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"So, you'll be the one working with me today, huh?" Sydney Padfoot, a spry young hybrid cub-girl, asked Maxwell Blackburnadeaux, a tall and slender shepherd-raccoon anthro-canine with an eye patch and a ringed tail. Sydney wasn't used to seeing other hybrids, nevertheless working alongside them on her foster mother's farm. Her fox-slit pupils widened then retracted at the sight of his glistening hair, dreadlocked and tied back in a ponytailed bundle. This guy obviously had a story behind his involvement with the Peahen Ranch. Sydney figured he'd spill the beans all in due time… for now, it'd be best to just keep him occupied and working hard, so as not to bother or annoy him. The petite vixen-coon girl also wondered how big his dick got when hard, knowing that most canine guys his age usually wound up developing quite a large, bulbous knot at the peak of their firmness. Max looked fit and trim enough to handle the excesses of hard farming labor, regardless of his probable weenie size. She contented herself, ensuring that this week wouldn't be a total drag in the long run. A slight hint of moisture dampened her cub-hood. "Yes, it would appear so." Maxwell replied, adjusting his tank-top, brushing off the dust that had gathered upon its cottony surface. Sydney surveyed the older anthro guy silently and with fascinated interest, eyes gazing upon his noodle-like dirty-blonde hair. Maxwell looked around at the endless fields and spanning mountain ranges all around the property with wide eyes, absorbing the sheer beauty of it all. His shepherd-sized hand-paws flexed and curled repeatedly, suggesting a bit of nervousness on his end. Sydney wondered if this old dog ever worked on a farm before, then immediately suspended the idea. Of course not. His life revolves around anything but farm-hand work. Lil' Sootface would see to his training, ensuring he knew his way around the ranch right proper. No matter what it took; even if he needed to let loose some pent-up energy, which always seemed to frustrate older guys, she'd be the one to help him out. "Right! Follow me then, big guy, we'll see if we can't get you set in stone." Sydney said, silently wondering if anything else on this big ol' shep-coon was currently set in stone. She grinned with a devilish feistiness that no ten-year-old vixen-coon girl should possibly understand or comprehend. "Oh, another thing!" Sydney said, stopping dead in her tracks, letting Max bump into her hind-end and enjoying the slight hint of bulge she felt in his tattered denim jeans. "I hope you aren't allergic to hay. We'll be around lots of it today. Haha! I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!" She guffawed hysterically, sounding stupidly adorable - to herself, at least. Max gulped aloud, throat clicking, larynx bobbing visibly against his fur-tufted neck. "Not at all, you little poet." He replied. Sydney flashed a thumb-paws-up at her new working buddy and ran towards a large red barn, clicking open a latch to swing its tall front doors wide open. |
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GratitudeAdvocate |
