Chapter 6

Ruth

The silky sheets of the bed, slid along my fur as I lay there, staring at the high ceiling of the expensive hotel room. The soft hum of the city outside was barely audible through the double-paned windows, the distant sounds of traffic muted by the plush luxury that surrounded us. Bartholomew Stoneclaw was sprawled out beside me, his tiger-striped fur catching the light, his hand resting lazily on his chest. He was talking complaining, really about his wife, but that was nothing new.

I’d been his regular for over a year and this was our routine. Expensive hotels, brief sex and then the inevitable rant about his life. Tonight, it was about Vivian again his trophy wife. I wasn’t listening too closely at first, letting his voice wash over me like the background noise it had become. But something he said cut through my detachment, snapping me to attention.

“She’s been going to that megachurch. Every damn week now,” he muttered, his voice filled with mild annoyance. “I think the pastor’s name is Moses Lightfur or something. Older, dignified silver fox. You know the type charismatic, always spouting off about redemption.”

My anus clenched involuntarily at the name, but I kept my expression smooth, my body relaxed. Moses Lightfur. My father. Of course, she’d end up there, drawn in by his charm, his lies. I turned my head slightly, pretending to adjust the pillow under me, while my mind raced. This was important this could be my way in.

“How long has she been going?” I asked, keeping my voice casual as if I were just making idle conversation. My fingers gently traced the fur along his upper thigh, while inside, my heart beat a little faster.

“A couple of weeks, maybe,” Bartholomew shrugged, still half-distracted by his own thoughts. “Doesn’t bother me. Hell, keeps her out of my fur. She’s always looking for something to keep busy with and this church crap is just the latest thing.” He laughed softly, clearly amused by his wife’s newfound devotion.

I nodded along, my mind already turning over the information. A couple of weeks. That meant she was still fresh, still enamored by my father’s act. I needed to see her and get to know her. And now I had her name Vivian Stoneclaw. I could look her up on the holo feeds, find out where she’d be, and figure out how to cross paths with her as if it were an accident.

He went on, talking about how Vivian was a trophy wife, how she didn’t do much beyond spending his money and playing the perfect socialite. I barely listened, my mind already moving ahead. I’d go home, pull up her profile, study her. Then, when the time was right, I’d make sure we “accidentally” met. Maybe outside the church, after one of my father’s sermons. I could picture it Vivian, walking to her car and me, appearing just at the opportune moment.

“Do you ever go with her?” I asked, not because I cared about his answer but to keep him talking. The more he rambled, the more details I’d have to work with.

“Nah, that’s not my thing,” he said, turning onto his side to face me, his golden eyes gleaming in the low light. “Religion always seemed ridiculous to me. But if she wants to waste her time on that, fine by me. Keeps her occupied and I get to do what I want.” He grinned, reaching out with his hand and running it along my backside and under my tail.

I smiled faintly, giving him a little moan of pleasure and tilted my butt toward him to give him better access, playing the part, but my mind was miles away. If my father was already charming Vivian, it wouldn’t take long before his true nature surfaced. He couldn’t resist women like her beautiful, wealthy, and easily manipulated. And when that happened, I’d be ready to use it against him. I needed leverage, something to ruin him. Vivian might be the key.

“I bet she talks about him all the time, huh?” I said, throwing in another idle comment to keep the conversation going. “Those pastors can really get people hooked.”

“Yeah, she won’t shut up about him,” Bartholomew sighed, clearly annoyed but not enough to mess up a good thing. “I let her ramble on. It’s harmless, really. She’s just wrapped up in the whole save your soul crap.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “At least it keeps her busy.”

Yes, busy enough for me to make my move. I could picture it now watching from my car outside the church, waiting for Vivian to walk out, her mind still swimming with my father’s lies. I’d make sure to be in the right place at the right time. Just a little bump, a shared smile and I’d have her right where I wanted her. From there, it would be easy to get closer. I could almost taste my father’s downfall already.

I raised my tail in invitation, lying belly down upon the pillows. As I felt the businessman prepare himself for another round of lovemaking. At least that’s what he called it. I was already plotting how I’d use his wife to get my revenge upon my father.

I smiled into the pillows. Soon, I would have everything I needed. Soon, my father would get what was coming to him, finally.

15 minutes to 20 minutes.

