Foxgirl Anyone?
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 2: Sparkles
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2: Sparkles - Sam Spade's AI, Juicy Lucy, hailed with a distress call from a sleek unidentified space cruiser saying their turbo thrusters were inoperative. He was all gung ho to go help, but Juicy had a sneaky suspicion something was fishy, he should go "locked and loaded.” Well… four foxgirls later, Juicy was right!
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic Science Fiction Aliens Furry DomSub Polygamy/Polyamory Oral Sex Squirting AI Generated
The collar was surprisingly comfortable. Some kind of soft synthetic that didn’t chafe, with just enough weight to remind Sam it was there. Which was constantly.
Sparkles held the leash—an actual leash, glowing faintly with what looked like energy filaments—and tugged gently. “Come on, pet. Let me show you to your quarters.”
“My quarters?” Sam managed. His voice sounded higher than usual.
“Well, our quarters during my turn.” She grinned over her shoulder, her red tail swishing. “We’re taking shifts. I get you first because I called dibs back on Vixen 5 before we even left.”
“Dibs.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She led him down a corridor that was way too nice for a ship that supposedly had thruster problems. “You’re very popular already. Goldie wanted to go first because she said you looked ‘snuggly,’ but Valeria pulled rank. Then Elvira tried to argue seniority, but I reminded her that I found you first, so finders keepers.”
“I’m not a—” Sam started.
Sparkles yanked the leash just hard enough to shut him up. Not painful, just ... authoritative.
“You were saying, pet?”
Sam closed his mouth.
“Good boy!” She scratched behind his ear. Actually scratched him like a dog. It should have been humiliating. It should have made him angry.
It felt kind of nice, actually.
“Oh, you do like that,” Sparkles purred, noticing his reaction. “I can tell. You’re going to be fun to train.”
They reached a door that slid open to reveal a cabin that looked like it came from a luxury cruise ship. Massive bed with burgundy silk sheets. Soft lighting. What looked suspiciously like restraint points built into the headboard.
“Home sweet home for the next forty-eight hours,” Sparkles announced, pulling him inside. The door hissed shut behind them. She turned to face him, hands on her hips, her three tails fanned out behind her. “Now then. Let’s get you out of these clothes.”
“Wait, I—”
“Strip. Now.” Her voice dropped an octave. “Or I’ll do it for you, and I promise you won’t like what happens to your wardrobe.”
Sam’s hands moved to his shirt. Before he could get it halfway up, Sparkles was on him. Her fingers were everywhere—buttons, zippers, fabric tearing. In less than two minutes flat, Sam was standing in nothing but his jockey shorts, his clothes in a shredded pile on the floor.
“Much better,” Sparkles breathed, circling him slowly. “Oh yes. Much, much better.” One hand trailed down his chest, over his stomach, lower. “And very responsive. I like that in a breeder.”
“This is insane,” Sam said, but his voice lacked conviction.
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