Shave and an Heircut, Part 1

“So, holy shit, Konu.” the tiger said, pulling the broom over the checkerboard floor of his barber shop, “I saw this lynx yesterday...”

“Yeah?” The badger was pulling off his apron, wadding it up and yawning. “And?”

“Well, I just wish you coulda seen him. Dude was packing some SERIOUS heat, just busting out all over, if you know what I mean.”

“And you let him get away?”

Charn grinned, leaning on the broom. “Fuck, Konu, I was up to my asshole in college kids. I couldn’t have left if I wanted to. I just saw him scurry by out of the corner of my eye - then he was gone.”

Konu shook his head, turning out the light over his station. “You have the sharpest eye for a big bulge I’ve ever seen. See you at Mick’s later?”

Charn hummed, pushing the broom against the floor. “Sure. I could use a couple good drinks. Keep a stool warm for me. I’ll finish up here and be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan. See ya there.” Konu pulled open the door, intending to step out, but before he could, a patron pushed inside. Konu looked the grizzly bear up, and down, then flashed Charn a cheeky grin. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”

The bear grunted, turning to regard the badger, then Charn, curiously. “Are you closed?”

“Well, it’s after hours, buuuut..” Charn put the broom to the side, gesturing to his styling chair. “The sign is still on! Welcome to ‘Heircuts’, my friend. What are you looking for, today?”

The badger slipped out, the metal lock scraping softly as the door closed behind him, leaving the bear alone in the clean, modern salon. 

“I want to look... bigger.” The bear said, grunting and gesturing vaguely to his groin. Charn couldn’t see a blush, but the way the bear pulled his shoulders tight told him all he wanted to know. “I heard there was a haircut that could make me look-”

“You want to show off for your new lady friend, is that it?” The bear sagged in relief, letting out a deep chuckle. “I know Exactly what will make your maleness really... stand out. Come. Sit.” He pat-patted the chair, and the bear trundled closer. He was a burly bear, believe it or not, his shoulders thick, his gut thicker, his thighs wide and his rear wider. The chair was a nice, snug fit though, and Charn pressed a lever here, pulled a switch there to adjust the seat. 

He tucked here, nudged there, angling the seat, widening the handlebars, all the while enjoying the presence of this new customer. He smelt strongly of leather, though he was wearing a button up business suit. The end of the blue and black striped tie rested calmly on top of his gut, and the tiger brushed it to the side. 

“Have you been groomed - ‘down there’ - before?” the tiger asked politely, as he moved behind the bear, opening up the steaming bin. A soggy, scalding hot towel was lifted up, the tiger gently wringing it.

“Uh, no. Is it that obvious?” The bear chuckled. “To be honest, I wasn’t going to come at all, but... shit, well, I just got a divorce, and I haven’t had a date in months. I know I’m not a cub any more, so I have to go the extra mile to really stand out.”

Charn nodded, placing the towel in a large glass bowl. He opened a small cabinet, perusing over the various essences and oils he kept on hand. Sage? Too country. Cinnamon? Too femme. Ahh. A bit of dragonswood, a bit of cedar, aaaand a little bit of Concoction X.

“Well, you really did make the right choice. Even a powerful, handsome bear like yourself can use a little touching up now and again. You’ll feel completely different when you leave here. I don’t want to say, ‘like a new man’, that would be cliche, but with my capable fingers, you’ll certainly have a spring in your step.”

The warm towel was kneaded, rubbed and massaged to soak the elixirs into the hot, soggy fabric, and then he lifted it up. “I’m going to wrap this around your muzzle - just like one of those fancy Chinese restaurants, yup. It's going to be shockingly warm, at first - that’s part of the process. Now, close your eyes...”

The bear did, and the tiger carefully wrapped the towel from chin to forehead. The familiar twitch of his legs was almost a universal reaction, for it WAS quite warm, but as soon as he felt that heat, it wasn’t there, his muzzle acclimating to the warmth.

“I’m going to suggest you be quiet from here on out - while the oils are non toxic, I wouldn’t want them to leave a nasty taste on your tongue. If you need anything, just tap the arm of the chair -” Charn took that pudgy paw, and helpfully showed him how to do it. First contact. “Like this. Good? Goooood. Now, relax.”

