Oregon. Fucking Oregon. I pushed open the doors to the mall, stepping under the canopy and looking up at the sky, half groaning to myself. Fucking Oregon. It was April, which meant one thing: rain, and nothing but rain for days, no, WEEKS at a time. From November to June one might actually forget what the sun fucking looked like, or what color the sky really was. Tyris was behind me, his extended fangs glinting in the blue-white lights that shone through the doorway, his feline muzzle stretched into a smile. The air was so wet out that his golden spotted fur was already dampening, even though we hadn't actually stepped into the torrential downpour yet. 

“So Kyle, you gonna go get the car or what,” asked Tyris, cocky as fuck as always. 

I roll my emerald, cat-like eyes. “I dropped you off at the entrance when we got here, so you get to get drenched this time.” I fish my keys out of my pocked and jangled them at the feline. 

“Fuck no,” scoffed Tyris. “It's your car after all.”

I glare at him before rolling my eyes a bit. I hesitate for a moment before a little light bulb goes off in my head. “How about a race,” I say, stretching my equine face into a shit-eating grin. That cat could never  resist a competition where he could stroke his ego. “Five bucks to the winner.” I lowered my head, hunching my shoulders and readying my equine legs, preparing to dash through the downpour to my aging, rusted car. 

“Got it,” called out Tyris with a laugh, already ten feet ahead of me. I sprint ahead in an instant, pushing my hooves against the pavement and propelling myself forward at prodigious speed. Rain lashed at my face, soaking into my white tee shirt and  turning it translucent so that the brown of my fur bleed through the fabric. I overtook Tyris about three quarters of the way to my busted blue jeep, shouldering past him, causing the cocky cat to stagger as I grasped the door handle, flung it open, and practically vaulted inside. 

Tyris slipped him on the passenger side, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at me in irritation. “What's with the linebacker bullshit?”

“What's with the head start bullshit? You owe me five big ones.” 

“Just start the damned car,” grumbled Tyris, fishing in his wallet. With a sigh, he passed over a five, waiting a moment before saying “You've earned it.” 

“Thanks,” I said, genuinely trying not to sound smug.  I turned the key in the ignition and my jeep churned into life with a cough of oil smoke. I pulled out of the parking lot and threw it into gear, navigating my way through the sea of cars, packed with people even on a Wednesday. They must have been as bored as we were. As I looked left and right for other cars, a glint of dark red caught my eye amongst the sea of dull white, black, and gun metal grey cars. A bloody crimson Audi, immaculately clean despite the constant precipitation, sat away from the other cars, empty parking spots on all sides. 

I knew that car. I pulled up to it at a turtles pace, purposely stalling the rust bucket so I could get  a closer look. I swore loudly while I tried to covertly peer through the back window of the Audi. Tyris was busy flicking through his phone, not really paying attention to the car. It was a semi-regular thing with this old lemon anyway. Nothing that would seem out of the ordinary. 

Yes... yes, it was Dad's car for sure, with that Virginia license plate despite the fact that we're living on the west coast of the country. I pretended to fumble with the gears, peering into the Audi, at the figures  inside the car. Figures... TWO figures, joined lewdly at the mouth. One of them was Dad, kind of a stud, quite literally, despite his age. His black fur blended into the shadow of the car, save the bright white, full moon spot of white on his forehead and the glint of large, baby blue eyes. And then there was the other figure; a strange, unknown vixen that had one hand on Dad's cheek and the other lower, probably over his crotch or, more likely, deep inside his the waistband of his pants. 

In a smooth slight of hand that was actually kind of prodigious, I pulled my phone out of my jacket, one hand still jumbling the gears, and snapped a photo, making sure Dad and his car were clearly visible in the picture. “Stupid phone,” I grumble, shoving it back in my pocket and pretending it went off inside of it. Tyris looked up just as I cranked the ignition and jammed the car into first gear, wrinkling my sensitive nose as the engine coughed up more black oil smoke. Tyris hadn't noticed a damn thing, thank god. 

It took only twenty minutes to drop the hyena-cat off and get home myself, barely paying attention to my driving as I sat thinking behind the wheel of my rust bucket. That was definitely Dad, no doubt about it. Not. At. All... I pulled into the garage and looked at the picture I snapped on my phone. Anyone could identify the horse in the picture if they knew what my Dad looked like. I sighed, lost in contemplation. What should I do? Tell Mom? No... no that would be a really bad idea. Besides, she was on the other side of the damned country. What could she do besides take a five hundred dollar plane ticket back just to have a shouting match? That would be the stupidest thing I'd have done in a while, for sure. 

I checked the clock as I walked into the house, a sprawling, grandiose dwelling that smelled like hardwood polish and old money. It was about six-ish. Tyris and I hadn't been at the mall for long. It was boring as balls down there. Mostly because we had no money and neither of us were into shopping anyway. I wasn't THAT gay. Dad normally got home from work around seven. That was good. I had a good hour to think of what to say to him. Or.. what NOT to say. I opened the freezer, pulling out a cheese pizza for me and  a pepperoni one for Dad. I set the oven to preheat. Neither Dad or I felt like cooking when it was just two of us. When it came right down to it, both of us were pretty lazy fuckers. 

I flopped onto the leather couch in front of the exorbitant home entertainment system, stretching my sprawling limbs so that I took up four cushions with my body. I flipped idly through the channels, eventually landing on the food network, my secret vice. I mean, who doesn't like food, and by extension, who doesn't like food porn? Besides, Chopped was a pretty cool show, making the chefs cook with those wacky ingredients and all that. Who the fuck knew what the hell an okra was, let alone how to cook with the damn thing? But I wasn't really paying attention. My mind was still contemplating the conundrum of my father. I knew that stud was pretty stupid sometimes, but swapping spit with some floozy bitch in broad daylight was pretty god damned stupid. 

I looked at the photograph on my phone again. I could certainly tell who it was, but it was, quite frankly, still only one piece of tremulous evidence. I needed more dirt on Dad before I could confront him. As I watched the three chefs struggle with making an entree out of candied circus peanuts, the ghost of a plan started to crystallize in my head. I small nicker escaped my lips, an unconscious tic of mine that reared its head whenever I was thinking too hard. 

