Under the Tail and Other Stories
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 72
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 72 - 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
Hazel’s senses returned. The first thing she saw was the sky, cloudy and gray over everything. She was standing on grass. Rows of headstones. Scattered between them were statues with their heads bowed and their hands folded.
Something wet touched her furry ears, then the backs of her hands. Raindrops.
I feel weird, she thought.
Hazel. This one is going to be different.
“Different how?” she asked, glancing at the silver and onyx bracelet.
You’re in complete control of another version of yourself. You’ll remember everything she did, as if you had lived it.
Hazel looked at her hands. They were older, and the fur along the backs was faintly dusted with gray.
On the fourth finger of her left hand was a gold wedding band.
She stared at it. “I’m married?”
Yes, you are, Mrs. Hazel Hinderstaff.
She was fifty years old, and she had been married for fifteen of them.
And she remembered the wedding. She didn’t remember it the way you remember a story someone told you. She remembered it the way you remember your own life. The dress was white and flowing, and it moved around her ankles when she walked. Across from her, in a matching white gown of her own, stood her bride-to-be. She remembered their vows. She remembered the hug and the kiss, and her brother standing beside her as her best man. Then came the honeymoon and the things they had done to each other’s bodies. She was pretty sure a few of them were illegal in three countries and a neighborhood in Nebraska. After that came the years: the good times and the bad, the arguments and the making up. Through all of it ran devotion and love.
Hazel rubbed her thumb along the wedding band.
Then she looked at the stone beside her.
It was a simple gray headstone, and it looked new. The edges were still sharp, and the letters were crisp.
She read the name.
NATHANIEL BLACK.
Beneath it were two dates, and the second was only a month old. Forty-five years. He had been forty-five years old.
Something in her chest folded in on itself.
A month. It had only been a month. She remembered the funeral, the folding chairs and the quiet voices and the casserole dishes stacking up on the kitchen counter. This was the second time she had visited since they’d buried him.
Her throat tightened.
“Hi, Nathaniel,” she whispered, and she knelt in the wet grass, knees aching. The drizzle beaded on the stone. “It’s me again, brother.” She let out a shaky breath. “This version of me, anyway.”
She reached out and laid her palm against the cold granite.
Footsteps. Someone was coming. The drizzle kept falling on her fur.
Hazel glanced back over her shoulder.