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Maxwell held the strip joint's front door open for Bradley and Gus but not for Darrel.
"Oops, sorry about that, cuz." Max said with nonchalant disregard, shrugging at his fox-coon cousin.
"Ain't no thing, kiddo! Say, where's all the feisty babes at? This is a strip joint, right? What's the buzz? I ain't seein' enough pussy! Where'd all them purty kitties run off to, eh chief?!" Darrel bellowed, slapping a hand-paw against a nearby bouncer's portly belly with companionable, easy-going casualness. The rhino bouncer gave Darrel a glimpse of pure raw hatred, opting to gore the fox-coon to death with his large single horn, should the little jerk try to smack his gut again.
Max hated how his cousin Darrel sometimes paraphrased his own words to absolute bloody ravaged death. Forget that Darrel Robin Mendoza felt more like a natural-born Texan, a country boy at heart, despite being born and raised in a sprawling Pacific Northwestern inner-city slice of pure plentiful suburbia. He had it made, despite his insistence in behaving like an oil baron with a hefty collection of prized taxidermy wolf heads in his study any chance he got. Maxwell despised the wealth and privilege that Darrel had constant access to. A valued television celebrity who only starred in... Oh what, two or three pilot episodes for cancelled shows? He also starred in a motion picture, big whoop. Max could fuck any groupie he saw fit and he certainly didn't need to assume the role of a shit-kicking cowpoke to do so.
But it helped. Sometimes, it just goddam helped.
Fuck you, Darrel. Maxwell whispered beneath his breath, hoping he wouldn't be heard by anyone, especially Gus. He didn't want to receive another lecture about how envious people never got by properly in life. Max had heard enough of that shit from many estranged exes throughout the years past, bless their hearts.
Gus shrugged and patted the procyonid cousins on their fur-smothered necks, looking at Bradley with a stoic, thoughtful expression on his old man's aged face. The spotlights adorning the main catwalk stage in the strip club reflected off Gus's bald head, making his eyebrows glow with a vast neon purple. Gus wiggled his brows and they appeared to be hovering in mid-air before his face. Bradley had trouble glancing away from them, so extraterrestrial and downright freaky. Gus smirked, averting his gaze towards the stage.
"Maybe they're still in the back getting warmed up?" Gus said, rubbing Max and Darrel's shoulders. "You gotta give these girls serious kudos, boys. They practice and rehearse and work out and get involved with yoga-"
"Yoga is fucking hot, damn!" Max butted in to blurt out aloud with glee. Gus nodded and continued.
"Yes it can be, Max, but like I said. They're probably just in the back, priming themselves for their performance tonight. Makeup applied, fur coats brushed, hair done up, callisthenic stretching beforehand, accessories stowed aside - all the fun-time steps involved before coming out and dancing on that stage for a bunch of perverts. Oh wait, that's us, huh?" Gus said, spouting out a silly little tittering chuckle.
~
Gus continued to elucidate the stripper's approach, pointing to the main catwalk that carved a path right through the long rectangular-shaped building. The walk itself was lined at the edge with pink guardrails to prevent the girls from slipping off the platform in mid-performance, also to keep the drooling masses of pent-up men, both anthro and human, separated from the prized ladies in show - to a certain degree. A large maroon-colored curtain hung at the far end of the stage, the top of the T-shape. Astronomical sex symbol shapes were printed upon the curtains, with the arrow ringlet prodding through the cross ringlet. A little symbolic sex appeal to spruce things up. Dim lights adorned in breast-shaped glass fixtures hung suspended by the dozen above their heads, dangling from the ceiling. Max wondered if any of those lamps have ever come loose and fallen upon an unfortunate patron's head. He hoped not. The stage was surrounded by half-a-dozen small round coffee tables, each with a resolute bundle of accompanying chairs. Not very many were occupied though, for most of the men opted to stand. Only a few sat, including Gus and Bradley.
