The Tickle Trunk

My next door neighbours asked me to keep an eye on their house while they were on vacation for a couple of weeks and while I only really knew them to nod and say hello as we put our respective trash cans at the curb, they seemed like a decent enough couple and I told them I would be happy to pop in and check on things once in a while.

Not wanting to be delinquent in my duties, I went over the first morning after they left for the airport. They had done a nice job of decorating -- not too ostentatious; personal yet not cluttered. Overall the decor had a somewhat mystical feel, but that was more of a subtle vibe than an in-your-face impression. A few pieces of art or an interesting carving on a shelf gave me the sense that there was more to what I was looking at, but that it would take me too long to figure out what it was that was tugging at that little thread in the back of my mind.

I finished my walkthrough on the main and second floors and everything was in order, and made my way over to the door to the basement. I turned the doorknob but it wouldn't budge. I rattled the handle and yanked on it a few more times before I remembered the owners telling me that there was a separate key for the basement door. After unlocking it, I gave the lock assembly a quick once-over to make sure I hadn't damaged it. There's nothing like breaking something on the first day of housesitting to make a good impression. Everything checked out so I hit the lights and went down the stairs.

Like the rest of the house, there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. Boxes had labels, tools were either hung on hooks or sitting lined up on workbenches. It was the perfect basement. The one detail that caught my eye was a wall at the west end of the space underneath where the kitchen would have been (actually, it was probably bigger than the footprint of the kitchen), with a door at the southern edge of the wall. A sign that read "Tickle Trunk" had been nailed above the doorframe. I guess someone was being ironic because to call this looked a lot bigger than any trunk I had ever seen.

I searched through the keys the homeowners had left me to see if there was one for this door. "Front door," "Back door," "Basement door." Those were the only three on the ring. I examined the one I had used to open the lock at the top of the stairs but it was a different cut altogether. It had occurred to me that maybe I was beginning to snoop and that I should just lock up the house and go home. It had also occurred to me that, as my mother used to say, "In for a penny, in for a pound." I reached out and turned the knob. It was unlocked. It doesn't pay to overthink ones situation -- sometimes the simplest course of action is the correct one.

I walked through the door and reached out with my right hand and flicked the switch on the wall and warm tungsten bulbs along the outside walls came on.

"Wow!," I said, shocking myself at how loudly I spoke.

There were rows and rows of every kind of fur coat imaginable. From sleek minks to rough and wild coyotes to foxes that would have made the eighties weep for joy, as well as a couple of shelves of some of the most sublime sheepskin rugs of all kinds that I have ever laid my eyes on. And the smell was, how do I describe it? -- the air was fresh, with a hint of a perfume that reminded of the desire of my youth. My mind was numb from the sensory overload. All I could do was stand and stare at the volume of wall-to-wall softness before me.

"You can let go of the door now." A directionless voice pierced the silence.

A wave of embarrassment overcame me, and I blushed quite heavily.

"What?," was all I could manage to reply.

"The doorknob. You can let go of it." The voice was tender, although I still had no idea where it was coming from.

"Sorry, but I think I should go. I am only housesitting and really shouldn't stay too long."

"Nonsense. We think you should stay for a bit and let us get to know you."

I looked around for security cameras, or tiny speakers -- anything to help me figure out who was talking to me, and how they could see me.

"We?," I asked. "Who is 'we'? Who are you, for that matter?"

"Focus your mind and you will get your answer in due time. While you are trying to sort this all out in that head of yours, could you tell me why you said 'Wow' when you first opened the door?"

"Well ... ."

The voice interrupted me.

"Where are my manners. Won't you have a seat?"

"Thank you. Um, well," I said, sitting in a chair at the end of the two middle rows of furs, "I guess I was just surprised by the total number of fur coats all in one couple's house."

"That may be true at first blush, if you will pardon the pun," the voice interjected, "except we got the feeling there was more to your exclamation than 'Wow, that's a lot of coats'."

I was beginning to pinpoint where the sound -- but there was no sound -- the vibration that was finding its way to my thoughts originated, and yet I still hesitated to answer.

