Splatterfest: Chapter Three

Outside, thunder rumbled, and the wrestlers could hear the wind whistling along the roof. Inside, the second set of matches were about to start.

The gryphon was warming up, stretching his arms over his head and behind him. Marcus the wolf (oh, you remember him, he beat the bull easily in the first match) came up beside him, head canted to the side. “Hey Burst.”

The gryphon raised an eyebrow, continuing his stretches. 

“Hey.” Marcus shifted his feet, making Burst smile. Excellent. The wolf was already intimidated. “I was wondering, what exactly did you -say- to Bartholomew?” The wolf began to stretch as well, leaning to one side, and then the other. It was just common sense.

“Nothing he didn’t already know,” Burst smirked. “I asked him if he needed any help getting his cock hard after the match.”

They shifted, Burst starting, Marcus following, each leaning down to touch their toes.

“I don’t get it, why would that piss him off so much? I’ve never seen someone storm out after losing a spar like that.”

Burst’s feathers preened out, as he stretched, before standing up and putting his hands on his hips. When he spoke, it forced Marcus to look up at him, which also made the lupine have to stare at the gryphon’s own half hard cock. All about intimidation. 

“Bartholomew can’t get off unless he’s got something in his ass. It’s a medical condition called Douchebagalotapus.”

Marcus’s eyes furrows, and then he laughed, standing up and turning away. “You’re too much, Burst. One day you’re gonna run into someone you -can’t- trick, though.”

Coach Gronk’s voice sounded out, loud and brutal and half-evolved. “AIGHT WRESTLERS!” He shuffled the paper on his clipboard, flipping the single piece of paper it over the top and back again. Marcus was sure that the paper had just a crude drawing of a penis on it. “Ready for round two! Marcus, you spar against Chester!”

The muscular black cat stood up from the cliche known as “K’s Gang”, twisting his head in a cant in that bad-ass kind of way, until it popped with three loud clicks. He trotted over, smirking down at the slender wolf. His tail was fuzzed, though, flicking back and forth agitatedly. 

“I’m gonna make it easier for you than I did for Taj, puppy dog,” he drawled, peeling out of his motorcycle jacket. His chest was broad, the fur thick and glossy black, dense but not dense enough to hide the hint of scars that crisscrossed over his chest, his shoulders.

The two squared off, waiting, and Coach Gronk, whose attention span was never anything worth writing home about anyways, remembered the other matches. “Burst versus Tony! and Kimbo versus Honeydew!”

	Only Honeydew wasn’t there! 

	“Where’s the bull?” saic Coach Gronk, yanking the cap off of his head and throwing it on the ground. “What the hell kind of casting director does this story have if you can’t even keep an extra on hand for more than one scene?!” He fumed, crossing his arms as everyone else stared at each other blankly.

	“Um, sir,” said Doug, the little painted dog’s tail curling between his legs. “I think I saw him go outside after his last match, with Roan.”

	“FUCKIN’ QUEERS!” Bellowed the orc, snapping the clipboard over his knee. “THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS SCHOOL, IT’S LIKE EVERYONE TAKES IT UP THE BUTT?!”

	There was a general murmuring among those present. That was odd! 

	“Maybe this is cursed indian land,” joked Kimbo, standing there without a partner.

	“Well, sir, I mean, technically I -am- on the wrestling team.” Doug simpered, switching from one foot to the other, as if he had to pee. “I can sub in for Dante, if you want,” He glanced over to the strong, confident hyena, who winked back at him.

	“Yeah whatever, I hate all of you. Just wrestle and tell me who wins.” Coach pulled a flask from his back pocket, shaking his head and taking a swig from it as six muscular jocks crashed into each other and started grappling for dominance.

	Doug wagged his tail, looking up, way up, at Kimbo, paws fidgeting. “So, um...”

	“Look, kid, you sure you wanna do this? I mean, you could get hurt, there’s a lot of me and not much of you.” Kimbo said, rubbing under his chin thoughtfully.

