Roll the window down this
cool night air is curious
let the whole world look in
who cares who sees anything
I'm your passenger
I'm your passenger...
"Who the actual FUCK is THIS?!"
"WAIT! I can explain! I swear, I was onl-"
"Bullshit! You little thief! You vandal! You goddam RACCOON!!!"
Maxwell Blackburnadeaux's shep-coon upper lip curled into a snarl, his brow furrowed and he shoved Ome Francis against the shit-heap delivery van's driver-side door. His tail brushed against the radio's volume knob, turning the mere whisper of Deftones into a barreling onslaught, bleeding-eared intensity shoving through a pair of scratchy, nearly-blown factory speakers.
The door latch pried loose, flinging it wide open. Maxwell and Ome tumbled out from the cabin, landing on a thicket of loose gravel. Their bodies plopped down with a whump and crinkled listlessly as they both fought to regain balance amidst loose-footed ground. Ome managed to hoist himself up first. He turned to face Max, only to be tackled to the gravel once more, linebacker-style. Another defensive premeasure inherited with grisly precision from The Ridge, no doubt.
The nearly-identical (save for hair color and vast differences in fashion choice) ring-tailed anthro-mammals wrestled and pried at each other's throats, faces, necks, trying to gain a handle on one another. Eventually Maxwell won the battle, pinning Ome down onto the surprisingly cool tarmac surface of the road that led onward into civilization, straight into Grants Pass.
He snarled and bared his teeth, letting a tiny thin strand of saliva drip freely down onto Ome's nose. Boop, right between his nostrils landed the small hint of drool-laden moisture, leaking a warm slimy trail down his stubby raccoon snout. He grimaced and shook his head, trying to wipe the spit off on Max's shirt-sleeve. The shep-coon hoisted him up from the gravel and held a firm grip around Ome's neck, making sure there wouldn't be any further fighting. Ome got wildly turned on by Max's extreme measures of physical sustainability. He wondered-
"I'm a fucking shep-coon, if it serves your goddam ass correctly."
Max let go of Ome's neck with a pacifist's consideration.
"And I'm not in it to rob you. I swear. I was curious. Just a peek. Nothing I wished to steal, I swear." Max said, attempting to personify a ring-tail of his word, hoping the ugly white lie wouldn't bear face upon his features, reflected in a twitch of the lip, a glance-away of the eyes, a nose crinkling or ear lowering.
Ome was far sharper than he seemed. Much to Max's discontent.
The raccoon head-butted Max, knocking him back upon his knees. Max rolled down onto his back in a mild daze that lasted for mere seconds, barely deemed concussive, before he regained consciousness, now more furious than ever. His eyelids trembled in unison and his fists balled up into paw-padded mounds of fury and rage.
Maxwell tried to stand up with wicked aggressive haste and nearly collapsed over his own shep-coon legs, benumbed and weak. His brain felt frayed with a thorough case of light-headedness. Ome pinned himself upon Max's waist, holding his shep-coon wrists down above his head and leaning in close to his face, muzzles nearly brushing against one another. The sensation of Max's whiskers tickling at Ome's nose sent shivers down his procyonid spine.
"You are one extremely goddam shitty-ass liar, pal. Not to mention slobbery." Ome said into Max's ear with a giggle, funny little coy smirk gracing his thin raccoon lips, illuminating his face, expressive of charm and whimsy, with an occasional lashing-out of bitter raw sarcasm, some legitimate realism to keep a dumb-ass or two in check. Ome Francis caught onto Max's belligerent liar's tendencies right away, since he was practically born and raised among liars from all angles of life.
"He must've had to lie often to get this far in life..." Ome said to himself, well within earshot of Max. He nudged Ome off from his lap and held the raccoon down in a wrestling grapple, some wild-ass full nelson or fuck-what. This hybrid had gone to great lengths to protect his hide! Memories of long classroom hallways surfaced, blood-stained locker room shower floor tiling, crumpled teal-green bedsheets doubling as a sadist's noose; all the comforts of home without ever having to leave home.
"You talkin' to yourself, fuckstick?" Max asked, white-splotched eyebrows curled in an sideways-S upon his bandito-masked shep-coon face, bearing an expression of mild concern and curiosity, alternating-hued eyes glowing with disdain upon having been physically bested by the seemingly-weak raccoon delivery driver. Ome's distempered nature let itself run rampant after being called a fuckstick by the punk hybrid who tried to rob him blind in broad daylight - and deny the entire thing!
