To the rescue: Archive.org’s Wayback Machine
I’m both proud and embarrassed the awesome power of the Wayback Machine is even partially devoted to preserving the existence of my old WordPress blog. Worked like a charm, though. Typo ridden “final” published draft recovered.
Now, reviewed and updated, this small brain fart of a tale makes slightly more sense (internally) and is easier to read without (okay… fewer) gross miscarriages of grammar.
I figure since it’s probably been completely forgotten, it’s almost as good a “new” story.
What Changed: I changed the name of the FBI agent because it wasn’t the least bit interesting at all. I added a couple extra ounces to her backstory, and the circumstances of the theft, principally who was stolen from. The latter may provide fodder for future stories, should I ever write any (Hah!).
Disclaimy stuff: It’s one of my more fetishy tales, in so far as it’s basically “male on fur coat.” The interaction is, and I'm loathed to even mention this, non-consensual. I don’t consider that applicable to inanimate objects, but, it’s about perception, not reality, and reality is, some idiots could perceive it that way.
Not to say that the subject of the tale isn’t illegal. In fact, the very framing device of the story should drive that home. But we’re talking theft and… destruction of property.
Okay, to keep your dashboards clear of a massive text wall, just click through to read on…
The Ransom Video
FBI Agent Karima Hakim slid the featureless disc into the Blu-Ray player, watching the large HDTV flicker in response as auto-play activated. She sighed as the logo appeared on the screen.
The rather professionally drawn graphic featured a central phallic structure standing proudly from a wrapping of fur, both drenched with copious amounts of drawn ejaculate.
The logo flashed off, replaced by a sterile room consisting of cinder-block walls coated with what was sure to be any number of pleasant sounding names paint companies had for “off-white”. The harsh fluorescent lighting drove away nearly all hint of shadow. A long, silver rack of fur coats stood alone on the polished concrete floor against the far wall.
Those furs were the reason a junior agent, only months out of the academy, landed a priority case like this. Karima would be the first to admit she never figured it would be her familiarity with furs that gave her a leg up in the FBI. When tapped for the case, she eagerly accepted.
As the sound of the disc spinning in the player buzzed on, Karima felt a lump in her throat form. Now the obvious choice seemed increasingly wrong with each passing week, each passing HD taunt to her inability to solve this case and put this sick asshole behind bars.
Karima could walk away. This job wasn’t about the money. The reason she could walk was the reason she was offered the case. She inherited her family fur salon at the age of 17. The business, only barely surviving, thrived under her guidance. Suddenly independently wealthy, she could choose to do almost anything.
Karima joined the FBI to give something back to her community. The business was running well without her constant attention. She had time to devote to bigger things. This was it.
Now her business, and the in-depth knowledge of furs it provided, was her big chance to solve this case. In the scene before her, Karima could pick out the crystal, blue, arctic, golden isle, blue frost, and lynx-dyed shades of fox all stuffed into the long, gold-plated coat rack.
The number of each representative color, along with the spotted sleeves of another two lynx and the gray-white bars of a chinchilla, matched the list of stolen furs in the Valenti insurance file exactly. Not that there was doubt, the culprit made sure of that.
The camera zoomed in, tracking from left to right over the rack of large furs.
Miss Valenti has 15 hours to deliver the ransom. We will execute one coat every hour until the ransom is delivered.
The digitally altered voice-over boomed through the speakers. It was worthless for identification, or so forensics told her. It could even be a woman’s voice. The reference to “Miss Valenti” was more than merely formal. Stephanie Valenti was the name on her birth certificate, but the world was more familiar with “Countess Foxy.”
The freshly minted pop star was the reason this was a priority case. Not only was the victim high profile, but the stolen furs were part of her stage persona. “Foxy” wore them constantly and performed in them. She was part of a new wave of “fur friendly” pop starlets, the best known so far.
Karmia would, professionally, state she knew who Valenti was thanks to her fur business and how the pro-fur pop star’s fame positively affected sales. So long as no one looked at her Spotify account, that ruse would hold.
Robbing a secured fur vault in the middle of a large Hollywood mansion meant whoever targeted her was no amateur. The sophistication of this “operation,” a term that irritated the seasoned agent, suggested there had to more than just… “Subject A.”
The figure stepping into view on screen, Subject A, was most certainly not a woman. The rather large erection jutting proudly from his waist appeared first, followed by the rest of him. The video analysts said the man was over six feet and pegged his erection at a good thirteen inches. Karima knew that qualified as a “uniquely identifying feature,” one she caught herself staring at more often than she cared to admit.
The man, dubbed “The Furcutioner,” wore a black hood and little else. Though the quality of the HD video was superb, it provided them maddeningly few clues to his identity. Outside of his prodigious phallus, his smooth, chiseled body had no other obvious identifying marks. The man obviously did more than merely “take care of himself.” His sculpted body suggested either regular gym visits or some kind of regular athletics. If the massive sac below the big dick was any indication, he certainly achieved those results without steroids.