	“I may be small but I’m full of spunk!” said the dog, and grappled the big hyena, hugging his waist and trying to lift his leg. Kimbo watched, for a little bit.

	“Well you have nice style, but here, your center of balance is wrong.” The hyena’s hand was warm as it slid down the back of the Doug’s shirt, thick fingers digging past the waistband of his running shorts and one digit firmly, smoothly, goosing up into the dog’s rear.

	Doug gasped, ears and eyes both jumping wide at the intrusion, and he peered over at the coach, who was on hands and knees, scribbling on that piece of paper on his clipboard. “We shouldn’t do this, in the open.” The hyena’s finger was intrusive though, and while he was firm, and while Doug couldn’t squirm away and didn’t want him to do it, that finger was touching him in just the right spot, making his cock hard and bulging in very little time. He glanced over, blushing as he watched Aesc and Saila grinning and giving him thumbs up.

	“Oh, we’re not doing Anything,” said Kimbo, lurching suddenly. He straddled the little dog, cupping his ass, pulling him up between the hyena’s legs. It was like he was being dipped, only he could feel the hot heat of Kimbo’s meat pressing against his belly, so big and soft and tempting.

	“Go on, little puppy, go on and cum for me. Show me how full of spunk you -really- are. You don’t want me to -really- wrestle you. You’d snap in half.” 

	Doug wanted to argue back, to prove himself as an equal wrestler, but honestly? What options did he have? His body took orders from someone else, apparently, because Doug shivered and spattered, ejaculating right into his own shorts as the other wrestlers grunted and groaned on either side. 

	Doug loved being on the team.

	Carefully, gently, even, Kimbo lowered Doug to the mat and pressed one big paw against his heaving chest. “Uh, Coach? Doug’s out.” He grinned to the orc, who glanced over and blew his whistle.

	“Get yourself cleaned up, faggot!” he bellowed, and Doug whimpered, squirming free and standing up. Everyone was staring at him, at the stain that was staining down the inside of his shorts, and he scurried out the door, to the lockers.

	The lockers were a MESS! Doug stood in shock, staring at the damage. It was as if someone had disemboweled the entire locker room, duffel bags strewn everywhere, socks and shorts hanging from doors and off of benches. 

	“The fuck?” 

	He heard a moan, from the far corner. Doug had just gone to the locker room to get to the showers, but this was unbelievable. He carefully stepped around the various bags and combs and towels, until he got to the corner. 

	There was a house cat, sitting in the corner, covered in briefs and jockstraps. He had a pair of fruit-of-the-looms over his head, and one fat kittycock jutting from the top of his fist. 

	“Hey! What are you Doing here?!” he asked, but the cat didn’t respond, head twisting back and forth as he toyed himself. His free hand grabbed another jock, pulling it over his snout too, like a feed back, and his hand got slicker in it’s twisting over his shaft.

	A hand came down on Doug’s back, and he yelped, twisting to come face to face with

	Travis O’Donner! The all star wrestling champ of the southern state region! The otter was, well, immaculate, his wrestling singlet gripping and hugging and showing off his powerful physique, his endowments, his thighs, his -wow-, did Doug notice those endowments before? A banana wedged over two Hamlin oranges, all lathered in sheer blue spandex. 

	“Brah, what’s shakin’ man?” The otter’s tail flicked behind him, pulling the drooling dog’s attention back to the moment. 

	“Um.” Doug worked his mouth, then peered up. Travis was like as big of a celebrity as you could get, at least on the southern end of the state. He was handsome, he was awesome, he just oozed “WINNING” from every pore.

	“Brah, up here, man.” The otter’s tail slipped up one leg of his singlet, tickling at the otter’s nuts, and Doug realized how blatant he had been, with a deep blush.
	
	“Sorry.” He tried to resume his pose, tail flicking upwards. “Hey you guys aren’t from this college, you’re not allowed to be here!”