"NNNRRRG!!! No! Just - get off me! Get off, dammit! Let me go right now!" Ome yelled, kicking his legs wildly behind Max, jostling the shep-coon's tail with his raccoon foot paws. Maxwell's grip strengthened, pinning the raccoon down harder. Eventually Ome's struggling dwindled and he frowned up at Max. "So why'd you do it, huh? Why'd you think snooping around in this van that isn't even mine to begin with - part of the job - was a clever or even a remotely good idea?"
"I didn't." Maxwell said, smirking with a sad undertone. His grip loosened upon Ome's wrists and he sighed deep, a weary exhausted wheezing groan emanated from shep-coon lungs exposed to a long history of blazing marijuana and diesel-lit bonfire fumes. God bless the working-class Brookings citizens and all their dedication to ensuring their cubs are well-tended to.
Yeah, and Maxwell was about to boink the fuck out of this raccoon in the road, right in front of the world. Big whoop! Hide your daughters! Shelter your wives! Roll out the glittery red carpet!
"I might have killed you, man." Ome said. Max scoffed and rolled his one good eye.
As if, ring-tail.
"Hardly. I would've done well to hold my ground, protect my better interests. In other words, I would've fucked you up, had you pulled a gun or knife on me. Cool, huh? A little bit of trade-secret tricks I learned from The Ridge."
Ome's frown subsided. Did this shep-coon mean Tucker Ridge, that anthro reformatory center? If that's the case, and he's a hybrid, then...
"You have nothing like that on you, retard. Otherwise you already would've used any of that shit on me by now. Like I said, you a sad, compulsive liar and ought to be stoned for your blatant perjury against the mere truth."
"Stoned? Fuck you, bitch."
His small, rounded raccoon ears twitched as Ome threw a random fist upward, right into Max's chin, connecting knuckles with jaw, hearing a morbidly satisfactory hollow slam barrel out from between his teeth. Max grunted and flung his head back, arms limping down to his sides. He'd been knocked out cold, lying in the gravel pit, weird little wheezing gasp emanating from his throat amidst labored breathing, eyes a pair of ocular whites, fine slits of lids barely opened. Ome smirked as he cracked his knuckles on his Rocky-fist, observing Max's unconscious state of being.
"I wonder why he'd be so butthurt over me calling him stoned. Maybe..." Ome walked over to Max and opened his eyelids wide, staring at his corneas. He watched as a milky jaundiced yellowish substance coursed through the shep-coon's pale whites.
"Aha! I fucking knew it. Goddam pothead thieving ring-tailed bastard. That's it pal, you're coming with me. Like it or not."
~
Ome was putting on the finishing touches to the rope when Max stirred from his unconscious daze. He came to and immediately began to flinch and jerk his arms, trying to break free from the rope, to no avail. Ome had a navy captain's skill when it came to harnessing rope knots and looping dead-solid ties. Years of kinky torture and sadomasochistic behavior (He'd earned a bit of a dominatrix reputation in the heyday of his youth) had developed him into a beast of utmost sexual delight.
Maxwell felt anything but delight at the current moment.
"Untie me right now and we can forget about this whole goddam thing. I swear." Max uttered, voice wavering. Ome just chuckled low, tightening a rope tied between Max's shep-coon arms, bringing them up to his sides in a crucified pose.
"Not a chance. You are a thief and as such, you shall receive proper punishment for your actions."
"Look, just let me go and I won't say a fucking word, I swear I'll turn myself in, please jus-"
Ome unzipped his pants and smacked his large raccoon dick against Max's muzzle. The shep-coon flinched, face scrunched into a disgusted expression. Memories of The Ridge came flooding back into his mind and heart like a busted sieve, flashing images of horny rapist timberwolf upper-classmen and blood-skewered locker room shower floor tiling and ruffled teal-green bedsheets wrapped around his neck and limbs and jizz stains upon his neck and Corey, dear Corey, who suffered such a cruel fa-
Ome smacked Maxwell's cheek with a brisk slap, awakening the shep-coon from his daydreaming tirade.
"You won't say a word, alright. Not with my girth in your maw, punk. Fucking pothead."
