What Does the Fox Say?

Running through the Virginia wilderness like a hunted animal, with sweat pouring down my nearly naked body. Wearing nothing but leather riding boots and a furry red fox mask, matching the color of my long braided pigtails. I hear some horses whinnying on the other side of a small hill, mixing with the eager sound of barking "bloodhounds." This is just an elaborate kinky role-playing game, but it seems so real. It won't be long before I get caught, and get dominated like hell.

A "fox hunt" for a slutty redhead. This is so fucking crazy. How did I get to this point; so far from being a nice normal twenty-something cowgirl? Images from a wasted youth rush through my mind as I run toward a cluster of dogwood trees. I rarely paid attention in school; usually daydreaming about My Little Ponies and various picture books. My favorite book was Where the Wild Things Are. I desperately wished for my bedroom to be transformed into a magical jungle, so I could be crowned Queen of the Wild Things. (Far, far away from my abusive father.) In the meantime, I settled for riding horses and getting into all kinds of trouble, at school and beyond. I got smacked up by daddy even if I didn't get in trouble.

Then I hit puberty, caring less and less about horses, and more and more about boys. My definition of "wild" got a lot wilder.

"Wooooo-oo-ooo-ooo!" one of the "dogs" howls in the distance, raising my fear even higher. I soon reach the point of exhaustion, unable to run any farther on a sweltering summer day. I lean against a hearty oak tree near a babbling brook, savoring the cool shade. Accepting my fate as a submissive kink doll. The galloping and barking gets closer and closer, making my heart beat louder and louder. The "hunters" soon emerge over the hill and spot their "prey." Seven athletic cowboys, straddling seven mighty stallions. Wearing only brown leather boots and brown bloodhound masks.

They swoop in for the "kill," whooping and yee-hawing triumphantly. Spurring those majestic steeds in my direction, with their dicks rising to full mast.

"Circle the wagons round the ol' oak tree, boys!' ' shouts Blake McGraw. "That slutty vixen has met her match."

"Her running days are done," adds Travis Thomas.

"Hoo-wee, what a fantastic fucking fox!" beams Maverick Gibson.

This wild fox hunt idea gradually percolated in my mind over the past ten years, ever since I saw the music video for "What Does the Fox Say?" by Ylvis (and the series premiere of Naked and Afraid.) The kinky equine cosplay concept had a nice vintage British vibe. I've masturbated so many times while picturing myself getting hunted, caught, bound, gagged, whipped and gangbanged by a pack of alpha males.

"Hell of a hunt, bitch," grunts John Anthony Wayne. "Now you're our kinky fuck slave."

I try to think of a witty response, but my voice is frozen by a strange mix of fear and arousal. The seven riders form a circle around the tree, trapping me behind a solid wall of horses. They dismount the stallions and form a half-circle around my body. I shiver fearfully against the rough tree bark, sweating like hell behind a thick furry fox mask. I know it's just a game with my drinking buddies, but their realistic bloodhound masks deceive my brain into primal terror.

"The bloodhounds always win, like the fucking Harlem Globetrotters," remarks Dale McEachin.

"That redhead bitch is way better than the Washington Commanders," adds Travis Thomas.

"You mean the Washington Generals," replies Garth Benson.

"Generals, Commanders, they're both bad teams with stupid-ass names."

"Hail to the Redskins . . . hail vic-tor-eee . . ." Dale sings comically.

"Come on, boys. Let's tie this fox up like a fucking hog," growls Robert Fitzhugh Lee.

"Yes sir, General Lee!" Blake chuckles. The masked dog-men swoop right in and grab my arms, yanking me up on my feet. John A. Wayne grabs some rope from the saddle bag on his horse and wraps it around my wrists, binding them together with strong multi-layered knots, like all those busty porn stars in over-the-top kink.com videos.

"Fuck yeah, bind her ass nice and tight. We're gonna break that dirty vixen like a green colt," mutters Robert F. Lee. My fear starts to fade, replaced by intense sexual hunger. I moan under my breath impatiently, with pussy juice trickling down my sweaty thighs. Bracing for the roughest ride of my life. I've been working so hard lately, riding my own horse on a nearby cattle farm, so I deserve this big reward. Brimming with anticipation for domination.

Blake jerks my arms up toward a tree branch and binds them to it with another rope. Garth grabs a spreader bar from his saddlebag and pushes my legs far apart, binding my ankles to the metal pole with leather straps.