	“I know, dude, it’s cool, just chill out.” Travis glanced around, then leaned in. “We’re just pulling our annual prank, you know? We steal all you guys’ lucky jocks n stuff, and then after the meet, we give them all back.”
	
	The backpack on the otter’s back chirped a peculiar cricket noise. “Hey! You have a blackberry too? That’s the ringtone I have on my phone, too!” He grinned.

	Jay’s smile disappeared, looking for a second like he was considering whether he should slam Doug’s head in a locker. Then it came back, and he nodded all fluidly. “Sure bra, yeah, I got a blackberry. Got two, actually, and an iPhone, comes with the territory.” He chuckled, then gestured to the dog’s shorts. “So you had an accident, huh?”

	Doug glanced down, then covered the wet, slimy mess between his legs. “Oh, no, I mean, it’s not pee, it’s-”

	“You jizzed yourself? Hey, awesome man, hey I’ll give you twenty bucks for your undies.”

	“Wha?”

	“Yeah. I mean, you aren’t exactly gonna stop me, right? So lemme give you some cash, so you can buy some fresh undies later on. It’ll look a lot less suspicious then if you’re the OOOoonly guy in the wrestling team who -didn’t- lose his stuff, right?”

	Doug had to agree, the charmer made sense, and before he knew it he was putting a pair of sticky wadded shorts in the otter’s hand, and getting a ten dollar bill in his other.

	“Hey, this is only-”
	“Yeah, I guess I’m short, don’t worry though, we’ll hang out after the match, and I’ll totes give you the other half. Cool brah?”

	Doug whined, a little, but nodded his head, ears back. “Yeah, it’s cool.” He really doubted Travis was going to remember his other ten bucks, but at least he’d get to hang out with him! Travis was soooo coooool.

	The showers were still running, but the room was empty. That was weird. Doug liked to use the shower the furthest in the back, though, adn the thick steamy fog was kind of nice to wade through. It made the dog feel like a boat in the ocean.gliding soft and quiet through the room. He realized the showers weren’t entirely empty, though - Bruce was quietly enjoying the warm water running over his bovine form. Doug enjoyed it too, nodding, smiling to the bull, as the warm water began to soak through his own fur, helping to wash the smell of his ejaculate away.

	Bruce glanced back, smiling shyly, the bull lifting his arm up to rinse some suds. Not a word was said, but the bull turned slightly, letting the dog see the long, thick, smooth length of bull cock as it dangled from his sheath. Smiling, he let the water wash over it, as Doug stared. 

	A dark shadow loomed behind the bull, though, and Doug gasped a moment before two black and white hands grabbed the bull’s shoulders and pushed him against the wall.

	It was MUGS THE JANITOR! The older panda was wearing his trademark tight fitting overalls,blue collared shirt with his name in white stitchings over the left pec, and oh, wait, no, he wasn’t wearing the overalls anymore. He undid them, stepping out of them and pressing a panda log against the sputtering bull’s asshole.

	“You know how long I been waiting to get you along in the shower? You damn wrestlers, with your hot bodies and your wrestling and your stained underwear and busted rubbers, leaving them behind for me to find?” He jammed his hips, and Bruce moaned, head pinned against the wall by one powerful arm. 

	“Think you’re too good for me, just cuz I clean up your shit?” Mugs reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a handful of twist ties. “Get your hands over your head.” Bruce squirmed, and Mugs jammed in harder, pinning the bull’s hips against the wall. “I said, put your fucking hands over your head, or I won’t use the lube I’ve got in my Other pocket.”

	Reluctantly, Bruce did so, Doug watching in fascination as Mugs locked the bull’s wrists to the shower nozzle overhead.

	It turns out that Mugs had been lying about the lube, and Travis smirked as he glanced over to the showers, hearing the squealing and grunting. He had gotten ten bucks from the janitor for telling him that there was a wrestler in there, allll b y his lonesome. He had been worried that the big panda would be pissed that it was just the team’s waterboy, but that’s what quick escapes out the back door are for. He turned back, to leave, but the door was blocked.

