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Troy was putting his work shoes on, ready to head out to the foundry for the night shift. He looked back towards the kitchen, seeing Karen putting a bowl of ravioli in the microwave. He buttoned up his shirt and grabbed his lunch box, walking out towards her.

"Hey babe," he said. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"Yeah," said the vixen as the microwave timer rang out, indicating her bowl of ravioli was sufficiently heated.

"You say that, put your face says differently," the wolf said. "You really okay with it?"

"I am," she said, sitting down at the tiny dining room table. "We could really use the money."

"I know," he said, giving a long sigh. "I'm going to miss that bass too. Well, suppose I should get going, don't wanna be late, you know."

"Bye," she said in between bites of her ravioli.

"Bye, and don't take less than a grand for it" he said, heading out the door.

"Yeah, bye, you worthless bastard," she said under her breath.

As soon as the door to their apartment shut, Karen's facial expression went form mild sorrow to scorn, contempt. How had this happened to her? Troy had not only robbed her of three years of her life, but he had spent her entire inheritance that her parents left her after they were killed in an auto accident when she was eighteen. Finishing her ravioli, she rinsed the bowl out, but left it in the sink. Sighing, she walked out to the tiny living room of their apartment. There it was over in the corner. She knelt down, opening the latches of the bass case. Inside was her boyfriend's Rickenbacker 4003 model bass guitar, finished in black. She remembered the first time she'd seen that bass, the first time she had seen Troy playing it with his old band, Fatalistic Outlook, it was like something out of a movie.

Karen's parents had passed away six months before she had met Troy. Going out with some of her girlfriends, she sneaked into a bar where his band was playing. There he was, this tall, handsome wolf playing that funny looking bass with its biting, treble sound. Most girls would have been interested in the singer, or perhaps the lead guitarist, but she had eyes only for that wolf playing the bass. She met him in between sets, told him her name was Karen, and they seemed to hit it off right away. He managed to get her into all the clubs to see his gigs, and she was just completely smitten with him, his looks, his personality, his skill playing bass guitar, how good he was in bed. It was all there.

Only two months after meeting, they moved in together and Troy learned that Karen had $50,000 to her name that her parents had left her after their untimely deaths. The idea of turning Fatalistic Outlook into a professional touring band with an album surfaced in his mind, and he was able to talk her into letting him have a portion of the money. A portion. That seemed like some sick joke now to the vixen. Not long after Troy had talked his band mates into turning professional, Fatalistic Outlook began to fall apart. First they took twice as long recording their album, resulting in higher studio costs. Troy had argued with their rhythm guitarist and main songwriter over song arrangements and how to split the royalties. Not long after the album was completed, Fatalistic Outlook fired their drummer for his over indulgence of certain recreational substances, not that the others were guilty as well, but he was snorting or shooting up much of the money Karen had given the band for their new career as professionals musicians.

If all that wasn't bad enough, the band never got a record deal, so they were left literally trying to sell their album out of the back of the band's bus after gigs. This lead to even further internal band problems, mainly caused by Troy claiming that he had final say in everything since it was his girlfreind that was paying for everything. All this bickering finally boiled over one night at a gig when Troy got so angry, and was so drunk that he punched the singer in the face. After that, Fatalistic fired Troy and broke up soon after.

With only a few thousands dollars left from the original fifty grand, Troy had no choice but to go back to the foundry. Bitter, near broke, his drinking got worse. There were mornings he came home and Karen could smell booze on him as he stumbled around the apartment. How he managed to keep from plowing into someone with his truck was anyone's guess. If Karen thought that his drinking was bad, she was horrified when one of her girlfriends told her that Troy's foundry was down to three days of work a week, and tonight was one of the nights that he wasn't suppose to work, though he assumed Karen was blissfully unaware of this. Her girlfriend told her that Troy had earned a reputation at the bar for being a degenerate gambler. It started with Sunday football games, then college basketball games, and finally just on any fucking thing in the world. The girlfriend claimed that Troy would practically bet on two cockroaches running across the floor, or how long it would take for someone at the bar to go to the bathroom and piss. Hearing the news, Karen cried herself to sleep that night, wondering how she could have picked such a rotten guy to be with.

With a heavy heart, she closed the bass guitar case, knowing that with the ad Troy had posted on Craigslist, it would soon be gone. Losing that bass was like losing the last part of a happier time, or perhaps, a perceived happier time. He'd already sold the Ampeg amp head and speaker cabinet two weeks ago--probably pissing it away on booze and losing bets, so this was it. Th last piece of his musical gear. She sat down on her chair, hearing rain hitting the windows. She heard there might be a thunderstorm later on. Just great. Probably the night some crazy knife wielding maniac would show up and slice her up. She picked up her lap top computer. Opening it, she checked her email. There were no responses to the Craigslist post yet, but that could change in a heartbeat.