I heard keys jangle of keys and the scrape of wood on wood as Dad stepped through the front door. His dark head fur and mane were uncharacteristically ruffled. His suit was cocked, his buttons askew, and tie around his neck. He was certainly looking unprofessional for a car salesman. Jesus he wasn't even trying to be subtle. God, that stud could sure be stupid. His face cracked into a faint smile. “Hey Kyle. Thanks for starting the pizzas.”

“No probs,” I grunted, switching off the TV. “I just turned on the oven.”

Dad threw his suit jacket onto the back of the couch before pulling an oven mitt over his hand, reaching down to pull the pizzas out of the oven. He fished in the utensil drawer for the pizza cutter, rolling it over the pizzas to slice it into thick wedges. I rolled off the couch and joined him at the table, filling my plate with three slices, keeping one eye on Dad. Jesus Christ his fly was even down. I bit into my slice, watching Dad closely. “How was work?” 

“It was... pretty boring, actually,” mumbled Dad, his eyes flicking up to the right. “Not a sale to be had.”

“No one seems to want a Jaguar today?” 

“Yup. At least not from me,” said Dad, faking an air of dejection that could almost fool an eight year old. 

“Shame,” I say absently.

“What was school like?”

“S. S. D. D,” I said in a slow, droll voice. 

“Huh?”

“Same Shit, Different Day.” 

“Oh,” chuckled my Dad. He never minded me swearing in front of him. Neither of us talked for a while, the only sound in the shiny chrome and cherry wood kitchen being us chewing. Neither of us were really verbose furs. 

“Is anything important going on tonight,” I asked, keeping an eye on Dad still. 

“Nothing I can think of.”

“K,” I grunted. “I think I'll my homework and then dig into a game or two.” 

“Fine by me,” muttered Dad, not really paying attention. 

I stuffed the last of my crusts into my mouth and rose, throwing my plate into the sink as I walked up the oak staircase to my room. I close my door with a slight grunt, digging into my backpack with one absent hand until I found the sheaf of crumpled papers that were today's assignments. Math bullshit. Lit bullshit. Chem bullshit. And last but not least, German bullshit. Easy peasy, really. I sat down with a blue pen and the chemistry work sheet, scribbling so messily that I could pawn off a potentially wrong answer as just a misreading of my shitty hand writing. I just wrote random numbers and letters for the  math, knowing that Mr. Kybe wouldn't actually check  to see if I was right. I turned on my lap top, pulling up a pirated PDF of the Spark Notes for The Odyssey. My eyes flicked over the text on the screen, scanning at lightning speed until I got the general gist of what the assigned chapters were about. Good enough for government work, really. Finally was the German workbook. God damned Frou Washborne actually checked the damn thing, but Google Translate was good for most of the problems. 

Shoving the homework back in the bag, I closed the programs on my laptop and opened my Steam library, trying to find something in my vast pile of impulse buys that I would actually play. After about fifteen minutes of scrolling I just said 'fuck it' and went to Don't Starve, a tried and true time killer. I managed to live for about three hours, real time, before I got bored and decided to do a suicide rush into the monster realm. Closing the lid of my machine with a click, I put it away and got up from my desk, stretching. Only one thing left to do tonight. 

I stretched again as I stood up, reaching over to lock my door with one hand and locking my door with the other. My hands undid the button and zipper on my fly before shimmying them down my legs. I eyed myself in the mirror, raising my arms over my head and resting my hands behind my head. My chest, sporting soft chestnut fur that was slightly shaggier than the other parts of my body, was developing quite well. Now that I got some major doses of testosterone running through my system. I was actually packing on a little muscle, with the aid of protein powder and spending three afternoons a week at the school gym. My abs were a lot more defined than they were a month ago, and I could see a six pack not quite there yet under my whitish under belly, and just above that was a pair of strong pecs accentuated by two nipples pierced with fang like gauges. My hips had just the slightest swerve to them, with coiled arms and legs that were just on the cusp of being, how do you say it; swole? 

I could have passed for a pure bred stallion if it weren't for my thick, four foot tail, pointed snout, and ridged horns just over my eyes. I didn't mind. Having a dragon for a mother gave me a body that was just flat out sexy. I leered at myself in the mirror. That's right; I'd  totally fuck me. I shut off the lights and flopped backwards on my bed. I ran my hand down my chest and squeezed my fat sheath with two fingers. 

Oh yeah, that was another give away I was part dragon. My cock. The flat, temporarily unflared head of my dick was slipping out of my sheath, at the coaxing of my fingers. At six inches out my medial ring was pushing against my tingling sheath, and with a bit of wax and spit, all twelve inches were out, laying heavily on my chest and smelling of that pure masculine scent that only an aroused cock could bring. I stared at my massive, black and pink marbled cock, a masterpiece of horse and dragon genes running through my body. The massive piece of flesh had a wide, glorious flare, a thick ring around the middle as wide as my thumb, and slick, visible ridges that played so finely across the fingers as I rubbed one out. My fingers lingering over the three Jacob's Ladder piercings running through the underside of my pole, a birthday present I had gotten for myself in February. 

I was already hung like a champ, but I had a feeling I had a bit more growing to do still. I was only sixteen, after all, and Dad had confided in me that he had his biggest growth spurt at the end of his senior year. My heavy balls were heady and thick with seed and testosterone, sagging slightly as they prepared themselves for the impending orgasm. 