"Most of these anthro women dance nude to help cover tuition costs, among other necessary financial obligations. People don't often regard these young anthro girls with any shred of respect. No wonder so many of them turn to drugs and sex to get by in life. A shame, really." Bradley said. His arms were folded in front of his chest and he was leaning up against a large round pillar, part of the enhanced interior decor. The pillar itself was artificial, as fake as the orange toupee who historically ran a great nation straight into a ground-zero fuck-all cacophony of a mess. Fake with plaster and mesh padding. One could knock on one of the large cylindrical slabs and hear a hollow echo - such a crafty illusion.
"Boy howdy, I tell ya, the shame is when they get all old and n'feebled, can't right properly dance any more aft'r that. Then they get flabby tits, n' get cast in flubbed TV shows! Ring a bell?" Darrel snapped, Fireball martini glass held in his hand-paw. The fox-coon actor wasted little to no time in feeding his alcoholic vice. His favored drink preference was of the stiff and tall variety.
"Um, sure thing, Darrel. You lost your tits?" Bradley asked, causing Darrel to lightly punch his shoulder, laughing. Bradley deflected the punch and pushed himself off the fake-ass pillar, venturing towards the main bar. "You already got a tab started, right? I'd like to get something, if it'll do you fine."
"She's listed under 'MENDOZA', if y'all be down wit'it, ol' Bradster!" Darrel said as he put his crimson-red martini glass down on a nearby table to attend to the restroom, maybe to rub one out with a random go-go server girl.
"Cool, thanks." Bradley said and proceeded towards the bar with intent to order ginger ale, or water with a splash of ginger schnapps, whatever worked best.
Gus took a seat at the table Darrel saved for their group to relax after a surprisingly lengthy drive to The Bangarang, one of Northern California's finest mixed-species (anthro, human, no restrictions!) gentlemen's clubs. The drive had been laborious and confusing but well-worth the effort. Lots of back-tracking and random detours. Mr. Stevenson wondered if the evening would be worth the lengthy trip.
~
Max tried to sneak a peek backstage. He only caught a couple dancers in the transitory phase of preparation. One of them was a blonde-haired wolf girl, fur as white as snow with light grey highlights adorning her limbs and tail. She was adjusting a pair of thick spectacles upon the bridge of her slender petite muzzle. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, removed the glasses and stashed them in a nearby plastic basket. A piece of tape had been pressed against the basket's surface with a name written upon it.
SEREN M.
The wolf-girl named Seren M. fixed her hair with her finger-paws and started to apply wolfess-exclusive eyeliner when the rhino bouncer tapped Max's back. The shep-coon craned his head over his shoulder and his gaze shifted from the overgrown mammal's belly to his large facial horn, single un-patched good eye growing twice as wide with shock.
"Got an invitation to be here, pal?" Rhino-dude asked Max, who only shook his shep-coon head and smiled with blissful ignorance.
"Oh my, I hadn't a clue I wasn't supposed to be back here, fine sir! Are these outlawed grounds?" Max whispered, trying to come off as friendly and approachable. He only acted weird and creepy to the rhino though, like some demented backwoods uncle, so he got dragged away and asked to stay seated for the duration of the night, unless he had to pee or got parched and sought out a refill. With Darrel handling the tab, there would be no issues involved with receiving the eighty-sixed boot, if push came to shove.
Hopefully not.
~
All the house lights dimmed in synchronicity. Wild, raucous cheering and applause filled the large room. A low bass tone emanated from a hefty collection of large internal speakers with a gonad-kicking force that could shatter several dozen mirrors.
"DUDE!!! We're startin'! Finally fuckin' startin' this lil' shindig! AWOOO!!" Darrel yelled and howled over the explosive ruckus. He clinked his martini glass against Brad's highball of ginger schnapps on ice and Gus's shot glass, filled to the brim with top-shelf Irish whiskey. Max fished out a small bag of primo cocaine he'd acquired from a local constituent for fair market price... and a blowjob to boot. He tapped a small pile of the sweet nose-candy upon the crook of his shep-coon hand-paw, between thumb and index finger-paws. Max wanted to snort up just at the right moment in time, but he was forced to wait and see who'd be first to get up onstage.