	Namely, there was a very angry looking fur there. It was, Travis really couldn’t quite tell -what- it was. It stood there, though, watching him with those weird black eyes. No, like, entirely black, no whites to them at all. Travis took a step back, away from the creature. “Hey, Taylor.”

	The housecat moaned, still jerking off, another pair of stinky undies wrapped around his head. The ... dude... standing in the doorway turned to look at Taylor, then moved towards him.

	“Dude, bra, Taylor, let’s go, time to go, man,” Travis voice cracked a little, nervousness creeping up in his tone. “COme on, Taylor, let’s -GO-.”

	Only it was too late for Taylor, now. The strange creature had reached him, and lifted one leg, a strange, leathery boot hiding it’s foot from view. It brought it down, between Taylor’s legs, slamming it down and making the housecat bolt upright, howling and screeching.

	Travis watched in terror as the creature, what -WAS- it, Travis knew he should recognize it but he couldn’t, that long muzzle, the red fur? It pulled a hatched from it’s side, and then ground it’s boot against the tile, pulling it away from the cat. Travis realized that Taylor’s nut-sack was trapped under that boot, being yanked and stretched down.

	“Ah, nah bra, bra, Not cool, Not Cool, NOT COOL!” he shouted, as the hatched shone and then slammed down. 

	Taylor slumped, Travis watching in dumbfounded shock as the creature reached down and picked something yellow and lumpy from the ground, two distinct orbs hanging inside that furry pouch. Taylor’s pouch. 

	Travis got puke all over his lucky singlet, and then turned, and ran. Only the creature was already following him, great big strides carrying him over the ground. Travis was an otter, his legs weren’t as long as they were powerful, and he scrabbled over bench and duffel bag, before his foot slid on a discarded towel, sending the otter into the lockers. 

	The creature was there to catch him, though, grabbing him by the back of his singlet and lifting up. Talk about wedgie! The form fitting fabric snagged tight, stretching and pulling his bulge up into a tight bundle. The creature opened a locker, and slammed Travis against it, trying to shove him into it.

	Travis pushed and fought, not about to go down without a fight, but it turns out that the creature only wanted Part of Travis in the locker. It slammed the door, and Travis’ eyes crossed as the locked jammed itself shut, even clicking, with his junk stuck in it. It felt like his cock had been cut in half!

	The creature pulled him away from the locker, and he felt his dick stretching along with the spandex, suddenly flailing as the tissue caught on the other side of the door was trapped. 

	RIIIIIP! The singlet tore, and with it, so did Travis’ meaty otter prick, the fat cap still on the other side. Travis has one shocked glance at his kielbasa like cock-trunk, before he was slammed against another locker.

	“No! no no no no” he tried to start, but the locker slammed shut before he could reach down and get his dick out of the way, trapping it behind the door again. 

				RIIIIIP!

	Travis only had a stump left, sobbing as the creature threw him into the next locker, and this time his stump didn’t even jut past the rim of the locker. He felt the creature’s knee come up, from behind, bumping into his balls. Pushing them forward. He grabbed the locker door, trying to force it back, but the creature was so strong. SO STRONG. It was an arm wrestling battle that Travis was losing, the door closing, creeping, crawling slowly shut. He panicked, tried to pull his hips back, and his torque collapsed, the door slamming closed.

	Well, he got -half- of his balls out. The half on the inside, he heard the soft, metallic thud of tissue splattering against the walls of the locker, his balls having exploded. Travis was left to cling to the locker, afraid to open it, and quickly losing the strength to be able to.

	In the shower room, things were heating up (har har!). Mugs had a forearm’s worth of panda cock buried in the squirming, hand-locked bull, and Doug was trying to stay as quiet as possible in the corner, lest he be discovered. He had his dick in his hand, of course - who wouldn’t, getting to watch a sexy bull get raped like that? 

