her place before he'd even put two and two together, and he'd said yes.
More luck than sense, but that's how it works for worn out fools at the end of kink parties.
Joan had given him a feathery kiss to the whiskers at the end of the night and they'd promised to see each other a month and change down the line. Matthew had caught the bus home after that. Reeking of sex, head buzzy with pleasure and filled with endorphins from the pain (there had been flogging), he thought of that lithe ferret he'd had the chance to close out the evening with. She was quite out of his league, he was sure, but the kiss and the invitation had him hopeful.
The next five weeks had been a tortuous slog through work. Work itself was picking up, which sucked, and seemed to be getting in the way of all his plans, cancelling at least one tentative date between the two parties. Thankfully, the product reveal was two days before the party itself, so perhaps that would be a little treat. He suspected he'd need the release by then.
Matthew had long since gotten used to being greeted by the smells of arousal and stress when walking into parties like this. Arousal was obvious, but, early on, he hadn't expected the stress. It made sense, he supposed: many were there with a goal in mind, and it was work to attain that. Pleasurable work, but work nonetheless.
Tonight, though, there was something more, something that touched him in a way those other mixed scents before hadn't.
He'd brought an overnight bag just in case, and as he slipped through the front door, he saw that he hadn't been alone. Lining the entryway and toward the kitchen were several other bags, as well as totes and boxes, which he suspected were full of gear. And here he'd only thought to bring clothes.
He settled his bag down among the rest, doing his best to make sure he hadn't put it on top of anyone else's, and, unsure of the protocols of the evening, began unbuttoning his shirt. All he'd heard was that there would be a Centerpiece. A toy to parade about, a toy for everyone to use. The rest had all been left vague--
"And this is Matthew. Matthew Lederer," he heard a familiar voice. "I believe you've met."
Aaron.
Contexts clashed, work and play argued for space in his head. To be greeted at the party by his coworker --- his coworker! --- and his delightful mink of a wife in the midst of disrobing left him wrong-footed.
Matthew knew he was staring, open mouthed. He'd met Erin, known she was attractive. That much was obvious at the silly company party they'd all had to attend, but this was something else. Something else entirely.
She was at the end of a leash held by Aaron, a black, nylon job that was clasped to an identical collar. All the silver and black went well with her sleek fur.
She was still dressed much as she had been the first time they'd met, other than that: a plain top and simple skirt, a jersey-fabric over-shirt trailing past her waist. The incongruence brought a smile to his muzzle. Centerpiece, hmm?
It was less the clothing, then, that drew him to her, but the scent of her own arousal: that which had him bristling from entry. It felt like a complement to him.
Mink, it practically hollered. Mink like you. Female. Mink.
It felt like something that ought to be his.
"Good to see you here, buddy!" He forced himself to turn to Aaron and grin widely to him rather than simply leering at the cat's wife. "And yeah, I believe we have. Wasn't expecting to be so lucky in my choice of toys for tonight."
"Mmhm," Aaron nodded, brushing the handle of the leash over the bridge of Erin's muzzle. "Was my turn to bring the Centerpiece. Just about to go get her all trussed up. But here, stand up straighter, minkytoy."
Matthew grinned, found that he was tense. Far tenser than he'd remembered getting. He forced himself to relax with a slow breath and watched as Erin straightened her back and lifted her head, looking bashful.
"The Centerpiece should greet all her guests while she still can," Aaron continued, urging his wife on. "Go on."
The other mink nodded and gave Matthew a shy hug and a kiss to his muzzle. That scent grew stronger, and he returned that kiss eagerly.
"W-welcome," Erin said, meek.
All this mention of 'toy', the degrading language, it was all so easy to pick up.
"Thank you, er..." He made a show of leaning forward to check the tag on Erin's collar. Another heady whiff of that scent --- arousal, need, mink. Mink. "Thank you, toy. I'm sure I'll be most welcome indeed."
He grinned at Aaron and gave what he hoped was an approving nod.
As the cat led off his wife, his toy, Matthew slouched, leaning against the wall to support some of his weight. His fumbling fingers set to work unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way as he struggled with a swirl of thoughts.
Erin was pretty, no doubt about it. Certainly his type, and definitely his species. And she was bound, and about to be more so, which that was another point in her favor --- a subby mink such as her was one of those pie-in-the-sky sort of dreams, something he had never really expected to encounter.
Too much, too much. This was all so much. Seeing a bound and primed mink girl like that was beyond ken, he was nearly incapacitated.
His mind swimming, Matthew shrugged out of his shirt and stuffed it into his bag. It was something to think about. Something he’d almost certainly need to think about, with Erin being the centerpiece.
With the Centerpiece off and getting ready, the party progressed much as Matthew expected. It was a touch awkward with so many people trying to get into the same mood at the same time, and to do so basically without talking about it.