He was duly satisfied.
A booming voice echoed over the loudspeakers, announcing the very first dancer. "Ahoy, mates! It's a vast pleasure to have you all in attendance upon this fine evening! Are you gentlemen, both furs and humans, ready for some serious entertainment?"
Intense cheering replied to the announcer's painfully obvious question.
"Okay then! First up, we have a wolfgirl who's certainly established herself in the last few months. She's our newest addition but she has already done things that I've never seen anyone do in my entire life - and I thought for sure I'd seen it all!"
The announcer's statement was met with giddy side-splitting chuckles and giggle-snorts aplenty, an aura of stifling anticipation lingered among the dozens of adult males, all hell-bent and intent on witnessing a grand spectacle of jugs, kitty and the most perfectly round and fuck-worthy ass ever conceived.
"Give it up for young Miss Seren! Knock 'em dead, kiddo." The large Kodiak bear announcer said, winking and pointing a large brown finger-paw at Seren, who returned his gesture with her own firing guns from backstage, winking her wolf-girl eyes in a back-to-back rhythm. The audience whooped and wolf-whistled. Seren stepped out and immediately, the music cued in. She tweaked her ears, pierced and fluffy with white tips. Seren angled herself with the overall length of the stage, raised her slim yet well-toned arms and pulled off a triple-cartwheel down the catwalk, wearing only a very thin two-piece pair of black undergarments. The blackness of her skimpy attire contrasted with her near-albino fur tones very well. Her earliest endeavors as a young gymnast had paid off in full, if not in a different way.
Seren arrived in front of the partial Enim-Noinu crew (all except Maile, who decided to stay home and dog-sit Sammy.) and she landed her aerobic display with a flashy cross-legged sultry pinup pose, cocking her head to get a better glimpse at the shep-coon who sat beside the stage, staring up at her with an eye of illustrious wanton desire. She thought she'd seen a strange pink light emanating from behind his large orange eye-patch, a strange ethereal phosphorous glow. In the midst of dancing, she simply put it off as a trick of light and shadow, something that happens far too often in her line of work, cast forth to dance with lewd persistence beneath stiflingly hot spotlights, to twirl on poles and give lap-dances and make a living being strictly naughty.
Seren reached down and brushed her finger-paw along Darrel's jawline, causing his ears to fold back against his head and his ringed fox-coon tail to wag. The tail smacked against Max's wrist, spilling the small glob of coke he'd saved for this very occasion, along with the rest of the bag's contents. Max cursed aloud and knelt down to try and retrieve as much as he could while Seren caressed Bradley's muzzle with loving attention. She knelt down and gave Brad a small kiss upon his nose. Her eyes flickered to the old human man and she approached him slowly, gyrating her crotch in front of Gus, leaning way back and giving him a legitimate eyeful. Gus utilized every shred of his own willpower not to lean forward and obtain a quick taste for himself, hearkening on memories of being out on the road, touring with old bands he'd managed long before Enim-Noinu ever came into the picture, smoking and drinking and snorting and licking and penetrating and-
Darrel suddenly made it rain, sprinkling various one and five-dollar billfolds upon the stage. Seren continued to dance with passionate spirited grace, narrowly avoiding Darrel's numerous clumps of green currency, printed long ago, stuck with aged old president's portraits, scattered about. She loved this group of anthros and the one single old human man who held certain sway over Seren's attention. She'd never seen a more handsome gentleman of the human race enter the facility before this very night. She also wondered where the raccoon-guy had gone off to, the cutie he was.
