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Description
Art by MathEw

Somewhere on the London and North Western Railway, Great Britain, 1904

The mighty express locomotive thundered its way across the country, its wheels spinning so much that the side rods were blurs. Bridges and stations flashed by. The landscape alternated between cities, towns and rolling fields practically within seconds.

A tall column of steam shot high into the air, leaving behind a dissipating trail which would tell people close by that a train had passed by: a vehicle which could effortlessly cover more ground than any motorcar or horse and buggy could hope. Those close to the tracks only seemed to hear a rhythmic “clackety-clack”, the sound of heavy breathing from what seemed like a giant, a rattle, a roar and it was gone.

Behind the magnificent tender engine, a new design known as a “Precursor Class”, a rake of ten or more coaches glided. Inside a particularly luxurious seating area, in one of the first class carriages, sat a young skunkette. Her eyes moved from the window, to the corridor outside her compartment and then to her suitor, a pig of a similar age.

She sat primly on the plush purple seat, a colour which almost matched her periwinkle fur and hair. He sat adjacent to her, tugging on the sleeves of his navy coat and unconsciously twiddling his cane. Despite her proper posture, something that had been hammered into her during her time at finishing school in Surval Montreaux, she was far more relaxed than her companion. His nervousness not only somewhat amused her but gave him this sense of vulnerability that she somehow found endearing.

“Hammy, stop worrying so mooch!” she playfully chided, leaning forward to tap his thigh. He jumped, his hat flying off his head. He quickly caught it in mid-air and yanked it back down on his pink pate. “S-Sorry!” he stammered.

“Sacré bleu!” She giggled, putting a paw to her mouth. “Ah thought our vacances en Angleterre was supposed to be relaxing pour tu et moi! Anyone would think zat ze Constantinople were going to stop zis choo-choo et arrest us at any moment!”

She felt a sense of satisfaction as he chuckled out loud. “Feef, that’s constable!” he corrected, “And forgive me, but a lady of your stature shouldn’t call it a choo-choo!”

“Ah don’t know ze English word pour train,” she smirked, “et besides, a gentleman ov your stature shouldn’t be so jumpy, eh!”

“Touche,” he blushed. “I can’t help it, though. This carriage sure is fancy but I don’t have the money to buy the tickets. I feel like we shouldn’t be here…”

The purple and white polecat snorted through her pink nose and laughed. “Boot we should be 'ere, because we 'ave ze tickets!” she countered, reaching into her bodice and pulling out her fare. “Ah saw tu buy zem at Broad Street! We got aboard et nobody stopped us!”

The pink pig sighed with relief. That was true, although she had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him aboard the moment their train had arrived at the station… Cautiously, he fished in his pocket and took out his ticket to take a closer look.

“THIRD CLASS?!”

“Sssh!” his soulmate hissed, putting a finger to her lips. Her expression contrasted with the urgency of her command. She was trying not to laugh. He couldn’t see the funny side at all. What was going to happen when they reached their destination??

“Fifi!” he panicked. “We need to get out of this carriage before we get caught! I hope the conductor doesn’t come round! Maybe we can sneak onto third class at the next station or…”

“Hamton!” her light rebuke snapped him out of his frenzied thoughts of a way out. “Ah told tu to stop worrying, no?”

“You also told me I’d bought first class when I hadn’t and you snuck us here! How does England respond to grifters? Will we end up in the hoosegow?!” Hamton fretted, imagining how his folks back in Iowa would think of him and Fifi behind bars.

“We're not goeeng anywhere except ze next place pour our well-earned 'oliday, cherie. Ah weell make sure ov zat ze same way ah persuaded zat nice man at ze bookeeng office!” Fifi grinned complacently.

At this, Hamton raised an eyebrow. What had his skunkette done…?

As if she’d sensed that he would press her for information, Fifi began to lift the skirt of her peignoir, revealing her thick fluffy tail underneath. Hamton was just about to pull the garment back down, but she stopped him.

“Nonono, mon Conniechon,” she reassured, “believe moi, only tu weell see down zere. Boot zat man eensulted us, et ah would not let heem get away weeth eet!”

“Wh-What did you do?” he gulped.

“Well,” she whispered, “eet's not trés ladylike, boot Maman always told moi zat vous always get your way when you’re a skunk. All ah 'ad to do was threaten heem weeth some terrible odair et 'e was very co-operative. Zat would teach heem to call us common peasants!”

Hamton was surprised that Fifi could be so devious…but at the same time, he was also touched by her impulse to quickly defend his honour as well as her own.

“Well…” he grinned shyly and looked about at their surroundings, “it’s nice and clean in this compartment. I'd rather be in here than in that filthy musty box car they call third class”

“Et we 'ave zis place to ourselves!” she affirmed. And without warning, her tail shot out and enveloped him in warm, luxurious fur. Before he could object, it had pulled him over and plunked him right next to its coquettish owner.

“Watching ze world go by outside ze weendow of ze train eez nice,” Fifi whispered, her tail tip curling around his snout, “but zere are many ozair theengs ah want to do weeth tu. Et do not worry…nobody weell bothair us…”

“Ohhh, Bebe…” Hamton could feel his common sense become fogged by a romantic haze.

The couple leaned in closer to kiss, and the world was plunged into darkness as the train thundered into a tunnel, two long blasts of the engine's whistle echoing against the walls and almost reflecting their now lustful feelings.