Athletic power and endurance were necessary for what would follow. Karima cringed inwardly, though she tried to keep a neutral face. This was the second time she'd seen the Furcutioner in action.
He walked up to the rack and paced from one end to the other, running his hand along the sleeves of the hanging furs. He slowly walked the length of the rack twice before choosing his “victim,” drawing out the process. The sick game only enhanced his excitement, judging by the increasing flow of gray pre oozing through the thick foreskin on his massive member.
Karima’s chest tightened. It was the blue frost fox, a very full, fluffy dark gray coat with heavy, round cuffs and a large, shawl collar. Most of the stolen coats were similar to this one, as has been the ones from the previous ransom attempt against another pro-fur starlet. Karima knew such large fox coats to be rather rare in this day and age. Her superiors deemed this observation irrelevant, though. As her boss had said: a fur coat was a fur coat.
The Furcutioner chose a darker coat in the previous ransom the first time, as well. It was a black fox of even larger size and plush thickness. Karima shivered, all the better to showcase his other talent.
On screen, the big, chiseled man pulled the blue frost fox coat from the rack, rustling the others. He held it up the camera, where the harsh light of the otherwise anonymous room bathed the rich, dark hairs. The Furcutioner’s hand rubbed down the edge of the shawl collar, fingers momentarily lost in the depth and softness of the pelts.
Karima could tell it was a very quality piece, custom work from a master furrier. Something that “Countess Foxy” was making famous. She fumed to herself; that beautiful coat doesn’t deserve this.
Despite his size, the big fox coat covered most of him when held up to the camera. It fell open, and Karima could see a big tent forming in the silk liner, pushing through the front of the coat and forcing it open. That was his wickedly long cock, thrust into the back of the soft fox fur, all thirteen inches of it. He reached around, closing it and folding it over so the camera could see his cock grinding into the back of the coat.
Karima watched, disgusted, but unable to turn away.
On the big display, the head of his uncut cock flapped against the back of the deep, soft fox pelts, grinding into it powerfully and rhythmically. Karima knew what was she seeing. Despite the fact the fur coat was little more than an inanimate object, this was obviously intended as a brutal rape, and Karima couldn’t see it any other way.
The Furcutioner’s athletic fucking of the blue frost fox coat’s “ass” continued for a good five minutes, thrusting up and down in different spots as the steady flow of milky pre-cum from his ragged, uncut foreskin streaked all over the coat.
Karima’s grip on her chair strengthened in anticipation, watching the man’s violent thrusts becoming frenzied until the inevitable final horror played out.
With a practiced motion, he held the fur up with one hand while turning to bring the profile of his raging hard-on into view. As he did, his cock lept with a powerful string of white cum that splattered up the back of the coat. Karima felt her stomach turn, this was just the beginning.
The big man’s big dick spit line after line of cum. Karima unconsciously counted them in her head as she watched the sick spectacle play out before her.
The cum was stark white, and erupted in long, sold strings, leaving neat, wide white lines across the broad back of the blue frost fox fur coat. The thick seed was obviously potent. Barely a hint of gray mixed with the hard white baby batter that thundered into the deep pelts.
Lines crossed and stitched together over the well-fucked, dark gray fur, matting the formerly fluffy pelts down with the heavy, stiff jism. Lines piled upon lines, creating hard pools in the recesses where his massive organ so effectively fucked the coat.
The hood of the foreskin peaked back far enough to allow the streams of spunk a fully unfettered flow. They rained down again and again, tracing more thick, bubbly lines into the fleecy, brutalized fur coat.
The heated orgasm continued, launching more thick globs of sticky, pearly cocksnot across the long drape of the fur as the Furcutioner held it up by the hem.
Karima couldn’t believe it, but it was an even larger cum this time than the last. The final large spurt looped down the flank of the coat, adding to the maze of white streaks already heaped across the back of the blue frost fox. The coat’s long hairs clumped under the weight of the voluminous spunk shot.
The Furcutioner jerked the final thick blobs of nasty cum from his dick, which oozed in stringy blobs from his ragged foreskin. He shook them off on top of the other big stains, adding a final insult to the beautiful fox coat.
Karima felt the bile in her throat rise as the big man held up the coat again, and the camera zoomed into the huge white stains that covered much of the back of the fur. The dark fur set off the thick white spunk perfectly. So disgusting, the blonde agent thought. The mounds of fresh sexual effluent would dry, harden, and ruin the fur completely.
You have 1 day before the next fur is executed.
The final voice-over promised, and the video ended with the same logo with which it began.
Karima, feeling sick as she thought about her own closet stuffed with long, thick, furs, shut it off and vowed to put an end to this before another coat could be destroyed.
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