Thursday, July 10, 2014

“Classified Action” - by FurCreamer


Summary: Jim, of "Locker F69" fame, visits the home of a 'motivated seller'. Turns out Miss LaRue's motivations are quite in line with his. Also includes my swipe at Venus in Furs.

“Classified Action” - by FurCreamer

Jim knocked, then waited. It was difficult not to experience a slight case of nerves at this point. After all, nothing was guaranteed. The sound of steps approaching the door preceded the click of locks and the jangle of a small chain. The door opened.

Jim smiled. Not only in greeting but with a mix if relief then appreciation. The lady was honey blonde, and well put together, wearing a blue satin blouse, black knee length skirt, black nylons and very high heels that only just managed to get her to the rough equivalent of average height.

The lady smiled back, “You’re James?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Wonderful, come in, I’ve got the coats set up in the guest room.”

She held out a well-manicured palm and motioned Jim inside, then proceeded to return the locks on the suburban home’s front door to their original positions before joining him.

“I’m Marie, of course,” she said, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” he said.

Marie was pushing if not already forty, Jim reasoned, but she was certainly taking care of herself. The lines of the silk blouse flowed around her slim waist then up and around an appreciably full bust-line. He supposed, however cliché it may be, that she was a very fine example of a MILF. The children in the photos on a nearby mantle merely lent a certain authenticity to the term.

“It’s this way,” Marie said, sweeping off towards a hallway.

Jim followed, excitement, among other things, growing. It was one thing to try this and find some run down, overweight housefrau hocking an ancient fox coat with all the tactile appeal of sandpaper. This was quite another. According to her post in the local classifieds, the furs should be at least the equal of their owner.

* * *

Jim was easily able to afford a large selection of furs. While not famous, he was a pro athlete on a successful team. He hardly made the big, big bucks the stars did, but it was certainly an easy living. Even without the glare of a media spotlight, shopping in fur salons across the world could end up causing someone to take notice.

So he started cruising the classifieds when the team came to town and would pick a few promising entries. At first, it was merely to find some cheap fucks to return with to the hotel and blow off some steam… and large amounts of sticky, thick jizz… with.

It turned into something more the first time the urge struck as he visited another attractive seller and looked at a blue fox jacket that, while hardly anything truly amazing, was in great shape and very, very soft.

With a little coaxing, he convinced the owner to model it for him, as “his wife was about the same size.” She did, and Jim wondered if the tent in his pants was all too noticeable. That was about when her cell phone rang. Without a second thought, she smiled, slipped out the coat, and said “Sorry, have to take this, I won’t be a minute,” and left the room.

So there he was, with a raging hard-on, alone, with the soft blue fox jacket that wasn’t his. Oh, don’t worry, this won’t take a minute.

Upon reflection, better judgment probably should have prevailed, but it was his cock that prevailed instead.

It took just a couple seconds to whip his pants down to his ankles, grab that soft blue fox jacket, pull open the fly on his boxers, and ram his cock into the puffy collar. He grit his teeth together, narrowly preventing a very audible moan, because the sensation of this forbidden fruit enveloping his cock was amazing. Had it been just another second-hand jacket he’d picked up at a thrift shop and taken home, it still would have been great. This was more, though.

Standing in a stranger’s home, fucking a stranger’s fur coat while she stood a few yards away… The electric sensation of pleasure filled his body.

It didn’t take a minute, and Jim wasn’t ashamed of that. He’d gotten about five good strokes in when the rush of hardly pent-up pleasure swept through his body. His cock thrust deep under the collar of the blue fox jacket, pulsing bursts of white, jelly-thick jisum up inside the fold. His knees buckled a bit but managed to keep his body upright.

Not sure how it happened, but his balls must have been pushed into overdrive from the anticipation leading up to the moment. He could feel the orgasm pulsing over and over, balls spending themselves into the buttery soft fur. Jim could feel the wet, soggy build-up of the spunk bomb he released under the collar growing ever larger, but still, he kept cumming. It took nearly that entire minute before he was done.