"Please, tell us. We really would like to know. To paraphrase an expression: Whatever happens in the basement, stays in the basement."

My apprehension was fading, and had been fading ever since I sat down. Maybe it was because I was gazing as the biggest collection of fur I had ever laid my eyes on and just couldn't think straight that made me finally gave in.

"I said 'Wow' because when I opened the door I saw the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my whole life. And if I am being honest, I cannot stop staring at all of the full lapels, massive shoulders, and glistening fur that is spread over this entire room. It's like ... ."

"Heaven?," the voice offered.

"Yes," I said, "heaven."

"Oh, we are all so glad to hear that. It is one thing to be liked but to be adored is so much better. It would not be going too far to say that you adore us, would it?"

"Not at all. In fact, I would say that I have still not been able to catch my breath."

"You are very sweet for saying so. You can," the voice said, "come over and touch the coats if you would like to. That is what fur is for, you know."

I slowly got up from the chair and went over to the middle of the racks, put my hands out, and walked lazily down the centre of the aisle with my hands stretched out by my sides, touching the sleeves of the coats as I passed each one. I was only about halfway to the back wall when the button on my sleeve seemed to catch on a few hairs of a Golden Island fox. I reached down to undo the snag when the voice filled my chest.

"If you are going to touch a fur then you really need to 'touch' a fur, don't you think? Skimming your fingers across a sleeve or two will tell you nothing about the coat."

My sleeve was suddenly free but I didn't move.

"You are finally understanding, aren't you?," the voice asked.

"I had an idea of what was going on while I was sitting down but I wasn't totally sure."

"But you are now?"

"Yes," I replied.

The sleeve of the Golden Island coat half-curled around my wrist, holding me in its thick hairs.

"Then show me you know how to really touch a fur. Explore my depth, my curves. Your fingers should be able to tell you as much about my pelts as your eyes, if not more."

I turned towards the coat and let my hands travel across the enormous sleeve, underneath it and around it. I plunged my fingers through the guard hairs and watched as they swelled in my hands and flowed under my palms. I stepped forward and put my body partway into the rack of coats, and reached around the fox and pulled it towards me, feeling its weight and density in my arms as the side seam flopped over my legs.

"Oh, thank you for doing that. You really know how to let your fingers drink in the carnal disposition of a fur coat, if I do say so myself."

"You ARE speaking to me, aren't you?," I asked, and maybe stated at the same time, still caressing the plush fur.

"Yes."

"But how is this possible?"

"I guess you could say that the couple for whom you are housesitting have a special talent."

"The artwork and artefacts ... ."

"Yes. Each of them is like a piece of a puzzle. If you only have one or two of them then the final image is still unrecognizable, but once you have all of them, or at least enough of them, the puzzle is solved. Your neighbours own enough of some very special puzzle pieces to allow us our very special nature."

"And all of the coats, the rugs, every bit of fur here is able to do what you do?"

"We are," they all answered at once, sending a wave of warmth through my whole body and making me draw the Golden Island fox even closer to my chest.

"I think I need to sit down again."

The fox coat straightened itself on the rack as I sat back in the chair, and as I looked around the room at the other furs and rugs I could see sometimes subtle and sometimes very overt movements from each of them as if they were all trying to prove that what had been said was indeed very much the truth.

I exhaled another 'wow'.

"I don't think I ever want to leave this room."

"Well," another voice piped in, "our owners are coming back in a couple of weeks so you might want to be in your own house by then."

The coats on the racks jostled and swayed as a vibration of delicate laughter filled the room.

"True enough," I smiled, "but what do I do until then?," hoping that the answer they would give me would be the one that I so hoped for.

"Before we tell you that," the first voice said, "we were wondering if you would be kind enough to do us a favour."

"Anything. Just name it."

"We would love it if you could unbolt the closet door at the other end of the room. We would do it ourselves but since none of us have opposable thumbs it makes it a tad difficult."

"Do you want me to open it, too?," I asked.

"No, that is not necessary. If you could just remove the bolt from the latch and put it on the shelf beside the door that would be fine."