Max groaned and sighed, glancing into Ome's eyes. "Who's to say I won't just bite it off, you prick? And seriously, what the fuck?! YOU HAVE WEED IN YOUR GODDAM VAN, YA IMBECILE!! ARE YA BLIND?!" Max hollered at Ome, sniffing in deep through his nostrils. He returned his furious bloodletting gaze back to Ome's eyes. "Mmmmm, smells mighty fine! I bet I could do you one better, by turning your bitch-ass into the fuckin' feds for drug smuggling." Maxwell suddenly said in a low, croupy voice, frighteningly unfamiliar with his youthful skinny figure.
Ome grinned and giggled, covering his lips with his hand-paw, so dainty and adorable.
"Do that, and I'll do this." Ome said, leaning far forward, right into Max's ear. The raccoon slouched over to a dangling rope in the center of the van. He pulled the rope taut and Max's collarbones nearly broke. His arms stretched past their designated positions, apt to pop a shoulder free from its socket or snap a tendon. Max shrieked and bellowed aloud, reeling from the dire pain. When Ome gave Max's restraints a little slack, he cleared his throat and knelt down in front of Max's face, rubbing his dirty-blonde hair, caressing his long German shepherd ears, still floppy in some parts. The raccoon stood back up and returned back to Max, poking his erection against Max's cheek. Max growled up at Ome and with a heavy strain of profound reluctance, opened his mouth to welcome Ome's cock. Fuck it, if this helped get Max to civilization quicker, then he'd honor thy request, goddammit. Ome clenched hold of Max's dirty blonde hair and thrust forward, sliding himself further down Max's throat, inducing a gag reflex. Max tried to not swallow too often out of fear of having his arms broken or worse yet, accidentally castrating the raccoon delivery driver who believed in firm, swift justice.
Ome-Coon eventually found an ideal tempo of thrusting and he managed to deepthroat Maxwell a few times, sliding himself so far into the captive shep-coon's throat that he felt his own testicles bounce off Max's fuzzy chin. Max moaned from his nostrils as Ome ejaculated hard into the shep-coon's mouth, filling every cavity and crevice in his oral orifice with fresh milky-white raccoon semen. Max sloshed Ome's cum around upon the ivory surface of his teeth and his ruby-reddened gums for a brief moment, reminding himself of what male sperm tasted like. The snot-like consistency of the texture threatened to gag Maxwell into vomiting but he wouldn't honor such a feeling. He couldn't afford to make a mess in a perfectly random stranger's work van, especially not after being caught red-handed trying to snoop through personal belongings that didn't rightfully belong to him. This raccoon was not much better than his asshole ex-peers, the rapist pigs… one of them had been a wild boar, at least.
Then the tides got turned.
"You took my dick very well, young'un. I think you've got what it takes. Tell you what. I'm going to untie you. If you play it cool, I'll drive you to the next town and drop you off, so you can go along your merry way and let me go along on my own. How about it?"
Max sneered and spat his mouthful of spunk back at Ome, missing his face by mere inches. The sperm-tainted luger instead stuck onto the van's rear door. Ome's stunned, jaw-unhinged expression gave Max a cruel little high, causing him to laugh aloud.
"AAAHAHAHAHA!!! Hey!! I'll tell you what! I'd rather fucking hitch a ride to Mexico than let you drive me to the next town, you fat-assed bastard queer-bait uncle-licking faggot asshole." Max said with crazed eyes, grinning with mad hysteria at Ome. "How you like THEM apples, fuuuuuuhuuuckstick?!"
Sighing and rubbing at an itchy spot on his ear, Ome had finally dealt out the last of his precious patience, had played it nice and easy with the young spry punk he'd captured and kept tied up to teach him how robbing never pays for a thing in the end. Now, he was on the verge of cutting the rope, handcuffing Max's arms to metal rods embedded in the driver and passenger headrests and fucking him into a complete sloppy bundle of love, with an outstretched tailhole and plenty of cum-clotted fur… maybe even strangling the bastard to death, goddam him and his incredible attractiveness.
"Call me a faggot, little bitch?" Ome asked with aggressive impatience. "I'll show you what being a goddam faggot is like. Prepare your anus, little brat!"
"You must be quite the granny-fucking moron, aren't you? I'm a helluva lot older than you are, dude."
"Fat chance! What's your age?"