Moses

Every six months, I come here. It’s a sacred duty, a vow I’ve never wavered from. The roses are red and black, perfect, just like you always were. Your name Naomi Lightfur, is etched into the smooth, black tombstone and the hologram flickers beside it, showing you just as I remember: graceful, composed, the perfect wife. I still talk to you as if you can hear me as if nothing has changed. People would call it grief, but I know better. This is what a good husband does.

I kneel, placing the roses carefully at the base of the stone. “Naomi, “I say softly, “I saw Ruth at the mayor’s ball. She was with one of her clients and I pretended not to know her. What else could I have done? Doesn’t she understand? I had to keep up appearances.”My fingers trace your name, lingering on the cool stone. “Spare the rod. Spoil the child. That is what the good book says. I couldn’t let my little Ruth become the city’s harlot. I did what I had to. What any responsible father would have done. Why doesn’t she see that?”

I pause, recalling the ball. “Everyone was talking about the church. The mayor himself praised me and called me a pillar of moral goodness. He said the city’s lucky to have me. He doesn’t know the burden I carry, Naomi. They don’t see the sacrifices I’ve made. I’ve kept everything together just as promised, but they only see the pastor. They don’t see the man who’s suffered for the sake of his family and his flock.”

I sigh, feeling the weight of it all. “But I carry it because it’s my duty. I’ve done what’s right, even when it wasn’t easy.”

I can still see your face the night you confronted me. Calm but stern, sitting on the side of our bed. I know what you’re doing with Ruth. I tried to deny it, but you saw through me. Stop lying, Moses. I’m not stupid. I hear everything through these walls. You were sharp, Naomi, always sharp. But even when you knew, you didn’t leave. You stayed because you understood. You saw what was at stake.

When you asked me Why her? Am I not still attractive to you? I told you, It’s not about that, Naomi. I love you. I always will. And you knew it was true. You saw past the surface. I wasn’t going to leave you.

Then you asked me, “Why our daughter?” I told you the truth. There’s something about her. But that didn’t break you. You didn’t fall apart and you didn’t threaten to leave. You stayed because you understood the bigger picture.

You even told me, If you’re going to keep doing that, don’t get her pregnant. I promised you, Naomi, I kept that promise. Every time, I made sure it was just fun. Nothing more. I fulfilled my duties as a husband and a father. I kept things under control. That’s what makes me different. I never let it go too far. That’s why I’m still a good man. As long as I avoided certain lines, it wasn’t real cheating, not in the way that mattered.

I remember when you were sick and needed me to bathe our daughter. She was too young at that time to be left alone in the bathroom. She could pretty much bathe herself, washing her hair and cleaning more intimate areas was my responsibility. After our little Ruth cleaned herself as well as she could. I took care of my part. I washed her hair, making sure that the shampoo wouldn’t get into her eyes and then when I was finished. I took care of the necessary parts, making sure she was thoroughly clean.

Our little Ruth was always a curious person. I remembered the first time I caught her touching herself down there. I’ve always believed that there’s nothing wrong with that, Don’t shame a person about their body. All we needed to do was to make sure when she did that explain to her that there is a certain place and time to do that. So when I was cleaning her down there. I noticed she enjoyed it quite a bit. It wasn’t hurting anybody. I wasn’t hurting her. Why not let her have fun?

If I had to point out a starting point, I guess you could say it was that. Because after that time, when I bathed her, she always wanted me to clean her down there thoroughly.

Our little Ruth was always a daddy’s girl. You know this Naomi. Every time she saw me she always wanted to be held. She always wanted to be close to me. She always wanted to sit on me. I had no problem with that, I love our daughter and sometimes I must admit when she sat on my lap, maybe even subconsciously or not. I don’t know why she would rock back and forth on my thigh at the beginning I didn’t know what she was doing but then I realized she was pleasuring herself. I thought this wasn’t hurting anybody. She’s feeling good, so why not let her.

When you passed, Ruth was inconsolable. She was just a girl, heartbroken over her mother’s death. The night of the funeral, she came into my room. Her small frame slipped under the blankets, trembling with grief. She cried for you and I held her like a good father would. My heart ached for her sorrow, for her loss. She needed comfort and I provided it, just as I always had. I stroked her ears and hair, whispered reassurances and promised her that everything would be alright. But our little daughter was inconsolable. After doing everything I could to soothe her. I knew there was one thing that always made her happy. So as she cried against my chest. I lovingly slid my hand between her legs and rubbed her little button she first jerked in surprise, but then she unashamedly pressed herself firmly against my hand, it didn’t take long until she stopped crying and I helped her feel better. I did what was right. I took care of her in the best way I knew how.