Not yet though. I always liked to edge. I gently played with myself, running a thumb over my wide head, not completely flared yet as I ran through my running list of day dreams I kept in the back of my head when I felt like rubbing one out. I used my legs to scoot back on my bed, leaning my head against the pillows as I inhaled the scent of my own pre, slick across my thumb. I spread my legs wide moved my feet so that I laid prone on my bed, my ass on display for the invisible hunk to fuck at his leisure. I reached down to cup my balls, letting out a muffled groan as they churned under my fingers. Every throb that ran through my shaft pressed against the gauges in my cock, intensifying the sensations of my self pleasure 

Now the pre was really flowing, and I smeared it across my palm, so much better for fapping lubrication than a pungent oil like Vaseline or K. Y. jelly. My tail curled up between my legs, and I used my thick tail tip to play with my tail hole, pressing against it, rimming it, teasing it, but never penetrating. My flare widened before my eyes, leaking like a dripping faucet onto my chest as I began to rub my pre slickened hand over the upper half of my cock. I ran my palm from flare to medial ring, feeling the ridges slide slickly under my hands. In my mind's eye, a hot tiger model I had glimpsed in a stolen fag mag leered down over me. It was his hands that was running over my cock now, lingering on my piercings; slender and orange and soft with vulpine fur, running over a pink and black marbled cock that reached up so that it bumped against the bottom of a pair of firm, jet black pecs... wait, WHAT?!

I shook myself, irritated that I was so preoccupied with my Dad's infidelity that it was invading my goddamned fantasies. I squeezed my balls and cock again, keeping myself aroused as I tried to reform the fantasy before my stupid stud of a Dad had taken it over. The huge, ripped tiger was back, sporting a massive barbed erection and sagging white balls prepared to enter my tunnel. I pressed the first inch of my tail into my donut, and the jet black horse- no, the tiger! The TIGER! 

The tiger started to fuck me with a fat, flared cock, marbled pink and bla- NO! Tigers have barbs! BARBS! I panted, pausing my self pleasure for only a second before resuming, imagining a great stallion ramming me up to his ring, pushing my body up so that my cock was forced into my mouth as I swallowed my own pre. The black horse pistoned himself into my ass over and over as I felt my flare widening in my maw.  My knot swelled to an impressive four inch diameter, throbbing like mad. 

Withdrawing my own tail, I gripped my ass with both hands and curled my body tighter, almost kissing my knot with lips as I suckled myself with relish. Hot, sticky ropes shot down my muzzle, and I swallowed eagerly, almost sluttily as I groaned through my mouthful, exhaling a puff of fire through my nose. The ebony horse was still pounding me raw, his flare stretching my tunnel and leaving it hot and creamy. The powerful equine hilted me a final time with tremendous force, pinning my shoulders to the bed and staring me down with baby blue eyes, his face black as night save for a full moon spot of pure white on his forehead... 

I uncurled myself, the salty taste of cum dripping from my lips, pre splattered across my chest. “Fuck,” I grumbled. I couldn't wrap my head around why I was so fixated on my cheating father. My Dad, the father was kind of a dope but still good natured. My Dad, who did his best to be there for the family, even if he was a bit embarrassing some time.  My Dad, who had worked diligently to not be that middle aged fur who'd gone to seed, whose body was as ripped as his old football team photos where he played running back, whose clothes were just tight enough to show off his efforts, whose pants subtly bulged with heavy balls and sheath that housed a well endowed shaft...

I closed my eyes, squeezing them so hard it hurt. “What the FUCK?!” I said aloud, almost a shout. I shook myself, eyes still closed. What was my problem?! That was my Dad, my god damned father! That... that just wasn't right. I opened my eyes, and was immediately greeted by a ridged, marbled cock that was standing at attention, like a diligent soldier, flare half opened and knot pressing against the top of my sheath. I paused for a moment, contemplating my massive erection that stood before me. What was I thinking? I laid on my bed, my thoughts unable to form coherently, and stared at my cock for a full two minutes. Shadows formed in the darkness of my room, shaped vaguely like some sort of animal... who was I kidding? Those shadows were horses. A very specific horse. 

I decisively clasped my cock in both hands, feeling strangely like I had just crossed some sort of event horizon. The thoughts that were playing along the edge of my consciousness as I watched television earlier in the evening came to my mind, fully formed. I knew exactly what I was going to do now. I smiled to myself, working out the last of the details at lightning speed. I looked at my clock. Nearly one thirty in the morning. I needed sleep if I wanted to pull this off. My heavy erection throbbed in my hand, as if it was sharing my excitement at my filthy machinations. I chuckled. Well, I had some other business to take care of first. My balls churned in anticipation, and a tall, rippled horse towered over me in my mind's eye, nursing a thick hard on, already flared and aimed at my very willing tail hole. 

I woke up to the ear splitting, staticky roar of my clock radio, set to a 7:30 wake up time. For some reason I could sleep through normal alarms, but radio static dug into my ears in a way that forced me to turn it off the moment I heard it. I mumbled sleepily as I rolled over in my bed and slammed the snooze button with a fist. Keeping my momentum up, I rotated onto my stomach, feeling something hard and fleshy against by belly fur. “good morning, wood,” I said to myself, half chuckling at my own joke. 

 I flopped onto my back again, quickly curling my spine so that I could stuff my cock deep into my mouth. I had ten minutes to get this hard on down before Dad knocked on the door. My dick throbbed in my muzzle, as if in response to my train of thought. “not yet... not just yet,” I thought. 

I reached down and stuck two fingers inside my entrance, down to the second knuckle, sliding them in and out to finger fuck myself, expediting my state of arousal as I began to run my tongue around and under my swollen flare. Again, a well defined dark horse stood over me, and it was his maw and tongue that were so expertly working my cock. I came so fast it was almost shameful, eagerly swallowing my own load before withdrawing my muzzle, letting my softening shaft flop wetly onto my stomach with a soft slap of flesh. I checked my clock. Damn... three minutes and I was already done? 

I laid there for two minutes, watching my knot deflate as my shaft receded into my sheath, the fat head of my flare still poking out defiantly. I rolled out of bed, pulling on a new set of drawers, boxer briefs, and admiring my bulge a little before slipping on some tight black jean shorts and a black shirt bearing a vintage Ramones logo. I walked over to my desk with a light clop of hooves on wood and shrugged on my back pack, grunting a bit at the heavy books I never really read. I opened the door just as my father came in. “Oh, good, you're up on time,” said Dad “Impressive.” 

“Yeah,” I said. “My car's been making some weird noises as of yesterday, so I thought I'd walk to day and give the old bucket a day of rest.” 

“Don't insult my jeep like that,” teased Dad, punching me lightly on the shoulder. The impact still had enough force to stagger me a little. “Mom and I will consider getting you something nicer if you actually let me teach you to fix it.”

