A Sweet Lesson
(This one’s just for you, my favorite little ‘coon!)

	No one could ever get a description of him, short of the words black, brown, raccoon, and fast, apart from an entire thesaurus-full of substitutes for that last word. He was known mostly as Stripes, although he had a few other monikers including “Racing ‘Coon” and “Holy Crap, It’s Him, Hide Your Loot.” He was a fine young thief with a lot of experience, a great string of successes, and any number of people wishing they could wear his tail on their belt as a trophy, never mind collecting the high-value bounty on his furry little butt. In spite of this, his tail, butt, and other parts were still together, in all the right places, and currently hidden from the scrutiny of anyone, courtesy of a little hidey-hole that he had discovered only recently.
	The rooms were comfortable, and accessible only from a location that seemed like the equivalent of a jungle alleyway. Only someone who knew that there really was a set of rooms back here would have turned down the not-quite-hole in the dense foliage of this generally overgrown section of town, and even having done so, they would have almost certainly have missed the hidden switch that pushed open the door, itself covered in thick (and flexible) vines, that led into the brief tunnel attached to this place.
	Whoever owned these rooms before treasured his not only his privacy, but his comfort as well. Stripes had found, at the end of the tunnel, a large and well-appointed living room area that included the immensely comfortable couch on which he found himself. He’d taken the time to look quickly at the rest of the rooms, satisfying himself that he was alone, before he let himself relax. The kitchen looked clean, inviting, and well-stocked. In the bathroom, the partially-sunken tub looked large enough to float in, or to invite a few friends to join in. Two bedrooms, and what looked like a study as well, and discreet spiral stairs leading upward into… well, he would find out about that later. His immediate concern was simply to let the adrenaline drain out of his system a bit and recover from his little adventure… and this couch was just the place to do it.
	Having finally gotten his breath back, Stripes stripped off his fingerless black gloves and gave his attention over to the examination and rubbing of his hind paws. His pursuers had given him quite a run for his money – literally. The sum he’d acquired was in no wise tiny, but the skill he’d had to execute in order to get it certainly devalued the “amusement factor.” He looked carefully at his dark pink pads, realizing that there had been some segments of his recent run that contained rougher patches of ground than he’d thought at first; the itchy sensitivity that he’d begun to feel during his run was no illusion. The sweat around the pads stung somewhat, and the scent wasn’t entirely pleasant, or so it seemed to him. He’d need some tending to before he would be entirely at his best again.
	“Ooo, nasty.”
	The raccoon jolted in his seat, prepared to meet whoever it was that had spoken. Leaning against the jamb in the doorway that led to the other rooms, a lean white-furred German shepherd eyed the raccoon with amused ease. The canine, a bit older than the ‘coon, was close to Stripes’ overall size, his hard, lean figure clad only in silvery gray shorts and a deep blue tank top. The smile on his muzzle reached to his chestnut brown eyes, and his long thick-looking tail wagged slowly in mischievous delight.
	“Where did you come from?”
	“The usual set of parents, one of each.” He grinned. “I ducked into a bolt hole when I heard you come in; never know who might show up, you know. I’ll help with those pads, if you’ll let me.” He put forward a forestalling forepaw. “And please, don’t run. The whole neighborhood is crawling with people who, if I’m to believe what they’re yelling, have particularly creative ideas of what to do with your tail… and other parts of your anatomy.”
	The voice, Stripes realized, was British-sounding, on the refined side. If that was supposed to ring some sort of bell for him, he had no idea what it was. “You looking for a bounty?”
	“Not at all. If I wanted your tail, it would be for a completely different reason.” The shepherd grinned. “I’m glad you finally found the place. I was wondering how long it would take you to decide to give it the once-over.”
	A single shaft of sunlight filtered into the raccoon’s brain. “rarebreed32@pupnet.com,” Stripes quoted. “You’ve been sending emails to me for the past several months.”
	“Indeed I have, cinnabuns@tailfriends.com,” the shepherd laughed. “Isn’t amazing where we get our various names from? If you looked on official documents of one kind or another, I would be Taylor Pershall, but I suspect you might know my other alias better… Weisspranke.”
	The raccoon’s tail lashed once uncontrollably, as his bright blue eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re the White Lion’s Paw?”