Mugs was getting close to getting off, the panda crushing Bruce under his weight, hips slamming powerful and needfully agains the ursine’s bruised rear.

	“Yeah? You like that? Now you know why we don’t like to breed in captivity, it’s cuz we like being the captors, not the captives!” He growled, and Bruce’s cock slapped against his belly in response. Oh, he was being raped all right, but he was a dirty little bitchbull and he liked this kind of rough play. It’s not like he hadn’t roleplayed this out with some of the other guys before, anyways.

	Doug had a peculiar feeling of deja-vu, though, when he saw a shadow creep up behind the panda bear. If Mugs was raping Bruce, then who was going to-

	Mugs was pulled, roughly, Violently from Bruce, and body slammed on the ground, with his cock pointing up at the air, oozing thick white semen and looking Pissed at having been evicted.
	
	“Who the fuck are you, asshole, hey, did I -PAY- you to touch my junk?!”

	He hadn’t, but the creature seemed to operate on it’s own set of rules. One of those rules was, apparently, ‘Thou Shalt Tear Off Bear Balls With Thine Bear Hands!” Those high-pursed, chubby white furred nuts were wrapped behind by leathery, nail-capped fingers, and a boot lifted, before pinning that raging cock down against the panda’s belly. 

	Doug watched, still jerking, and Bruce tried to see, squirming and turning his head from side to side, 

	“What’s going on?” he lowed, as the assailant yanked on Mugs’ nuts. It was like he was trying to start a lawn mower, putting his back into it as well as his shoulders and arm. YANK! And Mugs bellowed bloody murder, thick stubby legs kicking at the air, arm trying to push the assailant’s leg off of his cock, trying to sit up.

	‘I’ll fucking MURDER you you PRICK!” Mugs shouted, as the creature bent low again, re-gathering the handful of bear marbles..

	YANK! 
	
	Doug couldn’t quite place the sound he heard, then, it wasn’t quite a ripping sound, and it wasn’t quite a tearing sound, but it was kind of like the sound you might hear when you drop a wet sheet onto the floor - the sound of all the wet fabric sliding and rushing and splatting against itself as, not just Mugs scrotum, but the fur around it, going all the way to his grundle and his entire sheath, came loose in one limp furry hanging wad of flesh.  

	“Give that back!” Mugs said, not even noticing as his last orgasm ever spit his jizz out onto his belly, before his head thudded back against the tiles. 

	The creature turned to Bruce, then, who was still trying to see what had happened. “Mister Mugs? Are you all right, sir?” 
	
	The creature brought Mugs’ torn flesh to his mouth, and Doug watched as one, two bulges slid down it’s throat, before it tucked the rest of that furry musky flesh into Bruce’s mouth instead. He Nnnfged (spelling approximate) at the realization, turning his head, twisting and yanking to pull his wrists free. Oh why, why had he engaged in such risky behavior in such a potentially public place?! He was really regretting his decision, now, and he hoped only that those hearing of his tale would think twice before making the mistakes he did!

	The creature pushed close to the bull - as if to resume the position Mugs had been filling. Bruce shuddered.

	It reached around, caressing with cool, leathery fingers sliding gently up, then back down, toying with the bull’s erection. Bruce couldn’t see, but Doug could, as the creature’s other hand reached for the water-faucet, gripping it. As it stroked the bull off, it pushed it’s fingers against the flimsy plastic backing behind the faucet. It crumbled, and the creature pushed it aside, reaching in and grasping something else. Doug watched, terrified, as, without missing a beat along the bull’s cock, it yanked with it’s other hand, pulling a pipe out of the wall. Tiles broke off, scattering everywhere, and the shower-head above them abruptly stopped it’s steady flow, trickling a limping stream of water that wasn’t even steaming. 

	Bruce’s attacker bent that pipe down, curling it with a screeching of metal until it was sliding against the bull’s dick.