~
The floor was beyond sticky and rancid with filth. No way would Maxwell opt to snort off that accursed grime-laden surface. He huffed and pouted, giving Darrel a glaring stare-down from beneath the table. He watched as Seren reached for Darrel's legs and grabbed at his
(fucking cock, that goddam asshole bastard! Lucky windbag! I want a hand-job too, fuck!)
empty martini glass. Seren stood up, twirled and swayed, tail following closely behind her sexy exposed rump. She crouched down and placed the glass upon the center of the main stage. Gus and Bradley's eyes widened when they caught wind of her intentions. Darrel tried to fondle himself without anyone taking notice and decided against it, far too many wandering eyes.
Seren hovered over the glass on her hand-paws and knees, cute pink foot-paws openly exposed to the wide range of horny men, both anthro and human. She wiggled her butt and raised her tail, granting the men a rewarding view of her puffy pink wolf-girl peach, slicked with trailing ropes of feminine spunk. Seren's fluids leaked with heated haste from her heavily-moistened wolfgirl pussy, leading a trail right into Darrel's martini glass. Darrel nearly fainted and threw larger bills down, tens and twenties instead of fives and ones. Seren was apt to break the fox-coon's bank before long, maybe even a vein or two in his knotted dick.
Maxwell knelt down and rustled through his pocket for more blow, knowing he had a second bag handy in case the first didn't last him throughout the night, which it kinda sorta didn't, no thanks to Darrel's stupid-ass tail. He couldn't believe it! An entire goddam bag, wasted.
"Ain't she a beauty, Gus?" Brad asked his band-leader from up above. Gus nodded with wide-open eyes and a cheeky grin on his face, making him appear ten years younger.
"More than a beauty, Bradley-San. She's divine!" Gus said. He placed his fingers between his lips and blew out a loud whistle, replied by various WHOO!'s and YEEAH!'s. Men held their fingers in a V upon their lips and lashed their tongues out, imitating cunnilingus. They were beckoning to Seren. Maxwell's heart was racing off the charts below the table, hand-paws jittery with frayed nerves. His irritability and insecurities were working in tandem, forcing his truest feelings to break through.
"Yeah, real divine. She'll be lots more divine by the time I'm through with her. Fucking Darrel, he is NOT getting her tonight. Fuck that! He can have the rhino, Seren is mine." Maxwell growled to himself. In his envious rage, in his bitter fit of extreme jealousy felt towards his pompous asshole fake-Texan cousin, Max mistakenly switched the second bag of cocaine he'd scored for a stowaway baggie of Feral Times he'd been holding onto for years, ever since he saved Aveline Anchester's life from Harper's Lumber Mill, all those many moons ago. The bag was perfectly intact, packed with the transformation-based substance, still surprisingly potent.
Max watched Seren with piqued interest. He felt himself growing quickly enamored with this wolf-girl. Seren was certainly one of mystery and intrigue. One who had a knack for exotic dancing and who wore glasses on the side often, a particularly rewarding little featured trait that Max had developed an incorrigible fondness for throughout his later years.
Maxwell rubbed at his shep-coon gums and shoved his finger into the wrong-ass shit, twirling it aimlessly to get as much powder as he could. When he dragged his finger-paw across the tip of his nostrils, inhaling to snort what he thought was primo Colombian snow, his heart-rate spiked and coursed into overdrive. His chest hitched and his breathing became heavily labored. He could literally feel his organs churning on their own, relocating, moving and slouching and squirming within his body. He knew right away that he'd made a freakishly huge mistake that could damn-well cost him and his friends the entire night.
~
Before entering the strip club, Maxwell had caught a random glimpse of a sign hung outside the building, near the entryway, text written extra-large, yet opted not to pay very much attention:
NO FERALS ALLOWED
The reason why Maile stayed home with Sammy to begin with. The sole, primary reason why Max got his rocks off so often, knot-deep inside so many beautiful women - and men - of an anthropomorphic distinction.