When he pulled his wet cock-head from under the fur jacket’s collar, strings of thick spunk remained attached, stretching longer and longer before finally snapping back to rest in wet blobs on his dick.

Jim’s heart beat like thunder as he examined the mess, flipping the collar up to reveal the massive gluey deposit of cocksnot lodged in a long white, slimy valley from the bottom to the shoulder. The huge, gummy load clung like some smelly adhesive to the fur, but the mess was mostly invisible when the collar was down.

And that was where he left it, tossing the jacket back to the chair where she dropped it, beating a hasty retreat from the house, and never looking back.

* * *

Memories of that first time banging someone’s fur coat in their own home rushed back now. If the tall, regal blonde MILF’s taste in fur was half as good as she looked, the promised pieces in the classified ad should be amazing.

Jim followed the woman into the guest room.

“Here we are…” she announced, in a tone that suggested she was rather unimpressed with what the room contained.

Holy shit. She was the only one that felt that way.

“Um, very impressive,” Jim said with a bit of a stammer he didn’t realize he had until that moment.

The blonde simply shrugged, “Really?”

“Yes,” Jim responded as his verbal footing returned. “Not the sort of coats you see these days…” he stopped short, realizing something. “… Mrs?”

“Miss LaRue,” she responded. “Only recently had it changed.” Miss LaRue turned, sweeping an arm over the multiple racks of coats on display in the otherwise nondescript bedroom. “You see, these… things… were the doing of my deceased husband.” She lavished the word things with an especially potent flavor of venom.

Jim’s eyes hadn’t stopped shifting since he entered, moving from one coat to the next, each one a specimen of impressive proportions. Almost uniformly fox, though some lynx and even what he assumed was a sable mixed in. All of them certainly not the sort of coat that would be fashionable on the street these days. They all had a certain look about them, he realized, and couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“He purchased them from a furrier in Italy,” Miss LaRue continued. “Said they had a certain ‘style’ he appreciated… as if the one who was supposed to wear them should be consulted…” Miss LaRue stepped away from the doorway and into the center of the bedroom where one of the heavy leaden coat racks stood. “He practically bankrupted us buying them. Then the simpering little weasel only wanted me to wear them while he 'worshiped’ me.”

Jim’s mind worked feverishly, the words sinking in at the periphery. Obviously, Miss LaRue’s late husband was quite the fetishist, though obviously of the rather more common submissive variety. He probably wanted to her to be his Wanda, or some such crap.

“Wanted me to be his 'Wanda’,” Miss LaRue said, “Whatever that meant.”

“It’s from a book. Never cared for it much.”

“Whatever, I married him because he was rich and easy to control. Putting up with his little proclivity was still a chore, and ultimately one that put his ever-dwindling fortune at risk… Fortunately, there’s enough left over that I will be rather well off… at least until I find another sap with a fetish and deep pockets.”

Jim had lost track of his erection, which tented in his pants. He was juggling the mental calculations of how many of these beauties he could afford/stash in his hotel room with the thoughts of how enjoyable it was going to be to fuck them.

“So, Mister… ?”

“Jim is fine.”

“Jim… Are you the right man for the job?”


Miss LaRue smiled, a smile of mischievous glee, or as close to it as a woman so obviously composed could approximate. “I see by the rather deliciously large bulge in your pants that you may be the sort I am looking for… but… You’re the third one to have dropped by so far, and the first two simply weren’t suitable.”

Jim froze for a moment, having been called out for the rock hard bulge running down the leg of his trousers caught him a little off guard. Moreso because of the rather matter-of-fact tone the elegant blonde employed in doing so.

“You see, Jim, the first two were rather like my husband. It was obvious from the moment I set eyes on them. They were weak, pathetic submissives, who would no doubt have taken one or two these pointless, expensive 'toys’ home and loved, cherished, and politely cared for them. I could hardly stand the idea. One nearly professed his love for me on the spot, only he was too much of a coward.”

