It was a warm summer rain, the kind that people like to dance in. It offered relief from the heat of the afternoon. Lyna walked along the road in the middle of nowhere, heading west. Her short curly hair hung in ratty coils around her head. The thin strapped tank top she wore clung to her like a second skin. The dirt and grim that coated her body ran down her exposed skin in rivulets. Some people called her a hippie, though she wasn’t of that generation, nor did she wear typical hippie clothes. She ate meat. And she had no particular affinity to nature beyond liking the outdoors to the stuffy confines of a building. People called her a hippie because she rarely bathed, didn’t use soap, never masked her scent with fragrances, and she refused to shave anything. She kept her pubes trimmed and her hair short, but that was about it. She liked the way she smelled after several days of not washing. She was even aroused by the smell of her own urine. If she chose to bath in some fashion it. After all eyes adjusted for the dim lights, one of the men behind her gently lifted her skirt to her waist. She didn’t object, so he asked why she seemed to have a fox tail attached to a substantial butt plug. He tugged and shifted the tail causing her breathtaking pleasure as the other man behind her pat her bare cheeks then dropped to his knees for a better look at her distended, wrinkled hole and her damp, bare pussy.Bri gasped as one of the side men lifted the front of Vicki’s tiny skirt. She envied the exposed dark bush and waxed labia. If only she could be so daring. Vicki smiled, delayed, then answered, “We’re having a Valentine Day costume party. I’m bringing decorations. My costume is a fox. I have some orange body paint to complete the image. Even my ears are painted.” No one noticed her ears.One of the other side men pulled the single-tie bow holding her halter down. It popped open and he and an opposing friend pushed their ends under her arms then pulled the halter over.
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