Feral Times.
Fucking Feral Times.
And now he was about to break a golden rule within the fine gentlemen's establishment, no thanks to Max's pitch-perfect ignorant goddam slip-up.
Maybe it won't be as bad as I'm thinking it will? If I can just figure out a way to sneak past the guys, find a narrow hallway, maybe a private bathroom, then this whole damn transformation process can come and go and I'll be able to return to my seat, maybe even pitch in for a dri-
Max's thought process was cut short by the spike of dire pain that coursed through his back, shooting up into his head at the base of his skull. He stood up from beneath the table, slamming his head against the under-side surface, falling back down to the floor in reaction. The table jostled, tipping drink glasses all over. Gus and Bradley grabbed for theirs quickly, while Seren had nearly filled Darrel's martini glass with her creamy wolfgirl nectar on-stage. By now, she was practically dancing a tango with her clitoris full-on exposed. She groped her breasts as Seren gave her devoted fan-base one hell of a swell show, not to mention a firecracker-hot opening number to dwell on long after they've gone home, voices tuckered out and wallets drained dry along with their poor aged balls, most lying beside estranged wives and jaded lovers.
Seren glanced along the stage at all her earned income, all the tips and bills, yielded in her favor. She felt as if the glass was about ready to be returned back to Darrel as a memento, a dirty little treat for the lucky hybrid hound-dog in the group.
A rogue feral shep-coon hopped up onto the foot-end of the catwalk stage.
The entire club broke into a deadpan silence, not even a freaking cricket could be heard. The music cut short and The Bangarang was instantaneously muted into a void of nothingness.
Gus and Brad stared at Max in his feral form. His tail froze steady in place, raised behind his back. He stood in a pose that suggested an imminent attack. One eye gazed solemnly at his prized bounty, while the other glowered with a thickened reddish-pink hue from behind a crookedly-tied eye-patch residing upon his muzzle. It was a surreal sight to behold. He was ready to pounce the naked wolf-girl in front of him. Pounce her good and bloody hard.
The trouble didn't really start until he actually did try to fuck her brains out.
~
The twenty-four-year-old pansexual martini anthro canine stripper-girl most folks call Wolf-cutie and whom everyone else calls Seren Mosstyn flinched in reaction to Max's sudden surprising appearance. The men in attendance stared wide-eyed at the dog, then looked around like disinterred cattle gathered in a discombobulated slaughtering pen. Running and pushing aside and hovering over each other. Seren glanced back and wondered where all the bouncers were, the security in charge of ditching rejects, drunkards, abusers and feral animals, most especially dogs. Rhino-boy was the only bouncer though and he was busy shagging the next girl up to dance, an elegant dragoness in a firecracker-red dress that split far too high at the helm, backstage in the facility's only dressing room. Some help he turned out to be.
The men began to cat-call, boo and groan.
"Where'd that goddam dog come from?!"
"Who let Fido off his leash?!"
"Kick that filthy hybrid mutt outta here!!"
"Eww, fucker looks like my dad! Crimony!" This statement garnered a few laughs.
Maxwell barked twice at his own crew, then three more times at the other men in attendance. They all reeled back from Maxwell when they saw his exposed teeth in an aggressive snarl, hostile and incriminating. When Max's aggression deterred, he ran up to Seren and shoved his snout between her bubbly white wolf-girl ass cheeks, rendering a surprised shriek from within her throat.
"HEY! What the fuck gives, that ain't fai-"
"Shut up, Cletus, for God's sake!" A portly ball-cap-wearing old man said, jerking upright from his seat, pinning his buddy back with an outstretched arm. "Ain't like we get this sort'a entertainment every day. Let's jus' ride this one through n' see what happens."
