>stories>Fixate>Sin City 2000, Type 2: Snow Furries in Heat
Sin City 2000 
by "Fixate" 

Narrated by Timothy Freeze 

Type 2: Snow Furries in Heat

“Ah, home sweet home. This beats your alleyway box any day, doesn’t it?” 

The previously homeless Freeze family, surprise guests of the super eccentric red fox, Seymour J. Polypophilacopolis, slowly pulls up to a grand mansion only a fur like Seymour would want. Bubblegum pink paint with royal purple shingles, and neon green window trim. Maybe all these acres of well cut grass are really Astroturf. Maybe foam rubber. When Seymour, Crystal, Mother, and I have filed out of his purple limousine, I take the time to examine the landscape. It's real grass. It's probably extremely acidic grass, but real and a lush green none the less. The sky here, as everywhere else, all year round, is a dismal shade of gray. At least the snow clouds haven't reached here yet, so some daylight is able to break through. 

"Wow! Mother. Tim. Look. Green grass. How pretty." Crystal's never seen unburned grass. Her body's starting to process all that food she took in earlier and her limbs and neck are starting to puff up. Seymour has her over his shoulder and she looks in amazement at his vast land as he and Mother walk towards the mansion's huge double doors. Soon they enter the funhouse. 

As I walk past the front of the limousine, I realize that I'd never seen or heard Seymour talk to the driver. I jump on the hood, press my face against the windshield, and find the car completely empty. I had gotten out the second the car had stopped, so the driver couldn't have escaped unnoticed. Interesting. The car had waited for all of us to get in, had driven away from our 'home' downtown, had stopped here, and, as I get off and Seymour enters his mansion, now heads for the garage, all without verbal cues or seemingly anything from Seymour or anyone. It's so perfect, I doubt there's a single high and might who drives. Does the limousine’s driver door have a handle? Does the limousine have a driver door? I didn't check? Point is, there's no need for it here.

"Wow, Mr. Seymour. What a lovely house you have.” Mother looks at all the expensive paintings lining the turquoise marbled hallway. There are statues and swords, as well as an urn of peppermints and a three dimensional, holographic security model of the mansion’s interior. We are the only ones in here, or at least the only furs here. Seymour herds us towards the downstairs bathroom and tells the tub to run some warm water. Green clovers on a yellow background for wallpaper, brown and olive tiled floor, white stucco ceiling, and onyx fixtures. Not half bad.

“Yes, I know, madam. After you all have gotten yourselves cleaned up and everything, feel free to look around.” An appropriate, high and mighty answer, if I’ve ever heard one. Seymour plops Crystal in the sink, which, though fairly large, just snugly fits around her gurgling stomach, and then so that he can run some warm water over her, he pulls out the extendible faucet, and hoses her down. With nowhere else to go after washing over her stretched pelt, the water runs all over the countertop, falls on the floor, and is sucked under to keep it dry. Nice. Mother opens the cabinet under the sink to get some shampoo, finds it completely bare, and with a command from Seymour, the faucet starts spewing shampooed water. Well, isn’t that convenient. Now that I think of it, the limousine’s driver door did have a handle, too. Seymour hands the faucet to Mother. 

“Wow, Mr. Seymour. This is quite an amazing house you’ve got here.” Mother shampoos and scritches Crystal’s fur as I jump into the tub. When’s the last time I had a warm bath? When’s the last time I had a bath period? I tell the tub to run some shampoo out of its multiple jets, grab one of Seymour’s neon green, artificial coral... thingy, and start scrubbing myself like the high and mighty do. Not quite as nice as a good scritch from someone else, but still very effective. 

“Oh, madam. There’s nothing fancy in this house. Everything installed in here is just standard stuff.” Modesty? What is this, his cabin? Is his choice of colors standard, too? I wonder what else comes out of these vents. I tell it to run some wine and am somewhat disturbed when it does. I quickly switch it back over to a bit more shampoo, look at Seymour, and he gives me that ‘what can I say’ smile. The high and might probably would go around reeking of a wine bath. Why drink it, when you can wear it? He turns to leave. “If any of you need me, just holler.” 