	Bruce screamed! “It’s boiling, fuck fuck get it off aaaauggggh PLEASE!”

	But such a thing was not to happen, as it slowly pushed the end of that boiling hot water pipe against the root of the bull’s cock. Then, pressing harder. Doug had a great view of it all, as the thing pulled on Bruce’s cock, pushed on the pipe... and punctured it into the bull’s testicles.

	Bruce slammed his head against the wall, screaming, as boiling water filled his pouch, inflating it like a balloon. His pouch immediately went from a handsomely sagging scrotum to an angry red balloon, before the back side of it ruptured, and brownish water poured out the far side. As it ‘flushed’ through the scrotum, the water began to get clearer, and clearer, but of course Bruce wasn’t paying attention to that sort of thing. He was too busy whining about being caaaaastrated, like bulls weren’t made into steers every day, yadda yadda yadda. Doug carefully began to slip away from the horrific scene, stepping around the unconscious janitor. His foot slid, though, a bar of soap that he stepped on skittering across the ground and thudding against the boot of the creature.

	It turned, to stare at him, And Doug RAN. Bolted through the foggy showers, and through the locker.

	Bruce whimpered as the creature followed, -not-letting go of his dick first, and the bull’s smooth, sexy bratwurst came loose with a twist of the creature’s wrist. It stalked after Doug as he ran though the showers.

	Into the locker room, where he saw the two unconscious ‘panty raiders’, slumped by the door. No help there. He ran down the hall, and into the complex’s gym. Soft muzak was playing, and it seemed peaceful. A golden furred fox was running on the treadmill, watching acutely as the lion wrestler Bartholomew blew off some steam on the bench press. Doug closed the door behind him, and burst into tears.

	“Oh God, please, you have to help me, there’s this insane guy, and, and-”

	Bartholomew glanced down his nose at the snivelling, sogging wet dog with his blatant pink erection, and shook his head. He put the weights up, just for a moment, and reached down to his iPawd, turning the volume up to the point that Doug could hear it at the door.

	The fox seemed much more receptive, hopping off of the treadmill, letting it whirr in the background as he came closer. 

	“Hey, little guy, your name is Doug, right? Yeah I think we have Ancient Artifacts together, with Mr. Zummermein. My name’s Cirian.” The fox stroked fingers through the dog’s fur, pulling him over to the side, away from the door. “Now what’s going on? Have you had a lot to drink tonight?”

	“No, I haven’ drunk anything, there’s this big guy, and I was in the shower, and he attacked Bruce, like-”

	“Oh, Bruce the bull? Yeah, oh, well, some guys just like it kind of rough, sweetheart, I mean, Bruce probably enjoyed what was happening very much, even if it didnt’ seem like it.”

	CRASH!

	The door glass broke, and Doug jumped to his feet. “OH MY GOD IT’S HIM! HE’S COME TO GET ME!”

	Cirian took a step back from the looming, menacing creature in the doorway.

	“Oh.. my God... is he wearing -plaid-?”
	
	The creature walked right into the room, crouching and picking up a barbell on the way. It walked up to Bartholomew, who was benching like, at LEAST three hundred, and knocked one of the lion’s legs off of the bench.

	“Hey man, this bench is taken, get your own.”

	Apparently, the intruder wanted THAT one. It raised the barbell over his head, and brought it down with an admittedly satisfying splatty crunch between the lion’s thighs. 

“YOU FUCKS!” Bartholomew the IIIrd shouted, his tawny, manicured legs shooting up in the air. He dropped the weight over the back of the machine, before curling up into a ball and falling off the bench with a heavy, meaty thud. When the creature moved away, Cirian and Doug could see two -distinct- spray-patterns on the bench, coming out from where either leg of the lion’s shorts had rested. Total wipeout.

	“I really hope he wipes the equipment off when he wakes up,” Cirian says, dazedly, before the creature started walking towards them.