Cletus stepped back and Maxwell reared his head away from Seren's moist wolfess-hood, sniffed at her legs and pink-soled footpaw pads. He gave both feet brisk little bouts of loving attention with his warm, slicked shep-coon tongue. He growled low while licking at Seren's paws. She reached down to masturbate herself, squeezing her clit, pulling and pinching it abusively. Her knees trembled and her tail jerked on its own as she squirted a hefty load into Darrel's martini glass, filling it to the brim, topping it off with a fine splash of her own pussy-nectar.
Darrel, however, never got his glass back.
The other men in attendance, barely murmuring between each other, trying not to provoke or rouse the shep-coon's intense red-hot scalding anger, allowing him to his vices, began to cheer Maxwell on. Gradually at first, uncertain of how to proceed. Nearly every man in attendance realized just how bad of an idea it was to discriminate against feral animals, especially in a population nearly overrun with anthropomorphic citizens.
The veteran regulars and solicitors of The Bangarang had never dreamed of witnessing a full-on anthro-on-feral scene unfold before their very eyes. Seren Mosstyn had officially sold them to the idea of featuring far more anthro-on-feral nights though. Long after all the dog-fuckery, bookkeepers quickly realized that the cash flow at its post-expense stage on the night of Seren's wild little stunt produced enough outrageous figures to keep the establishment thriving for three lifetimes. These gentlemen appreciated "man's" best friend and as such, respected Seren for her bravery. She could've run off the stage, she could've kicked Max off the catwalk in defense. She may not have even bothered to come onstage first to perform.
But there she was, spread-legged and panting, tongue resting softly upon her lower jaw, eyes twitching with fervor, so illustrious and horny. Even among it all, she managed to sneak a glimpse back at Max and wink favorably at him, a silent thanks, given to a sincerely beautiful sight to behold.
Maxwell decided to lap Darrel's glass clean to celebrate such an occasion.
Darrel hollered out loud at feral Max, reaching for his martini glass. He was held back by Brad and Gus, for they didn't want him acting far too out of line, not over a stupid fucking martini glass filled with wolf-girl reproductive seminal fluids.
As if any man in their right mind, no matter what species, would choose NOT to fight over such a prize.
Maxwell slurped the glass clean, feeling his knotted shep-coon dick grow harder, expanding and contracting into a much more sizable erection, slipping free from his sheath, a rich fuzzy mound of genitalia protection. This wolf-girl's spunk tasted phenomenal and smelled way better. Maxwell was aroused beyond his years and he couldn't resist the overwhelming urge to-
"HEY!! Wha't'fuck gives?! GET THAT DOG OUTTA HERE!!" The rhino-bouncer yelled, stomping towards the stage from out behind the large velvet curtain. He couldn't reach Max though, for a wild pack of intrigued strip-show-junkies had all congregated around the stage, cheering the randy pair on, egging them on to keep going, to go all the way, to drive the knot home, to tie that fucking knot already and have them another shower, to REALLY make it rain.
"Hey, Ricardo!" Seren hollered aloud at the rhino-guy over various pants, grunts and erotic moans. He glanced over to Seren, eyes flooded with concern. He wanted to make sure the dirty varmint wasn't hurting one of The Bangarang's finest female anthro strippers. Seren was a big wolf-girl though, keen on tending to her own needs at her own pace. "Chill the fuck out, ooh... mmnf, chill and relax, I've- oh yeah! Mmmn, I got this under control! Oh, fuck me, God yes! Stick that fucking knot in me baby! Ricardo! I mean it!! FUCKING yes, knot me good!! Aaah! Fffuck yes!" Seren yelled at Ricardo, then herself, then her feral fuck-companion and nobody in particular with a smile and a wink, trying to hold back a random spasm of laughter threatening to show face. Visibly irritated, Ricardo the rhino made a beeline towards the front door, adjusting his belt buckle rapidly. Maybe he too possessed a bit of a jealousy streak?