Crystal yips, flails her pudgy limbs, and wags her clean white tail happily. Seymour laughs, helps Mother turn her over onto her stomach, and leaves with a smile as Mother cleans and scritches Crystal’s back. After she’s finished, Mother spends some time pushing Crystal’s portly body out of the sink, Crystal falls asleep on the countertop, and Mother pads over to the tub to wash and scritch my back. After I’m clean, the water is a mess, so I drain it, the tub automatically cleans itself, and then it’s refilled for Mother. I run her a steaming hot, bubble bath, and she murrs as she gets comfortable in it. 

As she lays there with her eyes closed and her limbs over the sides, I start to gently scrub her body down with another artificial coral. She looks so peaceful, so serene, so... lovely. I shine up her silky coat to a glossy white and gently scritch her entire body from top to bottom, being sure to gentle when I scrub her teats with my hand pads and comb my claws through her muff fur. Then she turns over and I clean and scritch her shapely back and bottom and wash and comb her tail until it’ll dry nice and fluffy. 

Mother murrs that she likes the scritching better, too.

When Mother’s body is finally clean, we get out, drop to all fours, and start shaking ourselves off. Seymour walks into the bathroom in the middle of our drying, gasps, and hands us a couple of towels. Mother and me smile weakly, stand up, take the towels from him, and start drying ourselves off ‘properly’. Seymour uses another towel to dry Crystal off, then slides her off the sink, and back onto his shoulder. Mother and me follow him back into and down the hallway. 

“So, what do the high and mighty do alone in their house's anyway, Mr. Seymour?", I ask when we reach his living room. It’s huge, with a large fireplace in its center, lots of cushy chairs of all shapes, styles, and colors stationed throughout it, a wall's length of probably never touched books, and a massive, high definition television at one end. Marble floor, wooden walls, and a really high, ornately tiled ceiling. Very nice.

"Watch television to better ourselves, of course. STV and its S-chip still has some use, education wise", Seymour states as he plops Crystal on the floor just close enough for the screen to take up most of her field of vision. 

"STV? S-chip?", Mother asks as Seymour tells the screen to turn on and go to a western. 

"Subliminal television. Mind altering programs made legal by persuading the jury with it, and capable of controlling all five senses or inducing years of knowledge in hours. Would you like a demonstration? What would you like to know or experience?" Mother and me look at each other, quickly at the screen, and then at Seymour. Neither of us want to be syndicated. Crystal can use some smartening up though. A demonstration? 

"Hmmm. Crystal? Say Seymour's full name three times fast." This should be interesting. 

"Um, See more, uh... Seamer, seer seer. *Hee hee hee*." I turn to Seymour and cock my head to the side, he hmmms, and then turns to call a view request channel. This should be very interesting, and a little amusing, too. After he's gone, I start exploring the house, room by colorful room, floor by colorful floor. After about the tenth techno-colored room, I start to get the impression that the colors aren't as randomly thrown out as I'd like to think they are. 

My last stop is the massive, master bathroom on the second floor. The floor's elegantly tiled in a ornate pattern of bright purple and green, the walls are tiled entirely in mirrored glass, as is the inside of the door, making the room seem to be infinitely big with it's two bay windows multiplied all over the place. Overhead, the ceiling has been professionally airbrushed into a violent, apocalyptic storm of all shades of orange. I spend a good five minutes staring up into it. Whoever painted it had definitely taken their work seriously. The indigo bathroom fixtures flow seamlessly into and out of the floor and walls, with not a single corner to mar the trippiness. The motion sensitive lights are mathematically structured into the bubble vanity to cleanly light the entire room in, thank Gawd, white light, without the lights being out of place. At least the shaggy towels, rugs, seat cover, wash clothes, and clothes hamper are also indigo. The tub, which can probably comfortably fit all four of us, turns into a shower by a long, seamlessly hidden chain of indigo, vertical strips sliding out of the wall on your right, around the track on the tub, and locking into the wall on your left. Voice activated.

After the room finally looses its appeal, I'm ready to exit, but then pick up the sounds of Mother and Seymour walking straight for this bathroom. I panic, turn my head to the hamper, and am gone from sight just as the slightly ajar door is opened all the way. Mother, who is now in one of Seymour's royal purple bath robes, gasps. 

"Whoa. Uh. Seymour, this one is definitely... colorful. Imaginative. *Hmmm*... and so..." Disturbing? She looks like she wants to say it. She looks like she wants to roll on the floor laughing. She gives him a 'I know this is the best you could ever do, so I have no choice but like it' smile. Homeless quickly become professionals at making this face. 

