All characters depicted in this work of fiction are of legal age of consent.

Part 1
He stood there in a bespoke suit, rigid and expressionless as he adjusted his navy silk tie. There was a guise to maintain. A lie to uphold. Such was always the way. It was his life, his profession.

Like how he himself was in every aspect, a lie. A representation. A mere ‘idea’ of a man. But as evidenced in his cold blue stare, devoid of every personable flaw and weakness imaginable, he simply was not there.

John Doe – a codename that was about on the nose as it got for any clandestine operative – didn’t often feel the flutter of emotion in his mortal shell. He didn’t do envy, or love, or gratitude. Not truly, though he could mimic the emotions well enough. The only true feelings he ever felt were anger and disgust. Those came to him easily.

And it was lucky for people all around the globe, that he reserved those emotions for when he expressed his utter capacity for wrath upon the worst anthropomorphic filth on the planet.

Case point and example, Zafir Haddad. Born in the Ayaraf middle-class to an attentive and loving mother, he grew up with the worst of anti-western sentiment among the rich and powerful in that part of the world. Since then he made quite an empire for himself among extremist organisations, everything from local militias waging unending holy wars against whatever warlord was in power at the time, to the more widespread groups such as ‘Original Order’ persecuting anyone whose genetic lineage wasn’t quite ‘pure’ enough. It was in that particular group of assholes where Zafir had found his people, though he was known to deal more in money than ideology. Zafir was the logistics man behind many major terrorist attacks, between mass stabbings and shootings, to the more recent and horrific playschool bombing back home in Skirra which had rocked the world.

Rocked the word hard enough to sanction John Doe’s ‘letting off the leash.’

John stared across the small, dark room at a wall of pictures and dossiers that had been pinned up. His strike package had been fully laid out upon his arrival in Durai. He’d put everything together himself, from the target’s schedule right down to every detail about their personal life and social circles. It had made for an easy smash-and-grab plan. A couple of high-speed spec-ops boys had been on loan to help with the extraction, and they’d done so well John hadn’t even bothered to grab his own carbine. His package had been neatly wrapped up and delivered, as per the plan, no fuss or muss.

Among the images and notes hung one that evoked a raw, unquenchable fire in John’s chest. Not that he needed any of that sort of stuff to do his job with any more dedication that he already had. John Doe had always been unique in his unquenchable focus on the mission, whatever it may be. But for this one, that boiling hatred had certainly helped him ante up to what needed to be done.

The image was a screen grab of the Original Order terrorists taking responsibility for the bomb that had miraculously failed to kill scores of defenceless women and children back home. Had the bomb detonated on time an entire school’s worth of cubs would have been slaughtered, not to mention the parents who had shown up to collect the little ones. Instead, the bomb had failed, and the detonation had occurred long after hours, causing some minor hearing related injuries to people who lived in the area, but had not incurred any fatalities.

All of the men in the picture were unmasked, loud and proud. And in the back sat Zafir Haddad, smiling like his murderous heathen gods had blessed him. That smile had long been slapped off of the camel’s face, as John turned his gaze down to the ruddy little figure zip-tied to a metal chair bolted into the floor of the interrogation room. A bag covered his long homoform features, but just by his posture John could tell Zafir was in a panicked state.

Grabbing the bag with a handful of hair for good measure, he ripped it from Zafir’s head, eliciting a pained yelped from the wild-eyed man. His tangled black hair was a messy mane of sweat and grease, his curly beard crusted with blood where the spec-ops guys who rolled him up had lovelessly pounded his face into the cement.

The anthropomorphic camel was bleary eyed, blinking painfully in the harsh lights that shone on his furry face. His ears were drooped, sagging like his shoulders as he pulled at his binds, the light brown fur at his wrists turning bloody as he rubbed against his restraints.

“Were am I!?” he shouted in his native tongue at first, then at the sight of the wolf standing over him in a suit, immediately switched to the more broadly spoken Skirran. “Where am I? Who are you!?”

