Under the Tail and Other Stories
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 50
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 50 - 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
Posy walked home the way she always did, down Elm Street past the bakery and the laundromat, her black backpack bouncing against her back with every step.
She’d walked to school that morning, feeling frustrated because again he didn’t do it. He always gave her the good feeling before she left and also at night. Maybe he will be different today, she’d thought. She’d pushed open the door and he’d be fun dad again and he’d say, “Guess what, flower? Movie night.”
She kicked a soda can with her sneakered foot. It rattled down the sidewalk and into the gutter.
It had been three weeks. One evening, two visitors in long gray coats had knocked on their door with their pamphlets and their smiley faces. Posy had been lying on the couch, catching her breath after Daddy had given her the good feeling twice, and her dad had said, “Sure, come in, just for a minute.” They had stayed a long time, talking. And he hadn’t been the same since.
Now everything was the Keeper provides. She tried to go to bed that night with him like always. She wanted to make the white stuff come out of his PP using her hands and mouth like he taught her. He liked when she did that.
“Maybe you’re too old to sleep with Daddy now, flower,” he said.
Last week he’d turned off Rocket Raiders right in the middle of the fight scene because it was “too violent.” It was a movie about a mouse with a jetpack and a laser gun. How else would he capture the bad guys? That was the entire point of it.
At the crosswalk on Fennel Avenue, she waited for the light and thought about school.
Today Dell Burrows had brought a real fossil for show-and-tell, a tiny fish pressed into a gray rock, and he’d held it up like it was a trophy. Mrs. Thistlewood had let everyone pass it around. Posy had held it for a full minute and traced the little ribs with her fingernail. It was so cool. Wendell had brought an old baseball card, and Posy had tried very hard not to make a face.
And then there was Marigold, her best friend, who had spent all of lunch whispering and kicking Posy’s shoe under the cafeteria table. “Look. Don’t look. Theo Marsh keeps looking this way.”
“Which one is Theo Marsh?” Posy had asked.
“Posy. The tall one. With the cute ears.”
“Everybody has ears.”
Marigold had put her face in her hands and groaned like it was the end of the world. Posy had laughed so hard she’d almost choked on her apple juice. She still didn’t see what was so great about Theo Marsh. She thought her dad was much more handsome than he was, but she had promised Marigold she’d find out if he liked her. That was what best friends were for.
The light turned. She crossed.
Her dad used to be so fun.
He used to tuck her in at night and do the fun thing.
And Fridays were movie night. Pajamas on right after dinner, the large, soft green blanket he would use to cover them when they would take their clothes off, and a big bowl of popcorn he made on the stove. They would watch the special movies, the ones with the naked people. Her dad would pull her onto his lap and make her feel so good that she would bury her face against his chest to muffle her sounds.
She didn’t have many memories of her mom. A yellow sweater. A hand smoothing her brown hair. It was only the two of them after Mommy died, and he had been enough. That was what made it so unfair. He was the one thing she’d never had to worry about.
She turned onto their street. Past the Hendersons’ crooked mailbox, past the rusty red bike somebody had left on the lawn. Her furry tail flicked behind her, back and forth, back and forth.
Maybe it will be different today, she hoped. Maybe it’s just a phase. Marigold’s older brother only wore black for a whole semester and then he stopped.
There was their green door with the brass knocker shaped like a pinecone.
She paused. Sniffed.
She smelled something good.
Her stomach growled.
He’s cooking my favorite meal, she thought.
She pushed the door open. “I’m home!”
“In the kitchen, Posy-Flower!”
He was at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, and when he turned around he was smiling, the real one, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “How was school?”
Her answer came out in a rush. He stirred the pot, smiled, and nodded as she told him about her day. Something in her relaxed.
They ate at the kitchen table, and it felt like old times.
When the bowls were empty, she took hers and his to the sink without being asked. She ran down the hall to her room.
She dug her sleep shirt out of the drawer, the oversized blue one with the faded red rose on the front, and pulled it on over her head. It was soft from being washed so much. She removed her white underwear and put them in the hamper and looked at herself in the mirror, the inside of her mousy ears flushed with excitement.
Shirt with no underwear means the special movies, she thought. He’ll see me and remember. It was an understanding between them.
She padded back into the living room and stopped.
The lamp was on. The blanket was folded on the arm of the couch. The television was off.
Her dad sat on the couch with the book that the people wearing the long gray coats had given him already open on his lap.
The Book of Hollows. He looked up and patted the cushion next to him.
“There you are. Come sit, Flower. It’s the part about the Creators. I think you’ll like it.”
She sat next to him on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. The words from the book washed over her, but she wasn’t really hearing them. All she could focus on was the warmth of his body next to hers, the familiar scent of him that made her feel so loved and cared for.
She unfolded her legs and stretched them out, letting her bare foot push against his thigh. When he didn’t react, she became bolder. She slid closer, pressing herself against his side. It was their signal. Touch me.