"Beautiful" Seymour's looking at Mother. She cocks her head to the side, sees he's talking about her, and sighs happily. Seymour slowly circles around her, and passes his ebony furred hand over her shoulder, the side of her muzzle, up her side, down her back, smiles into her eyes, and then they rub noses. Seymour momentarily steps back, and Mother drops the robe to the tiled floor. She looks much better natural anyway. 

"Exquisite" One word comments from him is all she needs. She slowly unbuttons his shirt and plays her pudgy hand over his muscular chest, her off-white fur blending flawlessly with his. She licks his chest, then neck, and then hugs him, her arms under his shirt. She stays like this for a while, and he stands there with his eyes closed, his muzzle on the top of her head, and his gentle hands scritching and massaging her back. She starts to cry. 

"Oh. I'm so sorry." Seymour slowly moves Mother away from him and tilts her head up to look into his eyes at these words from her. She closes her eyes and turns her head in shame. He swallows. 

"For what, madam? What is wrong? What can I do?" I have an urge to go out there and comfort her also, but I suspect that I know what the problem is. I think I'm starting to suffer from the same thing. 

"I can't do it. I can't get into it. It's been too long, and the cold has sapped me of all compassion. I have my pups and my body tells me that I don't need to mate anymore." She shakes her head and cries harder. "The cold has killed my emotions. I’m so sorry." 

"No. That's so cruel." His voice and regal accent make him sound like he's innerly laughing at her. I think Mother notices this this time and cries harder. She sprawls out on the floor and starts whimpering. He has his hands on his muzzle and he glares at his closest reflection. "That shall not be. No fur should be so lost. I will not stand for such mental cruelty." And with that, he's running down the hall on all fours. I don't know what he'll do, but if anyone has the means of helping her out of this situation, it's him.

With Seymour gone, and Mother too teary eyed to know where I came from, I carefully climb out of the hamper and nuzzle up to Mother's face. "What's wrong, Mother? Why are you crying like this? Did Seymour do something to you?" Hey, it’s worth a try. 

She looks sadly into my eyes and licks my face. "No, Tim. Well... he made me realize how fortunate we are to be off the streets. He made me realize that nature, not society, kills us in the worse ways possible, and without remorse." Well, the high and mighty helps in that cause. Mother then goes back to sobbing and I lay there by her side for an unmeasured amount of time, maybe it's a couple minutes, maybe a half hour or more, whispering words of comfort and 'I still love you's to her whenever they come to me. Then there's the sound of running coming back towards the bathroom. I disappear into the hamper before he turns the corner. 

"Fear not, madam. I shall restore your lost fire of compassion, and help you concur this cruelty that nature has struck on you. Wahahahaha." As he gallops back into the room with a wine bottle brandished in his narrow maw, all I can think is that I hope to Gawd that he was a lot more sane while mixing his elixir than he is now. He drops the bottle beside her, stands, and stops to catch his breath and calm down. "Please have a sip, madam. If it does not help your situation, it will at least make you feel better." 

Mother slowly lifts her head and looks up at Seymour, who sits down, opens the bottle, and gently presses it to her lips. She slowly drinks a couple gulps of it, then he sets the bottle to the side, and helps her stand up. As she stares distantly at her reflection with glazed eyes, he slowly rubs her from the head down to her toes, then scritches her neck, shoulders, back, and tail. Next, he licks her face, the sides of her neck, and finally takes the time to thoroughly moisten each teat from top down, zigzags his nose from the middle of her neck down to her crotch, and then stays there nuzzling and licking inside of her. She smiles. She puts an off-white paw on his head, he slowly licks from side to side, she closes her eyes and smiles more. Next he crawls under her legs, catches her long, sweeping tail, brings it back under her legs, and starts tickling her insides with the tip as she caresses her upper right and middle left teat with her padded fingers. Her head very slowly swings from side to side as she mrrrs. Seymour has brought her back from the dead for a second time. 

"Oooo. I like this. I feel so lovely, so wanted, so... hot. Mmmm. Seymour? I'm burning up!" She's panting, but it's not from desire. Seymour nods, goes over to the vanity, takes out a small cup, fills it with water from the faucet, and turns around to find Mother with the elixir bottle in her mouth. The cup hits the floor as Seymour yelps. He curses himself for being so careless, starts to dive for the bottle, and then stops. Now, he just stands there waggling his finger at her and a toothy grin on his face, as he waits for Mother to gulp down the bottle's entire contents. Mother has pulled a ‘Crystal’. 