"Gag her pretty little mouth," grunts Robert F. Lee.

Dale grabs a red rubber ball gag from his saddle, then he pulls my mask above my mouth and shoves it through my teeth. Fastening it firmly around the back of my head, rendering me completely helpless. He grabs my red bangs and yanks my face up toward his snarling face. Locking his brown eyes on my emerald greens.

"There you go, you dirty fucking fox. Nobody can hear you scream way out here in hick country . . . but we wanna hear you moan."

"Oooouuwaaah!" I groan gutturally through the red rubber ball.

"What does the fox say?" sings Robert F. Lee; awkwardly imitating a Norwegian singer with a southern Appalachian drawl.

"Mmmmmm!"

"Nobody will ever know," he snickers. "That song is fire, and so are you. I love whipping slutty fucking cowgirls like you."

Robert F. Lee grabs his long sturdy riding crop and swings the black leather tip firmly against my pale DD-cup tits.

"Aaaawooofff!" I groan, swinging from the oak branch in X-shaped bondage, savoring the sweet pain on my pointy pink nipples. He whacks them five more times, sending shockwaves throughout my body. One of the horses whinnies near the tree, while the others chew grass and drink from the babbling brook. Garth swoops in on my left side with his own riding crop, lashing my pussy just as hard, over and over.

"Wa-pa-pa-puh-pa-pa-pa-pow! Wa-pa-pa-puh-pa-pa-pa-pow!" he sings like Ylvis. Drool oozes through my red gag as he keeps whacking my sensitive pink folds. Travis and Dale get in on the act, whipping my well-toned abs and ass cheeks. John A. Wayne gets another length of rope and swings it strongly with an underhand motion, striking my pussy and asshole simultaneously, driving me even crazier.

I rarely use safe words, preferring to let men shut me up with a gag and do whatever the fuck they want. Leaving me nice and sore, floating on cloud nine. I'm a real glutton for punishment, just like Momma Jane.

"Your fur is red / so beautiful / like an angel in disguise," Dale sings poorly, lacking a catchy Eurodance techno beat. "But if you meet / some big bad dogs . . ."

"Thwack!" goes his riding crop, hitting me hard where the sun don't shine (except when I'm feeling naughty.)

"Aaaawoo-ho-hoooo!"

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

"Hoooo-woo-hooo-oooooof!"

Mister McEachin keeps whooping my twat like a circus lion tamer, while everyone else punishes the rest of my body. This is more exciting than I thought it would be last night, when we finalized our "game plan" at a roadhouse pub near the Kentucky border.

"If you meet a friendly horse / Will you communicate by mo-o-o-o-orse?" Dale croons.

Thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack-thwack!

"Mo-o-o-o-orse?"

Thwack, thwack-thwack!

"Mo-o-o-o-orse?"

Thwack, thwack-thwack-thwack!

"Hold your fire, boys!" growls Robert F. Lee. "Cut her down from that branch, and take off that spreader bar."

They untie me from the oak tree and un-spread my legs. I sigh in relief as lactic acid drains out of my muscles. My relief is soon interrupted by John A. Wayne and Robert F. Lee, re-binding me with heavy-duty farm rope. They wrap it tightly around my legs and torso, squeezing my limbs against my lean soft S-shaped body. Most sexy ladies like me get the hell out of the Virginia boondocks as soon as they can, heading to New York or Los Angeles (or at least Richmond) to cash in on their beauty. But I love being a cowgirl, and I love getting tons of action from rough sleazy cowboys.

"Get some more rope under those big tits. Raise 'em up real good."

They wrap the rough rope beneath and between my sore perky DD's, lifting and separating them nicely. A makeshift bustier, like those vintage "Roaring Twenties'' burlesque babes.

"Damn, I wanna bust my nuts all over them boobies. That bitch is so fucking hot," Maverick remarks.

"No kidding," Travis laughs. "She's sweating like a Budweiser Clydesdale pulling fifty kegs. Let's take her for a cool dip under that waterfall."

"Uhh-huuuh!" I groan with emphatic agreement. Blake picks me up and carries me a hundred feet upstream to a very small waterfall. He puts his bare feet in the rushing stream, hooting in surprise.

"Hoo-wee, that mountain water is cold and refreshing, like Coors fucking Light!"