Gus and Brad hopped up from their table to chase after Ricardo, to approach the rhino anthro and explain the situation at hand. He's their friend, he accidentally ingested Feral Times, the effect is temporary at best, and they'll be on their way after he's recovered, ready to cover any medical finances for Seren's safety and health and well-being. Darrel quickly followed behind, hoping to try and talk a little sense into Rhino-boy, something he'd felt especially qualified at doing, having talked hoops around Hollywood big-wigs and executive producers for a near-lifetime.
~
Seren spread her legs wider and invited Maxwell to come inside for a nice, sturdy romp - to hell with health expenses, she could take this dog's dick and she would.
Max pressed his muzzle against Seren's fleshy tail-hole ringlets, lapping away at her snare-tight twenty-four-year-old wolf-girl asshole, forcing her to moan with hungry persistence. Seren drooled on her wrists and raised her butt up a little for Max, so he could reach every tiny little corner, every nook and cranny in and on her groin. Her anus gaped open and his tongue slid within, causing Seren to cream herself even more, adding to Darrel's martini glass. His breathing intensified and he removed his tongue from her butt, shoved his nose forward and buried his wet black shep-coon snout inside Seren's vaginal lips. He went feral-time wild then, falling prey to her irresistible urges, her succulent scent. He wagged his tail hard, wriggling his whiskers in-between her labia folds and lapping away at her cum as quickly as she was able to produce and squirt upon his muzzle repeatedly.
Seren screamed in raw, uninhibited pleasure and felt a bolt of energetic liquid heat course throughout her chest, leak through her belly and flow freely from her Shep-coon-ravaged vagina. The watching strip club patrons all whooped and cheered, clapping and stomping their feet against the wooden floor, begging for more. Seren had endured the mother lode of all female ejaculations.
She lavished in the raunchy, lust-driven anal-and-vaginal-induced orgasm she'd just been witnessed to, riding upon Maxwell's muzzle, now damp with her pussy-nectar, smothered soggy with Seren's orgasmic spunk, reeking of feminine endorphins. Seren reached down between her legs and caressed Max's chin in her paw-padded grip. She was grateful to a gentlefur - feral or anthro - with a well-seasoned tongue and a knack for ass-licking.
"Good boy... whoever the fuck you are." Seren said, slightly blind to who she was looking at exactly, no thanks to her glasses being put away for her performance. Instead of pondering her mystery admirer any further, she wiggled her butt at Maxwell, teasing him further into a pent-up mean-streak. He took the cue and hoisted himself upon her backside, wrapping his front paws around her hips, pressing the leather padded soles hard against the sides of her wolf-girl waist, pinning her in place for an ultimately knotty experience.
He guided his penis closer to her genitalia, exposed and waiting for shep-coon attention. The men, anthro and human, cheered them on, all voices growing higher-pitched in tone as they watched in dawning anticipation, patiently accounted for to witness Seren get feral shep-coon violated. One of the guys even had a cell phone raised up with the purposes and intent of recording the action. Ricardo the rhino stepped in, reached out and pulled the phone away from an anthro snow leopard's grip, nodding with a wave of his large grey-solid finger, crusted rhino lips tsk-tsk-tsk'ing at the voyeuristic feline who knew better. The white-furred leopard slumped his shoulders and let his lips curl downward into a frown, so pouty. He pocketed his cell and rubbed at his nostrils, a force of habit.
"Go delete whatever you captured. Let it be known... whatever happens in here tonight, fucking stays in here tonight. Got it?" Ricardo asked the anthro snow leopard, who nodded with absolute agreement, not wanting to get killed by the rhino bouncer's large nasal horn. He deleted the video within mere seconds.
