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<3 <3 <3

Boner-riffic artwork (C) \n\t\t\t\t\tAnonIhmus (original source post)
Maxwell & cute lil' story (C) \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tGratitudeAdvocate\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t		\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tGratitudeAdvocate\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
", "writing": "\"'Kay, buddy, ten'll get ya twenty. What's your vice?\"\n\nMaxwell ogled the German shepherd raver up and down, taking in his adorably gay physique, contemplating way more than a mere drug deal. \n\n\"You got any horse?\"\n\n\"For you, slick, I've got the stickiest shit to slip your dick in! You want an ounce? Two, perhaps? Or if you'd prefer more, I can ring up my middle-fur.\"\n\n\"Nah, a joint would suffice.\"\n\n\"Groovy! Hang loose, dog... I'll get your goods right down here. Care to tag along? I trust ya with my stash o' goods.\"\n\nMaxwell smiled and shrugged. \"Sure, why not?\"\n\nAs the two anthros proceeded down the back-alley from the nightclub where Max often frequented for a piece of dope or tail or both, the Gshep queer yanked free a syringe and an orange rubber tube from his thong, similar in color to Max's eye-patch. Maxwell flinched and took a step back, keeping a wide berth from the dealer-dog.\n\n\"What's your beef, man?\"\n\n\"Heroin. I don't play that shit. That's all.\"\n\nThe shep nodded, understanding that even his most gorgeous clientele had their limits.\n\n\"No pressure, man! I'll shoot it up myself, ain't no thing. You want smoke? Check this shit out, man.\"\n\nHe elbowed a loosened brick against the building's wall, causing Max to groan aloud with pain. \n\n\"Jesus, doesn't that hurt?\" Max asked him. \n\n\"Nada! I'm fuckin' invulnerable to pain, dude. When you've got dragon-sperm seeping through your veins, you could damn-near ram your fucking head through a glass window and feel little to nothing, ya dig?\"\n\nMax ogled him cautiously, yet with a stalwart comprehending. Sure, when one was addicted to dragon-smack, one felt bogus in the category of hurt. Pain-tolerant dope fiends had a weird way about themselves, evidently. The gay shep pried free the elbowed brick, threw it to the ground and removed a small rolled-up baggie. He flicked it into the air, caught it and held it up towards Maxwell.\n\n\"How'bout, say, fifty?\"\n\nMax chuckled, rubbing his muzzle. \"Man, I don't got that kinda dough.\"\n\n\"No shit?! Wooah, man... okay then, hmm. That complicates shit a bit, don't it?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"'Kay, well then. Guess we'll just have to go with the handy-dandy alternate method then!\"\n\n\"What's that consist of? Also, what's your name, man?\" Max asked the shep.\n\n\"Stray. And the alternative is that... well, dude. You'll have to fuck me into orgasm for this shit right h'ya!\" Stray exclaimed, twirling the baggie containing a single rolled-tight joint. \n\n\"That's some serious dope too, man. Are you fucking kidding?\" Max asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.\n\n\"No fucky, no tokey. Sorry bub, but that's how Stray rolls! Sho'nuff!\"\n\nMax frowned, then sighed aloud and began to unbutton his pants. \"Fucking fine, dude. We do this, and I get to smoke that beauty you've got up in that baggie?\"\n\nStray lit up like a fluorescent bulb in an overpowered factory. His eyes beamed with feverish fascination. \"Of course!\"\n\nKicking off his pants to a grimy shadowed corner, Max stood upright and at ease, nude as nude could be. Stray licked his shep lips, gawking at Max's body and piercings... even at his crazy scarring. \n\n\"Yo, dude! What in fuck's name happened to your body?\"\n\n\"Long story short, never cook meth for a crooked drug baron. Otherwise he'll find a way to try and off you without even batting a glance your way.\"\n\n\"Damn! Well, at least you survived, right?\" Stray insisted. He fished around in a pile of rubbish and found a small spoon. He pulled it free and bent it against the brick wall behind him. Max watched with distaste and disgust as Stray whipped out a Zippo lighter from the same small cubby-hole which contained the single baggie-wrapped joint, along with a small vial of powder. Stray sprinkled a chunky portion into the spoon's angled feeding end and flicked the lighter, producing a small yellow flame. He held it against the bottom of the spoon, causing the powder to disintegrate into a murky brown liquid. The stench conjured very bad memories in Max's mind, reminding him of his mother, long-since deceased. \n\n\"So you're Maxwell, right? Grunge bassist or some shit?\" Stray asked while he cooked the dope up.\n\n\"Yup, guilty as charged.\" Max unwrapped the joint, stashing the baggie into Stray's cubby-hole. \n\n\"Dude, want a light?\" Stray asked Max, holding the Zippo towards the shep-coon. Max nodded, held the open end of the large ganja-stick to the flame and watched the tip flare up, watched as embers curled into the rolling paper, protruding a bluish-green trail of smoke, igniting the potent bud crumbles within.\n\n\"Is this blue dream?\" Max asked Stray, who nodded with a maniacal grin in response. Max returned the gesture with a smile of his own, thanked Stray and inhaled a long single toke, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he was capable. After about thirty seconds or so, he exhaled a tiny plume of smoke from his nostrils and hunched over into a coughing fit. Stray cracked up laughing at his pussy-ass virgin-lunged response. \n\nAfter the heroin was fully molten for delivery, Stray sucked the juice into his blue-tinted syringe, holding the needle straight up, flicking at the tube while pushing against the plunger, ensuring no excess air lingered in the phallic paraphernalia. He wrapped his orange tourniquet around his bicep, inches from his shoulder, pulled it tight, flexed his hand-paw and using the other free hand-paw, punctured his forearm and thumb-pawed the tiny plastic piston slightly. Stray let a little blood mix in with the drugs, swish and settle, then delivered the full syringe into his arm, pushing the plunger all the way down to its hilt. After the dope had been fully injected, Stray let go of the small hypodermic, needle sliding free from his vein, falling from his arm and landing on the ground beside the dirty cooking spoon. Stray swayed and swerved on his foot-paws, feeling no more pain, no hate, no degradation... nothing much at all. A blissful sensation of euphoria swept over his entire body, causing his heart rate to slow drastically and his sexual inhibitions to sky-rocket. Stray's cute little butterfly-decorated purple thong began to bulge. \n\nMaxwell looked at all of this with a mixture of hatred and hedonistic lust. Fucking druggies always had a way of becoming instantaneously horny, didn't they? Max wondered if Stray attended a gym and laughed his ass off at the vision. A super-gay heroin addict working out via gym membership? Yeah, and hyper fetish porn was Max's biggest go-to kink. Like fucking hell!\n\n\"So. That's, trippy. Uh... wanna fuck?\" Stray asked Max. \n\n\"I'll fuck and fuck until the word goes outta style, ya know?\" Max replied, one good eye hazy and jaundice with pot, knotted erection growing rapidly. \n\n\"Style is my forte, mister Max!\" Stray yelped, plopping down upon his rump, letting his tail curl up to his waist, exposing himself to Maxwell fully. Max reached down and tugged Stray's adorably homosexual thong up to his ankle, then held the shepherd down by his legs and inserted his shep-coon cock into Stray's winking, delightfully gaping ready-for-action tail-hole. The insertion, lube-free and rough as hell, felt sensational, especially under the influence of marijuana. Max held the joint between his finger-paw tips as he shoved and thrust himself into Stray relentlessly, forcing Stray to jizz on his own face repeatedly, enamored by Maxwell's potent libido. \n\nThe two went all fucking night, until the drugs began to wear off. After exchanging numbers, they made a solemn vow to meet up again some day and deal in more drugs... with the hopeful expectation that Maxwell would turn up short on dough once more. \n\nEND", "writing_bbcode_parsed": ""'Kay, buddy, ten'll get ya twenty. What's your vice?"