She didn’t want to sleep alone, not that night.

I knew what some might think, how they might twist this act of compassion into something vile, but that’s not what it was. I was there for her, in the way she needed me. I had lost my wife and Ruth had lost her mother. I simply filled the space. You were gone, as any good father would, I took care of our daughter. And Ruth, sweet Ruth, never questioned my care. She trusted me because she knew I had her best interests at heart. Even in her darkest moments, she came to me for comfort, not out of anything improper, but because she knew I was the one person who would never abandon her.

It was my duty to continue being the pillar in her life, just as I had been when you were alive. Even now, I think about how I cared for Ruth during those hard times. It was never about desire, no, that’s what people with dirty minds would assume. It was about love, duty, and the strength of a father’s protection. I kept Ruth safe, warm and secure in the aftermath of your death and I would do it again if I had to.

I’ve been careful, always careful and I stayed within the bounds of what we agreed. I can kneel here, proud, knowing I’ve kept my promises to you. I’ve kept the church together, too Naomi. Ruth ... she’ll come around. She’ll see that I’ve done my best. I haven’t abandoned anyone. I’ve fulfilled my holy calling and you know that. You saw beyond fleshly concerns. You saw it was about preserving our life, our image, our standing.

You were so smart, Naomi. You knew what mattered. You didn’t let something as small as me and Ruth’s “daddy daughter time” We had together ruin what we were building. I look up at the hologram of you serene, unjudging.

I stand up, stepping back from your grave. 18 years. Has it really been that long since the car accident my love? Yet I come here, every six months, with the same roses, the same words. Because that’s what a good husband does. I’ll be back, like always. In the end, that’s all that matters. I always have been a good man, father and devoted husband.

Vivian Stoneclaw reclined on the plush chaise in her private salon room, a spacious chamber in her mansion. The soft sound of water rippling gently in the pedicure basin emanated in the otherwise quiet room. Her feet, covered in striped fur, soaked in warm, fragrant water as Nancy, her temporary nail tech, prepared the tools for the session. Normally, Vivian’s personal technician handled these things, but today, she sent a replacement due to illness.

Nancy, a honey brown-furred female mouse, seemed capable enough, though Vivian couldn’t help but miss the familiar touch of her usual tech.

Vivian eyed Nancy subtly, noticing the quiet competence in her movements. The young mouse woman didn’t fumble or hesitate, a good sign in someone who had been called in at the last minute. As Nancy began drying Vivian’s feet and shaping her nails, Vivian leaned back into the soft cushions, her body relaxed, but her thoughts elsewhere. She had a lot on her mind, especially since she would be attending the evening service at Moses Lightfur’s church alone as usual.

Her husband, Bartholomew Stoneclaw, was busy with business matters, as always.

“So, are you doing anything special today?” Nancy asked, her voice polite and casual as she worked.

“I’m going to church later,” Vivian replied, her gaze lingering on her feet as Nancy trimmed and filed her nails. “The Church of Moses Lightfur. I’ve been attending for a few weeks now. It’s a routine I’ve settled into.” She mentioned it casually, but there was more to it. It wasn’t just spiritual fulfillment that kept her coming back. She was drawn to the preacher, Moses Lightfur, a charismatic older fox with an authority that captivated her in ways she wasn’t comfortable admitting, even to herself.

Nancy’s ears perked up. “Oh, Moses Lightfur? Yeah, I’ve heard of him he’s pretty well-known. He’s got quite the reputation.” She carefully buffed Vivian’s claws, glancing up briefly. “What do you think of him?”

Vivian hesitated, her mind already wandering to thoughts of Moses. What do I think of him? She thought about his sermons, his commanding presence, the way his voice seemed to fill the room. But it wasn’t just his religious teachings that held her attention. He’s so strong, so controlled. Just like her husband, Bartholomew. Vivian had always been drawn to powerful men, the type who could take charge of any situation. It was why she married Bartholomew and now she found herself similarly intrigued by Moses. She pushed those thoughts aside, reminding herself that Moses was a religious man a man of God.