John chortled, sliding his hands into his pockets. “In what universe, Zafir, did you expect to get an actual answer to either of those questions.”

Like his expression, the tone of John’s voice was implacable. His accent, like his appearance, gave the impression of a Skirran, born and raised in the west. One of the uncommon faunaform anthtros, the wolf had more in common with his ancestral beasts than the usual anthro. He was bigger, for one, standing almost a head taller than most of his fellows, with four fingers on each hand instead of five. Then there were his powerful digitigrade legs which ended in broad footpaws to consider, alongside a few other anatomical ‘quirks’ setting him apart from the typical homoform like Zafir.

All the same, he looked sharp in his grey suit, sleek black fur perfectly groomed underneath. He had a straight-backed, athletic frame and carried himself with the typical confidence of a man in his profession.

But these things were just hints that somewhere under the anthro shell that was John Doe that there was a man with some sort of backstory there.

“Skirran,” Zafir scoffed, a smile beginning to twitch his beard. Because what other nation would busy themselves in another country they had little jurisdiction or business.

“Your powers of observation are mediocre at best,” John replied blandly, still staring past Zafir, offering neither confirmation or denial.

“It doesn’t matter who you are. You’re dead!” Zafir sneered. “Your family. Your friends. All dead!”

John chuckled. “That’d be quite the feat, considering I don’t have any. Although, in the off chance I accidentally made some along the way, I would appreciate you remove them from this earth for me. Friends and family are such a distraction, and as you can probably understand a man of my profession often can’t be distracted.”

Zafir’s expression turned to confusion, like he hadn’t translated correctly and he peered suspiciously up at John. It was only when John calmly repeated himself in clean, perfect Ayaraf devoid of any sort of accent that the camel’s eyes grew slightly wider.

“But I’m not here to do business, least of all with the likes of you,” John went on, wielding Zafir’s native language as flawlessly as he might a rifle or a blade. “I’m interested in your friends. These Original Order gentlemen of ill repute to be specific. I know you helped them with logistics on the attempted playschool bomb. I know you’re trying again. Except I don’t know where yet. I’m assuming it’ll be in Skirra somewhere, or maybe in Bjové if your balls are as big as you claim they are. To be honest, I don’t really care so much as to where, as I do about stopping it. So, you are going to tell me where the target is, how you’re developing the bomb and who you’re smuggling parts to.”

A menacing grin spread across Zafir’s lips. “In what universe do you think I would answer those questions.”

“Touché. I’ll be frank, my smelly friend. I would have been disappointed if you gave up easily.” Unsmiling, but looking rather proud of himself, John Doe leaned down to put his muzzle close to Zafir’s nose. “Then all that money, time and effort with idle chit-chat, drinks and flirtations just to bring her here would have been for nothing. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to send the poor desperate lady home unloved after getting her hopes up.”

Zafir frowned as John straightened up again. “What? What are you talking about.”

“This.” John moved over to a computer monitor set up in front of Zafir and pressed the power button.

The monitor lit up and revealed a segmented view of the safehouse beyond the interrogation room’s padded door. Outside sprawled a decadent Durai penthouse.

The posh interior design included luxurious leather chairs, a sleek modern bar, and tall floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering skyline of Arayaf’s decadent capitol city. An elegant woman sat with a glass of champagne, adorned in a shimmering red dress and pearls, her legs crossed and dangling one of the erotic red stilettoes she wore from her toes. Hazy red lipstick smudged the rim of her glass where she sipped patiently at the glass bar, a hijab the same shade as her dress framing sleek features of an anthro camel easily in her late forties, the subtle dashes of grey in her light tan fur only adding to her mature sex appeal.

Fatima Haddad was completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding just a few rooms away, especially as Zafir reacted with an immediate scream for his beloved mother.