The tiger left, then, moving to the central station and turning on some soft music. It was pleasant - certainly not romantic - but lulling and soothing. The bear was already seeming to melt, as if the hot towel had triggered a body-wide relaxing. It had, in fact, though that was more likely from the steam that the bear was inhaling into his lungs with each deep rise of his chest.  Warming, soothing stuff, that Concoction X.

	“There we go. Now, of course, for this particular grooming, I’m going to have to handle your equipment. I assure you that I will treat you with the utmost respect and care, and have been doing this for, heh, quite some time. You may not even notice I’m there.” 

	Charn lifted the bear’s tie, first, flopping it over his shoulder, as if the bear was just getting ready to take a piss. The belt was next, the tiger humming along with the music, the bear’s arms relaxing along the comfortably padded chair’s own arms. Click went the buckle, an obnoxiously large silver pewter affair with “Chillanois Electrical Union 204” stamped over the front. An electrician, huh. Probably a foreman, judging by his build. 

The belt yielded, leather sliding against metal, and the tiger’s hands dipped back down, working nimbly at the button and fly. They were nice slacks, comfortably tailored, stainless. The cuffs weren’t frayed in the slightest. This was a bear who took good care of his valuables. 

Pale lavender silk lay tucked just inside, which made the tiger smirk. That, too, wasn’t a surprise at all. He wondered just who had recommended his salon to the bear - a former lover? A knowing friend? A bitter coworker? It didn’t matter. The tiger made a pleasant sound of approval, making sure not to be too flirtatious as he did, and worked the flaps of his slacks a little wider.

“Now, if you’ll just lift your hips - juuuust a bit. There we go. Goooood.” The bear’s pants were easily pulled down, bearing his snug fitting briefs. There was quite a bit of meat packed into the lifting posing pouch of the fancy European briefs. Quite a bit indeed - so why was the bear trying to show it off? It was funny, sometimes, the lengths one would go to to hide a perceived inadequacy. Charn mused at the thought of the lengths the bear would go, after tonight.

“Aaaand again, this time for your briefs. Heh heh, no funny business, I promise. Just a lather, a shave, and you’ll be out the door.” The briefs were pulled down, the tiger considerate enough to tuck his fingers under the waistband of them, lifting them up and over the considerable wedge of flesh tucked inside.

Thrump. The bear’s log, a visually heavy looking flap of bear flesh, slapped against the underside of his belly, the broad head visible, even soft, even shrouded in that puffy foreskin. The foreskin looked strained, allllmost reaching around that bulbous fat crimini mushroom of a cock-head, stretching, trying to reach, but ultimately failing. It was about a hand’s width of dick, and it was soft, so it may be more, it may be less. 

The underwear was pulled nearly inside out - the inner legging of it was wedged under the bear’s nuts. Charn had to pause, just for a second, to make sure he was seeing it right. These were some Grade A testicles. Bigger than eggs, certainly, the weight of the two paperweights trapping the silky underwear beneath them. Some gentle tugging, and it slid free, those twin apples sagging slightly further down between those chubby, powerful thighs.

“My, my, are you suuuure you need a trim?” He did, size-issues or not. The bear’s groin was shrouded in a thick tangle of pubic ruff, his over-sized orbs no doubt having soaked the surrounding flesh with enough testosterone to grow an entire rug’s worth of fur. “You seem very ample already.” His fingers returned, casually taking that thick, limp cock, angling it to one thigh. His other hand slid under those heavy testicles, having to worm a little to get under the loose, tacky, puddling scrotum that coated them like melted chocolate.

Casually he lifted the bear’s equipment, though, just holding it, not trying to get the bear hard. There was that slight stiffening, a certain thickening of the core of his flesh that happened with any amount of handling of a male’s endowments, but the bear didn’t seem to be getting aroused by it. The ursine’s fingers were curled, relaxed, around the arms of his chair, his legs spread just enough to allow the tiger access to his meats.