"Twenty-five… I think." Max grumbled beneath his breath, head hung down low. He refused to make eye contact with the raccoon who'd decided that kidnapping him was a decisive anti-thieving tactic.
"There you go! Not too many years between us. I'm nineteen, which makes you a prime candidate for my fat dick, old-timer."
"Go. Fuck. Yourself, you JERK!!" Max snarled, leaping towards Ome Francis. The ropes prevented him from coming any closer to the raccoon, only yanked him backwards instead. Max let loose with a loud groan of frustration, further attempting to jerk and pull himself free from his bonds.
Ome chuckled and knelt behind Max. Ome rubbed at his tailhole with a single thumb-paw. Max froze in place, head shaking wildly, insisting that he be let go. Ome giggled at his plea and rammed his girth into Maxwell's exposed tailhole, thrusting once and twice before settling into a rhythmic course of fanatic homoerotic buggery. Ome's fat dick slid effortlessly into Max's tailhole while Max sustained an orgasm, handpaws-free. His dick flexed and stiffened immeasurably so that when he did ejaculate, Max thought he'd pissed himself instead. He was worried sick about peeing inside the raccoon's work van.
Ome, however, shrugged the sudden rush of orgasm off and licked at Max's fuzzy cheek while pounding him into a delectable and dependable cum-receptacle. He loosened the ropes immeasurably and forced Max to lean his chest way to the ground, to fold his body into a head-down-ass-up position. When he did, Ome Francis went to town, pushing his knot into Maxwell's tender wanting tailhole with great rigorous intensity.
"OH MY FUUUHCK!!!" Max hollered, tears streaming down his muzzle from his eyelids, mixed-emotions running rampant. He was horrified, he was aroused, he was disgusted, he was satisfied, he was anguished, he was rejuvenated, he was raped and he loved every goddam moment of it.
With a quick yank, the ropes fell to the ground. Before Max had a chance to compose himself, Ome shoved his muzzle between Max's furry ass-cheeks and began to tongue-fuck him with vibrant repetition. The raccoon goth-emo rimmed his own spunk clean from Maxwell's puckering pink-hued tailhole, slimy and stained white with Ome's raccoon jizz. The interspersed taste of Max's potent sweaty musk and Ome's oyster-clad ejaculate mixed together caused Ome to wail aloud as he stroked himself off harder, a blinding flash of movement became his hand-paw. He stroked at light-speed as Ome licked Max's asshole with tender consideration, occasionally squeezing the shep-coon's ballsack and knot for good measure. Max came again on Ome's kneecap in dime-dolloped spurts. Ome chuckled low as he continued to feast on shep-coon ass, rubbing cum droplets from his knee and wiping the spunk into Max's knot-damaged tailhole, a little salt to zest up the robust meaty flavor.
"Guess I'm not the only faggot now, huh?"
Max panted and reached down to clench Ome's black bangs in his hand-pawed grip. "Less talk, more lick."
Ome snickered. "As you command, your highness." He licked his lips in further preparation.
~
A familiar blue Expedition reared around the corner of the small forest-buried tarmac road, the path to Brookings, the promised way. Headlights adorned the mirrors of Ome's work-van and they both flinched from inside the rear cabin.
"OH SHIT!" Max yelled. Ome yanked his tongue out from Max's anus with a tiny audible snap and leaned over to catch a glimpse into the van's side-view mirror. He saw a family of about four pull up behind the van with its caution blinkers flashing. Ome went back to Max and hugged the shep-coon against his chest.
"Don't panic! Relax and crouch down when I tell you to."
"I am crouched down already, ya fuckin' nimrod!"
"Okay, NOW!"
"What in fuck-willy hell are you-"
Maxwell's muzzle was cupped shut by Ome's thin raccoon hand-paw, a bit gangly and beady but smooth and comforting nevertheless. Ome hoisted his body to the side, causing them both to land hip-ended, Ome's back smacking against the interior wall of the van's trunk-space, filled with a hand-jack, a stacking dolly-cart, four large square-shaped mounds of freshly-packed Abracadabra Cookies (ganja for those not in "the know") and a large blue tarpaulin blanket, spread out and laid down upon the floor, presumably to keep the van clean and tidy.
If only the company knew two anthros fucked and produced a sloppy drenched mess in the rear of their delivery van, they'd ask for more than a freaking tarp.
"Shhh… I hear them, right outside…" Max said, ears cocking to adjust his audible perception.
