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A black housewife allows her hidden self to emerge.

Hours of hard work had been turned into confetti and green paste.

"Who did this?" Tyrone asked.

"First guess?" Shuna asked, her nose twitching as she sniffed. "Ryan."

"Dick," Tyrone muttered. "Okay." He put his hands over his eyes, closing them. He squared his shoulder. "We got this, Shuna. We just need to get some fresh flowers and-"

"There's no time, Tyrone!" She turned to face him.

"Then we get them store bought," Tyrone said, immediately.

Shuna gasped at him. "Tyrone!?"

"Let me finish, babe," Tyrone said, holding up his hand. "We get them store bought -- then you mod them up. Right? That's gotta be faster than making them from scratch, huh?"

"It...might..." Shuna paused. "Yeah, that might just work."

Tyrone nodded. "Okay. Salvage what you can from here. I'll get the replacements. We have-" he checked his watch. "An hour and a half. We can got this."

Shuna breathed out a slow sigh, nodding. "We do. Thanks, Tyrone." She smiled up at him, then leaned forward and bumped her nose against his muzzle. Then, blushing furiously, she stammered. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean, I-"

Tyrone leaned forward and kissed Shuna deeply. His tongue swirled into her mouth, pressing against her longer, thinner tongue. The curvacious porcupine grabbed at his hips, her eyes wide, then slowly closing. She pressed against him, her immense, pendulous breasts squishing against him, her belly molding against his six pack. Her paws slid to his back, ruffling his shirt as Tyrone carefully reached back -- his hand dipping below her quills, finding the curve of her ass. He squeezed her and Shuna moaned against him.

She drew back, panting. "T-Tyrone..." she whispered.

"Don't worry," Tyrone said, his voice a soft rumble. "As I said: We got this. Now, I'll be right back."

"H-Hurry," she said, her voice soft.

Tyrone knew she wasn't asking because of the flowers.

Less than twenty minutes later, the door to the room opened and Tyrone came in, his arms spread wide and filled with enough store bought bouquets and garlands and flower arrangements to choke even the most discerning giraffe. He stepped forward and then set the flowers down in the middle of the room -- then looked around. Shuna had been hard at work, feverishly doing what she could to knit together flower arrangements out of what had been left. Tyrone had to admit, she had done more than he had expected.

Looking back at him, Shuna smiled, her quills poofing up behind her. "That's perfect, Tyrone! Come on, you can help."

"I dunno," Tyrone said, his voice wry. "Seems kind of giiiiiirly."

"Oh shut it," Shuna said.

Tyrone winked at her, then let himself be directed -- Shuna spoke authoritatively and clearly told him where to place flowers, where to wrap, where to tie things off. She rested one of her paws rested on the back of his hand during the work, and met his eye, and smiled. Tyrone smiled back at her and Shuna looked back to work. Together, within twenty minutes, they had managed to recreate most of the flowers.

"It's not perfect," Shuna said, rubbing her paws together. "But it'll do."

Tyrone gave her a thumbs up.

"So, uh." Shuna reached up -- brushing her paws along her quills to get them laid flatter. "I, um, was-"

Tyrone put his hands on her hips, then tugged her forward. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. Shuna gasped -- her voice soft and eager: "T-Tyrone..."

"Shhh," he murmured, reaching up to bump her snout upwards.

Their tongues met a moment later -- his mouth and hers touching. Opening. Tilting. Shuna pressed herself against his chest. Her breasts squished against him and Tyrone reached very carefully backwards to squeeze her ass again -- feeling one of the tips of her quills brushing against the edge of a knuckle. The danger added a sense of spice to the situation -- a sense of spice that felt rather odd compared to the comfortable, squishy familiarity of Shuna. When they broke apart again, she panted heavily.

"I-I watched you, uh, so many times,"

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