Foxgirl Anyone?
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 6: Arrival
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 6: Arrival - 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
Sam woke to the feeling of the ship’s engines changing pitch. Deceleration. They were arriving somewhere.
Vixen 5.
He sat up slowly. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. Valeria was already awake, dressed in something that looked like ceremonial robes, her nine tails arranged in perfect symmetry.
“We’re here,” she said, smiling. “Home. And you’re about to meet the rest of your responsibilities.”
“Rest of my ... wait, what?”
Valeria gestured to the viewport. Sam stumbled over to look.
Vixen 5 was beautiful—a green and blue world with three moons. But what caught his attention was the space station orbiting it. And the crowd gathered in what looked like a massive docking bay.
A crowd of foxgirls.
Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. All lined up in neat rows.
“I sent word ahead,” Valeria said casually, fastening her collar. “Told them we’d successfully captured a viable breeder. They’ve been waiting.”
Sam’s legs stopped working. He sat down hard on the bed.
“The genetic crisis on Vixen 5 is quite serious,” Valeria continued, as if discussing the weather. “Our males can barely manage one conception per year anymore. Some have stopped being fertile entirely. We’ve been searching for an unrelated genetic donor for decades.”
“Decades,” Sam repeated numbly.
“And then you answered our distress call.” Valeria’s smile was radiant. “Such a helpful, noble male. Coming to rescue four stranded females. How could we resist?”
Through the viewport, Sam could see the foxgirls more clearly now as the ship approached. They were organized in groups. The older ones in front—he could tell by their bearing, their confidence. Younger ones toward the back, some looking nervous, others excited.
“I organized them by age,” Valeria explained, following his gaze. “The older ones have less time remaining in their fertile windows. It’s only fair they get priority.” She moved to stand beside him. “You know older women don’t tolerate the wham, bam, thank you ma’am treatment.” She grinned. “They expect quality. Time. Attention.”
Sam did the math in his head. Quick estimate based on the crowd size...
At forty-eight hours per foxgirl...
Minimum two years. Probably three.
And that was assuming no repeats if the first attempt didn’t take.
“The door to the docking bay is opening,” Valeria announced cheerfully. “Time to meet your public.”
The Crimson Tail docked with a gentle thump. Sparkles, Elvira, and Goldie joined them at the airlock, all looking satisfied and noticeably pregnant already.
“Ready, breeder?” Sparkles asked, attaching the leash to his collar one final time.
“Not really,” Sam managed.
“Too bad!” Goldie bounced. “Everyone’s so excited to meet you!”
The airlock opened.
The sound hit him first—a collective intake of breath from hundreds of foxgirls. Then they started talking, whispering, pointing.
“He’s taller than I expected!”
“Look at those shoulders!”
“Do you think he’s as good as Valeria said?”
“I hope I get a turn before he’s completely worn out...”
Valeria led him down the ramp like a prize being presented. The crowd parted, creating a path. Sam could see the lineup more clearly now.
The oldest foxgirls were at the front—dignified, mature, some with silver streaks in their hair. They looked him over with appraising eyes. Hungry eyes. Patient but determined eyes.
Behind them, more foxgirls. And more. And more.