The anthros listened hard. Luckily, Ome had left his window rolled down, amidst all the nutty physical and sexual altercations he'd just engaged in with Max and they could both hear quite clearly.
An engine slowed to a stop behind the delivery van. An electronic whirring sound ushered in a low-end bass tone. The rhythm screamed Bluegrass Country. The music volume came down to a whisper. Max could feel Ome's knot throbbing against his backside, prodding at the base of his spine. The feeling felt awkwardly pleasant. Ome rubbed at his chest and belly, giving Max flittering butterflies in his belly.
"Helloooooo in there? Anyone in there?" A voice, followed by a small knock upon the van's rear door.
"See? Abandoned." Another voice called out, presumably sitting in the van, impatient and ready to get moving on already.
"That just doesn't seem likely though, I mean who else could've possibly come down this road, other than that young raccoon fur from earlier?" More feminine, that was the mom. Dad was the impatient soul.
Shep-coon, for fuck's sake… I'm a SHEP-COON!
Ome snickered beneath his breath, snout pressed down upon Max's head, right on top of his skull. "She called you a 'young raccoon fur'… hee hee hee!" Ome whispered in a mocking, condescending tone. Max shrugged at the ring-tail, trying to nudge him away. Ome wrapped his arms around Max's waist instead. The raccoon reached down to grab for Max's penis. Maxwell moaned softly, trying not to be far too loud, spreading his legs voluntarily to allow Ome to grasp as much shep-coon cock as he could handle.
"Well, we did see that one snake-like… thing. Was it a wolf? Some kind of new cross-breed hybrid or something, I suppose. Far too many of those sorts popping up lately." The motherly voice expressed a fond interest in all things hybrid. Max liked her a lot.
"I think that might've been what that raccoon was, daddy!" A sweet little girl's voice said, hyperactive and boisterous. She was a girl who knew how to stir a crowd with her words.
"Karla." Max whispered, nearly to himself.
"Hmm? Say something?" Ome whispered into Max's ear, licking it softly, acting quite the tease.
"Her name's… Karla. Mmf, stop, that tickles!" Max giggled before continuing, brushing Ome's face away, eyes alit with a solid flirtatious edge. "I remember them, they passed me by earlier. Tried to see if I didn't want a ride into town. I just shrugged 'em off, stayed quiet, pretty much ignored them. They got the hint and drove off… but before they did? This little skunk boy taunted me. It was cute but their mom, I guess anyways, she told him to knock it off and be nice, like his sister. But she said names. Ether was the boy, I remember. Karla and Ether."
"My goodness, that is the most incredulous and inspiring story of all time. It is so incredible that I can simply give a good goddam fuck less."
"Pffft, I figured you'd say that. Fuck." Max said. Ome smiled and reached his hand-paw down Max's chest, sliding his slender raccoon digits through rustled thick German shepherd belly fur. He found a nipple among the thistle of follicles, slim and pouty. A healthy tit. Ome squeezed at it while he let his other hand-paw glide down Max's belly, past his beltline, right down to his bulbous young shep-coon's penis. It was semi-erect, poking out of a brown-furred sheath and Max flinched in reaction, spreading his legs and grinding his butt against Ome's hips.
"Speaking of names, I don't think we even know ours yet, do we?" Ome insisted. He was honestly surprised they waited so long to introduce themselves.
Fuck that! What'll I say? "Oh, pleasure to meet you, you dirty rotten goddam fucking thieving bastard. I'm Ome and you'll never steal again, not after I punish you to the fullest extent of the law. Now bend over and take it, bitch!" Sure, that'd go over like a fucking fart in church on Easter Sunday.
"Maxwell." Max said. He sounded exhausted, restless. He held a weary hand-paw out to Ome, still tied with rope, to grant a handpaw-shake, which Ome obliged honorably.
"Ome. I'm Ome Francis." Ome said, twirling his finger-paws in distinct patterns against the fleshy surface of Max's shep-coon cock, causing Max's hand-paw to squeeze Ome's shaking paw. And thus, the brothers had been introduced to one another officially and forthright.
Max bonked his head against the van's rear door purely by accident. He squirmed and yelped, growing even more aroused with each circular rub. Ome's long, slender nails complimented his heated touch, as he gave Max's cock a passionate caressing, tickling at the shep-coon's tip and shaft. Max cleared his throat.