This was always a sticking point for Matthew. He hated it. He hated the way that there was so much dancing around the topic of being at a kink party in the hours and minutes leading up to it. Few people would acknowledge the things that were about to happen, the reasons that they were there, in an open and earnest fashion. Hell, he had an awful time of it: it was something within himself that he hated, as well. Something within society that afflicted them all.
He trusted Joan, though, and trusted Elise in turn, that things would work out alright. As far as parties like this went, those hear in the state and those back home, this one was fairly smooth. Even though he appeared to have made a bit of a faux pas by taking off his shirt earlier than others, everyone seemed happy to roll with it, the mink fitting in well with some conversations about design that he was at least familiar with.
He wound up with a beer in one paw and a very small, very strong shot of something more than just alcohol in the other. The former he sipped as a matter of form, and the latter he cherished. It would be enough, he knew, to get him feeling all buzzy and loose, but not enough to incapacitate him or, worse, make him unable to perform. And hey, work didn't test for the stuff, and he rarely had the chance, so he might as well indulge.
He paused a moment to read the a sign taped up to the side of the drinks cooler, then snagged a fluorescent green wristband from the counter that would indicated that he had more than just alcohol in his system. It was a reasonable rule, he figured. Might as well follow it.
As he took tiny sips from the shockingly bitter shot and larger swallows from the comparatively bland beer, he wound his way through the party, introducing himself here and there as he felt himself loosening up.
Several times, he made eye contact with Joan, giving small smiles and little perks of his ears. She responded in kind, but would continue about her business as hostess soon after. Ah well, he'd keep trying.
Besides, he thought. Joan invited me. She's the reason I'm here, really. Erin was a wonderful surprise, but she's probably out of my league, well embedded in this group and thoroughly married to her engineer husband. Lucky cat. I ought to leave them be.
To that end, he tooled around the party, letting himself be ushered into the living room with all of the rest of the attendees for the last of the icebreaking activities before the party began in earnest.
The activity turned out to be strip poker. Matthew gave a little snort of laughter as he accepted his hand of cards, thinking first that the idea was trite and worn, and then realizing that it was well chosen so long as it was timed right. As the Centerpiece had been paraded around, it had been to get everyone in the mood, while the wait between then and the strip poker had been to build up expectations.
Poker, then, was flipped on its head. It was a silly conceit that, in context, made everyone play to lose. Getting rid of clothing was a good way to get closer to the party itself, was something to be proud of. Get folks lubed up with alcohol and stronger stuff --- the intensity it required for Matthew to focus on his cards was testiment to just how strong --- set their expectations with a flourish of exhibitionism, set their nerves on edge, and them make them work for it.
Well played.
Matthew, having already discarded his shirt, was teased and handicapped in the game of strip poker. Even so, everyone wound up nude at about the same time.
The mink was decidedly buzzy, but the nice thing about this is that, even though it knocked coordination down a few notches, it left perception about up where it was meant to be, and perhaps even kicked touch up a bit. Despite the fact that there was a wide array of visual arousals. Some were overt, with erections and slickness, and some were more subtle, with the ways in which people directed their attentions to each other: gazes lingering longer, touches and kisses increasing in frequency and intensity.
Above all that, though, Matthew smelled the arousal. Minks, he supposed, had a good enough sense of smell to pick up on the odors from all of those present at the party. Everyone, everyone at the party was worked up to some extent, even if it wasn't visually evident. There were musks, and the salt-air scents of the sea, and the sweet and spicy smells of forests and fertility.
Another thing to thank that bitter concoction for, being able to smell all of that.
And another thing to thank this party for, given that many that he had wound up at had left no more than half of the attendees interested and aroused. The parties containing all interested parties and not, say, those who had just shown up to see friends, were few and far between.
As the game of strip poker wound down to a close with an unlucky fox finally getting to strip his underwear and reveal a shaft standing firm and proud (no surprise, given how it had been straining against underwear moments before), the group surged as one. There was a purpose. An itinerary.
It was Elise who stood.
"Alright, my naked friends," she called. Laughter in response --- Elise was as nude as the rest of them --- which faded quickly at a gesture from the ferret. "I'm sure most of you know the rules, since you've either already been to one of these little soirées before or you got the lecture before you were invited."
Matthew found himself nodding in approval. An assembly with a list of rules meant good things for a party like this. No rules was a big warning sign more often than not.
"Consent is required for everything," the hostess continued. "Explicit consent. And I mean everything. Safewords must always be obeyed --- the defaults are 'green', 'yellow', and 'red' or 'stop' --- and we have spare buzzers for those who may find themselves bound and gagged. I'll be making the rounds, but if I'm busy and you need something, like help with something around the house, try and find Joan. If it's a restraint thing, there are medical scissors everywhere. I'm always interruptible if it's a medical emergency."