He plops my ass down in the middle of the creek and pushes my torso backward, immersing my body underneath the falling water, from the neck down. The cold torrent makes me howl like Ylvis, surrounded by hound dogs. Dozens of whip marks flare up in the icy stream. An incredible sensation, racing right down to my pussy, seizing me with powerful perverse pleasure.

"Keep howling, ya fucking vixen!" Maverick growls. "We get off on pain too!"

The seven muscular dog-men finally step back along the shore, watching me whimper in pathetic bondage, stroking their dicks slowly in admiration.

"Good country girl, taking a bath after doing your chores on the ranch," Garth coos mockingly.

"Uh-huuuh," I groan.

"Your pain threshold is pretty fucking high," says Robert F. Lee. "I bet you wanna get whipped even more."

"Uh-huuuh!" I nod.

"With pleasure, m'lady," he replies with a comical gentlemanly bow. He picks me up and lays me down face-up in the shallow brook, with my head resting against a rock and the cold water gurgling against my back. My front side is fully exposed to the warm summer air and sunshine. Peaceful aquatic serenity in the wilderness, with cardinals chirping nearby. The moment of zen is soon shattered by seven leather riding crops, raining down all over my tender flesh. More and more and more. I fucking need it.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

My body convulses ecstatically against the rocky creek bed. Cold and hard on one side, hot and stingy on the other. An amazing sensation, hitting me like a bolt from the blue. All that pain gets translated to pleasure in my perverted mind, quickly bringing me to a massive orgasm. Screaming like hell through that red rubber ball, squirting on three leather riding crops.

"Fuck yeaaaah!" cheers John Anthony Wayne. "I love cowgirl bitches who cum on the whip."

"A kinky country fox. Might-eee fine," Dale agrees. I keep squirting and squirting, emptying my bladder into a steady stream of chilly H2O. Thrashing pathetically in tight rope bondage.

"All right, that's enough pain for now," says the ringleader, Robert Fitzhugh Lee. "It's dinner time. Let's feed that pretty fox with our big dog-cocks."

"Hell yeah. I'm gonna pound her fire-pussy so good," Blake beams. He picks me up and sets me down on a big granite boulder along the shore, then he unties my legs, leaving my arms bound behind my back. He slams his eight-inch dick right up my hairy red twat.

"Fuuuff-YAAAA!" I squeal in delight. He keeps ramming his big cowboy rod into my well-toned cowgirl bod. Rough sex is the only sex for me; an inherited trait from my abusive alcoholic father and his ditzy submissive wife. Robert F. Lee steps around to the other side of the boulder and shoves his smaller dick into my mouth, face-fucking me at full speed. I growl fiercely against his man-meat, enjoying another epic orgy. Even better than my last one, three weeks ago on Jeb Kaine's turkey farm, when I got "gobbled up" by five bird wranglers.

Dale wiggles in from behind and shoves his big manly prick through my anal sphincter, screwing me royally. Maverick straddles my chest and titty-fucks me like a rodeo champ.

"Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow!" he sings gleefully while thrusting away on my big boobs. "Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow! A-hee-ahee ha-hee! A-hee-ahee ha-hee!"

"Uh-huh-ahuu Huuu-hu!" I laugh in harmony, muted by that red ball gag. Thirty seconds later, another great orgasm bursts through my ravaged body.

"My turn, Mister McGraw," grunts John A. Wayne. He pushes Blake aside and slams his massive manhood up my sore twat. Fucking me like a broncin' buck, and spanking me like daddy.

"Hell yeah, Mad Anthony Wayne! Pound that fox like a fucking whore," Maverick cheers. He keeps pounding my pussy while everyone else works the rest of my body, sticking their dicks in every nook and cranny. Meanwhile, their seven horses keep eating and shitting around the oak tree, oblivious to our crazy country-fried orgy.

Travis picks me up, hugs me tightly against his chest, and pounds my sopping wet pussy. I squeeze my vaginal muscles against his very thick penis. Garth swoops in from the other direction, grabbing the ropes against my lower back and ass-fucking the shit out of me. Bringing me to a fourth and fifth climax.

"I'm gonna pull your pigtails, bitch!"

Robert F. Lee pulls Garth away from my ass, grabs my long red pigtails, and pulls them hard, jerking my face up toward a pure blue summer sky.

"Ooooouuuufff!" I groan playfully. Those two cowboys fuck me hard in both holes from opposing directions, making my pussy explode with orgasmic electricity.