Putting her earbuds in, she turned her phone on to play some music--anything to drown out the sound of the damned rain. She looked around on the internet, reading what was trending on Facebook and wishing she could update her relationship status to "single", but that didn't seem likely at the moment. She and Troy were down to one vehicle, forcing her to get a ride from a friend to go to work at the beauty parlor during the week. They were almost broke, all her friends were just getting by, her parents were dead, and the closest relative she had was her maternal grandmother who was in a nursing home, suffering from dementia and had no idea who she was anymore. There looked to be no way out, no way of getting rid of Troy short of beating him to death with a hammer in his sleep, but she knew that would only end up in her being sent to prison, though she would argue that it was a justifiable homicide.

She looked over at the bottom right corner of her laptop screen. There was a new email message from someone. She clicked on it and saw that it was a response to Troy's ad.

"I'm very interested in the bass guitar. Would you possibly be able to meat tonight to sell it, that is, if it's still available."

Karen responded that it was still available and that if this person wanted to buy it, they needed to come to her house. This would have scared many people off, as there were all those horror stories floating around the internet of Craigslist encounters gone bad. She wasn't too worried, though one could never let their guard down completely in the presence of strangers.

"That's perfectly fine. If you give me your address, I'll be there as quickly as possible. I have cash in paw."

Looked like the first responder to the ad might turn out to be the buyer too. Karen. She heard the rain intensify and briefly turned up the volume of her music, but quickly decided to rescind the action. She didn't want the music to be so loud that she wouldn't be able to hear this guy when he knocked on her apartment door--hopefully without some sort of lethal weapon in his paws. She kept looking at the laptop's clock, seeing five minutes go by, ten minutes, twenty, thirty, forty . . .

She was about ready to doze off when she heard a light knocking at the door. Shaking her head, she sat the laptop down, pulled her earbuds out and went to the door. It was raining even harder than earlier, but still no thunder or lightning. Opening the door, she found a middle aged gray squirrel standing in the hall of the apartment building. Wearing thick glasses, a white button up shirt and tie with khaki pants, he looked like some sort of accountant or tax attorney to the vixen. He smiled politely at her.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but is this the residence that has the Rickenbacker bass?"

She cocked her head to the side, half expecting some younger beast to have responded to the post. "Yes, please come inside."

"Thank you," he said, giving her a nod.

Running over to where the base guitar was located, Karen felt the need to apologize about how the place looked. The squirrel brushed it off, saying everything was just fine.

"Please, have a seat if you'd like, sir," said the vixen.

The squirrel sat down on couch next to wear the bass guitar was at. Setting it on the coffee table, Karen unlatched the case, opening it up. He looked over it.

"May I?" he asked, obviously wanting to get it out of the cse.

"Of course," responded Karen.

The squirrel carefully lifted the bass guitar out of its case, gazing at it from the headstock to the very bottom of the body. He flipped it around, probably checking for any belt buckle rashes that might be there.

"Do you play?" asked Karen.

"Me," said the squirrel, turning his head towards the vixen. "Oh no, this is for my nephew--my sister's boy." The squirrel was about to go back to looking at the bass, when he lifted himself from the couch, extending his paw towards Karen.

"How rude of me," he said. "My name is Arthur."

"Karen," said the vixen, warmly shaking his paw before he sat back down and resumed looking the bass over.

"So, what is it you do for a living, Arthur?" asked Karen.

"I'm a CPA," he said.

"Ah," she said. "A certified public accountant. You must be very intelligent."

"Thank you," he said, briefly turning and smiling at her.

"If you're willing to spend so much on your nephew, I'd imagine that your children must get some really nice gifts," mused Karen.

"Oh," said Arthur, putting the bass back in its case. "Actually, I don't have any children. I've never even been married. I've never even . . ." He stopped himself before he could finish the sentence. Karen had a good idea of what he was going to say, but didn't press him for the information.

"So, what do you think of the bass?" asked Karen.

"Very nice," said Arthur. "I did quite a bit of research about this model, plus my nephew is always going on about how he's wanted a Rickenbacker bass for such a long time. I have the money, so I figure, why not get it for him?"

"Very noble of you," said Karen.

"Would you take $800 for it?" he asked.