“I know, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes by a fraction. “I'm just kinda busy right now.”

Dad paused, wrinkling his nose. “It stinks in here, Kyle. You should really clean your room after school today.” I just nodded, trying not to chuckle.  He followed me downstairs and sat down to breakfast with me, tucking into a bowl of cinnamon oatmeal with a hasty gusto. I raised my eyebrows. Dad normally stewed over his breakfasts, often more groggy than I was in the morning. “What's the rush?” I ask as I lift a spoonful of corn flakes to my mouth.

“There's some paperwork I left in my office yesterday,” said Dad through a mouthful of oatmeal. “I have to get to the office early if I want to finish it before the dealership opens.”

 I shrugged noncommittally as I ate another spoonful, pausing to wash it down with a glass of pulpy orange juice. “Good luck with that,” I mumble. 'Yeah right, I think to myself. 'More like you're off to bump uglies with that foxy bitch you were sucking face with.' I dawdled over my breakfast, watching Dad run up the stairs before running back down, throwing on a brown suit and green tie as he headed for the garage. I counted in my head as I heard his Jag pull out. At ten minutes, I got up, walked to the phone, and dialed my school number. As the dial tone rang, I practiced pitching my voice low, mimicking my dad's baritone. “Hello, office? This is Damien Crew. I'm calling my son Kyle in sick. His school I.D. is two, eleven, twenty, twenty... Yes... yes... thank you.” I rolled my eyes as I hung up the phone. Jesus it was easy to fake sick at my school. 

And now, to the dirt digging. I clasped my hands together and rubbed them, feeling very bond-villain as I did it. I immediately went to Dad's home office. Well, he called it his office, which I thought was pretty generous term. It was a massive room in ebony wood paneling and green painted walls. It was one of the bigger rooms in our massive McMansion, sporting a pool table, a Foosball table, several vintage arcade games, a pinball table, three dart boards, an octagonal poker table, countless cushioned but portable chairs, and a black, towering refrigerator, chalked full of nothing but beer and assorted liquor and spirits. The only thing that made this man cave anything close to resembling an office was a desk, jammed with papers and a brand spanking new desktop computer, sitting behind the fridge and out of the way. 

I spun the plush swivel chair before sitting down, letting the momentum of the rotations carry me around once, twice, before I used my feet to stop myself in front of the computer monitor. I turned on the computer with a faint whirring of fans. The screen popped into life, nothing but a bright scarlet log on screen. I stared at the text bar, contemplating what Dad's password could be. I looked across the desk, wondering if I could find any clues. There was a picture of us, taken when I was in middle school during our Hawaiian vacation. There was me, with my brown fur so light it was closer to dirty blonde, my mane hanging over my eyes, a testament to my awkward emo phase. I've always tried my damnedest to erase from my memory. I shuddered. Then there was Dad, looking pretty much the same as he looked today, except instead of his characteristic tight, short sleeve shirts or his lean suits were replaced by a flamboyant, flamingo pink Hawaiian shirt. Then there was Mom, a short, brown scaled dragon with emerald green eyes and a perpetually frumpy expression that looked like there was something slightly smelly under her nose. 

I always got a kick out of her first name: Bertha, the kind of name belonging only to old farts or the children of the old money nobility. The only thing that came to my mind at the name of Bertha was World War Two German super cannons, but Dad always said she was a bomb shell in her day. I tried Mom's name, mixing it with capitals, numbers, and spaces. It took me fifteen minutes to input any iteration of Bertha I could imagine before I flipped the picture face down in frustration. That was when a different picture caught my eye. 

It was the football team of Dad's old high school, deep in the rural forests of Oregon. The Pine Wood High Lumberjacks, a team from the butt fuck nowhere parts of the state that was almost comparable to the deep south in both population and sentiment. The small football team, so under manned that they had just  barely enough furs to have one person for each position, clutching a giant silver trophy. The state champions, the po dunk state champions, managing to out play the major state high schools by some miracle or twist of fate. 

I typed in “1997ST8Champs” into the pass word, and the cursor turned into the tiny pinwheel that meant it was loading. YES! I clutched the mouse and clicked on Chrome out of habit. I flicked through the bookmarks and history, finding research into the current economics of luxury cars, some news sites, his personal and professional emails, and travel sites with information on plane tickets to D.C., probably to visit Mom after I got out of school. I clicked on gmail and yahoo, typing in the same password and entering without needing to try a second time. I rolled my eyes. Dad should know better than to use the same pass word for all his log ons. But even as I trolled through page after page of his inbox, there was nothing to be found. No dirt, nothing even remotely incriminating. Perhaps in some stroke of brilliance I hadn't foreseen, Dad had actually covered his tracks. 

I grumbled as I looked at the clock. Ninety precious minutes had gone by, and I had no clue if Dad was actually at work or off somewhere else. And what if he came home for lunch? I bit my lower lip before pushing away from the console, diving into the filing cabinets to see if papers and files held the goodies that the digital world had denied me. My fingers played across the tags of the folders. Taxes... taxes... taxes... but then, a name popped out at me. “Proctor and Lane.” That was the name of the family law firm. Well, it was probably a better lead than tax info. 

The file was actually quite thin. Mom was a senator, but she managed to keep her nose mostly clean, unlike her fellow Washington furs. But inside the first legal file was a different one, clad not in a manila folder but one in powder blue. Hrmph... I nickered again, fluttering my soft horse lips as I picked it up with two fingers. It read “Nuptial Vows,” in thin, curvy script. I opened it gingerly, scanning the page of the cover document. As I read through line after line after line, my verdant eyes widened. It was written in legal mumbo jumbo for the most part, but I got the gist. 