"This is where the wild things are, bitch!" Dale proclaims on the sidelines.

"Uhhh-huuuuuh!"

"We're doing the wild rumpus, for damn sure," Garth adds sarcastically.

"Naughty fucking schoolgirl, playing lots of dirty tie-up games," growls Robert F. Lee. "I'm gonna cum all over your fox-face!"

"Uh-huuuh!"

He yanks me away from Travis and shoves me down on my knees. Aiming his cock toward the only part of my face not covered by the furry red mask.

"Ooooh yeaaaah, ya dirty foxy cunt. Oh gah, oh gah, ooooooWUUUUUUUUHHHHH!"

He shoots me on both eyeballs with a heavy jet of jizz, completely clouding my vision. The pure blue sky turns pure white.

"The south will come again, bitch!" Garth growls. He grabs my flaming Pippi Longstocking pigtails and puts them together in one hand behind my head, then he jerks off with the other hand.

"Oh shit, oh shit, eeeeeeeyAAAAAAAHH!" He screeches loudly, and I feel his cum thumping on my cheeks, muffled by a thick layer of faux fur. "Ooooooh, that's better!"

"Time for a renegade maverick to step in the ring," Maverick remarks. "Halloween is four months away, but I'll give you some candy right now."

Thick clumps of cum splatter down on my whipped-up tits. That soothing hot cream makes me moan. This "furry" fetish domination is so humiliating, but it makes me feel so alive. Satisfying brutish men is my biggest obsession. I'm seriously fucked-up, but I'm loving every minute of it.

"Moooorphh! Mooooorphh!" I beg through the ballgag.

"Damn right I'll give you more, foxy!" Dale barks, aiming his cock toward my fox face. "JeeeeeeeeZZZZUUUUUUUUUUUH! Ooooooh FUUUUUUUCK!"

More soothing cream falls on my tits and my throbbing pussy. I wish my hands weren't tied behind my back, so I could play with that slimy jizz and savor it on my tongue.

"Bring out the big guns, boys. Three shots at once!" orders John A. Wayne.

"Fuck yeah," Travis agrees.

"Let's blast her furry face like an AR-15," Blake adds. I feel their hard cowboy legs pushing warmly against my chest, belly and sides; crowding in for a grand finale.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah . . ."

"Hooooo . . ."

"God damn, god damn, god damn . . ."

"GUUUU-WUUUU-SHAAAAA!"

Three cowboys with bloodhound masks blow their load all over my fox mask, with perfect synchronicity.

"Hooooo fuuuuuuck, yeeeaaaaaaaah," Travis growls gutturally.

"Gaaaaahd damn, that fox is fire!" Blake agrees.

"The hottest fucking redhead in Virginia," adds John Anthony Wayne, jerking out every last drop.

"Those Richmond liberals hate guns, but they love watching kinky gangbangs," Maverick remarks nearby. Seven cowboys laugh pleasantly in the heavy afterglow. They just made my wildest dream come true . . . but I'm sure I'll come up with a wilder idea when I get home; lying in bed in a giddy erotic trance. The more action I get, the more I want.

"Alrighty then," Dale sighs comically. "Let's reveal the masked singer."

He unties all the ropes, takes off of my fox mask, and unfastens the red rubber ball gag, leaving me completely nude. I gasp theatrically, as if I were just saved from drowning. Robert F. Lee grabs my cum-soaked mask and shoves it toward my sweaty face.

"Lick it off, bitch!"

"Yes sir, General Lee," I giggle sweetly. I grab that silly mask and devour their bitter man-milk like a starving bloodhound. A rush of male pheromones makes me horny all over again.

"Great job, Miss Fox," Dale says warmly while taking off his brown bloodhound mask.

"Oh my god, that was fucking awwwesome," I groan harshly, with pins and needles prickling all over my body.

"Damn, we should have hired a cameraman," Blake whines. "We could've made a big chunk of change on PornHub."

"We should totally do another 'fox hunt,' on video," I beam while tossing my long red pigtails. "How about next Saturday afternoon?"

"Sure thing, you crazy vixen," Maverick beams. Everyone else agrees to a second round; not having anything better to do in this boring hillbilly region. John A. Wayne mounts his horse and strikes a macho pose, like the iconic western actor he was named after.

"Once you go where the wild things are, you never go back."