	Cirian couldn’t get to the door - and Doug bolted deeper into the gym, which was a dead end. The creature was shambling though, heavy and dull, like it was drunk, or stoned. Aha!
Cirian sprinted away from the creature, to the rock wall that took up one whole side of the gym. He strapped into a safety harness, with the creature getting closer and closer, and fortunately there was none of those stupid “oh no the clasp doesn’t work’ moments, or else I’d have to spend another paragraph describing how Cirian -just made it- to the rock wall. Nobody wants to read that kinda bullshit. 

	He grasped one rock, and then another, pulling and tugging himself leanly up the rocks, and he felt the hand of the creature almost grab his tail tugt. Safe! Cirian climbed up higher, away from him, away from those hungry grasping hands, and when he was all the way at the top, he peeked down. The creature was very far away, it looked like, at least ten feet below him, and it tried to climb up those tiny little foot holds, but couldn’t.

	Doug scampered past the creature from behind, scrambling down the hallway, and the creature glanced at Doug as he went, then stared again at Cirian. It reached to it’s neck, taking off the long long loops of chain that it had coiled there.

	Cirian frowned.

	It uncurled the chain, the smooth metal clinking and rustling as it puddled on the ground at it’s feet. 

Cirian’s frown deepened.

	It gave a flick with one wrist, and then started spinning it’s hand in a circle and slowly the chain began to spin along with it, bowing outwards more and more, lifting from the ground.

	“The fuck is this, some kind of rodeo?” Cirian said, and began to climb across the wall, away from the creature.

	Now it had all of the chain spinning, off the ground, and Cirian could see the hook at the end, flashing sharp and pointy. Woosh woosh woosh woosh.

	The chainer flicked it’s arm, as if it were cracking a whip, and the chain slipped through the air, whistling. Cirian took one wide step and then SLAM! he felt the hook hit him in the crotch.The chainer yanked. Cirian held on.

	The chainer walked away.

	Cirian was confused, as he heard the boots thudding and strolling down the hall, after Doug. The tension, he then noticed, was getting tighter in his groin. HE looked down, seeing the hook had embedded itself in his crotch. He whimpered, the hook digging slowly into his workout shorts, the chain between his thighs, pulling tighter, tighter. He could not let go of the rocks, or he would fall, and if he fell the creature would get him.

	The hook pierced his shorts, digging against his scrotum. The asshole had just walked away, carrying the far end of the chain, and not he was slowly but surely pulling Cirian away from the wall!

	Another hard yank and Cirian was pulled free from the rocks, the chain pulling him towards the door - the elastic rubber was keeping him from hitting the floor, which was nice, but not he was trapped between the ceiling and the creature, the chain and the rubber-rope had him caught in the middle, and it was getting tighter and tighter. He could feel his testicles, caught at the bottom of his scrotal pouch, stretching as the hook slowly pulled them further and further away, his whole weight resting on them as the chain kept pulling and pulling. Cirian had been dragged almost to the door, and try as he might, he couldn’t get the clip to unfasten on his harness (there weren’t ANY issues with the equipment, remember!) he was locked in as tight and snug as could be, so even though it felt like HE was being stretched like a rubber band - or like two rubber bands, between his legs! - he couldn’t eject himself from the safety harness in order to disengage the hook.

	With two wet snapping sounds, the hook disengaged itself, and with a splat-thud-clatter, it whipped through the door, taking two precious fox-balls with it.

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	Down at the gym, things were going crazy. Kimbo was chilling with  the spectators on the sideline, laughing and watching as Tony and Burst wrestled. The gryphon was laying every pot shot he could on Tony, and the bernese mountain dog was using every dirty move he knew to try and get the bird off his guard and on his back. Tony would grab at Burst’s crotch, and Burst would call his mother a teatless whore. Burst would ask him what kind of shampoo he uses, and Tony would try to elbow him in the kidneys. 

	The other match was just as classic of a combination - cat vs dog. Marcus and Chester were locking pins and gripping holds on each other, a classic, macho dance of dominance and submission.