John gave it about thirty seconds, momentarily plugging one ear as Zafir’s cries reached fever pitch, and then petered out as he coughed and rasped, quickly turning himself hoarse with nothing to show for it.

Men like Zafir, despite acting like it, were not animals. They had their hopes and dreams and loved ones. You just had to look hard to find them. But for Zafir’s example, he wore his weakness on his sleeve.

Zafir loved his mother dearly. She was the light of his life, and it couldn’t be more obvious in the way he treated her. Almost every cent of his blood money earned on terrorism and the death of innocents went to his innocent mother who, completely in her ignorance, thought Zafir was simply a good boy spoiling and taking care of his mother. She lived with him in an extravagant district in Durai. She never wanted for anything other than the decadent new fashion or an invite to some high society party or concert. She lived like a literal princess.

And unlike her son, Fatima kept her secrets well. Not well enough that they escaped John’s notice, but well enough that Zafir had no idea of the intensely sexual cougar the older woman was.

Luring her to his safehouse had been the easiest part of the operation. John just had to dress nice, groom and act warm for about thirty minutes before he had Fatima competing with a dozen other women at the party for his attention. The pouts as he’d left with a woman almost twice his age been a priceless sight on the faces of supermodels who had been in attendance looking to bag a rich foreign businessman as their ticket into the western world.

Though how Zarif didn’t know about his precious mommy’s proclivities was anyone’s guess. Given the way she kept in such impeccable shape, and wore a sleek plunging dress with a back so low the crease of ass-cleavage at the back was anything but subtle. Even though the skirt was floor length, a long slit up the side went right up to her slim waist, revealing the full, sleek length of her left leg which was painfully devoid of a panty waist strap. Much like how her nipples were already erect with desire and poking through the flimsy material, she’d neglected to wear a bra or knickers before going out that night.

“The old lady cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” John teased. “No underwear, and with a dress like that. She dolled up and left the house with one purpose in mind tonight. Miss Fatima is looking to get fucked. So, you better tell me something or I’ll oblige her while you watch.”

Zafir tore his eyes from the screen and glared up at John. “You… you can’t! You’re not…” he looked the wolf up and down with disgust, then added, “you wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t dare fuck your mother? Wouldn’t dare pump a few batches of canid puppy batter up in her camelid snatch? Maybe make some crossbreed babies with the mother of a genetic purist? Zafir, the woman is all greased up and leaving a damn wet patch on my favourite bar stool. I’ve half a mind to fuck this MILF silly regardless of whether you talk.”

Even as he said it, John Doe turned away from Zafir and to the door, leaving the terrorist with front row seats of his own mother in a scant dress, simmering in erotic anticipation.

“No! Don’t you dare, you dirty mutt!” he screamed. Then gave up reasoning with the man and howled every racial slur he could imagine at the top of his lungs until his throat broke and he fell into another fit of coughs.

It was pointless. The sound went unheard by the woman sipping her drink at the bar, lost against the soundproofed panels of the interrogation room as John briskly left, shutting the door behind him.

 

Part 2
“Very sorry about that, Miss Haddad. Business never sleeps, I’m afraid,” John said, the lie coming easily as he grinned and tugged his tie loose.

The slender camel sitting at his penthouse’s glass bar turned her veil-wrapped head and her long features brightened into a brilliant smile, perfect white teeth standing out against the deep red of her full, enticing lips.

“Fatima, please,” she insisted, and he obliged.

“Fatima.”

She preened, straightening a little and in doing so pushing out her ample breasts a little more. From John’s intel, Fatima’s pickings of men had been slim at the end of an already quiet tourist season. And the local young men weren’t much enamoured by her cougar charms. Which made getting her into his safehouse even easier. But if Fatima was at all suspicious over why John was playing so easy to get, she hadn’t shown it yet.

