A short fiction I dropped in  rubbervixen 's inbox that mashed her buttons like that Will Farrell elevator scene in Elf.

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You’re strolling down your back alley on a walk and you spy this little Toy vixen in someone’s recycling. She’s crying, you look at her and her eyes light up. This is irregular, if you no longer desire a Toy you’re supposed to call the local kennel and they’ll come pick it up. So you lift her up, let her out of the bag, and intend to walk her there yourself for the exercise.

The Toy vixen chatters animatedly the whole time, talking about the pretty flowers and nice weather and how delightful she finds your kind touch as she reaches up and takes your hand.

Why would anyone toss a positively lovely Toy vix in the trash like that?

So you take her home.

The Toy vix starts straight away cleaning the kitchen, the bathroom, the mirrors, sweeping the porch, making the bed, and then improvises an exquisite enchilada for you, followed by doing the dishes.

You settle in to watch some TV and the Toy settles on the floor between your legs, silent as a mouse save for some gentle squeaking noises when it moves.

You stroke its hair between its ears and it starts to shudder and cry tears of happiness.

You put out a basket by the bed for it to sleep in and it gratefully hugs you tight around the waist and flops into the basket.

You wake to sounds of rubber squeaking and in the darkness you peer and see the dainty form shaking in the basket. You check on it, and the scent of rubber wafts up. You remember now, Toys need sex to feed themselves and so it is masturbating.

Its amber eyes peer up at you as it whispers an apology for the disturbance. And so you instead lift it out of the basket and take it into your bed. It is an eager sex partner, exploring ways to push your arousal up to a dizzying height until you explode into and against it.

Both of you gasping it rubs up against you, squealing in delight and clinging, happy.

You wake with it next to you, and you move, making a loud rubber shrill. You jerk awake, encased in seamless and winkle free rubber, just like the Toy. The Toy looks up at you, eyes wide with fear, “Please no throw Toy away?”