I mumbled the words aloud. “Due to the social, biological, and personal burdens placed upon Bertha Morgen by Damien Crew, they shall bear these burdens together through the unbreaking bond of marriage. Due to the burdens placed upon Bertha Morgen by Damien Crew, Damien Crew will take responsibility for any consequences inflicted by said burdens. If Damien Crew attempts to shirk the responsibility of these burdens, either by negligence or violating the bonds of marriage, he shall loose any and all connections to the Morgen family. If Damien Crew shirks responsibility for the burdens he has inflicted on Bertha Morgen, Bertha Morgen is given the right to divorce Damien Crew. If this happens, Damien Crew loses any claim over any shared familial assets, and Bertha Morgen holds the sole right and control over the distribution of familial assets.” The document was dated in 1998, the year they were married. 

It was wordy, dry, and anal in its composure, but its intent was plain. There seemed to be some sort of drama that sprung up around the time they were married, and Mom's stuck up, uppity parents, my grandparents, would only approve if Dad signed some sort of contract. And Dad was violating the hell out of that contract. I was pretty sure cheating with some vixen was “violating the bonds of marriage.” I smiled, putting aside the powder blue folder. I had struck gold, and a smile cracked over my face. 

Now I had leverage, and some hard hitting, rock solid leverage at that. Now I just needed some dirt, some proof that he was actually cheating, something better than that photo on my phone. I turned back to the computer, wondering why it was so clean. He spent hours down in his man cave, and I couldn't imagine he was just playing pinball. I stared at the blank, blue desktop, wondering where Dad kept his dirty little secrets. My eyes strayed to the task bar, where I noticed a little blue E sitting on it. Odd... Dad hated Internet Explorer. I frowned clicking on it. 

One click on the history told me everything I needed to know. It was actually quite clever, confining all his illicit activities to a separate browser. He'd only visited two sites in the past five days: Porn Hub and a dating site, TailUpz. I logged on, using “1997ST8Champs” again. I decided to see what his Porn Hub history looked like first. I scrolled through link after link, reading the tags. Horse on fox... horse on fox... studly horse on slutty vixen... I grinned. Looks like Dad was seriously into vulpines. I clicked on one of the videos at random, just out of vain curiosity and to see what Dad jerked off to. The horses were all Percheron stallions, just like Dad. Talk about projection. The videos were pretty vanilla, just blow jobs and some good old fashioned pussy pounding, and a little anal  here and there. The last video caught my eye, or rather my ear. The stud was grunting and groaning, and I clicked on the tab only to be greeted by an arctic vixen sporting a lurid pink strap on, pistoning in and out of a prone Percheron stud. I laughed out loud, closing the other tabs and enjoying the show. I wasn't much of a boob guy, but if I kept my eye on that long, pink cock, easily over a foot long, I found the whole thing quite enjoyable, especially that big, creamy finish all over his face. I felt my own dick pressing into my pants, forming a freaking circus tent, but I ignored it. 

Checking Dad's recent chats on TailUpz, he was talking with only one person in particular, some fox chick named Lili Von Kemp. I clicked on the chat log, curious at what Lili and Dad were chatting about. I chuckled. They were sexting hard core. I scanned through the lines and lines of naughty lines. To be honest, Dad was pretty bad at it, or at least, his sexts were pretty bland. Just a sort of “you suck my cock, I pound your pussy” vanilla-ness to it. Lili Von Floozy was much more verbose in her posts. I scrolled and scrolled through days of sexy exchanged until I struck gold again. Pics, specifically nudes. There were loads of them, both of them! That vixen was baring it all: breasts, pussy, and even her ass, tail lifted for the viewing pleasure of my father. 

And Dad... whoa boy, DAD! Dick pic after dick pic after dick pic! I had no idea a cock could be photographed from so many angles, hard, soft, half-erect, sheath shots... hot damn. His penis was a true equine penis: long, thick, flared, and subtly curved. His cock was mostly black, with a few fleshy pink spots at the base and the flare. And what a flare, almost as wide as my own knot... hot damn. A button popped on my shorts. That was a pitfall of being hung like a horse: if you got hard enough, there was a good chance you'd be busting your pants. I unzipped my fly and pulled down my drawers, letting my cock rise up until it rested thickly against my chest. I stroked it gently, but stopped soon. If I wanted to do my plan right, I couldn't bust a nut right now. It could wait, for something much better than a  mere dick pic. I took some screen shots of the chat and the pictures, printing them out so I could confront Dad with them. 

It was close to noon, and I was feeling kinda hungry. I found what I needed, and I had a whole afternoon ahead of me. Unless Dad came home... in a stroke of inspired genius, I spun the swivel chair again, clicking on Chrome to log onto Dad's facebook. I clicked on his profile, checking to see where he last posted on his phone. It was a private message, with Lili Von Kemp (who else). The message simply said “12:30, The Studio Grille.” The post was from his office at the dealership. He actually went to work today! I cackled aloud. That'd keep him busy for a while for sure. I stood up, my cock still hard and throbbing, my pants around my legs. I decided to forget the shorts and just walk around in the buff, nursing my hard on. No one was home, right? I meticulously replaced the files, save for the powder blue folder, which I slipped into a blank brown envelope along with the screen shots. My eyes lingered on Dad's photos, of that ripped body and heavy cock, and my penis throbbed, my knot rock hard despite the fact I hadn't touched it at all. 

My folder of goodies secured, I walked back to the kitchen after I was sure Dad's man cave appeared to be untouched. I draped my buttonless shorts over my arm as I moved around the kitchen, making myself a sandwich. I took a bit of lewd pleasure at my erection flopping luridly with each step, bumping against the cabinetry as I took the plate up to my room. I laid back in my desk chair, sprawling my legs out and gently rubbing my medial ring with two fingers. The dull throb rocked from shaft to my balls to my whole damn body, the case of blue balls already setting in. Holding it in for three whole days would be a chore. I opened my computer's calendar. I put a mark on Sunday, simply marking it “Bonding.” I smiled as I sat back in my chair. Soon...

Friday and Saturday passed without incident, save for a growing case of chronic blue balls. I wore my tightest drawers to compensate, along with my loosest pants to prevent any more popped buttons. I had plans with Tyris on Sunday normally, but I canceled them, justifying it with “family stuff.” I had a hard time saying that with a straight face, but it didn't look like Tyris noticed anything. He said he'd be glad to come by alter, and I didn't think it would take all day. Not that I would mind if it did. 