	“At your service, dear fellow.” Bowing grandly, the shepherd let himself be eyed for a long moment. Stripes was as close to awestruck as he had ever been in his life. The escapades of the White Lion’s Paw were legendary – and according to some, were only that. Impossible thefts that were credited to an entire group or conspiracy, all because no one person could possibly have accomplished it, yet rumored to have been the work of a master thief known as the Weisspranke. Jewels, rare objects, huge sums of cash, even – again, according to legend – the theft of a religious icon, right in the middle of the church’s service commemorating the anniversary of the icon’s discovery. The only thing anyone knew was that the objects in question were gone. Many of them, anyway. Several were returned (including the religious icon), under equally mysterious circumstances, exactly seven days after the theft.
	“You,” said Stripes, catching his breath yet again, “can’t be real.”
	“Let’s test that theory. I’m going to get some antiseptic pain-relieving gel for your pads. If you feel better after I finish applying it for you, then you can reassess your judgment.”
	“And if I decide to leave?”
	“You won’t.” The shepherd grinned. “You’re too curious, now.”
	And damned if he wasn’t. Stripes resumed his seat, partly in mild resignation, and partly because his pads still hurt. He looked quickly about the room, wondering if there were someplace that he could stash his cash in order to retrieve it later… just in case the master thief wanted to frisk him or shake him down for the money. Ultimately, several things occurred to him: He didn’t know this place well enough, the sum was paltry compared to what the shepherd had taken in even one of his heists, and the guy was so good there was no stopping him no matter what the ‘coon might decide to do. This was one of those situations where, as the horrible old joke went, he’d just have to relax and enjoy.
	“Here we are, then.” The white-furred canine brandished a small plastic carryall containing various first aid materials. He sat on the floor at Stripes’ paws and beckoned for him to present the left first. “Let’s have a closer look first. Are they very tender?”
	“I wouldn’t want to have to run any real distance right now, thanks,” the raccoon said, flinching a bit at the touch. “I hate asking the obvious question…”
	“Well, I did invite you here, did I not?” The shepherd smiled, preparing some gauze with hydrogen peroxide. “This might sting a bit, so hang on.”
	Stripes inhaled sharply through his teeth, making himself keep his paws where they were. He would probably have just gotten some cool water for them, and he’d probably have been fine, but he had to admit that this treatment was probably better in the long run (no pun intended). “Thanks for the invitation,” he managed to grunt out. “What should I call you, anyway?”
	“Taylor is fine. What about you?”
	“Stripes.”
	The shepherd turned his dark eyes up to look directly at the ‘coon, smiling softly. “Just your street name? No given name?”
	“Don’t have one.”
	“Everyone has one, even if we don’t like them.”
	“I lost mine when my parents were killed.”
	Taylor paused in his ministrations, his face sobering. “I guess that I should have expected that. My apologies. Stripes it is, then.” He set the used gauze to one side and brought out a plastic bottle containing some sort of gel. “The scent is a little strong – wintergreen and juniper, astringent and balm. Luckily, it goes away quickly as it’s absorbed. You’ll want to stay here long enough for it to work, as well as to let the scent dissipate… unless you’re anxious to get followed.”
	“Good reason to stay.” The gel’s scent was pungent, but pleasant; Stripes felt a cooling sensation on his pads at first, then it turned a little warmer, and then it turned into not much of anything at all. “Feels better. Thanks.”
	“You’re welcome. Here, put your paws up on the couch for a bit and let that gel dry.”
	With a little assistance from his host, the raccoon did as he was told, assessing his situation. During his application of the gel, the shepherd seemed very careful to keep his touch only on the pads of Stripes’ hind paws. At least the guy wasn’t trying to cop a feel while he was there. He looked at the shepherd, now seated on the other end of the couch with Stripes’ paws within reach yet he kept his paws to himself. Stripes felt his guard let down a little. “Why did you want to find me in the first place?”
	“I admire your style.” The shepherd smiled at Stripes’ reaction. “I have nowhere near the speed needed to make the sort of getaways that you do. I swear, from the stories I hear about you, I can only guess that you’ve set one or more world records by this time. It’s very impressive.”
	Not quite sure how to react, Stripes could only mumble his thanks.
	“Not at all, dear fellow. I was wondering if we might form a bit of a partnership.” Taylor held up a paw, gently forestalling the ‘coon’s objection. “I know, you generally work alone, and that’s as it should be. Your style is singular, and it would hinder you if you had to work with someone who couldn’t run at least as quickly as yourself. No, I’m talking about a little sharing of information in exchange for some sharing of ability.”
	“Ability?”
	“A few of my tricks are teachable.” From his own pocket, the shepherd withdrew a gold disk and handed it to Stripes.