~
Maxwell had inserted the tip of his cock into Seren's spread vagina. She moaned and panted when he found purchase and fell into a non-stop thrusting streak. Maxwell fucked Seren with reckless abandon, slamming his dick relentlessly into her pussy and barking at the men watching the action, making sure they kept their goddam distance. He growled and nibbled at her neck, continuing to pump his knot deep into her moist, slippery love-orifice with repetitive pounding, so raw and raunchy. Seren's cute toe paws curled inward, nails pressing against her fleshy-pink sole-pads. She bit her lower lip and moaned feverishly, squirting upon Max's cock, spraying his testicle sac in a torrent of wolf-girl cum. Darrel reached in between their legs and allowed his glass to be topped off before reclaiming it for his own, at long fucking last. He sipped at Seren's spunk and like he originally predicted would happen, fainted on the spot. His body crashed down like a heap of bricks stashed inside a body-pillow and the martini glass fell to the floor, shattering into tiny shards upon landing on the hardwood laminate. Gus and Brad knelt down beside the fox-coon, brushing away excess shards of glass. Gus fanned Darrel with a nearby cocktail napkin and Brad splashed his fox-coon face with the cold-watered icy remains of his ginger schnapps. Darrel snapped wide awake and glanced around curiously. "Hey! Did I miss the show?!" Darrel asked them both, eyes jittery and wandering. Brad and Gus smacked their foreheads simultaneously, then rubbed their cheeks and exchanged a giggle.
"Not a chance, mi amigo." Bradley said, pointing up to the main attraction. Darrel glanced to where Brad pointed and saw Max's feral rump working like a non-stop lumberjack machine, churning out cord after cord of valuable oak wood, pumping his girth into Seren's saliva-lubed tailhole. Seren's expression bore the most accomplished orgasmic satisfaction imaginable. Max yelped and whined as his knot reached its peak crescendo, inserted into Seren's backside balls-deep. She wailed and screamed in absolute illicit fervor as she felt Max's cock fire off multiple ropes of shep-coon jizz inside her asshole, feeling her bowels getting filled by his fat knotted dick's spent seed, well-produced for such an occasion. She reached down to molest her kitty, fondle at her folds and tug at her clitoris playfully. Seren's mind snapped in two from a multi-hitter, a flurry of tiny orgasms all interspersed with the textured consistency of Max's thick, warm sperm sloshing around in her hind-end, kept plugged up by his thick vein-tinted shep-coon knot and the sensation of his balls plopping against her most sensitive regions, drained dry of all their sperm supply.
When Max had at last finished with the rigorous lovemaking, he remained knotted inside Seren's ass for a nice long duration of time. The men all exchanged a gracious round of applause, congratulating her on such a fine performance. She actually had men walk up to her and leave their wallets behind in her favor. THEIR WALLETS. No money, not just that, not anymore. These men were influenced by a higher power. Brad, Gus and Darrel all exchanged a nod of understanding, knowing that their shep-coon had gone and found himself a brand new fuck-buddy - and had nearly broken the law to make it happen. Maybe he wouldn't stay far too depressed for long after all?
~
Later into the night, Gus felt fortunate that he got a chance to take his boys out for a little fun and frolic. Maxwell, especially. Lord knows, the shep-coon was in dire need of a little break, with all those busy hours of rehearsing and driving and running and touring and playing and fucking and more rehearsing.
He got his big break, alright - in the form of Seren Mosstyn's tender loving influence. Maxwell never wanted to transform back into his former anthro self. He wanted to stay knotted inside this wolf-girl for as long as it took. Maxwell was smitten to the grave. He felt... content.
Seren, meanwhile, collected all her earnings and eventually bought a plane ticket to Eugene, Oregon. She had hoped to re-acquaint with one of her prior clientele, one with certain feral distinction and wicked-cool blonde dreadlocks. She even brought her own pouch of Feral Times for good measure. She craved shep-coon knot like a little girl craves colorful candy. She really wanted to be knotted up her butt by Maxwell again, since the thought of her wild eventful evening at The Bangarang kept her awake most nights, fondling herself into a coma of cum-drunken bliss. She wanted his knot inside her once more.
Luckily for Seren Mosstyn, her wish was granted over and over and over again.
END
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