Sunday was the only day Dad slept in. Normally he was up at five, sweating it out in our home gym. Maybe I should take time to join him one day... I set my alarm for early. Sleeping was almost impossible with my throbbing erection, as if it knew what I was planning. It wasn't until two that I found a position that was comfortable while I was sporting my extra appendage. 

I woke up to my staticky radio at seven am, leaning up to turn it off.  My shaft managed to lower itself to half mast, and I stuffed it into a pair of plaid boxers. Stretching my arms over my head, I dug through my dresser until I found the brown envelope, hidden behind my dress shirts. Throwing a shirt over my head, I walked down the hall to Dad's room, silently opening the door. Dad was conked out, sleeping in nothing but his drawers, blankets in a tangle at his hooves. 

I grinned, drinking in every coil, every lean muscle of his body for a good fifteen minutes. Once I had my fill of ogling, I said, in a somewhat loud and firm voice, “Hey Dad, what's this?” I pulled the blue nuptial folder out of the envelope, waving it around flippantly as Dad groggily rubbed his eyes. 

“What's what,” mumbled Dad, shaking the sleep out of his head as he sat up against the head board. 

“This,” I said, holding out the blue folder in front of his nose. 

Dad's baby blue eyes widened in shock. “What the- Where did you? Were you in-” 

“Yeah, I was in your office,” I said defiantly. “I'll tell you why if you tell me what this is.” 

Dad grumbled something indistinct before he looked at the folder, snatching it from me and glaring. “I bet you read it, didn't you.” I nodded. Dad grumbled something that sounded like “nosey-ass foal.” He scanned the document again before saying. “How about a math lesson, Kyle.”

I raised my eyebrows, curious. “oh...kay...” 

“What's my birthday? How old would that make me?” 

“October third, 1980. So.. you're thirty five.”

“And your birthday is...”

“February eighteenth, 1999.”

“Now let's do some subtraction. When you were born, how old was I?” 

“Oh...” I said, everything falling into place. Why hadn't I ever think about this before? I knew my parents were younger than some of my friends' parents, but why had I not connected the dots before this? I smacked my forhead. 

“I knocked up your mother in high school. Long story short we were young, horny, and stupid. I was a football stud and mom was an old money heir to the family that practically owned our po dunk town. As you know, your grandparents are... a devout bunch who frowned upon abortion. But they weren't happy about their daughter getting pregnant either. So they solved the problem the old fashioned way: a shotgun wedding.” 

“I see,” I said, listening intently. 

“But before we got hitched, I was forced to sit down with the family lawyer, and they drew up this. Basically they wanted to be sure I wouldn't run out on your Mom, to make sure I wasn't gonna be a deadbeat dad. But I wasn't gonna run. I loved your mother. I still love her. When she graduated early and went to Portland for school, I was right behind her, finding an apartment and getting a job selling cars. Your Mom got a law degree, passed the bar, and eventually worked her way into first Oregon's senate, and then Capitol Hill. As you know. Meanwhile I raised you, pretty much on my own until your mother got out of school. I'll admit it was pretty hard, both then and now when you're mother's across the country for six months in the year.”

“So... is that why I don't have as many early memories of Mom than I have of you,” I said, the stars aligning in my head. But then I remembered why I was here in the first place. “If you love Mom so much, what's all this?” I turned the rest of the envelope over, screen shots of his sexts and pictures onto the nightstand, overflowing onto the floor. 

Dad raised a finger, mouth poised to respond, but he never spoke. Any winds in his sails were gone. “Oh... oh shit...”

“Oh shit is right,” I said, cracking a huge grin. “Do you think swapping spit with some vixen in the mall parking lot is 'violating the bonds matrimony?'” 

Dad didn't say anything for two whole minutes, sitting dumbly in his bed. “All right. Forget about what I said about my office. What do you want? A new car? Money? What's your price for silence?” 

My smile widened as I looked down at Dad in his bed. “My price is simple. You don't even need to stop seeing Lili Von Kemp, but you should watch your ass if you do. I'll destroy all the evidence in that folder, even teach you how clean up your footprint on your computer. But I do have a price.” I leaned onto the foot of his bed, reaching over the bulge in his drawers and squeezing, all in one slick, suave motion. “I get to fuck you. However I like.”

“WHAT?! You want WHAT?!”

“You heard me,” I whispered huskily, my grin turning into a leer. “One good fuck, and you're off the hook.” 

“But... but... you're my kid, my son? You, my son, wants to have sex with me, his father?! Isn't that against the law?” 

“Your cock doesn't seem to care,” I say, feeling it harden beneath my fingers as I kept squeezing the sheath beneath.  “And remember, one protest, one demand to stop, I'll email those pics right to Mom.” I rubbed my palm into the base of the sheath, using the whole surface of my hand as I felt it swell at the touch. It took less than a minute for a high top tent to form in Dad's boxers, and his breathing was slowing, his body slumping against the head board. His eyes were still wide, staring at the erection he was sporting, then to me, then back to his dick. I rolled the waistband of his drawers over his legs, letting his half mast shaft and apple-sized balls flop over the fabric. 

Dad was lost for words, not protesting but not responding either, brain lost in a fog. Unhesitatingly, I slid my maw over his member, bobbing up and down before dipping my nose down into his crotch, burying my snout in the tuft of musky black fur, inhaling my father's scent as his shaft hardened inside my muzzle. I felt Dad's cock pressing against the back of my throat, growing longer as Dad was becoming unwillingly aroused. I had to move away his aromatic body to manage his full length,  barely keeping my lips around his medial ring as thick as my thumb. 
 
I let out a thick, slutty groan, pitching my voice a little to try and make it sound a bit feminine, to pull Dad's consciousness into the intercourse, even if it was just his feral instincts telling him to breed. I continued to bob my head up and down, slobbering over the tremendous black shaft and running my forked tongue along the underside, barely tickling his sagging sheath, sweaty with anxiety and unwilling arousal. My balls were churning beneath me,  my sheath starting to plump again, begging for a release I had denied them for seventy two hours.