Description
Art by MathEw

Somewhere on the London and North Western Railway, Great Britain, 1904

The mighty express locomotive thundered its way across the country, its wheels spinning so much that the side rods were blurs. Bridges and stations flashed by. The landscape alternated between cities, towns and rolling fields practically within seconds.

A tall column of steam shot high into the air, leaving behind a dissipating trail which would tell people close by that a train had passed by: a vehicle which could effortlessly cover more ground than any motorcar or horse and buggy could hope. Those close to the tracks only seemed to hear a rhythmic “clackety-clack”, the sound of heavy breathing from what seemed like a giant, a rattle, a roar and it was gone.

Behind the magnificent tender engine, a new design known as a “Precursor Class”, a rake of ten or more coaches glided. Inside a particularly luxurious seating area, in one of the first class carriages, sat a young skunkette. Her eyes moved from the window, to the corridor outside her compartment and then to her suitor, a pig of a similar age.

She sat primly on the plush purple seat, a colour which almost matched her periwinkle fur and hair. He sat adjacent to her, tugging on the sleeves of his navy coat and unconsciously twiddling his cane. Despite her proper posture, something that had been hammered into her during her time at finishing school in Surval Montreaux, she was far more relaxed than her companion. His nervousness not only somewhat amused her but gave him this sense of vulnerability that she somehow found endearing.

“Hammy, stop worrying so mooch!” she playfully chided, leaning forward to tap his thigh. He jumped, his hat flying off his head. He quickly caught it in mid-air and yanked it back down on his pink pate. “S-Sorry!” he stammered.

“Sacré bleu!” She giggled, putting a paw to her mouth. “Ah thought our vacances en Angleterre was supposed to be relaxing pour tu et moi! Anyone would think zat ze Constantinople were going to stop zis choo-choo et arrest us at any moment!”

She felt a sense of satisfaction as he chuckled out loud. “Feef, that’s constable!” he corrected, “And forgive me, but a lady of your stature shouldn’t call it a choo-choo!”

“Ah don’t know ze English word pour train,” she smirked, “et besides, a gentleman ov your stature shouldn’t be so jumpy, eh!”

“Touche,” he blushed. “I can’t help it, though. This carriage sure is fancy but I don’t have the money to buy the tickets. I feel like we shouldn’t be here…”

The purple and white polecat snorted through her pink nose and laughed. “Boot we should be 'ere, because we 'ave ze tickets!” she countered, reaching into her bodice and pulling out her fare. “Ah saw tu buy zem at Broad Street! We got aboard et nobody stopped us!”

The pink pig sighed with relief. That was true, although she had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him aboard the moment their train had arrived at the station… Cautiously, he fished in his pocket and took out his ticket to take a closer look.

“THIRD CLASS?!”

“Sssh!” his soulmate hissed, putting a finger to her lips. Her expression contrasted with the urgency of her command. She was trying not to laugh. He couldn’t see the funny side at all. What was going to happen when they reached their destination??

“Fifi!” he panicked. “We need to get out of this carriage before we get caught! I hope the conductor doesn’t come round! Maybe we can sneak onto third class at the next station or…”

“Hamton!” her light rebuke snapped him out of his frenzied thoughts of a way out. “Ah told tu to stop worrying, no?”

“You also told me I’d bought first class when I hadn’t and you snuck us here! How does England respond to grifters? Will we end up in the hoosegow?!” Hamton fretted, imagining how his folks back in Iowa would think of him and Fifi behind bars.

“We're not goeeng anywhere except ze next place pour our well-earned 'oliday, cherie. Ah weell make sure ov zat ze same way ah persuaded zat nice man at ze bookeeng office!” Fifi grinned complacently.

At this, Hamton raised an eyebrow. What had his skunkette done…?

As if she’d sensed that he would press her for information, Fifi began to lift the skirt of her peignoir, revealing her thick fluffy tail underneath. Hamton was just about to pull the garment back down, but she stopped him.

“Nonono, mon Conniechon,” she reassured, “believe moi, only tu weell see down zere. Boot zat man eensulted us, et ah would not let heem get away weeth eet!”

“Wh-What did you do?” he gulped.

“Well,” she whispered, “eet's not trés ladylike, boot Maman always told moi zat vous always get your way when you’re a skunk. All ah 'ad to do was threaten heem weeth some terrible odair et 'e was very co-operative. Zat would teach heem to call us common peasants!”

Hamton was surprised that Fifi could be so devious…but at the same time, he was also touched by her impulse to quickly defend his honour as well as her own.

“Well…” he grinned shyly and looked about at their surroundings, “it’s nice and clean in this compartment. I'd rather be in here than in that filthy musty box car they call third class”

“Et we 'ave zis place to ourselves!” she affirmed. And without warning, her tail shot out and enveloped him in warm, luxurious fur. Before he could object, it had pulled him over and plunked him right next to its coquettish owner.

“Watching ze world go by outside ze weendow of ze train eez nice,” Fifi whispered, her tail tip curling around his snout, “but zere are many ozair theengs ah want to do weeth tu. Et do not worry…nobody weell bothair us…”

“Ohhh, Bebe…” Hamton could feel his common sense become fogged by a romantic haze.

The couple leaned in closer to kiss, and the world was plunged into darkness as the train thundered into a tunnel, two long blasts of the engine's whistle echoing against the walls and almost reflecting their now lustful feelings.