	The raccoon felt both astonishment and fury. “No one can touch this!” he growled. He checked his innermost pocket, just in case it was some kind of fake, but no – the pocket was empty, and the disk was indeed the medallion that was, so far as he knew, the only thing he had left from his early life. He gripped it tightly, his paw more a menacing fist.
	“I give you my pledge, Stripes – I’ll never do that again.” Taylor looked somber. “I can only guess that it’s of immense importance to you, since you carry it so close to you. You don’t have to tell me about it. I only wanted to show you that my reputation is well-earned. And that there are things that I can teach you. If you want to learn them.”
	For a long moment, the raccoon said nothing. No question, knowing a few tricks as good as that one would be valuable. The shepherd had to have reached into his pocket when he was helping the ‘coon stretch out on the couch, and Stripes hadn’t felt a thing. He’d spent these past years learning how to snatch-and-run, strike quick, run like a fiend and never let anyone get close enough to his tail to get a good grip. He was a loner, a street kid who learned early that life had to be lived fast and hard, and never let anyone get too close. Cut and run. That was who he was. Cut and run.
	Why was he still listening to this pup?
	Taylor smiled. “Just something to think about. And I’ve completely forgotten my manners. You need some food and drink, and I think I’ve got just the ticket. Lay back and rest a little; I’ll be right back.”
	The shepherd moved into the kitchen and set about gathering plates, glasses, and various foodstuffs, moving with a certain grace that wasn’t lost on the young raccoon. There were two things wrong with the picture. The first was how a thief would turn his back upon someone else without the slightest apparent concern. The second was how Stripes was very much aware of the glistening white fur, the solid musculature, the casual certainty of his physical presence. Whatever else he thought about Taylor, Stripes had to admit that he was one nice-looking dog.
	He blushed slightly, telling himself not to be stupid, that the last thing this guy would be interested in was a quick roll on the floor. It should be the last thing that Stripes was interested in, besides; he didn’t have much history in the practice, and although he’d enjoyed what he’d had, he wasn’t sure it was time to trust too many people that much. It just seemed like a door that should be more closely guarded than most, since it seemed like there was more there to lose than one might think.
	Carrying a tray back to the living room, Taylor smiled broadly. “Not the most sumptuous of feasts, but it’ll help bring your strength back. I imagine that you burn far more than merely your share of calories.”
	“You might say that.” Stripes rearranged himself on the sofa, sitting up to eat, but keeping his paws off the floor for the moment; he wasn’t entirely sure if the gel had dried yet. “Can I ask you a question?”
	“Ask all you want. Strangely enough, I’ll only tell you the truth.” He winked. “Others may not get that privilege.”
	The ‘coon chuckled a little, taking a healthy bite from one of the sandwiches before him. He remembered his manners enough to compliment and thank his host before questioning. “Do you really give back some of the things you steal?”
	“Yes.”
	“Why?”
	“Because I’m a thief.”
	Stripes could actually feel his brain trying to wrap itself around the shepherd’s words. He shook his head, but it still didn’t help. After a few moments, Taylor laughed gently and explained.
	“Stealing is what I do. It’s in the very marrow of my bones, and gods help me, I love it. I love it more than is strictly healthy, no doubt, and I realize that I have to balance that somehow. I steal to give myself shelter and food, and that’s bad enough; when I realize I’ve taken too much, I give it back, and I hope that’s good enough.”
	“How much is too much?”
	“More than I need. More than I know what to do with.”
	Stripes stared in disbelief. “Did you really steal the Icon of Saint Sibelius?”
	“Oh yes, I really stole it. I watched, waited, planned, and executed the perfect theft, right under their collective muzzles. I did that because I’m a thief; stealing is what I do.”
	“And you gave it back.”
	The shepherd smiled wanly. “Someone who steals out of greed is only concerned with worth; he takes money, or something he can convert into money, or something that is important only to him. But I’m a thief. I saw something impossible to steal, and I stole it. And that was all that I needed from it, to prove that I could really do it. Once that was accomplished, I gave it back.”
	“It must have been worth millions.”
	“Actually, it’s literally priceless. How could you put a price on something whose value lies in the souls of those who believe in it?” Taylor shrugged casually. “Someone could have bought it from me, for some price that would ensure that I would never have to steal again. But we both know I would steal again. And those others… the ones who would truly be harmed by not having that icon to see, to pray to, to make a pilgrimage to…”
	“Why do they matter?” Stripes couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. “It’s not like they’re out there helping the widows and orphans, are they?” The ‘coon wiped his muzzle with a napkin, tossed it back on the table. “I turned into a thief because of them. I steal because I have to. It’s not like anyone gave me a hand up. Turns out I’m good at what I do, and I still do it, because I still have to. I’m not giving back anything to anyone.”