Elise paused and gave a couple, two young dogs, a glare. "And no modifying my house."
More laughter.
"Last, some safety stuff. Condoms always, please. We've got a variety here, and your own are welcome in a sealed box. Please use the individually sealed packets of lube, too. No blood, no scat, ask before watersports." Elise's words sped up, and then ended with a flourish, the well-rehearsed speech drawing to a close. There was a lot of nodding a few claps.
"Breaking any of these rules is a permanent ban for you as well as whomever you came with, so keep each other honest. Play safe and have--"
The door behind Elise opened, startling the ferret into turning around. A soft round of applause began. "Aha," she said with a grin. "Here we go."
"The Centerpiece is ready." Aaron was standing in the doorway, nude as the rest of them and wearing his sexuality well, even if his posture suggested something between a butler and a proud artist showing his creation.
And, as Matthew stood, Aaron was right to be proud of his Centerpiece.
The bondage was simple. Erin was on all fours, held there by virtue of bound cuffs and a connector binding her collar to the center of the connector between the cuffs. There was a blindfold and a ring-gag as well, but otherwise, the mink was simply in the nude.
What she lacked in bondage gear, however, she made up for in the setup around her and the air she gave off.
Taking the meal aspect of 'Centerpiece' further, Aaron had trussed Erin up at the center of a mattress, neatly sheeted to look like a tablecloth, and surrounded her with 'side dishes' consisting of bowls of condoms, lube packets, additional toys, and even a sign for recording what all had been done with the mink.
Her bearing was one of the utmost need. Matthew could see how tense Erin was, nearly vibrating at the center of the scene. She looked as though she was doing her best to stay still, fighting the urge to squirm about. In her shaking paw, she held one of those buzzers, a single-button thing that would emit a loud noise as a means of tapping out, but it seemed nearly forgotten now. Simply something to clutch onto for support.
More than the sights, though, was the scent. Perhaps it was that bitter concoction, long finished, which had kicked his sense of smell up a notch, but it hit him like a wave. There were notes of Aaron's masculine scent, to be sure, but Matthew was nearly overwhelmed by the rush of mink; clean, healthy, aroused mink.
He'd been worried that perhaps it was just him, but he could see others in the crowd tasting the air, lips parted and nostrils flared, letting their senses be tickled.
As Aaron stood off to the side to talk with Elise, the rest of the partygoers slipped into the room with the Centerpiece. Matthew followed their lead, as there seemed to be some rule or pattern being followed, clustering with them around the bound and, now that he was close enough to tell, panting mink.
Everyone found a way to dote on Erin. Some whispered adoring things into her ears, or perhaps they were cruel things. Some stroked through fur while others tested at bounds. Some teased at the mink's gagged and spread muzzle, and others poked around behind the mink, as the position itself left little to the imagination.
And Matthew stroked lightly along her flank, fingers combing through fur. He felt as though he was walking along some high wire, balancing between some position where he would be overwhelmed by the very urges that drove him to her --- mechanical though they were; he was primed by genetics to react the way that he was --- and the ones that kept him from her.
And what were those, he wondered? Was he saving himself for Joan, perhaps? Or wary of some supposed connection between him and Erin? He didn't doubt either, once he thought about them. He had indeed been thinking of Joan since their encounter at the previous party, but now here was...what? Competition?
As for the connection, he supposed he was worried of becoming attached. Attached, enamored, needing. He couldn't pin the source of this down; Erin was married to his coworker, was simply an attendee at the party, and yet here was was, worrying.
Maybe it's all in my head, mom saying I should settle down with someone like me. Maybe physical, instinctual attraction is all it'll take to tie me down, these days, he mused. Or maybe swinging's really just that lonely.
All this muttering anxiety within him was enough incentive for him to give Erin one last stroke, stand up, and seek out Joan. Simple, uncomplicated: that's what the night called for. Both were almost certainly out of his league, but heading down that path didn't lead to shattered nerves or self-reproach.
Thirsty and buzzing, planet-struck, spellbound, he took a brief detour through the kitchen for a sparkling water before wandering around the house, half aroused, searching for the ferret.
"I only play sober," had been Joan's response. "Catch me next month, though!"
It was thoroughly disappointing. She had been so sure, so ready with the response that Matthew had little reason to doubt her. There had been none of the anxiety in her voice that he might've expected had the problem been with him, rather than the chemicals coursing through him.
He repeated this to himself almost as a mantra as he shuffled back to the den. He felt listless, unanchored, and, in an airy sort of way, upset at himself for not thinking things through before.
Always so difficult to disentangle genuine anxiety from the side effects of being high.
(, tries to go for joan but is rebuffed, left to fawn over erin, turning down others to hold her paws and whisper dirty things, ambiguous whether or not he gets a chance)