Seymour looks at the cup on the floor by his feet, the bottle Mother's greedily draining, the empty tub at the side of the room, the bottle again, and taps his muzzle twice as he runs some numbers through his head. 

"Tub, really cold water, all the way to the top, all jets", he commands, and in a second's time the huge tub has puked up its total volume in freezing water. Mother has just finished the bottle, yelps, and shoots to the ceiling. Seymour catches her on the way back down, spins towards the direction of the tub, and launches her over and into the tub. Isn’t he worried about shock, or her cramping? She flounders, gasps for air, then pulls herself under, and starts gulping down water. Seymour cocks his head to the side, folds his arms across his chest, and taps his foot. Soon Mother resurfaces with a refreshed expression on her face. She murrs and closes her eyes. Her ears are drooped down and she’s slowly scratching the top of the tub with her fingers and toes. So, what’s he so worried about then? 

"Are you feeling better now, madam?" I think he really is trying to be sarcastic this time, but his accent makes him sound the same. Mother opens her eyes part way, pants happily, gulps down some air, and then goes underwater again. My Gawd, the water’s starting to steam from her generated heat! Seymour turns to the sink, pulls out the faucet, and waits, leaning casually on the countertop. After a moment’s thought and a quick check on the tub, he orders some lemon-lime soda, and sprays it into his mouth. Standard indeed. 

Mother jumps to her feet, panting excitedly. The water is boiling, and her silky white fur is steaming and fluffed up. There seems to be a lot more of her now, and not just because of her fur. Mother shutters, jumps out of the tub, and lands heavily on all fours. My Gawd, can it be? She’s preg! 

"Sink, really cold water, full power", Seymour commands, pointing the faucet at Mother, who stands up and spins so that he can try to cool off her steaming body. She's consumed a huge amount of water, but she's probably carrying very little of it in her stomach. Her expanded underbelly looks like she's ready to drop another litter, or two, the bottom’s divided into six equal sections of bulging mounds, topped by teats as thick and long as her pudgy fingers and toes. Seymour aims the hose directly into her mouth, and she goes back onto all fours, then on her preg belly, which isn’t much of a drop, and finally rolls over onto her back, as she greedily takes in more and more. Nobody touches her body, but as time goes by and she slowly pregs more and more, she starts... jump-starting, more and more. I unfortunately lean on the side of the hamper, and suddenly find myself on my side on the floor, half way out of the top of the hamper. Seymour turns his head in my direction, tisks, smiles at Mother, and then gives me that 'what can I say' smile. I reset the hamper and Mother yiffs and mrrrs. 

We have ignition. 

"Oh my Gawd! Yes! Yes!", Mother loudly yiffs, jerking there in the middle of the floor. Her body looks way, way past due now, and her teats... wow. They're now as thick as her wrists, half as long as her feet, and cherry red. Her six-pack, which were before just large lumps on her underbelly, now are starting to balloon into shaggy, top-shaped... breasts, each as big around as Crystal's belly and competing for free space. Her own super preg waterbed is steaming heavily and Seymour continues to hose cold water into her mouth. As she yiffs and moans loud enough to be heard all over the vast mansion, the temperature in the room rises to sauna conditions. All the glass has already steamed up. Mother contorts, and her six-pack of long, red cannons fire scalding hot milk onto the ceiling again and again and again. Should I salute? Some of it falls on me and I can’t help but try to taste it. Even Crystal’s past weaning, but why let this go to waste? Her eyes roll back so far that she looks supernatural as her long tongue whips more and more water down her long throat. Her fur fluffs up to max, steams her into a mirage, and her lovely winter coat sheds like a blizzard. I hope she doesn’t become naked. I start making my way around her awkwardly. 

"*Nnnngh, nnnngh, haoooooo*..." As she goes critical, her high pitched howl continues to increase in octave until finally all the walls and windows crack and shatter to the floor. I am so shocked by this and her ear splitting voice, that I'm completely unprepared for the water cannon blast she fires in my direction. Why am I over here? Just lucky, I guess. 