“I’ll spruce ya up just fine.” First, a bib. The heavy rubber sheet was shaped like a circle, with a hole cut from the middle of it. It had been cut like a large C, and he laid one end of it over the bear’s belly, before carefully laying the rest of it down, with that hole circling his equipment, until the other flap lay on top of the first. “This will protect your nice clothes from stains, or loose hairs. Wouldn’t want the shaving cream to get sticky on your taint, now would we?” He chuckled, and thought he might have heard a chuckle from under the towel in response. At this point, though, the bear would have chuckled at anything.

He adjusted the flaps, making sure to juuuust gently nudge into the base of the bear’s thick, flaccid cock, and under his heavy nuts, which hung and drooped over it. When he was sure there would be no... leaking... he went and got his trusty shaving kit. It was an old fashioned cup and a horsehair brush. The cup was filled a third of the way with shaving powder, and a couple dabs of ground up pain killers to top it off. A bit of alcohol, and some sturdy twisting from the brush, and he had a thick lather capable of taming even the strongest set of hairs.

“She’s going to be very pleased to see this. I would generally suggest, for someone with this kind of trim,” the tiger continued, as he dabbed and pressed the thickly lathered brush between the bear’s thighs, “that they allow me to shave Everything off. That produces the most dramatic effect, especially for first impressions.” He hmmed pinching the bear’s loose, fleshy scrotum between two fingers and pulling it up, a good three or four inches lifted before those heavy orbs were finally lifted from the heavy rubber sheeting beneath. He dabbed underneath them, fluffing and foaming the unruly pelt into a rich, pleasantly masculine scented lather.  “In your case, though, I think it would be nice to leave a little bit behind, just to sort of augment and accessorize just how much of a man you are.”

The bear grunted, noncommittally, and Charn smiled to himself. “Oh, good, I’m glad we agree. That towel still warm? Good, good. I’ll get down to business, now. The knife I use has been handed down through generations of men, just like me.” The tiger wasn’t talking about barbers, though. “It is a piece of me. I create art with it.” He purred, as the ivory handled straight razor was stropped against his own sturdy leather apron. “I am sure you’ll be pleased with the results.”

The tiger held the blade to the light - it was worn, certainly, the center of it having been sharpened, over and over again through the years. It made the slightest curve, the hint of a scythe showing through. It was, in fact, a very prized possession, one that had never failed him.

The tiger contemplated where first to start. The mound of shaving cream almost obscured the bear’s genitals, just the very tip of his penis peeking out from the middle of it, a brownish red cherry of this delicious little sundae. There, then.

Carefully, the tiger pinched that broad cap, lifting it up, stretching it slightly away from the rest of the shaving cream, which clung to it like cake frosting. He pulled it to the left, and the knife disappeared into the white foam. A lesser tuned barber, cleaving into such obstructive goop, would probably carve a couple inches into that fat cock before realizing they had even touched it. The tiger’s blade never even touched it. It scraped ever so delicately at the root of the bear’s maleness, almost touching, just close enough to shave through the follicles as they jutted from the bear’s groin. Carefully, smoothly, slowly, he pulled that blade from groin to cock tip, leaving a sheen of white in it’s wake. He slashed at the air, and shaving cream splattered on the freshly brushed floor. He pulled the cock to the other side, till heavy, still loose, and scraped up the other side as well. A streak of brown flesh was bared, a racing stripe to accompany the first. Now the top. He slid his fingers down, to grip firmly, just behind the head of the bear’s cock, and pulled outwards. No thickening, no erection - this was not a sexual act, they both knew that. Just two dudes, one grooming the other. The blade gleamed, and cut into the shaving cream, hungry to slice into something more substantial. Not yet.

He released the cock, pinning it against the bear’s belly with the back of his wrist, and in short, soft strokes, dug and scraped his way up the underside of the thick prick. A few smears of cream clung to the denuded shaft, like clotted semen, but other than that, it was free of the rogue pubic hairs that had been creeping up it’s length. 

“Very good, it’s already looking much more impressive. I can’t make it look fatter, but of course it’s plenty thick on it’s own. I can make it stand out more, though, and it looks like your build and ... proportions will lend well to that.” 