	Another shrug from the shepherd. “I never said otherwise. I’m not judging you, Stripes. You asked why I gave back, and I told you. You told me why you wouldn’t give back, and I believe you. I also think you’re not telling the whole truth. You do give back.”
	“What?”
	“That wasn’t you, sneaking money into the orphanage’s donation box? Or giving help to your friends when they need it? You’ve never taken food from the market stalls and helped some street kids who hadn’t eaten in days?”
	The ‘coon blushed furiously. “That’s different.”
	“Very well, it’s different. But it’s still giving something back. It’s – if I may say so – your parents influence on your heart. You’re a thief… not a criminal.”
	Stripes looked down, not sure what to say. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, felt something in his chest turn over. A memory of his parents flashed through his mind, one of the few happy  moments he still recalled, almost like a snapshot of the happy mother and the proud father and the young ‘coon holding up a trophy from school, winner (not surprisingly) of a track event. Imbedded near the top, a gold medallion bore a large “1” on it. The trophy itself went onto the mantelpiece, taking pride of place for the next few years. Until that last night.
	Taylor shifted slightly on his end of the sofa. “Here, lad, let me take a look at those pads. They should be feeling all right by now.” He took the raccoon’s large powerful paws into his lap, looked carefully at the deep pink pads, touched them gently with his fingers. “How’s that, then? Any roughness or sensitivity?”
	“No, they’re okay.” Stripes squirmed slightly; while he was at rest, his pads were some of his most sensitive points. “I kinda hate to ask, but has the scent of the gel worn off?”
	Grinning slightly, the shepherd bent his muzzle lower and sniffed delicately at the raccoon’s paws. “Smells pretty good to me, actually.” With a chuckle, he noticed Stripes’ reaction to his gentle rubbing of the pads. “Not being too forward, am I?”
	“Maybe a little…”
	“Should I stop?”
	“Don’t you dare.”
	Expertly, Taylor kneaded the raccoon’s hind paws, one after the other, massaging the hard-packed muscles until Stripes was certain that even his claws had melted into limp relaxation. He giggled briefly when he felt the shepherd’s tongue flick over his toes and the pads just below. Taylor regarded him softly. “You know that I have another reason for getting you to this place?”
	“Mm?” Stripes mumbled happily. “And what might that be?”
	“I was hoping to steal your heart.” The pup smiled. “Don’t worry – I’ll give it back.”
	Stripes moved his hind paws to the floor and sat up to face Taylor directly. He reached out to stroke the shepherd’s muzzle gently, to feel the incredibly soft fur of his arm and shoulder. His heart in his throat, he whispered, “I’ve only…” He swallowed, tried again. “I’m still kinda new to this.”
	“Well, I did say that I could teach you things. If you want to learn them.”
	“Oh yes,” the raccoon smiled. “I want to learn.”
	“Very well then.” Taylor grinned. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
	The shepherd leaned in and gently kissed the raccoon. It seemed tentative, as if he were holding back; no tongue, no force, just the touch of lips to lips, pursing and moving, so slowly as if to be almost not happening at all. Part of Stripes’ mind was confused, wondering where the passion was, where the heat was; another part of him began to feel the heat that he thought was missing, realizing that he was feeling something very powerful in the almost foreign act of slowing down… 
	Stripes felt a hitch in is breathing as Taylor opened his maw very slightly, still moving lips across lips, the very slightest touch of tongue to tease, to tantalize, to accompany the warm, sweet breath that passed between them. Stripes reached up to touch Taylor’s muzzle, to caress the snowy-white headfur and pull them closer together – not quickly, not too fast, he was learning that lesson first above all. This was not about trying to run away from something, to escape, to hide. Against his years of intuition from the street, Stripes was realizing that this was about moving toward something.
	Without breaking the kiss, Taylor reached up under Stripes’ vest and wrapped his arms around the raccoon’s body. Stripes felt his back rubbed and massaged, caressed and explored, and he moved his arms to mimic the movements across the deliciously thick fur of the shepherd’s back. Embraced this way, the two of them opened their maws to envelop and grind against each other, tongues entangling, small grunts and tiny yips of pleasure and longing urging the two of them forward. Taylor began licking along Stripes’ muzzle, past his cheek, down to the nape of his neck, and there, oh there, the softest, the barest touch of teeth to the skin beneath the cinnamon brown fur. Stripes gasped audibly and tightly held on to the shepherd, feeling as if he might leap out of his fur in ecstasy and not find his way back…
	Taylor raised his muzzle to the raccoon’s ear. Panting slightly, he said, “You’re an excellent student.”