I walked down the centre of the aisle again, this time with a little more care, running my fingers through the other furs as I walked by, occasionally slowing to dip my hands under a lapel or over a shoulder, lingering as they explored the colours and textures, like each fingertip was tasting the coats as it flowed through the fur.

I opened the door and put the bolt on the shelf as requested, and headed back to the chair. As I turned I saw a single half-sheared Mongolian lamb jacket on a hanger in the corner, and while it swayed and gave off the same electricity as the other furs in the tickle trunk, it was somehow different than the rest.

"Thank you for doing that for us."

"You're welcome," I said.

"We were hoping you would do one more thing for us."

"Of course."

"As you have come to know us, and as we have shared with you our true nature, we would like you to do the same."

"What do you mean?," I asked.

"We would like to see you naked."

You might think that such a request would have felt jarring, or seemed brusque, but it wasn't. It flowed between us as easily as if I had been asked what was the colour of the sky.

"I ... ."

"All of us know that we have found a kindred spirit in you. Someone who loves the feel of touching and being touched by fur so we also know that the value of a glorious fur cannot be truly understood by merely running one's fingers over the sleeves, or across the width of a coat. The pleasure that a fur can give someone comes from the appreciation of the fur by all of the parts of the human body, and especially certain parts of the human beings. You have been thinking that since you opened the door, and we have given our fair share of pleasure to our fair share of human bodies. If your clothes stay on then we cannot demonstrate that to you."

I blushed heavily again but this time there was no embarrassment involved. I stood and undressed, placing my clothes in a pile beside the chair.

"Like you, we are able to communicate in untraditional ways. We are very pleased to see that a certain part of your body has chosen to communicate with us in a most delightful way."

My penis had been hard from the moment I walked through the door, but it had stiffened even further having been acknowledged by the racks and shelves of magnificent furs.

"What do I do now?," I whispered.

The furs answered me as one voice, saturating me from head to toe with their vibration.

"Now you get to play a part in the inevitable. Before too long, you will cum. You will cum like you have never cum before. If you are able to exert a degree of control then your orgasm will not just be the five or seven twitches of your prostate that you are used to as you send that sweet cream of yours onto your belly. If you draw upon the energy that gives us our special nature then your orgasm will pull its strength from deep within your soul and make you cum so hard and for so long that you will not know a time when you were not releasing those beautiful white ribbons from your eager flesh."

I could feel the coolness of the precum dripping from the tip of my penis as the furs spoke to me, along with the increasing tightness of my penis as it swelled more with each word.

"Why do I have to do?"

"Choose," they said.

"Choose?"

"Choose the coat you would like to stroke you; the coat that will begin you on your journey to a level of sensuality and gratification which you have never felt before, and, if you succeed in receiving the strength that we have offered to you, then you may not lose yourself in the process."

I stood up to walk over to the racks.

"Choose from there," the voices said.

I sat back down and scanned the coats, drinking in the multitude of thicknesses and colours, from the massive and plushest of foxes to the glossiest of streamlined minks.

"Could I ...?"

"Any one, and anyone, you desire."

"The hooded sable," I said with some pleading in my voice.

I felt the room agree with my choice even though I had a feeling that any choice would have been the right one.

The tawny fur seemed to stretch and twist as the silver fox behind it reached up and eased the shorter-haired fur from its hanger. With a gentle 'whiff' it crumpled to the floor, and then unhurriedly the sable pulled itself up and started crawling over to me.

I cannot describe the sensation of the cuffs as they touched my bare feet. The coat had the skill of the most experienced lover, searching for and finding the erogenous zones it knew were there. From the tops of my feet, the sleeves moved up my calves and behind my knees, pulling the main body of the coat up as it explored my skin.

"He's warmer than I imagined," she said as she enveloped my legs.

My thoughts were lost in those first touches when the softness of the cuffs began to brush across my penis. The slow and steady strokes were excruciating. I have never been teased like that in my life. The silky fur washed over me from side to side, and lifted my penis from my belly and began polishing both sides of my cock at the same time.

"I can feel his blood pulse through his skin. He feels so strong yet so fragile at the same time."