There was a wet thwack as Dad's hardened cock flopped against his rock hard six pack. He shifted on the bed, hoping I was done, but I dashed those hopes by grabbing his hips and pressing him back into the sheets. I pointed my nose down, burying them in his sweaty, scented balls as I ran my tongue down his taint, making his powerful, masculine body shudder. Heheh... putty in my hands. Nose deep in his equine orbs, I passed my tongue over his taint a few more times, watching Dad coil and uncoil the tendons in his legs, a rough, masculine grunt escaping between his lips. Not just yet.

I nosed at Dad's balls one last time before taking the apple-sized orbs into my mouth, slobbering them and tasting the sweat and musk of last nights workout. I juggled the pair in my muzzle, finding the taste growing stronger, more complex, more robust as I  continue to handle them. I closed my eyes, savoring the flavor of my father's seed heavy balls in my mouth. But my reverie was interrupted by a wet pop on the tip of my nose. I opened my eyes to see Dad's massive fifteen inches standing slick and at full attention, casting a lurid shadow over the landscape of my father's body. I let his balls flop out of my mouth as I grin, leering at Dad, whose eyes were shut, with what looked like... was it? It was! He was enjoying it.

I put my mouth back over his shaft again, shifting my position on the bed to better take his cock in my maw. I pressed two fingers over his  wet balls, pushing them gently down as I suppressed my gag reflex, taking in a whole ten inches of cock. Pre was leaking over my tongue as I suckled him greedily, and my eyes suddenly widened as I felt a gently bump in the back of my throat. Dad was thrusting! He was thrusting ever so slightly into my muzzle. He wanted it! A nicker escaped Dad's lips, and I felt his great black shaft throb in my maw, my only warning to the impending climax. His hips jerked violently, nearly chocking me on his massive cock as he filled my muzzle with salty seed. I puffed out my cheeks to hold the massive load, but I still had to swallow twice to take it all. I let his length fall out of my mouth, flopping against Dad's stomach with another wet slap. 

“You... you're good,” grunted Dad, looking at me appraisingly, almost approvingly.

“When you can practice on yourself,” I say with a coy smile. 

Dad grunted, pushing himself up against the headboard. “Are... you done?

“Fuck no!” I gripped Dad's shaft in two hands, squeezing the softening flesh before crawling up his bed. I pressed my fingers into his abs and chest, relishing the rippling muscle of his body as I stuffed his plumping sheath in front of his mouth. “You're turn!” 

“What?!  But I'm... I'm not gay,” blustered my Dad. 

“You just let another male suck your cock,” I teased, pressing my sheath against his nose before sitting back down on his firm pecs. “That's pretty gay.” 

“You've gotta be kidding me,” grumbled Dad. “What am I supposed to do?!”
 
“You can't pretend you've never had your cock sucked. If you're that clueless, just do what I was doing,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And watch your teeth.” 

Tentatively, Dad pushed his soft horse lips around my broad tip, his tongue darting out to press itself against my sensitive head. I grunted in pleasure, gripping the back of Dad's head by the mane, leering at him, telling him with my emerald eyes  to keep going. He slowly licked my tip again, and I felt my sheath swell, pushing against dad's muzzle. I thrust forward a little, shoving my lengthening member into his mouth. He wasn't half bad for a newbie. He knew how to use his tongue pretty well, and he could take my shaft up to the knot with a little coaxing. I started to rock my hips back and forth, slapping my balls against his chin. Dad grunted as I smacked his lips with my knot, keeping his head over my cock with the hand on the back of his head. He paid special attention to the piercings, running his broad tongue over the metal in a probing, exploratory way.  

With a loud groan I felt my flare widen inside his maw, and I slam my knot into his maw, shooting several sticky ropes down his throat. My back arched as my climax intensified, a little cum dribbling out of Dad's mouth. I pant, slumping against my father, my softened cock still in his mouth. “Heh...Heh,... You're pretty good too.” 

Dad opened his mouth, letting my member fall against his pecs. “I guess you taught me pretty well. When did you get those gauges?” He stopped for a moment, and before I can answer Dad just shook his head. “On second thought, don't tell me.” 

I chuckle, flicking my tail over his stacked body, its path of travel suddenly interrupted by something thick, wet, and stiff. The old man was hard again. Hard from sucking his own son's dick. “Heh he he... It looks like you're up for more.” 

“I guess so,” muttered Dad, sounding not at all reluctant. 

I grinned, bracing myself on Dad's sculpted shoulders, lifting my tail and pert ass over his slippery member, pressing my tailhole against his fat flare. Dad grunted, his chest puffing up, muscle rippling under his fur as he took in a sharp breath. I gripped Dad's shoulders with my fingers, inhaling slowly through my nose. In one violent motion, I slammed my ass down his whole shaft, feeling my tunnel stretch in protest as Dad's pride filled my insides. “Oh... oh fuck Kyle,” whimpered Dad, arching his back a little. My own cock throbbed, amplifying the pressure of my gauges and visibly twitching across Dad's cut body. I let out a deep and throaty moan. Slowly, I began to lift my body up and down over his pole, relishing the stretching, almost-stinging of Dad's medial ring slipping in and out of my tunnel.  

The spacious bedrooms was filled with thick grunts and groans, a symphony of masculine pleasure. I felt my body begin to bounce at a different rhythm, as Dad began to thrust up, pounding me from below, his hips smashing into my pert ass with enough force to smack my raging hard on against my abs, splattering pre onto both our chests. I curled my back over Dad's body, pressing my head under the crook of his neck and clutching him around his back, gasping as his flare stretched my insides wider. “Oh fuck,” I whimper, “Fuck me Dad! Fuck me harder!” 

With a heady  moan,  Dad's flare spread wide in my ass as he pumped me full of seed, creaming my ass like a twenty dollar whore. I rock my hips back and forth, moving his pole around inside me as Dad continued to splatter my tunnel. “Oh... Oh damn,” I moan. 

“I... I just fucked my own son,” moaned Dad, almost to himself, barely coherent in the afterglow. “Why... what... why?

I cocked an eyebrow. “Why, what?”

“Why did it feel... so... so good,” asked Dad, looking me in the eye, his statuesque chest rising and falling as he took in air. 