	Stripes, his eyes closed, replied, “Thanks, Teach. Not bad yourself.”
	“What next for you, little one?”
	The raccoon shivered slightly, feeling the furry tufts in his ear softly quivering with the warm, quiet breath. “Everything. I want to learn everything.”
	A deep, affection-filled chuckle. “That would take some time. I suspect even I don’t know everything.” Taylor pulled back gently, kissing the ‘coon’s muzzle, looking him in the eyes. “Besides, if we do everything now, what will I save for next time… assuming that there will be a next time?”
	“You’re off to a good start,” Stripes smiled. “But if you don’t continue soon, I may have to take matters into my own paws.”
	“Then let’s continue this lesson in a more comfortable classroom.”
	Taylor rose and, taking Stripes gently by the paw, led him into the first of the two large and well-appointed bedrooms. Muted blue with silver accents created a space that was both welcoming and cool. The large bed (very neatly made, Stripes thought, a slight blush at realizing his own bed rarely looked this good) bore sheets that seemed almost to ripple in the soft light of the room. The shepherd paused next to the bed, turning to face Stripes, smiling softly. He caressed the ‘coon’s cheek softly, then reached slowly toward the red and blue cloth tied about his head.
	Stripes’ paw was quick as lightning, the blue of his eyes turned flinty. “No.”
	The shepherd hand did not resist the retraining paw. He looked into the ringtail’s eyes without flinching. After a long moment, he said, “I have presumed. I apologize.” Another moment. “It never comes off, does it?”
	“Never.”
	Slowly, Taylor nodded. “I ask for your trust.” He held out one finger of the restrained paw. “Would you release me, and trust me just for this moment?”
	Stripes felt himself arguing within, trust and mistrust, doubting and needing. He was faster than the White Lion’s Paw, he knew this. He released his grip and let his arm rest at his side.
	Taylor took the extended finger of his paw, kissed it softly, and placed it reverently upon the headband. “I swear to you: I will never harm your son. And I thank you for him, with all my heart.”
	For a long moment, the young ‘coon couldn’t move. The shepherd stood, waiting patiently, smiling softly. Stripes knew that he should be doing something, saying something. Finally, Taylor broke the silence. “May I?” he asked, touching the top of the ‘coon’s red vest.
	“Please,” he whispered.
	Tenderly, using both paws, Taylor slipped the vest over the back of Stripes’ shoulders, moving down the ‘coon’s slender arms until he could take it away, tossing it neatly yet casually upon a chair just opposite the bed. With something like reverence in his eyes, the shepherd placed his paws gently upon Stripes’ chest, massaging the muscles slowly, working with the steady rise and fall of breath. Stripes wondered if the pup could feel the pounding of his heart, and how it was beating more quickly than before. He wondered if he was supposed to feel this strongly, or if it was just something about Taylor’s touch that was different from what he’d known before.
	He reached up to Taylor’s chest, rubbing through the fabric of the deep blue tank top, pulling back as the shepherd moved to remove the shirt in a single fluid motion. Stripes gazed, entranced, nearly blinded by the brilliant white fur. He mimicked Taylor’s movements for a moment, knowing that he had to feel that thick beautiful fur for himself, finding the firm muscles underneath. He moved suddenly forward, embracing the shepherd tightly, pressing his bare chest to his, feeling the warmth burning against him. Taylor’s paws moved firmly up and down and across his back, expressing his desire as clearly there as he did through the growing hardness that Stripes felt as surely as he felt his own.
	The raccoon became aware of Taylor’s paws searching lower, toward the base of his tail, and he pressed himself against the shepherd even harder. Another low chuckle touched his ear. “I think someone is a bit eager.”
	“Maybe,” Stripes whispered back. “Or maybe just really, really ready to learn.”
	“Then let’s start with some basics.”