Crossing the living area of the penthouse at a leisurely pace, he undid the single button of his suit jacket as he skirted the long glass façade that revealed a sparkling city skyline twinkling in the dark of late evening. The plate glass was rated against large calibre projectile impacts, and cut out the hubbub of winding traffic with ease.

Circling around behind Fatima, he gently set a hand on the back of her waist and drew in a subtle breath along her bare shoulder, drinking in the sweet intoxicating scent of her perfume. She caught him immediately, but bit her bottom lip as her lower body tightened, clenching her thighs tighter together.

“You’re a very forward young man,” she commented with a smile.

“And you have an interesting sense of fashion,” John said as he sat beside her, fingers brushing along the edges of her hijab. “None of the other girls at the party bothered with one of these.

The light red fabric looked like part of her dress, wrapped tight around her slender neck and coiling about her head in layers that hid her dark hair from view, with only subtle bulges underneath hinting at where her ears were. It framed her face beautifully. But for a piece of cloth whose use was meant to be pious, the revealing nature of her scandalous dress seemed hardly complimentary.

“Handsome young western men like the look of a hijab. And I’m hardly a girl, aren’t I John? I’m a woman,” she corrected with firm but seductive emphasis.

He smiled, watching her lean closer as she set a hand on his thigh. “Yes you are.”

“I must admit, you are quite the mystery all the same,” Fatima said, her eyelids drooping slightly as she looked him up and down and didn’t bother to hide how her eyes lingered below the belt. “I’ve never been able to convince a handsome young man to take me home as easily as you. Usually I’m the one on the hunt.”

“Maybe I just like what see. Especially in that dress,” John proposed.

Fatima hummed, as if to say, ‘maybe.’ Then with a click of her stilettos she slid from the barstool and stood before him. Her hands slid down the flimsy, low collar of her dress that ran down to her belly-button and easily pushed the slim strips of fabric aside, revealing the full mounds of her light brown breasts with dark chocolate nipples standing out against her fur. The areola were large and round, with the teats themselves perky and remarkably erect on a woman her age.

John’s gaze took in Fatima’s ample curves fully bared before him and he felt his pulse quicken in an instinctive, visceral response. It was a strange sensation, something he hadn’t experienced in years, even if the warmth of an exotic woman like Fatima was an old and familiar comfort. Perhaps it was her refreshing directness. Like how he had played direct and easy to get, Fatima had her desires, and she expected them fulfilled.

Smiling flirtatiously, she just stood there with her hands on her hips, daring him to make the next move.

John’s acquiescence took her entirely by surprise, and as he stooped to suck one of her large nipples into his hungry mouth, she gasped loudly, the momentary expression of shock on her face quickly replaced by an impressed smile as she felt his tongue go to work.

He cupped the other heavy mound in his hand, feeling its weight and softness, and began working the pebbled nub with his sharp, predatory teeth, eliciting a soft moan from between her carefully painted lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as John’s other arm wrapped around her waist, his strong hands holding her close and moulding her soft curves to his lean, athletic form.

The warmth of their embrace was intoxicating in itself, but the heat building in his core demanded more.

“Good boy,” she breathed, before John pulled back with wet smack of his lips.

“I’m only getting started,” he promised, gripping the ample curves of her ass in his strong hands and lifting the woman effortlessly off her feet.

She giggled as he planted her on the bar in front of him, their height difference now cancelled out for the deep, passionate kiss that followed.

Her lips parted easily for his demanding tongue as he pushed into her waiting, welcoming mouth. She tasted sweet, like honey and alcohol and sex. One hand slid up her shapely mid-riff and found her breast again, squeezing it possessively while the other pulled at the folds of her skirt, yanking aside the offending flesh so he could run his fingers down the shelf of her soft stomach and to the inviting, puffy flesh of her quim just below.

Fatima moaned needily into his mouth as he fingers found the prize, fondling at her lips. The labia were furry but just as smooth as her elegant legs which began to twitch as he touched her. As he ran his finger up along her slit then dipped a little tighter against the tender treasure trove, she arched her back and welcomed his touch.

