Under the Tail and Other Stories
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 25
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 25 - Hello, everybody! This is Dragonpig. I'm going to be writing a collection of stories within the anthropomorphic, or furry, genre. Some will be short stories, some will be novel-length, and others will fall somewhere in between. Yes, some of these stories will be quite explicit, while others won't be. I'm going to keep this series going until I either get bored or find that people just aren't interested in it. I'd really enjoy hearing your opinions and thoughts on my writing. Have a good one!
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Romantic Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Fairy Tale Humor Vignettes War Zoophilia Science Fiction Aliens Alternate History Space Furry Sharing Incest Mother Son Brother Sister DomSub FemaleDom Light Bond Harem Polygamy/Polyamory White Male White Female Anal Sex Analingus Bestiality Exhibitionism Fisting Flatulence Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex Squirting Water Sports Big Breasts Public Sex Teacher/Student Nudism
The pool glowed electric blue in the twilight, lights pulsing in time with the bass thumping from the outdoor speakers. Goldie lay sprawled on a lounge chair, her skin still damp from the water, red bikini top askew, everything pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.
Molly, or whatever that girl’s name was, had kissed her with a mouth that tasted like strawberry vape and tequila. She’d wandered off somewhere.
“Goldie, you even listening?”
She turned her head languidly. The world shifted. Sloane. Leader of the Goals, though she hated the word “leader.” She preferred “founding member.” Like they were a fucking startup instead of exactly what they were: bored rich girls looking for a thrill.
Sloane was on the lounge next to hers, some college guy working his thumbs into her shoulders. He had that look, probably thought being invited to Goldie’s family’s estate meant something. It didn’t. By tomorrow, Sloane wouldn’t remember his name.
“I’m listening,” Goldie said, though she hadn’t been.
“The Bears. Tomorrow. You bringing back the three items?”
Right. The initiation. She’d been working on joining the Goals for six months, attending their parties, proving she was fun, proving she wasn’t a narc or a try-hard. And now, finally, the test.
“Yeah, totally,” she said, reaching for her drink. Something pink. Someone had made it for her. “The Bears in Oak Ridge, right? The immigrant family?”
“The Bears,” Sloane said, closing her eyes as the guy worked a knot in her shoulder. “Immigrant family, made their money in tech or real estate or some shit. Self-made, hardworking, Speculara dream bullshit. Gated community, security system, the works.”
“What am I taking?”
“Three things. Anything. I don’t care what. Just prove you can get in and out.” She opened one eye, fixing Goldie with that sharp look that made her the leader, made her the one they all followed. “This isn’t about the stuff, Goldie. It’s about the thrill. The proof that you’re willing to do something just because you can.”
Goldie grinned, feeling it spread across her face. “I can do that.”
“Can you? Because you’re fucking wasted right now.”
“I’m fine,” she said, though the words came out a bit slurred. “I’ll sleep it off. I’ll go tomorrow morning, early. In and out. Easy.”
Sloane smiled, the kind that said she didn’t quite believe her but was intrigued by the possibility. “Sure, Goldie. Whatever you say.”
Someone cranked the music louder. Someone else jumped naked into the pool, sending up a splash that glittered in the lights. Goldie closed her eyes, let the sounds wash over her: laughter, music, the clink of glasses, the murmur of people who’d never had to worry about anything real in their entire lives.
Tomorrow. The Bears. Three things.
Easy.
She woke up at noon with a headache that felt like someone was driving a spike through her left eye. Her mouth tasted like Fairydust and regret. Her phone had seventeen texts in the Goals group chat, most of them from last night, most of them incomprehensible.
Sloane: tick tock goldie
Posted two hours ago.
Shit.
Goldie dragged herself out of bed, downed three ibuprofen with flat champagne from her nightstand, and threw on black jeans and a hoodie. Trying to look ... what? Like a robber? She laughed at herself in the mirror. She looked like exactly what she was: a hungover 18-year-old girl playing dress-up.
The Bears’ house was in Oak Ridge, a gated community thirty minutes away. She’d magic Mirrored it last night. Her search history showed she’d typed “bears house” and then apparently given up.
She drove her Range Rover, because what else was she going to do, take an Quber to a robbery? The gate guard waved her through without even asking her name. She had that look. That I belong here look. That’s what money got you: the assumption that you belonged everywhere.
The Bears’ house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. Big, but not obscene. Nice landscaping. Two-car garage. The kind of house that screamed we worked for this.
She parked down the street, waited for her head to stop pounding, and walked up to the house like she had every right to be there.
She saw one of those Ring cameras on the front door. She pulled her hood up, kept her head down. The back should be more promising. She walked around like she was supposed to be there, past the perfectly trimmed hedges, the small vegetable garden, the patio furniture that looked cared for.