The tiger whipped at the air, more shaving cream splattering on the floor, and then scooped up those heavily laden testicles. They were warm, slippery and sticky at the same time with their coating, the two apples sliding loosely around in their warm, saggy holster. He held one in his hand, lifting it up, letting the weight of the other one stretch his scrotum taut. His blade shave between them, scraping along the bulk of one testicle, caressing up the webbing between them and baring the dark brown flesh beneath. So delicious.

He pulled the testicle he held to the side, over the other, and repeated the action on the back. Then, letting it down, he pinched the skin on one side of the bear’s scrotum, and pulled it up, and over. It slid loosely against the orbs it protected, and with just a little fiddling, he had the patched of unshaved flesh slid into place, with the shaved patched clinging to the side of the bear’s testicles. It made the scrotum just a little tighter, but that was all right, because when the tiger lifted that half-shaved testicle in one greedy, professional paw, the other still weighted the scrotum down. 

The blade moved, the very tip gently teasing along the underside of the bear’s scrotum, and Charn remanded himself for such foolishness. This was a customer, who deserved to be treated with respect, not some silly college kid. The blade shifted, the length of it lining up smoothly with the edge of the unshorn shaving cream, and in two more deft strokes, most of the bear’s scrotum was denuded. 

He lifted them up, then, holding them against the cock that still rested against the bear’s belly, holding all of the bear’s virility in his one hand, and his blade tickled underneath, cleaning up behind the testicles, around the edge of his groin. He angled that wad of flesh to the left, fingers squeezing just enough to keep the slippery tackle from escaping, and cleaned up the pubic ruff on the right side, then pulled everything to the right and cleaned up to the left. 

Excellent. The bear’s groin was tamed, the lawn mown, and indeed, while his cock was not the longest in the world, it jutted all the more fiercely from the smoothly manicured flesh of his crotch.

He pinned it in place, again, with the end of his forearm. He nudged the handle of the knife under the warm, relaxed, smooth scrotum, lifting it up and sliding one testicle into the air  - just enough to grip with his pinning paw. Then the other nudging and edging the heavy tackle until his fingers could juuust wrap around the heavy scrotum, just above those testes, holding them like a lumpy corsage. Perfect.

The apron of his scrotum was stretched taut, not a wrinkle, not a bit of fuzz to be seen, and the blade dipped down to where that scrotum seamed into the bear’s taint. The blade pressed in, so smoothly, so effortlessly, and with a smooth, easy pull of his wrist, the tiger dragged that blade along the underside of the bear’s scrotum.

The flesh parted, visibly pulling away as he pulled at it. A lesser barber would dig in too deeply, cutting into the nerves and veins that fed the bear’s cock. A lesser barber would have hesitated, leaving a jagged line. But Charn was an artist, an artist with a vision, and the blade cut in, Just enough, juuust enough to shear through skin and cords alike, splitting the tethering, sagging scrotum away from the bear’s body in such an easy stroke that it came away without a moment of resistance.

The bear didn’t even respond. The relaxants in the towel, the painkillers in the shaving cream, were working beautifully.

The severed scrotum was lifted up - beautiful - and Charn enjoyed how it looked for a moment, before bringing it back down again. That cock jutted out, half hard, short enough that even soft it still jutted out, a fat cannon without it’s wheels to move it any more. He tucked those balls back underneath it, holding them so that it nestled just between them, laying on top of the cleavage of his own stolen fruits, and the tiger just smiled, enjoying the look. Then, casually, he walked to the sink, and placed them in the same glass bowl that the towel had been in. He turned back, lifting the rubber sheeting from the bear’s torso, and the bear seemed to rouse, as if from slumber, hands stretching. 

“There we go. Quite the pleasant effect. I am sure she’s going to be Quite impressed with you. There’s not many men who have the balls to gussy up down there, and I think that you picked the right place to go for it. But don’t take my word for it.” 

The underwear was pulled up, as the bear stretched his arms, his legs. The pants were next, the tiger completely casual, not in a rush, not in a hurry. They had both gotten what they wanted from the transaction, after all, and all there was to it now was to clean up.

The towel, finally, was lifted from the bleary eyed bear’s muzzle, folded and placed back in the glass bowl, and the bear blinked, repeatedly, as he got used to the light over head.