	“I know you’re good, Chester, but this is ridiculous. Why are you trying to win this, this time? It’s only a practice match.”

	“I’m just following orders,” the panther replied, getting Marcus in a half nelson and making sure to grind his bulge against the dog’s nose. “That part is my little signature, though.”
	“Your crotch smells like an ashtray, tell K to stop putting out his cigars in your sheath,” Marcus growled, and gave the panther a little nip, right on the sac. It was enough to make almost any male want to jump away, but Chester stood his ground, holding the wolf in an increasingly tighter lock. The wolf could feel his head pounding, the blood screeching through the tight pin around his neck, but he had one little trick up his sleeve.

	“What’s...it mean... if K is giving a thumbs down?” he asked, and instinctually the felien dropped the pin, twisting to see the gesture. It gave Marcus all he needed to sweep the feline, slamming him on his back and pinning him with a shin across his throat. “Does it mean You Lose?”

	Chester’s eyes were wide, as if in fear, but slowly his muzzle cracked into a grin. “K is going to -kill- me for this.”

	Marcus shivered at the look in the panther’s eyes. “Creep.” He got up off of Chester, flapping his hands as if to shake off bad energy.

	Burst and Tony were fighting now, all out shouting and punching each other, the wrestling match turned suddenly into a Jerry Springer Boxing Contest. 

	“Coach?” Marcus finally said, when he saw the orc rubbing his crotch, staring at the picture of what was definitely an uncut ork penis scribbled out on his tablet. Coach glanced to the two fighters, and blew his whistle at them.

	“TONY! BURST! DISQUALIFIED! GET TO THE SHOWERS! DOUG! Get me some water!... Doug? Doug are you still taking a shower? You goddamned faggot!”

	The speakers screeched, blared, and there was a sudden, panting, breathless voice on it. It was Doug! What was he doing on the intercom?

	“What’d Doug doing on the intercom?” asked Saila, staring at the ceiling in the confusion. Saila, you ignorant whore, I already wrote that part in as a third party objective question! Coach, slap Saila for me.
	
	Coach did so, and Saila whimpered like the little fox-coon wimp he is. Dumb fox-coons.

	In the library, though, people were asking the SAME damned thing, instead of paying attention, because Doug was explaining it and you’re missing it reading this commentary instead of listening to it!

	“-and he gave me ten bucks for his undies but then I went in the shower and Mugs was raping Bruce and there’s this guy! This guy and he castrated bruce and Mugs and then he castrated Bartholomew!” 
	“Soooon offf aaaaaa BITCH!” Coach said, ripping his paper in half, “I can’t have castrated wrestlers at the meet! We’ll be laughed out!”

	“And now he’s chasing me, but I’m locked in the announcer booth, and I think I’m safe. Look we have, you, we all have to go to the Auditorium, Coach Gronk is there and he’ll know what to do, it’s REALLY DANGEROUS though, be careful and watch out for the guy with Chains!”

	There was a pause, which was offset by the murmuring in the crowd.

	“Oh no. I think... He found me. I’m going to hide. Please, get to the auditorium, it’s just not safe!!!”

	Thunder crashed outside, and Doug screamed, as the sound of someone picking up the microphone could be heard.

	“What are you doing with that! Leave me alone! I didn’t hurt you! I’m not even a wrestler! Aaiiie!” There was the sound of whooshing, followed by the sound of something fleshy hitting the microphone. And then again. And then again. Thud Thud Thud. After about nine thuds, though, it started getting softer sounded. Squish Squish Squish. And then, after that? Splat, splash, splash. Whatever had been pummeled with that microphone, there wasn’t much left of it now.

	“Well, this isn’t good,” said Kimbo to himself, glancing over to Marcus. Marcus nodded, glancing around the assorted group of students that were in the room with them. “Thank goodness it’s the weekend, how many people can there be, here?”

			DUN dun DUHHHNNNNN!!!!!!