Sometimes I forget just how many stories I’ve got “waiting.” I’ll get an idea, and I’ll develop it until I feel like I’ve got enough to go on, and I’ll start writing… but something will happen, and I’ll stop. Maybe I’ll hit a point in the story where I just don’t know how to continue, or some other, much more interesting idea will steal my attention, or maybe I’ll just fall into one of my phases where I don’t write. Well, hopefully that last is mostly behind me, at least.
But every once in a while I suddenly realize I’ve got an old story waiting for me. I hope to come back to them sooner or later, but for now, it doesn’t hurt to share what I’ve got. Today, I’m going to share the opening to a chapter of my Amante Senz’anima story series, which you can find on SoFurry easily and on FurAffinity with a bit of following links in the descriptions. If you haven’t already read these stories, I should warn you now that they involve artificial people created for sex that have the stature of children. These raise some compelling emotional possibilities, and I’ve enjoyed tracing their history through a parallel to our own timeline. So far we’ve seen their origin in Renaissance Italy all the way through to the 19, ah…. 60’s, I think? Perhaps it was 70’s. Either way, this episode is set in the 50’s. I’ve rather enjoyed trying to place each piece firmly and noticeably in its own setting, as much as I understand it, and exploring how the story of the Sugardolls has developed alongside that of “humanity,” or its furry equivalent.
One last warning, this following is NSFW and contains highly objectionable material! If you don’t know what you’re getting into or you’re under 18, please stop here.
“Please, could I have some food?”
Slush framed every shoeprint as the road thawed in the late afternoon. It was December, and the air was only crawling above freezing for a few hours. Work was letting out in the factories nearby, and broad, blocky cars filled the street, trailing thick tails of exhaust. The sidewalks were similarly crowded with milling crowds of grimacing workers, most but not all pushing in the same direction. Taverns were filling, the market was a-buzz, but here, this close to the industrial district, main street was little more than an array of overpriced shops peddling meat, liquor, and painkillers. Few looked down at the little girl.
“Sir, can’t you feed me? I’m hungry…”
She wore a man’s grimy undershirt, trailing down over her feet and caked with mud. She was a vixen, clutching at little fistfuls of her single garment, bare little feet kicking out from under her shirt occasionally as she followed after a worker a few steps now and then, pleading quietly, before finally returning to her little alcove between two trash cans.
“Food? Could I have some food, please?”
Big, orange eyes followed the grim faces rushing by high above. All it took was a single, curious glance down at her for her to beg and chase after a man, and they would hurry away all the faster, often slipping on the slick ground and nearly bowling others out of the way. Standing in a sheltered doorway nearby, collar pulled high against the cold, only one man dared to watch her for long.
“I haven’t eaten in days… please, sir!”
Finally, scurrying against the current of gruff, tired males, a pair of women, dogs in thick but finely made coats, came rushing along arm in arm. One of them stopped, and gaped at this little girl, stumbling about in this abominable weather with one shoulder hanging out of the collar of her shirt. “Oh, my god!” She rushed close, pulling off her coat, starting to speak to the child, when the other grabbed at her arm and whispered in her ear. The first blinked, and paled, rising to her feet again. She stared a moment, lips working in a tight purse before she finally declared, “somebody should call the police! We need to get this thing cleared out of here at once!” She stormed off, hauling her friend in tow. The girl had never even looked at her– she’d twisted around the woman to peer up at the men as they turned to flow around the disruption. The women disappeared, and the girl called on.
“I just want something to– glkk!”
A trash can bowled over with a clatter as a man loomed over the girl, one paw knotting in her hair, once bright red, now closer to brown. He was mashing her face into the crotch of his pants, her lips stretched wide, and dark red flesh glistened between them in bare fractions of a second now and again as he rocked firmly against her head. Those big eyes tried to roll up toward him, but he turned her head down roughly, jamming her muzzle right down into his fly. Men found a great deal of interesting things to look at on the other side of the road as they streamed past. She practically hung from his grip as a fat bulge rolled up and down her neck, and the man snarled softly. And just as suddenly, he tossed her to the ground and turned to disappear into the crowd. She lay sprawled in the ice, mouth hanging open, a string of pearly white curled over her lower lip.
“Thank you, sir.”
Lithier 