“Wow. Wow, I just, I mean, Wow. I feel so relaxed. So confident. Like, I feel empowered. Like I don’t even care what she thinks, you know? Fuck!” The bear started to climb out of the chair, waiting only for the tiger to finish tightening his belt before he stood up. “I feel Great! How much do I owe ya?”

“Well, normally, it would be thirty dollars for that kind of trim-”
	The bear scoffed, digging into his wallet and thrusting a handful of twenties into the tiger’s hand. “I don’t care what you normally charge, that service was excellent. Thank you!”

	The neutered bear was beaming, a few minutes later, when the tiger unlocked the door to let him out. Charn followed him out, stepping into the cool night air, just enjoying the night. 

	There was someone else, there, though. He turned to face them, a rather burly, stocky pit-bull. He had a piercing that glittered with the light still pouring through the window, and he looked like he had been caught. Caught doing something.

	Charn glanced in the window, peering at his styling chair, which faced the window, then back to the pitbull. “Hey there.”

	The pitbull looked uncertain as to whether he should answer or not. His jaws were dark with a throwback beard, the stubble thick and dark, jutting out from his otherwise caramel colored pelt.

	Charn smiled wider at his hesitance, and opened the door. “Why don’t you come in? You look like you could use a trim.” He reached with his other paw, tickling under the dog’s chin. 

	The dog grinned, a big, dopey grin, and shyly stepped forward. “But... aren’t you closed?”

	“You should never look a gift horse in the mouth, my friend,” Charn replied, patting the burly dog’s rump as he stepped into the barbershop. He closed the blades behind him, this time, and locked the door with a CLK. 

	He took off his apron, following the dog as the waggy tailed fellow wandered into the salon, looking this way, looking that. Glancing at that glass bowl with the towel in it, looking away. Then looking back. He even scratched his head. 

	“Come on, then, on the seat. I’m feeling generous, and I can tell that you are a young bloke of limited means, soooo.. I’m going to do this for you, For Free. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

	The dog’s eyes perked up, glancing to Charn in surprise, then to the seat. “Oh, wow. Really? For me?”

	“Yup, just for you. You’re my last customer of the night, and I’m feeling like having some fun. You like fun, don’t you?” The tiger leered, pressing one large, warm paw against the dog’s thick pectoral, nudging him towards the chair that was still warm from the bear.

	“Well, yeah, who doesn’t like fun?” The dog smiled, bashfully, sitting abruptly down on the chair when his heel bumped against the leg rest. “Whoa! Sorry. Heh, I mean, so - What are you gonna do?”

	Charn studied the dog. He was a shaggy pit-bull, clean but shaggy, with a rough hewn beard growing in. That could go. He was wearing a wife-beater that had clung desperately to his powerful chest, pulling up and showing the underside of a thick belly, and two slanted muscle lined pointing towards his crotch. “That all depends on what I think you’d look best with.”

	The tiger leaned forward, then, and slid a hand under that wife-beater, pushing it up. Not all of the way, just to his pecs, and then stroked the dog’s ribbed, toned belly. The softness that sheathed his six pack softened his otherwise nearly brutish appearance. It wasn’t that Charn cared, so much, about his six pack - he just wanted to touch the handsome dog. He was wearing a pair of cut off jeans, below the wife-beater, and they had the kind of bulge that you see maybe once a week? Possibly twice if you’re actively searching for it.

	“Oh..” The dog said, grabbing at the arms of the chair, watching with wide eyes as the tiger stroked his belly. “And... uhh.... what do you think I would look best with?”

	“A trim,” the tiger responded, immediately. “But...” Those hands slid down - one sliding over the top of the dog’s shorts, to stroke over the warm thickness of that thick bulge, the other moving to press a claw underneath the button. It sliced through the thread holding it on, and the button rolled down one pants leg, clattering on the floor. “I’m not sure how much to take off, yet. Let’s find out, shall we?”

	The dog nodded, his breath getting shallower, more rapid. There was heat in that bulge, the kid was hot for some attention. It made the tiger wonder.