	Stripes felt Taylor begin to slide his body slowly lower, pressing against him as much as he could as he hunkered down onto his haunches, then kneeling before the ‘coon, his muzzle pressed against the soft cinnamon fur and the firm abdominal muscles beneath. The shepherd’s paws moved to the multi-pocketed shorts, to the place in front that struggled to contain Stripes’ rock-hard erection, his touch pushing a deep moan up through the ‘coon’s throat. Taylor moved his muzzle to kiss the bulge of black fabric, his paws moving to make short work of the deep red web belt, the metal button, the zipper… and still he was not set free. Taylor pressed his muzzle against the outside of the pants for a long moment, then held the pants close to Stripes’ body while he put his nose to the space just inside the fabric, where he inhaled and snuffled and whined gently, his tongue flicking out at the base of Stripes’ cock, teasing, touching and letting go as the ‘coon tensed and trembled in anticipation.
	“I’m memorizing you,” Taylor whispered almost to himself. “I’m making a special place in my mind for your scent. Your delicious musk. Strong on you, my pupil… too strong to resist for long…”
	The shorts were pulled down forcefully, and Stripes felt his pulsing erection at last set free. In the next split second, his shaft was engulfed in the shepherd’s hungry maw, tip to base swallowed in one impossibly swift move. Stripes jerked his muzzle up to the sky, barking out his surprise and ecstasy; he would have fallen had not Taylor been gripping his large, muscular thighs with his arms, his paws pushing against the ‘coon’s clenching buttocks. Stripes’ tail shot out straight, thickening as if he had been terrified
	thrilled
	by the passionate embrace. Taylor’s thick canine tongue moved, teased, tickled, slathered its way all across Stripes’ hard cock, accompanied by sounds of moaning from deep within the shepherd’s chest. Taylor pulled his head slowly backward, until only the tip remained in his muzzle, and then he thrust forward again until the ‘coon was hilted in the shepherd’s maw. Stripes put his paws to Taylor’s shoulders, gripping, massaging, as the shepherd continued to take every inch of the ‘coons turgid tool. At the hinting provided by Taylor’s paws on his muscled ass, Stripes moved his paws up to the back of the shepherd’s head and began moving his hips of his own accord, holding the maw at exactly the right height, raising up digitigrade on his toes, gently, firmly, slowly, thoroughly fucking the hot, wet, accommodating maw.
	The raccoon lost himself to the rhythm, forgetting everything other than the incredible sensations of his new lover’s touch, letting himself feel the build toward a powerful and lingering climax. It was then that Stripes felt the changes – a slight resistance, a change in the way he was being held, and finally the sense of Taylor’s head pulling back and, ultimately, releasing the shining length of the ‘coon’s hard cock. Panting heavily, Stripes looked down into the grinning face of the wet-muzzled shepherd.
	“I would love to taste you, my pretty ringtail… in fact, I got a lovely sample a moment ago. But I thought we’d explore a bit more before we said Here Endeth the Lesson.” Slowly, Taylor stood, moving forward and kissing Stripes deeply. The raccoon could taste himself on the pup’s tongue, a sensation more exciting that he might have thought otherwise. They held each other closely, their cocks separated only by the soft cotton of Taylor’s silvery gray shorts, which clearly had to go.
	Stripes reached down and tugged at the shorts, and Taylor helped to push them away. “My turn, I think,” the raccoon said with a grin.
	“A slight difference.” Taylor backed up and sat on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide, propped up on his elbows, ready to watch and enjoy his young pupil demonstrating how well he had been paying attention.
	His tail flicking quickly, Stripes approached and knelt between the shepherd’s spread legs, gazing lustfully at the long, thick, pre-cum slicked canine cock that stood hard and proud before him. The warm damp heat rising from between Taylor’s legs caught the ‘coon’s nose at once, and he moved his muzzle toward its source. The large balls, also covered in white fur, seemed to be the base, the platform, the support for the towering shaft above the sheath. Stripes put his nose close and inhaled, slowly, deliberately. He well understood Taylor’s meaning of “memorizing” him; the complex, deep, richly detailed scent was unique to his new lover, an olfactory signature that Stripes would now and forever associate with his newfound passion. It was already driving him into greater depths of desire, and he knew exactly how he would begin.
	Looking up into the eyes of his tutor, Stripes grinned and, instead of duplicating Taylor’s actions directly, he started a different way. The heavy, low-hanging balls were the first target of his tongue; he lapped slowly at the large, sensitive orbs, guessing just how much pressure he could bring to bear upon them as he closed his maw slightly around them, the barest touch of teeth, the firmest caress of his busy tongue bringing out shuddering gasps from the shepherd’s muzzle. Taylor stared, transfixed, perhaps even amazed at the slow, careful attention to his tender treasures. The pupil clearly had some ideas of his own to bring forward, and the teacher didn’t seem to mind at all.