Maxwell ogled the German shepherd raver up and down, taking in his adorably gay physique, contemplating way more than a mere drug deal.

"You got any horse?"

"For you, slick, I've got the stickiest shit to slip your dick in! You want an ounce? Two, perhaps? Or if you'd prefer more, I can ring up my middle-fur."

"Nah, a joint would suffice."

"Groovy! Hang loose, dog... I'll get your goods right down here. Care to tag along? I trust ya with my stash o' goods."

Maxwell smiled and shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

As the two anthros proceeded down the back-alley from the nightclub where Max often frequented for a piece of dope or tail or both, the Gshep queer yanked free a syringe and an orange rubber tube from his thong, similar in color to Max's eye-patch. Maxwell flinched and took a step back, keeping a wide berth from the dealer-dog.

"What's your beef, man?"

"Heroin. I don't play that shit. That's all."

The shep nodded, understanding that even his most gorgeous clientele had their limits.

"No pressure, man! I'll shoot it up myself, ain't no thing. You want smoke? Check this shit out, man."

He elbowed a loosened brick against the building's wall, causing Max to groan aloud with pain.

"Jesus, doesn't that hurt?" Max asked him.

"Nada! I'm fuckin' invulnerable to pain, dude. When you've got dragon-sperm seeping through your veins, you could damn-near ram your fucking head through a glass window and feel little to nothing, ya dig?"

Max ogled him cautiously, yet with a stalwart comprehending. Sure, when one was addicted to dragon-smack, one felt bogus in the category of hurt. Pain-tolerant dope fiends had a weird way about themselves, evidently. The gay shep pried free the elbowed brick, threw it to the ground and removed a small rolled-up baggie. He flicked it into the air, caught it and held it up towards Maxwell.

"How'bout, say, fifty?"

Max chuckled, rubbing his muzzle. "Man, I don't got that kinda dough."

"No shit?! Wooah, man... okay then, hmm. That complicates shit a bit, don't it?"

"Perhaps."

"'Kay, well then. Guess we'll just have to go with the handy-dandy alternate method then!"