Thankfully it misses me by inches, else not only would I have been knocked unconscious by the force of the blast, but probably also burned to death from the heat of it. Mother yiffs again, lets out a high pitched whine, and I take off like a bullet as another high pressure blast pounds the wall. Seymour turns off the faucet. Mother flexes, and it's raining milk again. Wall, ceiling, wall, wall, ceiling, wall, ceiling, ceiling, moan, stew, sonic burst, wall. Now she's going completely ballistic on the room's surfaces. It's getting really hot in here. She yiffs three times and then proceeds to drain herself with all seven guns on full automatic and her sonic wail pinning the needle. I can hardly see the tip of my muzzle through this fog. 

When the steam finally clears, she's in a very deep and happy sleep, and I'm petrified. Seymour just stands there with a glassless monocle grinning from ear to ear and staring into space. I guess he’s petrified, too. He slowly turns his emerald eyes to look into mine. We lock eyes, then his gaze slowly drops down my body, and stops below me. He snickers, resets the faucet in its original position, and then leaves to get a vacuum. What’s so funny? Uh oh. Hoping to hell that I'm not doing what I think I'm doing, I look down on myself and find both hands subconsciously stroking my rigid unsheathed member and a tiny puddle in front of me. Damn. With a yelp, I'm out of that steamy room in a flash. 

When I finally get the nerve to come back, Mother is gone and all the glass has been removed from the squeeky clean floor. The ceiling is ruined and the walls are a sickly shade of adhesive gray. A water trail leads away down the hall, so I follow it over to the master bedroom. Mother's in the middle of the bed on a sheet sleeping peacefully, so after I check to make sure the bed or Mother's not going to spontaneously combust, I make my way back downstairs to see how Crystal is doing. Seymour's there at the foot of the stairs to give me that damn 'what can I say' grin again. I do my best to ignore him. Crystal yips at us happily, completely clueless of what has been going on, as she waddles in a wide circle to turn around. She can move now, and would survive quite well out in the cold, but I doubt she'll want to stay like this or worse. I suspect not all of the food has been digested yet. 

"So, can you say my name three times fast?", Seymour quizzes as he sits down between her and the screen. 

"SeymourJendrysikPolypophilacopolis SeymourJendrysikPolypophilacopolis SeymourJendrysikPolypophilacopolis, woo woo" Woo woo? The S-chip has worked quite well, but what's with the train sounds? "Chugga chugga, chugga chugga, woo woo" 

I turn to Seymour accusingly and he looks just as disturbed by her actions as I am. She is swinging her arms and legs in time with her chugging, and continues around the room in aimless circles. Seymour puts his hands on his muzzle, then shuts the screen off. I nod towards the still in their original packaging books along the wall, he smirks, and then is off to find out what the hell the corporation did to Crystal. 

"chugga chugga, chugga chugga, chugga chugga,..." 

Taking advantage of a weird moment, I build a small tunnel out of the books on the bottom shelf for Crystal to go through, and then head upstairs to check on Mother. Seymour is probably the only fur in this mansion that can read, anyway. I hurry down the hall, half expecting the room to be up in flames, but everything seems fine. I quickly tap the doorknob, half expecting it to be hot to the touch, but it’s not. Satisfied, I take hold of the knob, and as I turn it to open the door, I find it to be somewhat cold. I open the door, and an icy wind puffs free into the hallway. Climate control to counteract her body? Very overcompensated. 

As I step closer and closer to the bed, I realize that it is Mother who is chilling the room. What was before steams of sweat, is now sub zero vapor that slides along the floor. Mother breathes heavily as her body shifts from one sleeping position to the next. Her frosty teats are as hard as rocks, and every once in a while and whenever I touch her, her tight, shapely body shivers and surges. What the hell has Seymour done to my Mother? She’s cold and clammy, but mrrring. Will she go back to normal, or is she going to have to learn to control these dramatic temperature changes? Some fur would have one hell of a time mating with her. There's a sound out in the hallway, and I'm under the bed in a flash. I seem to be instinctively embarrassed, maybe for a good reason. I don't see him come in. 

"How would you like to come with me to the grand opening of my restaurant. It just might do you a world of good and it's guaranteed to be a global phenomenon." He's grinning at me from on top of the bed. Do me a world of good? Probably means that I'll meet unrelated furs of the opposite sex. I laugh weakly as he helps me out from under the bed. Mother starts yiffing as we exit into the hallway and Seymour shuts the bedroom door. Do I feel a draft? 

Downstairs, Crystal crashes into the tunnel of books, backs up, and eventually snaps out of her weird trance. Somewhere out there in that big corporate world, someone is rolling on the floor laughing, while someone else is looking for him or her with a loaded weapon.

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