	Stripes released his delicate charges and began to lick around the base of the shaft, the quivering cock occasionally spurting forth a tiny jet of pre-cum, some of which dribbled down the sides of the shepherd’s cock, only to join with the ‘coon’s own saliva as he coated the cock thoroughly, from side to side, from round edge to round edge, from base all the way up, slowly, deliberately, to the pointed tip of the canine cock, where another tiny jet crested up and landed on Stripes’ tongue like a baptism. He looked deeply into the sweet dark eyes, then arced his head up and over as he took Taylor’s length into his maw at a single gulp.
	Taylor’s entire body twitched and writhed as his cock was hilted; he called out in a wordless howl of pleasure, his toes curling and flexing. Stripes wrapped his strong arms around the shepherd’s thighs, denying any escape from the powerful strokes and sucking of his muzzle upon the canine’s trembling tool. The ‘coon focused himself on his work, thrilled by the taste, the touch, the smell of his lover’s passion. He barely noticed Taylor’s paws reaching for his head, only dimly aware at first of his name being called.
	“Stripes…” The heaving, panting breath called out to him as if for mercy. “Stripes, please…”
	Slowly, the raccoon let the shepherd’s cock from out of his maw. Taylor’s breath was much quicker than this small exercise seemed to have merited. A frown crossing his brow, he asked, “Are you all right?”
	Taylor laughed as much as his shortened breath would allow. “Far more than all right, lad!” He chuckled more. “I just didn’t… want to… not yet, anyway, and you were… getting me so very close…” He looked at the raccoon with a tenderness and affection that made Stripes blush. “This is what happens when you want someone very much.”
	Teasingly, Stripes gave a mischievous lick at the slick shaft, making Taylor grunt with pleasure. “I want you too. I want…”
	“I know.” The shepherd nodded. “Have you ever mounted another male before?”
	The blush deepened. Stripes’ first time with another guy – another raccoon – had been amazing, and he’d been on the receiving end of that transaction. There had been other opportunities, but… “No,” he said softly. “Not yet.”
	Taylor managed to sit up on the bed, leaned over to kiss Stripes sweetly. “May I have the honor, then, of being your first?”
	Stripes’ eyes widened. “You want…”
	“I want you inside me,” Taylor whispered. “I want you to take me. Steal me, my little ringtail. Take me and give to me, all at once.”
	Leaning back on the bed, Taylor pulled his paws off the floor, grabbed under his knees and, tail hanging down to the floor, presented himself to Stripes. The ‘coon looked down at the beautiful puckered tailhole, a dark pink rosebud surrounded by white fur. He paused, remembering how he had prepared himself to be mounted… as if anyone could really prepare for that first time. His partner had rimmed him, worked his tongue on him until he was crazy with wanting him inside. It felt so good… he wanted to try it on Taylor, yet…
	From his otherwise silly-looking position, Taylor said, “Touch the tip of your cock against the tailhole; let’s see if you’re still as slick as I think you are.”
	“I don’t want to hurt you.”
	“We’ll take it slowly. Trust me.”
	Stripes moved forward, his knees pressed against the edge of the bed, aiming his cock at the vulnerable tailhole and pressing gently. Just rubbing against it turned him on further; he felt himself get harder, imagining pressing inside.
	“I’ve got plenty of lube here,” Taylor teased. “Put your fingers at the tip of my cock. You’ve got me so hot that I’m a virtual fountain of pre-cum.”
	The raccoon saw that the shepherd’s belly fur was already damp and matted. He moved his paw upward to the tip of the pup’s penis and felt the occasional bursts of dampness coming from it. He grinned as he felt his fingers becoming slick to the touch. He reached down and pressed the wet fingers against the tailhole, moistening it, loosening it slightly as Taylor moaned his approval. One finger slipped just inside, and Stripes could hear his tutor’s clearly delighted moan; he wiggled the finger a little, making Taylor twitch happily.
	“Try two fingers, just easy at first.”
	Stripes felt some pre-cum on the tip of his own cock and used this to help moisten two fingers. He placed them side by side, touching the shepherd’s tailhole softly, pushing only a little. It felt as if Taylor were somehow opening himself, willing himself to open up for the ‘coon (is that how it works?). The two fingers met a little resistance, but only a little. Taylor was again panting deeply, his tongue lolling almost comically. Stripes grinned. “Think you’re ready?”
	“Let’s find out.”