"What's that consist of? Also, what's your name, man?" Max asked the shep.

"Stray. And the alternative is that... well, dude. You'll have to fuck me into orgasm for this shit right h'ya!" Stray exclaimed, twirling the baggie containing a single rolled-tight joint.

"That's some serious dope too, man. Are you fucking kidding?" Max asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"No fucky, no tokey. Sorry bub, but that's how Stray rolls! Sho'nuff!"

Max frowned, then sighed aloud and began to unbutton his pants. "Fucking fine, dude. We do this, and I get to smoke that beauty you've got up in that baggie?"

Stray lit up like a fluorescent bulb in an overpowered factory. His eyes beamed with feverish fascination. "Of course!"

Kicking off his pants to a grimy shadowed corner, Max stood upright and at ease, nude as nude could be. Stray licked his shep lips, gawking at Max's body and piercings... even at his crazy scarring.

"Yo, dude! What in fuck's name happened to your body?"

"Long story short, never cook meth for a crooked drug baron. Otherwise he'll find a way to try and off you without even batting a glance your way."

"Damn! Well, at least you survived, right?" Stray insisted. He fished around in a pile of rubbish and found a small spoon. He pulled it free and bent it against the brick wall behind him. Max watched with distaste and disgust as Stray whipped out a Zippo lighter from the same small cubby-hole which contained the single baggie-wrapped joint, along with a small vial of powder. Stray sprinkled a chunky portion into the spoon's angled feeding end and flicked the lighter, producing a small yellow flame. He held it against the bottom of the spoon, causing the powder to disintegrate into a murky brown liquid. The stench conjured very bad memories in Max's mind, reminding him of his mother, long-since deceased.

"So you're Maxwell, right? Grunge bassist or some shit?" Stray asked while he cooked the dope up.

"Yup, guilty as charged." Max unwrapped the joint, stashing the baggie into Stray's cubby-hole.

"Dude, want a light?" Stray asked Max, holding the Zippo towards the shep-coon. Max nodded, held the open end of the large ganja-stick to the flame and watched the tip flare up, watched as embers curled into the rolling paper, protruding a bluish-green trail of smoke, igniting the potent bud crumbles within.

"Is this blue dream?" Max asked Stray, who nodded with a maniacal grin in response. Max returned the gesture with a smile of his own, thanked Stray and inhaled a long single toke, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he was capable. After about thirty seconds or so, he exhaled a tiny plume of smoke from his nostrils and hunched over into a coughing fit. Stray cracked up laughing at his pussy-ass virgin-lunged response.

After the heroin was fully molten for delivery, Stray sucked the juice into his blue-tinted syringe, holding the needle straight up, flicking at the tube while pushing against the plunger, ensuring no excess air lingered in the phallic paraphernalia. He wrapped his orange tourniquet around his bicep, inches from his shoulder, pulled it tight, flexed his hand-paw and using the other free hand-paw, punctured his forearm and thumb-pawed the tiny plastic piston slightly. Stray let a little blood mix in with the drugs, swish and settle, then delivered the full syringe into his arm, pushing the plunger all the way down to its hilt. After the dope had been fully injected, Stray let go of the small hypodermic, needle sliding free from his vein, falling from his arm and landing on the ground beside the dirty cooking spoon. Stray swayed and swerved on his foot-paws, feeling no more pain, no hate, no degradation... nothing much at all. A blissful sensation of euphoria swept over his entire body, causing his heart rate to slow drastically and his sexual inhibitions to sky-rocket. Stray's cute little butterfly-decorated purple thong began to bulge.

Maxwell looked at all of this with a mixture of hatred and hedonistic lust. Fucking druggies always had a way of becoming instantaneously horny, didn't they? Max wondered if Stray attended a gym and laughed his ass off at the vision. A super-gay heroin addict working out via gym membership? Yeah, and hyper fetish porn was Max's biggest go-to kink. Like fucking hell!

"So. That's, trippy. Uh... wanna fuck?" Stray asked Max.

"I'll fuck and fuck until the word goes outta style, ya know?" Max replied, one good eye hazy and jaundice with pot, knotted erection growing rapidly.

"Style is my forte, mister Max!" Stray yelped, plopping down upon his rump, letting his tail curl up to his waist, exposing himself to Maxwell fully. Max reached down and tugged Stray's adorably homosexual thong up to his ankle, then held the shepherd down by his legs and inserted his shep-coon cock into Stray's winking, delightfully gaping ready-for-action tail-hole. The insertion, lube-free and rough as hell, felt sensational, especially under the influence of marijuana. Max held the joint between his finger-paw tips as he shoved and thrust himself into Stray relentlessly, forcing Stray to jizz on his own face repeatedly, enamored by Maxwell's potent libido.

The two went all fucking night, until the drugs began to wear off. After exchanging numbers, they made a solemn vow to meet up again some day and deal in more drugs... with the hopeful expectation that Maxwell would turn up short on dough once more.

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