Jim remained motionless, unable to really help the massive erection in his pants.

“The point is, Jim, I want to make sure my dear, late husband’s collection goes to the 'right’ home… One where they will be ruthlessly fucked and ruined by load after load of the semen that sad little man could hardly create in the first place, much less inject into me.”

Miss LaRue pulled down a golden isle fox coat from the rack. The fur was three-quarters length, and like most of the rest, had a large combination hood/collar and heavy, thick sleeves. The monogram MGB flashed briefly in the shiny silver satin liner.

Miss LaRue walked over to Jim, and with her left hand, reached out, snagged his zipper, and pulled down. Jim remained still as she popped his button and dragged his trousers down. His cock pressed at the fabric all the way down before it finally shot up, free and clear, and wet on the tip with clear slick fluid.

“Oh my, quite impressive, and I see you arrived ready for action. Let’s oblige shall we?”

Jim flushed a bit. He had been “commando” expressly to allow quick access to his cock had this little fishing expedition been only a temporary quickie before a hasty retreat. It now seemed as if he’d landed a big one, instead. His cock swayed, erect and firm in front of the beautiful blonde and the big fox stroller in her arms.

“Let’s get it cleaned up…” Miss LaRue, said, seeing the wet, slick coating of precum covering the big glans. She took the sleeve of the golden isle fox coat and rubbed the cuff against the head of Jim’s cock, where it began soaking up the wet buildup of precum. The fur knit together as the goo rubbed off onto it.

“That bitch is soft,” Jim grunted as Miss LaRue continued to soak up his slimy pre with the sleeves of the fox stroller. “I’m going to fucking ruin it.”

She laughed, a delighted sound that preceded the tightening of the fur against Jim big, pulsing cock. “Oh, my, you are prefect,” she purred. “None of that 'yes, ma'am’ or 'please’ bullshit,” she pumped his cock with fresh, clean fur, quite skilled it would seem at the use of fur to stimulate a penis despite what she’d said of her husband.

“Yeah, that’s it, keep stroking. You want to see me fuck this bitch up, you gotta work it,” he said, hands coming down to his side. He resisted the urge to take over pumping the fur, as Miss LaRue was doing a fine job of it. She had moved the big, deep, soft fox stroller down. She slunk to her knees and pressed the front of the hood/collar together on either side of his cock.

“I trust you saved up for the occasion,” she said with a devious smile, slowing the strokes to keep him going longer.

“Fuck yes. Got five days of nut ready to destroy this fluffy bitch,” Jim said, controlling his breathing as he felt his balls tense.

The regal blonde MILF altered the strokes again, moving faster. “God, I want to see a man cum,” she said, her own breath a bit short and rushed.

“Jerk me into the hood,” Jim grunted.

Miss LaRue followed orders. This was, to her, quite a refreshing change from the sniveling obsequious man who’d wanted her to wear this coat and order him to worship her. “Do it, shoot it all into this fucking coat!” She wrapped the left sleeve of the fox stroller around the thick trunk of Jim’s cock and tilted it down to face the big, wide, expanse of the plush hood/collar combo.

Jim looked down at his target, and the lovely blonde holding it up, and needed no more coaxing. He released a satisfied grunt in time for the first pearly white streamer of cocksnot to blast from his cock-head directly into the huge golden isle fox hood.

“God, yes!” Miss LaRue moaned at the sight of the thick, steaming spunk spraying from Jim’s cock into the hood. Three more bolts of the thick, pent-up cum flew into the huge hood, matting down the soft fur into wet, white sludgy pools.

“NNNNnnnnn, nnnnnnnnnnnnn, nnnnnNNNNnnnnnn,” Jim’s guttural moans preceded each fresh spurt of white, steaming nutbutter. The huge hood was impossible to miss, though Miss LaRue kept his fur pumped cock lined right up the middle of the hood, delivering spurt after spurt into the fur, cutting huge white valleys into the formerly fluffy hairs.