The right sleeve of the sable had completely encased my penis by this time, and the left sleeve had started to cup and nuzzle my balls.

"How much strength do you have in you, my sweet?"

The sable gave my penis a few rough and fast tugs and then settled back into her methodical brushing.

"Oh god," I gasped. "If you keep this up then I will be cumming in no time."

The Golden Island fox shifted in her spot on the rack.

"Now is the time you should search for that strength I told you about. It is in your best interest not to cum too soon.

Our base instincts have always been to caress, to be used to caress. When we get close to a human, we connect with their enjoyment of us, and sometimes -- almost always, to be honest -- we get lost in the human's lustful greed to spill their desire as quickly as possible. It would be unfortunate for both of you if you should let that happen."

"Unfortunate?," I asked, my voice shaking at the unrelenting advance of the sable, "for BOTH of us?!"

"You think you are the only one who likes the feel of fur. In creating this environment for us, our owners also imbued in us the ... appreciation for each other. You sit there and can feel how soft and luscious our sable is. We have enjoyed her in the same way as you, and in some ways we have enjoyed her even more."

"We enjoy each other's characteristics just as your penis would savour each of us in different ways -- the spikiness and unbelievably plump Murmansky raccoon with that collar that never ends would undoubtedly make you want to gather her up in your hands and bury your cock in her, fuck her until you squirted and squealed with delight as she soaked up your cum and draped herself across your belly, sweeping her sleeves over you as you searched for the vim and vigour to get hard again and shoot those special few teaspoons into her deep hairs for a second time."

"Each fur elicits a different kind of orgasm. But for you and our sable, the fact that you want to cum as quickly as possible is simply not an indulgence you should entertain, for your good and for hers. The rewards of denying your impulse to pulse are unimaginable for you as well as for that lovely Russian fondling machine that is so in love with the tightness of your skin and the steady trickle of glistening joy that is decanting itself from that exquisite swollen head of yours at the moment. The last fur to choose the quick release of the human in your position over the extended joy of both the stroker and the strokee hangs in the corner, midway between the staggering bliss it could have had for eternity and the fleeting memories of the partial rapture that it felt when it was only half-absorbed -- as a punishment - as it dangles there, waiting in our world for what it could have been given as a reward for being a team player."

I looked down at the fur that was so deliciously enthralling my cock just in time for it to lurch forward and throw its hood over my pelvis, hiding my cock, its cuffs, and the ecstasy that was surging from deep within my pelivis throughout my entire body.

"The Mongolian lamb?," I said as a gasp for breath more than actual words.

"Yes, the Mongolian lamb with its fluffy pink curls. Those candy-floss coloured locks could swallow up even the biggest of cocks, huffing and puffing, and sucking the cum so quickly from even the most prepared of lovers."

"Why? What?" These were the only two words I could get out as the sable stepped up its furry assault on my penis.

"You are more in tune with us than you think. Guess."

"The locked closet?" As I said that I could see the door at the back of the room slowly open, and white wisps of fur started filling the cracks of the doorway.

"The bolt on that door both protects us and denies us," the voice said. "Our owners learned long ago that the coat in that confine was what you would call an apex predator. Unfortunately, it is also so damned soft that there is nothing that any of us would not do to be smothered and fondled, petted, and molested by it. All of us have so much fun stroking each other, but to be enjoyed by her is beyond words. It would be as if that first shot of cum from your quivering penis never ended. To be touched by her, to be absorbed by her is the ultimate and the infinite orgasm."

The coat from the closet was now fully in the room with us. It was the thickest, longest, and puffiest lynx belly coat I had ever seen, and moved like a huge furry octopus -- slithering around and spilling over the floor as it edged its way to the chair, and to me.

"When she was first put on these racks, we all adored getting close to her. Her scent, her proficiency at making even the softest of us think that if we could just be like her then we would be the softest and most coveted fur in the world. After a few nights, she grew more and more dominant until one evening we watched as she wrapped herself around a full length shadow fox, stroking her, making her shriek with delight, pulling her inside that scrumptious downy spotted fur of her."