"Then we're well met, I think. Thanks for not, y'know… killing me or arresting me or anything. I'm really sorry I tried to-"
"NOT. ANOTHER. WORD." Ome growled into Max's ear, hovering over the shep-coon like a vampire. "You can't get off that easily, Maxwell. You may be a beautifully attractive and damn sexy ring-tailed… raccoon-shepherd, right?"
"Correctomondo." Maxwell said with a weary smile, a graceful relaxation evident in his eyes. He seemed content with Ome, somehow. Had he… enjoyed being tortured?
"But you committed a serious crime, and being a representative and employee of-"
"-What, ganja gangbusters incorporated at large? Dude, you're a fucking drug smuggler, I don't care, be honest with me. I could smell the weed all the fucking way from-"
Ome wrapped his arm around Max's neck, locking him into a chokehold. Max struggled to catch a breath but couldn't quite cut it. He reached up and squeezed at Ome's bicep, his wrist, to lay off, to loosen his grip, to give him back his share of precious oxygen. Ome loosened his grip - he also stroked Max off, sliding his hand-paw up and down Max's erection, full-grown now, slippery with pre-cum and sweaty moisture. The scent drove Ome gaga with illicit desire. His own raccoon's penis was stiff as a rod and ready for shep-coon re-entry.
"Call me a drug smuggler again and I'll squeeze even tighter next time, might not let go either."
"O-O… Ome… Ome… please…"
Ome cocked his head. What could this punk possibly be begging for? From a thief to a liar to a full-on beggar. Ome almost expected Max to come clean and admit to a fear of walnuts or balloons or human children. "Please, what?"
"Please… stop… fucking teasing me… and just do me already, you ass…" Max said, breath running low into the last bit, as if he'd made a great effort to get all the words out.
"As you wish." Ome Francis said, sitting upright from the floor of the van besides Maxwell Blackburnadeaux, both anthros as nude as Amazonian tribal hunter-gatherers.
"But wait, are they still outsi-"
"I don't give a fuck. Spread wider, little bitch." Ome demanded. Max glared up to the raccoon and turn to lay on his back, snarling beneath his breath. He really wanted to bitch-slap Ome but knew that would get him absolutely nowhere. Max hoisted his shep-coon hips, slender and taut, up with his hand-paws, elbows pinned beneath his back. When Max's hind end raised along with his legs and tail, Ome crouched down to hoist Max upon his sturdy lap. Ome swung Max's dog-anthro legs up and over his raccoon shoulders, knees bent and curled comfortably around his fuzzy neck, footpaws tapping at his back. Ome hunched down to gain the proper penetration-savvy position. When he was cleared for entry, Ome placed Max's back against the van's rear doors. This wheelbarrowing pin-down, coupled with Ome's intense lustful gaze, caused Max's body to tremble with a mad-insatiable heavy anxious anticipation as he felt Ome's dick slide into his raccoon-violated tailhole. Ome wrapped his arms around Max's thighs and went to pound-town, plowing deeper with each new thrust. Max held on tightly to Ome, wrists wrapped around his neck, finger-paws interlaced upon his furry nape. By now Maxwell didn't give much of a damn if the sweet anthro family were still outside the van or not, so he let loose and squeezed his tailhole shut tight, clenching down around Ome's dick, wrapping his ankles together and his tail around Ome's leg, like a raccoon-ringed barber's pole.