“Ahhhahhhhahhhh!” Miss LaRue gasped, her own orgasm spontaneously quaking her legs. The wet splashing sound on the carpet between her heels suggested she was no stranger to copious fluid emissions during orgasm. A huge wet stain began to spread across the front of her black satin skirt. Despite her quivering, she kept pumping Jim’s cock into the fur without missing a beat.

The huge organ had a few more shots left, and it delivered them into the fur hood, adding more to the huge, gummy white sea of seed already clinging like glue to the fur. Miss LaRue squeezed his shaft with the fox sleeve as his spurts slowed to a stop. She carefully pumped the hot flesh with the wrapped sleeve, tilting it upwards and moving higher and higher. When she reached the build-up of white goo clinging to the broad, flared glans, she squeezed the fur over it, making sure it all got soaked in.

Jim shivered a bit as Miss LaRue finished milking the last drops of cum into the fur, feeling the wet, sloppy sleeve pull away from his sensitive cock-head.

“My, you are quite the find,” Miss LaRue said, standing up and laying the thick golden isle fox stroller on the nearby couch. The spunk soaked hood/collar drooped in the center, the huge cum stain clearly displayed. “I am quite impressed… Though I may not have needed to express that… verbally.” She motioned to the wide wet stain in her satin skirt and the accompanying wet streaks running down her nylons. The floor where she had crouched contained a broad wet puddle of thin, grayish fluid as well.

“You have a bit of talent yourself,” Jim said with a smile, completely comfortable now with his cock swinging back and forth between his legs.

“Oh, my dearly departed husband felt it was too dangerous to let me orgasm near 'my’ furs,” she said with a sneer. “Apparently I was to find orgasmic bliss in his simpering platitudes.” Miss LaRue regarded the massive spunk stain she’s jerked into the fur.

The huge white streaks melted together into a thick steaming river of lumpy cocksnot, winding their way from the front of the fox fur hood to the rear. Spidery strings of cum attached themselves to the shoulders and sides where they’d splattered in the force of impact. Each moment they remained left the multi-thousand dollar fur farther away from salvage by even the most skilled furrier.

Idly she pressed her forefinger to the bud of her clit through the wet layers of clothing. “Oh, yes, quite impressive. I can’t believe my luck.” She reached down, running a long, painted nail through the wet mass of spunk. The pungent smell of it still lingered in her nostrils. More fluid pulsed from between her legs. This time she lifted her right leg, planting her black heeled sandal pump on the couch arm nearest and letting a fresh flood of off-white fluid shoot through her panties and splash over the resting mass of the fox stroller coat.

Jim’s own eyes widened at the unexpected display. He’d not really seen her first orgasm on the floor, as his mind was otherwise occupied by the rushing exhilaration of his own. Miss LaRue may as well have been a dog marking her territory, as the streams of slick, wet fluid shot in ragged bursts through her panties and rained down all over the huge fur coat. She didn’t just hit the hood but the front, sleeves, and a good portion of the couch on either side. Her fluids broke up some of the clumped mass of Jim’s spunk, helping spread it further across the wide expanse of the hood.

Breathing deeply, Miss LaRue composed herself and smiled, regarding the sopping leftovers of the once magnificent golden isle fox fur stroller with satisfied eyes. “Oh, that will do nicely” She grabbed the ruined fur by the cuff and picked it up, dropping it in a large kitchen sized trash can Jim only now noticed sitting off to the side of the room. It settled with a wet squishing sound in the bottom.

Miss LaRue turned triumphantly to Jim. “Well, we simply must do this again sometime. I do, after all, have a quite a few of my dead husband’s most cherished possessions to finish off…”

Cock still hanging out, and hardening once more, Jim just smiled, “Yes, about that… I really think you should meet my friends…”

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