After many weeks of training, you've become something of a ranger, and you are feeling more confident. Part of your last streak of training was to use your now-thick and tough paw-pads to excavate some native copper and smelt it down, using Reynard's handmade equipment to produce a good hunting knife, which you now toss in your hand-paw as you sit one evening next to Reynard's fire.
"Put some more manure on the fire, and quit playing with your knife like a kid," says the fox-man.
You snort. "I didn't realize you were my master," you say, feeling cocksure now that you've survived the past few weeks. Your body, having arrived in his house looking like the body of a scared, little victim, has become the body of a lean, taught fighting machine. You've been becoming a proud virago, and your bombshell tits have slowly shrunk down to more manageable C-cups, with powerful pecs underneath, after taking a beating from strenuous training. What were they before? E? Ouch, running with those had hurt.
Anyhow, Reynard gets up and struts over, looking down at you, and he says, "well, I didn't say I WASN'T your master...Vixie!"
"How about Boudica?" you say, not rising to his bait.
He gives your face a swat, although you know he isn't using a fraction of the force he's capable of unless you've just gotten that much more resilient to being struck. "I'll give you a new name when you earn it," he says with a sly expression.
You grin up at him in spite of the strike, since you know he's full of shit. He wouldn't put his nuts this close to your knife if he had meant something by that. "Okay, then," you say, your voice still oozing velvet machismo. "I'll let you pick the new name, bro, just since you've been good to me."
Reynard looks down into your eyes thoughtfully and lifts your chin with a finger. "I can't get over you being beautiful. And you're getting wiry and a bit more boyish. I like that. It fills up part of what's missing from most girls, and it's like they don't know they look better that way. I like the name Teufel."
"Rhymes a bit much with 'Toy-full,' don't it?" you observe. Somehow, though, you appreciate the name. You find yourself liking it. It sounds macho. "Teufel," you say, trying that on your tongue a few times.
He lets out a sigh for some reason and goes to sit down.
As you notice the dark shadows passing over his face, you feel a little real annoyance bubbling up in you. Outside of your training with him, you've been locked up in this cabin with him, breathing in his scent, and your loins have been on fire. "Dude, when are you going to stop moping about that dumb lizard!?"
He shakes his head and puts his hands over his eyes, as if holding back tears. "Don't start with this, Toy," he says desperately.
You stand up. "Come off it, Ray," you snap at him, shortening his own name back at him. "You're not the only one here that's got shit to deal with, you son-of-a-bitch."
He stands up, shoving his seat back against the wall, and he shouts, "Well, what do you expect me to do?"
"I'm pent-up, alright?" you admit. "You've been fucking with me. You say you're bi, but I'm starting to think you're just a fag."
"You can't say that!"
"Then I say I'm horny!" you snap.
"And then what do we feed the kits?" he says incredulously. "In this permafrosted limbo, you know we can barely feed ourselves. I had you make your own knife because I'm sick of filling the larder on my own. Two people training like they're trying to be athletes eat a lot!"
"Then fuck my asshole!" you shout. "Or let me blow you once in a while, so you'll calm the fuck down." You turn around and spread your legs lewdly, flagging your tail. "You ain't no stranger to uphill gardening, rude boy," you snarl.
He lurches up to you and grabs you around the waist. "Well, you think my training hurt, wait until I pop that virgin cherry, you filthy zankteufel."
He shoves his dog-meat rudely up against your ass-pucker, and you wonder what you've just gotten yourself into. Too late, you open your mouth to deescalate the situation, and your world becomes a mask of blinding pain that leaves your head pounding.
You feel...scolded? Denigrated? Chastized? You hurt, and you start to struggle as the fox-man shoves his cock up into your unfortunate butthole. Soon, though, the pain passes enough for you to see some of reality through it, and you realize he's still fucking you.
And now you're feeling...slutty...dirty...skanky...and unrepentent. You realize you're not sorry for what you've started, here. You start shoving back against that dog-dick, and you start cursing back to him. "Give it to me, you shit-stabber, give it to me," you grunt.
He reaches down between your legs to finger your snatch, and he growls roughly into your ear. "Yeah, push back, you bitch," he growls. "Push back." He turns the other hand to abusing your tits.
You keep shoving your hips back to ride that cock as his hips pound in an escalating motion. Soon, he shoves his knot up into you, and his seed jetting up into you. In spite of you not having a man's prostate, the feeling of warm seed being shot into you shoves you over the edge.
You and the fox man tumble onto his bed, knotted helplessly together with your breath coming in pants. Soon enough, you both start falling to sleep, and you don't remember how long it is before his knot pops out.
Yeah...he's too lost in his misery over that dragon to take on a mate, just yet. But friends can be...friends with benefits. Yeah. Just FWB.