I let out a low laugh that built up to a full, roaring cackle, shaking my whole body. His pride was still deep inside me, and the laughter made me squeeze around the softening cock. Dad let out a low moan. “So, what are we gonna do about this,” I asked, pointing towards my stiffened pole, knot half-formed. 

“I could suck it again,” offered Dad. 

“No,” I say, grinning evilly. “I've got other ideas.” I lifted myself off of Dad's ebony dick with a wet, creamy schlick, dripping a trickle of cock juice onto his abs. I crawl back to the edge of the bed, dropping my maw over his sticky member, just a quick once over to siphon off his salty seed. “Turn over,” I command, pointing imperiously. “Onto your knees.” 

Dad leered at me, a sly grin on his face. He turned himself over, showing a black, supple ass, tail obediently lifted out of the way. I gave those balls a little extra attention, taking in his scent and flavor again, altered deliciously by the heavy aroma of sex. Then, gripping that supple ebony ass in both hands, I mounted my stallion like a stud and pressed my flare against his tailhole. 

Dad clenched the sheets in coiled fingers, his teeth gritted in preparation. He looked back at me, his eyes wide. “It's gonna hurt, won't it.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“You'll be fine. Just don't clench going in,” I say, sagely. It felt exhilarating, both to fuck my own father and to advise him on the topic of sex. Gently, I pressed my flare into my father's entrance, sliding inch by inch inside my father's tunnel. Dad grunted, arching his back and showing off every ripple and line of his chiseled back. When I got to my medial ring, Dad let out a low moan, surprisingly subby for such a powerful male. I kept going, slow and steady, feeling Dad's ring stretch a little bit more as each one of my piercings slipped inside him with just a hint of resistance. He gasped and knickered as each bar of metal entered him. I reached my swelling knot, kissing it against his pucker, grinding my hips against his sweet ass but not tying him yet. 

Now all the way in, I laid my chest against Dad's back, running my hands from his rocky pecs and to his rippled abs, and then finally down to his cock, rehardening from gentle squeezes and the pressure to his prostate. “It's good, right,” I whisper, pressing my chest into the firm, corded back. 

“It's... amazing,” panted Dad, each breath causing his back to rise and fall against my chest. I ground my knot against his hole again, earning an “oh fuck!” for my troubles. I smiled, gripping Dad's cock in one hand and a fistful of abs in the other, stroking and rubbing them both. My palm forms a cup under his flare, gathering a pool of pre in my hand before running it up and down the ebony shaft, feeling it throb in pleasure. As I ran my hand along Dad's pole, I began to piston in and out of his ass, smacking my knot into his pucker and my balls into his taint with wet, solid smacks and a series of grunts and gasps. Dad let out another low, submissive moan, practically begging for a tie. Who was I to deny him? 

With a rumbling, draconic growl, I smashed into his ass with my knot, squeezing the hot bulb of flesh into his freshly violated tunnel with a wet pop. Once inside I pushed and pulled my shaft, tugging my knot back and forth over his prostate. Dad let out a loud, warbling whiny as I released a savage, draconic roar, the two of us arching our backs in time as Dad splattered his bedspread with salty, fragrant seed. 

Panting, Dad's limbs gave out, taking me with him as he flopped on the bed, spread eagled. We were tied ass to hips. I inched my arms under Dad's chest, clutching the muscles beneath, sticky with his own seed.  I gave my father an affectionate nibble on the shoulder. “How was that?” 

“Fucking out of this world,” grunted Dad, squeezing his ass around my knot before flopping on to the pillows.”It's been years since I've had sex that wore me out like this.” I grinned behind his back, faintly stroking his chest. “You're stuck in me, aren't you, Kyle?” 

“Sorta,” I chuckle. I tug my knot back and forth again in an effort to keep my knot from deflating. 

“Well, I'm going back to bed,” said Dad in a matter of fact tone. “You know I don't like being woken up early on Sundays.”

I let out a low rumble of a laugh before relaxing over the landscape of my father's body. “I'm pretty tired too.” My eyes felt heavy in the afterglow, and I made no effort to keep them open. 

I eyed myself in the ostentatious silver door knocker of Kyle's front door, licking my fingers to try and tame my spiky brown headfur, my fangs glinting in afternoon sun. Kyle said he'd be done with his 'familial responsibilities' by one, and it was two fucking thirty. He wasn't answering his cell or the house phone. The cars were all visible through the garage window too. I tried the door. It clicked open, and I pawed my way inside, naturally healthy of feline feet. “Kyle?” I called tentatively. 

My voice echoed in the massive house. It looked practically abandoned. It was dark, light not traveling well through the cavernous, dark wood dwelling.  I looked up the stairs, noticing a  faint glowing from one of the doors. I padded upstairs with a flash of golden brown fur. Kyle's room was basked in a dull yellow glow, but it was empty, confirmed when I poked my head in the doorway. 

My ears pricked up at a low, droning tone... no, two tones, very similar, one only slightly higher in pitch than the other. It was coming from Damien's room. Slowly, I poked my head inside. I clapped my hands over my mouth and nose, stopping a gasp of mirth from escaping my muzzle. Dear GOD! The room reeked of sex. Kyle was mounted over his stud of dad, knot deep in his own father's ass. In an instant, I whipped out my phone, flipping through the settings to turn off all sounds. Then, with silent footfalls I stepped into the room, camera poised. 

Kyle and Damien were both out cold, sawing logs. Kyle had his lithe arms around his dad's chest, resting his muzzle on Damien's black shoulders. The dragon boy's tail was curled over his back, revealing balls that were laid heavily over the sagging, ebony orbs of his dad's, both sticky with the musky residue of cum. Damien's massive, and I mean MASSIVE, half hard cock was splayed under his balls, sticking out between his spread eagled legs like a lewd, auxiliary appendage and pressing his apple sized orbs against his own son's balls.

Click... click... click.... click... click. Twenty lewd, juicy photos were taken. All angles, close ups, wide angle shots, anonymous shots and pics where their faces were clearly visible, together. It took all my willpower to slip silently out of the house before I released an insidious cackle. I could see Kyle on Monday, I think.