"OH MY FUCKING GOD HOLY FUCKING SHIT DO ME HARDER GOD DAMMIT FUCK YES FUCK MY ASS YEEAH FUUUUUU-"
Ome's surprised expression was beyond legendary, if only Max had noticed - his head was swimming in unequivocal bliss unlike the type of which he hadn't felt since
The Ridge, when he let his first real crush and fellow dorm-mate, a young duck anthro named Corey, mate in private with him. The virgin-like pioneering sensation was strange, unique… but not entirely unsatisfactory. They didn't kiss, on account of Corey's beak and Max's muzzle not forming a comfortable connection, but they had tried to mutually masturbate… at first. That was their first fully agreed-upon sexual outlet, their first boyhood erotic leap and bound, their first youthful plunge into their own shared mass carnality, their hopes and dreams and desires and yearning, always hunting out attention, so much attention, all squelched up into two small pairs of orbs that drained a strange yogurt-like creamy spunk that smelled like iron and seawater from the slit-tipped edge of their penises. Max and Corey were equally horrified by their experience, yet later came to terms with what they'd done with each other and learned to live in peace and harmony, free of any regret or denial. Max never fucked Corey but he did spread himself in a shower for the duck once, the only other time Max had ever taken it up the ass, besides from his own father, so many times in the years of his sordid troubled youth. One morning at The Ridge, Max opted to pick up breakfast from the mess hall, asking Corey if he desired anything to eat. The last words Corey ever said to Maxwell had been, "Um, how 'bout your ass?" This had sent both young anthros into hysterics. If only they'd know that's all they were ever given. Max ran outside from his room, down a long hallway and out from the dorm's rotating doors towards the most important meal of the day. He had gone to get food from the mess hall with the intent of grubbing up before an important midterm final in his English class, since Mr. Cheney was always strict and uptight whenever homework was turned in tardy, the balding old prude. Max wished to get his essay assignment on the importance of parking meters finished by twelve at least. Upon Max's return back to his dorm, he discovered Corey on the floor, throat slit wide open with a shard of glass that had been pried free from a broken picture frame that housed a photograph of Max and Corey, hugging close with cheeks pressed together, wearing snowcaps in a brisk, chilly, snow-capped field. They had looked so vibrant, so jubilant and hopeful. Photos always captured the right moments, if only they could allow the feelings to flourish and carry on. If only. The reports all ruled out suicide but Max had pondering suspicions that suggested something far more had occurred in his dorm. Corey never expressed sadness or depression, Max couldn't fucking understand why he'd possess any incorrigible urge to take his own life, and in such a grisly manner. Max had wondered if there wasn't a jealous mistress or an enraged ex-boyfriend in Corey's past and eventually decided to pass on the idea. That was just paranoid thinking. Paranoia incarnate.
All this spewed through Max's mind in the entire course of Ome's prodding intercourse.
When Max opened his eyes, he was blinded by a great flash of purple and orange. He blinked to regain his sight and froze in dead silence, eyes wide and heart racing. Ome had knotted Max during the sexual onslaught and somehow Max's head had busted the van's rear door open. One bonk too many caused the latch to come loose, throwing the doors wide open, exposing an unknowing anthro family traveling through the great Pacific Northwest from Pennsylvania on vacation quite a legitimate freaking eyeful. Large wrapped bricks of ganja, a bunch of random shipping and delivery equipment and two gay male furs twisted illustriously into a fucked-hard pretzel of seemingly impossible proportion, sprung wide open into plain sight the family like a large gay jack-in-the-box.
Karla the wolf-girl blushed and covered her muzzle with her hand-paw, long-sleeved green turtleneck sweater drooping over her body in a three-times-too-large size as her eyes widened at the sight, completely perplexed by what she was gazing upon. Ether laughed and pointed at them, holding himself up on one of his knees, unable to control his giggle-fits, finding their positioning to be incredibly funny. Their parents ran up to the cubs and covered their eyes, shielding them from the sight of two queers engaged in buttsex, surrounded by pot bricks. Ome glanced down at Max and Max returned the glance.
"Whoopsies." Ome stuttered, scoffing.
Max blew a tiny raspberry, snickering. "No shit."
"What'll we tell'em?" Ome asked, nodding at the family.
Max's eyes flashed with insight and inspiration. Ome must've noticed, for his gaze became questioning.
"WELCOME TO OREGON, MY LOVES! ENJOY YOUR STAY IN OUR GREAT STATE! AAAAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!" Max hollered out loud, braying mad laughter like a demented horse on a gnarly acid trip. He let his eyes cross and he jutted his tongue out at the family, shaking his head like a wild-man. Ome blushed furiously but opted to join in, figuring it was too late already, so why the fuck not?
"YEAH! DON'T FORGET TO SWING BY YOUR LOCAL COFFEE SHOP AND GET YOUR FAIR SHARE OF CREAM!! KA-PLOW!!!" Ome hollered aloud, pumping himself into Max suddenly. Maxwell was surprised to feel how stiff and erect Ome was still, despite having been knotted minutes prior. Max went from hysterical laughter to orgasmic screaming and threw his arms out, stretched to his sides, dangling freely from the edge of the van's rear bumper. His head swayed and his hair swung along with his outstretched shep-coon tongue as he panted and moaned with great exuberance. Ome wrapped his forearms around Max's thighs and finished himself off again inside Max's extra-lubed tailhole, grunting and gasping, squirting jizz deep inside Max's rectal passage. He licked at Max's chest, perfection in satisfaction.