She remembered what Troy had told her, not to take less than a grand for it. She wasn't sure if that was a reasonable amount or not, but she didn't want to hear him bitch and moan about getting cheated out of what he thought was the right price for the bass. Perhaps there was a way for her to use her feminine charm on Arthur.

"Oh," said Karen. "My boyfriend told me not to take less than a grand for it."

"A thousand dollars?" said Arthur, scratching his chin. "I'm not sure about that."

Karen grinned at him. Sensually, she slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of her blouse. She could tell from Arthur's change in expression that he had definitely noticed what she was doing. He couldn't take his eyes off her as she got up from her chair and sat down on the coffee table, almost right in front of Arthur.

"You know," said Karen. "I'm surprised that a guy like you isn't married. You seem to be such a perfectly nice gentleman."

"T-t-thanks," said Arthur, stuttering and still staring at her.

"You ever get lonely . . . Arthur?"

"S-s-sometimes," he said. "I'm . . ."

She giggled at him, pulling her blouse off, leaving her top covered only by a bra. Karen's large, luscious breasts practically touched Arthur as she kept up her act. Putting the bass guitar case on the floor, she laid down on her side, tail gently swaying back and forth as she grinned at Arthur. "Perhaps there's something else I could offer you if you were to offer me a higher price, hmm?"

"Oh," said Arthur. "I'm not sure if that's a goo idea, Karen. That's illegal, you know."

"Illegal," said the vixen, her voice dripping with sexual allure. "But not wrong, or unavailable. Tell me, don't you think you'd enjoy it?"

"Yeah," he said in a whisper. She was reeling him in.

"Then tell me," said Karen. "Are you willing to up your price?"

"Yeah," said Arthur, grinning.

"How much?" she asked.

Arthur, eyes still locked on Karen, reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He looked inside of it, counting all the money he had with him.

"I've got $2,000 right here," he said.

She couldn't believe that he was going to offer her so much money, but she didn't break character, still playing it super cool. "I think that's a fair price," she said. Getting up off the coffee table, she gently took hold of the squirrel's paw, leading him to the bedroom. He looked as though he were in some sort of trance until they made it inside and shut the door.

"I can't believe I'm finally doing this," said Arthur.

"Arthur," said Karen. "You've never had . . ."

"Sex?" said Arthur. "No, I've always been so shy around females, but when you were offering to let me, you know . . . I just had to try it."

"Sounds good to me," said the vixen, undoing her bra. She saw Arthur's jaw open in amazement as he got a look at her naked torso. Grinning, she went to him, helping the squirrel out of his clothes.

"Anything special you want?" asked Karen, unbuckling his belt.

"Um . . ." he said.

"Don't be shy, Arthur. What is it?"

He grinned. "Can I . . . can I cum in you?"

She giggled. "You sure can,"

The vixen was amazed at how Arthur, a somewhat on the shorter sized beast, was hung fairly well. Naked, Karen laid down on her back, her legs spread open for him to enter her. Still, he looked nervous about everything. She waved a paw at him.

"Don't keep a girl waiting, Daddy," she said.

His cock already erect, he grinned at being called "Daddy" by such an attractive girl. Climbing into bed with her, he looked in between her legs as he slowly entered her pussy. Karen whimpered as the squirrel eventually sank himself in to the hilt. The vixen was surprised that even though he claimed to be a virgin--which was probably true--he certainly knew what he was doing. She guessed that some poor sexual repressed beasts like Arthur probably watched tons of porn to deal with his sexual frustration. Just looking at him, she would have never guessed that he would like it so rough. He grabbed her breasts, squeezing tightly. Karen moaned loudly, not in pain, put pleasure. Troy had barely touched her anymore, so she not only needed the money, she needed this too. She begged him to fuck her harder, harder. He was a wild beast, pulling on her ears, digging his paws into her sides and giving her the vaginal pounding of a lifetime.

"Give to me, Daddy!" she shouted, feeling his cock stretch her vaginal walls apart.

Arthur leaned down and licked at her face and ears, bathing her with his tongue. She couldn't believe that an older guy with no sexual experience could be so wild . . . could give her the best fucking she'd ever had in her life. If it had been any better for her, she would have told him to keep the money.

"Oh . . . gonna . . . cum!" he groaned.

The vixen felt her insides flooded with his seed. Good as he was, she hadn't gotten her orgasm yet.

"You wanna go again?" she asked him.

"Is it going to cost extra?" he asked, panting, sweating

"On the house," she said, grinning at him. The way things were going, she could do this all night long.