	Guiding his cock with one hand, Stripes aimed the tip at the sweet, moist tailhole and pushed very gently against it. The muscular ring seemed to open to admit more of him, then clench back a little, admit a bit more, and clench back. Taylor had moved his hind paws to Stripes’ chest, pressing them against the firm muscles, toes playing with the soft cinnamon fur and the nipples beneath. Nearly half of his length inside the pup, Stripes moved his forepaws to Taylor’s thighs to give himself some leverage. “You okay?” he asked.
	“Yes, love,” Taylor panted. “I’m wonderful. Push, my baby, push into me, take me, take all of me…”
	Stripes gripped the thighs and shoved himself inside the shepherd, bringing a deep grunt from both of the randy males. The ‘coon felt his member gripped by the velvet vise of Taylor’s tailhole, the sensation greater, more intense than he could ever have imagined or dreamt of. His paws still held Taylor’s hind paws to his chest, and he bent his muzzle to kiss and lick at them, to tickle the pads, to taste and smell the sweat from them, adding to the signature scent that he had already memorized. All these sensations combined to trigger something in him, as if some decision had been made somewhere deep in a primal mind, something bigger than both of them, that had to happen, that had to happen now, and as his brain was filled with the sensations of scent, and warmth, and the powerful muscles of the mighty males now locked together in passion, Stripes began to move himself.
	Almost as if someone else were in control now, the raccoon felt himself moving his hips slowly back, and forward again, and back, and forward, his cock harder than he’d ever remembered it being, pulling partly out and pushing back again into Taylor’s tailhole. His forepaws moved forward along Taylor’s legs as the shepherd moved his paws away from Stripes’ chest, downward, wrapping around the ‘coon’s waist and pulling him ever deeper inside the pup’s tailhole. Stripes, eyes half closed in near hypnotic concentration, moved his paws down, finding and stroking Taylor’s thick, wet shaft, using both paws to hold tight, to become ever more slick with the shepherd’s pre-cum. He began matching the rhythm of his thrusting cock with the powerful grip on the canine cock, hearing Taylor’s voice crying out to him, hearing his own grunting become more swift, more intense, harder, deeper, pounding himself into his tutor, his tail flashing insanely, his fur moving, shifting, every muscle in his body striving, reaching, begging, praying, crying out for…
	Stripes screamed something with no words, feeling Taylor’s body shift upward as he howled like the moon was full, his tailhole clenching, his cock spewing rope after rope of thick hot cum all over the raccoon’s paws, as he felt himself grinding deeply into the shepherd’s tailhole, his pulsing prick exploding a seemingly endless flow of hot seed to coat the inside of his lover’s body. Taylor held the ‘coon deep inside for long moments as the two of them shuddered and bucked and trembled against each other.
	Spent, Stripes began to feel his legs try to buckle underneath him. He withdrew from Taylor’s most intimate embrace and managed to maneuver himself to fall onto the bed next to the shepherd with a grunt, finally rolling onto his back, panting furiously. With something like a chuckle, Taylor moved just enough to cuddle next to the young raccoon and hold him tenderly in his arms. It was a blissful number of moments before either could speak.
	“That…” Stripes finally managed “…was wonderful.”
	“It certainly was,” Taylor grinned. “Even better than I could have hoped.”
	The silence between them stretched. Stripes fidgeted a bit before asking, “Was I okay?”
	Taylor propped himself up on one elbow, his other paw reaching to touch the ‘coon’s muzzle tenderly. “Far more than okay,” he said softly. “You are a wonderful lover, and I hope that I’m lucky enough to enjoy you more in the future.” He put a finger to the raccoon’s lips. “It’s all right. I told you that I would give you back your heart. It is yours. The only commitment I will ever ask of you is that you be truthful with me. Nothing more.”
	“I guess I don’t really know how this works,” Stripes said. “The whole boyfriend thing.”
	“Those aren’t choices we should make now.” Taylor smiled. “Let this be what it is, and we’ll see what happens. I am your friend, yes. Perhaps I can be a mentor. This can be a second home for you, whenever you need or want it. And beyond that… that’s for later.”
	Stripes snuggled closer into Taylor’s embrace. “I still don’t understand.”
	“Want to know a secret?”
	The raccoon nodded silently.
	“No one does.” Taylor kissed him softly on his muzzle. “Let’s sleep a little. Are you comfortable?”
	“Yes.” Stripes smiled. “You’re not going to punish me for sleeping in class?”
	“Let’s call it nap-time. Milk and cookies after.”
	“Thank you, Teacher.”
	Taylor chuckled. “You’re welcome, my sweet ringtail.”
	Stripes, feeling completely safe for the first time in years, drifted sweetly off to sleep.