"Holy shit! Let's get outta here!" The father-anthro said, guiding Ether away, still laughing uncontrollably. The mother-anthro yanked Karla up from her feet, carrying the young cub-girl along. Karla hollered out at them: "HEY, WHAT WERE YOU GUYS DOING?! THAT LOOKS FUN!!!" Her expression and tone of voice suggested a girl fueled by a primordially vast curiosity. Her insistence, so strong and intended, caused Ome and Max to laugh simultaneously.
"Cute girl." Ome said, reflecting upon the moment.
"More like traumatized. Holy fuck, I can't believe that just happened."
"Relax, Maxwell." Ome said, patting Max's belly companionably. Max inhaled and breathed out a sigh, nodding with a smirk bent upon a corner of his lips. "I know of a safe haven nearby where we can lay low, so no pesky intrusive officers of the law can have their say in this matter. We'll keep out of sight for as long as it takes. That family might not report this incident, but it's better to be safe and prepared than sidetracked and very, very sorry."
"I catch what you're saying. Where at?" Max asked, giving Ome an affectionate grin and a curling of his brows.
"Good. Then you'll come with me, come meet an old cohort of mine. Lives up north, in Bremerton."
"Washington state?! Y'mean the place across the bay from Seattle?"
"Two hours ride by ferry. Same spot." Ome said. "Sound good?"
"Uh…" Max pondered where this may lead him into or perhaps where he'd wind up back to, which he certainly didn't want. He posed a hint of resistance. "A cohort?"
"A man I've known for a long time. You'll like him, I think. You guys seem to vibe similarly. After we get you cleaned up, and myself too, we'll be on our merry way." Ome said, giving Max's cheek a soft, comforting pat and a rub. Max, dried and spent, oversexed and exhausted, held his hand-paw up, giving Ome the A-OK gesture. Ome nodded, letting that be answer enough. He let his knot slip free from Max's tailhole, spewing a long runny cord of fresh raccoon sperm from his shep-coon ringlets. Max groaned and sat up, rubbing at his throat. That last bit of raccoon cock he'd swallowed poked him funny. He cleared his sinuses, trying to alleviate the dull scathing pain in his neck along the way. Ome glanced back and made sure everything was intact.
"Close the doors, Max. I don't want to lose any of that shit out the back."
"Yeah, I feel you. I'd be a real crying shame to let any of this weed go to waste."
"That's one way of putting it."
"What's your approach?"
"Business proceeding. Honestly, I didn't even know it was weed until I passed the state line between Cali and Oregon."
Max laughed, shaking his head with his eyes squinted shut. He opened them and gave Ome a remarkably well-DUH expression, retaliatory and blatant.
"Dude, you didn't even freaking smell any of it?!"
"Apparently I was getting high off the fumes from those fucking things, but I didn't know. Did you know how bad I freaked out when I found out?"
Max laughed again, even louder. Ome punched the shep-coon's shoulder for being a gigantic jerk-face then kissed him. Ome began redressing himself, then helped Max up, untied the ropes and toweled the shep-coon off, for he'd been thoroughly spunk-laden.
Ome hopped into the van's driver seat and hauled the shitty-ass van away to his promised destination to make the delivery, then phone a friend to get a rental car. He'd use the new ride to drive up north to Bremerton, to the place where Ome had dreamed of, ever since dreaming of better ventures as a cub in his bedroom in the old Riverside home. Ome's memories stirred and he reminisced back to days of simple innocence, of bliss in simple play time and kindhearted goals to adhere. Ome plotted a path to introduce Maxwell, an ideal pay-for-hire cleaner and robber, to a man he had known ever since his own high school days, nowhere nearly as traumatic as Maxwell's had been.
Once, Ome Francis was approached by Vincente Sciorrenzo, back in the days of his own youth, for the man himself was in dire need of a new companion, a protégé; be it anthro or human, he cared not.
Ome had been searching for the ideal candidate ever since, years and years of seeking out the perfect match, the right fit.
If Ome was the gown's missing slipper, then Maxwell was Cinderella.
END
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