	“So,” he said, as he worked that fly down, ripping it open crudely, baring the top of the jock’s thick shaft. “Why are you wandering around, along, tonight, anyways?” He reached in, his fingers touching each other as he wrapped them around that maleness, but only when he squeezed tightly. He pulled, roughly hauling a.. Jesus, was this a foot of cock? It was a thick, veined salami, flopping half hard with a FLUP against the dog’s belly. 

	“I was... well, I was bored, you know? And I was horny, but.. I don’t know.. I mean... I guess I got tired of jerking off.”

	“Tired of jerking off?” The tiger canted his head, eyes narrowing in puzzlement. “With this monster?” His hand was smoothly manipulating, stroking along the width of the cock’s stalk, sliding up and down a good six inches in either direction, and still not even pumping the flare of the pit-bull's corona. “Um, you could have asked.... Anyone?”

	“Wha? Nah, I couldn’t do that...” The dog blushed, his eyes fixed on that hand that played with his cock. He was hardening, and quickly, too, thickening, the bright pink cap reddening with lust. “I, I mean... I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.”

	“Yeah? And? You have THIS.” The tiger reprimanded, turning his head to casually spit on the head of the dog’s cock. Precum was already welling there, and he slid his hand up, smearing the palm of his hand roughly over that broad cap before sliding it back down that shaft. He grasped around the foreskin, pulling it down, and baring the weight of that truly magnificent doorknob of a cock-head “You don’t need a girlfriend when you have a cock.”

	“Well...” The dog stammered, eyes lidding, tongue lolling for a moment before he slurped it back in. “I mean, EVERY guy has a cock.  Doesn’t really mean I have special rights with it.” 
	
	Charn ignored the dog’s blithering for the moment. Was he really this idiotic? He grasped the slimy cock with his other paw, and fished back in, feeling around. A solid stone of scrotum was nestled just underneath, two solid rocks packed tight just underneath the canine’s shaft, hot and tight. If the bear’s scrotum had fertilized the wide area of his entire groin with testosterone, making his hair grow thick and bushy, then the dog’s testicles had fed their nutrients directly into his cock, super sizing it.

	“I think I know what I’m going to do.” The tiger said, nodding to himself, and the dog. He waited until the dog looked back up from his erection, making eye contact, before tilting his head forward, slightly. “I’m going to do you a Big favor, and cut off your balls.”

	The dog gasped, his eyes twitching, just for a moment, before relaxing again. “You’re going to-”

	“Yup. I’m going to slice them right off you. Not yet, though, no worries there. I am going to play with this big ole slab of dogsteak for a bit. Get you really close to getting off. THEN I’ll cut your nuts off.”

	The dog grunted, his tongue lolling again as the tiger’s fingers stroked, milking against his dick. “Why would you want to do that?”

	“Because I can.” The tiger replied, smirking, his fingers gripping, kneading. In his other paw, the knife appeared again, and he swished it lazily through the air. “Because I’m Charn motherfucking Delereaux, and I cut the balls off of punks like you every day.”
	
	“Oh.” The dog grunted, pushing instinctively up into the tiger’s paw, his powerful, prime body clenching, flexing. He seemed to think about that, his eyes gradually drifting back down to that massive cock. “Just for fun?”

	“For fun.. for lunch...” Charn moved, straddling over the chair, over the dog’s muscled thighs. His shorts had been pulled down, and Charn sat on top of those, the canine’s masculine equipment completely bared, completely vulnerable. “Sometimes just because, hey, why not?”

	The dog whimpered at that. “But I don’t want to lose my balls.”

	“I know you don’t. Nobody does. And yet...” He grins, putting the straight razor between his jaws. He was going to need both paws for this. He waited until the dog glanced back up, again, locking eyes, staring intently, intensely, into the dog’s own. Soft greenish pools of confusion and arousal peered back at him. He nodded, his hands working together. There was a solid vein, running up the top of the dog’s shaft, and he stroked along it with a claw, digging deep enough to leave a red scraped welt against the darker blue of the vein. He slid a paw to the root of the canine’s erection, wrapping fingers around the base there, squeezing. He pulled down, drawing that foreskin taut, and his other ground harshly against the underside of his cock-head Stroke, stroke, stroke. More precum bubbled up, trying to soothe the raw burning of the dry stroking of such a delicate area. 

	The dog’s eyes slitted, though he didn’t break the eye contact. The puppy liked that. Charn let that area along, again, squeezing the rest of his cock in easy, smooth strokes, massaging blood in and through that powerful organ until it jutted up, huge and perfect. Almost perfect. It curved, very slightly, to the left, the big hand pointing at one o’clock, instead of noon. Charn could forgive him for that. One hand continued to stroke that thick cock, as the other reached up to take that breath-warmed razor from his muzzle. The dog’s chest tightened, his breath quickening.

	“You’re not really going to, are you?” He whined, as the tiger smiled and stroked his fingers, up and down, a couple inches at a time, inching closer and closer to that massive, rounded, shiny cock-head 

	“Why? Are you getting close?” The tiger brought the blade down, tapping the dull side of it against one of the dog’s rocks. The canine whined, and Charn repeated the action, alternating between the two, tapping them as if trying to decide which one he wanted first.

	“I asked you a question... are you close?” 

	The dog shakes his head, though his cock was a solid block of overcooked meat, twitching inflexibly between his splayed fingers. 

	“Oh? That’s a shame, because I’m going to cut them off, anyways.” The tiger grinned, and dragged the edge of the knife, the sharp edge, along that scrotum.  The dog hissed, as the knife unzipped his scrotum, pushing past the skin just under his cock.

	Charn felt that cock tighten harder - a natural response, of course, and his stroking paw moved to that cap. He squeezed his fingers around that cap, pulling down and back, making the skin grow super taut around the frenum, just under the corona. The rough pad of his thumb stroked against it, not gently, not like a harpist, but roughly, as if grinding out a lit cigarette. The dog yelped, eyes going wide, and that cock surged.

	The cock twitched, and so did the tiger’s paw, that sharp edge slicing easily again. It sliced right through the dog’s scrotum, right as his hips tightened, his abs clenched, his whole body ready to push his sperm out through that massive fucktool.

	Nothing came out, though. Server Disconnected. The canine’s testicles rolled down the valley between his thighs, bumping into the bulge at the tiger’s own groin. The dog boggled at them, then to the tiger, then back to his cock.

	That razor was there, waiting. That hand, stretching the skin so tight, was preparing it for the blade. It kissed against that webbing of delicate nerves, just under the head, a soft sawing against it, The twinge went straight up the dog’s spine. The blade disappeared, then, through that cock head, sawing through that ripe flesh like an over ripened melon, and emerging from the other side with a flourish. He yanked the razor away, fingers sliding down that twitching cock, and the dog could only watch as his cock twitched, Twitched in a dry pleasure-less orgasm. His cock head wobbled. Another twitch, and one side lifted up, and with another twitch the other side lifted up enough for the severed cap to roll off, decapitated, to thud against his softly toned belly.

	The dog gasped again, for it had been nearly painless - not sensation-less, for he had felt that blade push through flesh that should not be pushed through, stealing his cock head away. He felt it, again, that blade, this time down low, flicking and shearing casually through the root of his massive erection. The log flopped, landing on the dog’s wrist, flopping over it before the base flicked up in the air, and the whole mass of it Flopped onto the checkerboard floor below.

	And the poor dog passed out. Well, wouldn’t you?

	About an hour after he said he’d be there, Charn sat down next to his buddy at the bar. The badger had a couple empty beer glasses in front of him, and was staring up at the TV screen with a glassy look in his eyes.

	“Hey, I made it! What’d I miss?” the tiger pulled the bowl of Chex mix over, and dumped it on the floor. What crap. He reached into his pocket, and dumped two bags into the empty bowl instead, four slimy ... things slithering around on top of each other before gravity tucked and nudged them into place.

	The badger pierced one of the larger ones with a claw, bringing it to his mouth and chewing on it blandly. “Well, there’s a horse in one of the booths, and a panther just went into the bathroom in the back. Other than that, it’s slim pickings.”

	“That’s okay, we don’t have to go crazy EVERY night.” The tiger crunched into one of his own treats, staring up at the football game on the screen.  Some nights it was nice to just hang with a friend and enjoy some good food.