“Ahhhnn~!” she gasped softly under her breath. “Don’t tease.”

John curled his thick, furry finger, then slid the digit into her hot depths, feeling the tight clenching tunnel suckle eagerly at him.

Fatima gasped once more in delight, her breathing coming harder and faster, filling the room with the sultry, passionate sound as he began to plunge his finger deeper once, twice, then with frantic determination until he heard her whimper rhythmically.

He added a second finger to her sopping wet quim, spreading her out wide to make room for the invading digits as he fucked her wildly with his fingers, like a crazed animal. And still his thumb stroked her hood and clitoris, eliciting a series of helpless gasps and whines as he assaulted her g-spot with his fingers.

“Oh fuck, keep doing that!” Fatima moaned.

Her cries fell on deaf ears as John suddenly and lovelessly removed his fingers with a wet ‘plap’ of her pussy. But before she could elicit a cry of displeasure, he scooped Fatima’s sleek thighs up in his hands and stooped, pressing his muzzle between her furry thighs and puckered against her dripping quim.

“Oh!” Fatima gasped, arching her back even further in a futile attempt to close her legs.

John’s powerful canid tongue invaded the folds of her sex like an aggressive expeditionary force, the delicious arousal leaking from her sweet and musky. And with Fatima’s lips spread wide by his powerful, well-practiced tongue, he was able to suckle and flick at her sensitive clit until the woman was trembling with readiness.

“I’m going to cum,” she keened, one hand gripping the edge of the glass bar tightly while the other touched her own cheek, hesitating halfway between suckling on her own fingers and grabbing a handful of John’s fur in case he dared pull away at this critical point. “You’re making me cum... please... please, I’m almost...”

Her voice trailed off in a loud, ragged moan as her entire body went tense.

With a last, victorious lick, John’s tongue swirled around her clitoris as her juices gushed freely into his mouth. The tip of his tongue flitted and fluttered about the soft bud, bringing the woman to heights she had not imagined even in her wildest moments. Her legs, hooked over his shoulders for support, kicked at the air and trembled as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her mouth hung open in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

She was still shaking through the mid-point of a long, creamy orgasm when John stood up and grabbed Fatima by her throat, roughly twisting her in place and laying her half-bare body across the long counter like a buffet of sex. Her long leg caught the champagne flute and smashed it across the floor behind the bar as her high heels clicked on the glass surface and she lay partially dazed, pussy still leaking liquid happiness.

John’s fingers slipped back up between her sleek, tan furred thighs and plunged deep into her sopping quim again, her walls quivering and contracting around the thick digits as he curled and massaged the roof of her canal. Her back arched off the bar with a shaky ‘ahn~!’ while John returned his muzzle, now glistening with a mixture of saliva and her orgasm around her nipple.

Fatima’s legs squirmed back and forth helplessly as his fingers worked against her g-spot again, igniting waves of pure delight within the woman. Her arms stretched up over her head and she ran her manicured nails across the smooth bar surface, surrendering entirely under John’s delicious ministrations. Between her moans she licked her lips and sang with delight.

“Yes, yes, fuck me there…! So aggressive! Yes, yes…!”

The elation and tension built in her body as he skilfully nursed her soft, sweet spot with his fingertips. His tongue worked with fresh hunger over her pebbled nipple, tracing circles across the sensitive areola before alternating across the meaty tip of her firm flesh. Her chest heaved with the shortening breaths as he sensed another fast approaching orgasm boiling up within Fatima.

“Are you going to cum for me again?” He asked, lifting his mouth from the camel’s breast and watching her clench her eyes shut.

Her face was screwed up with effort for a moment before she relaxed, crying out so her voice echoed through every corner of the safehouse. “Yes! Yes, baby, I’m going to cum for you again!”

“Good girl,” he told her softly as he smirked up at a hidden camera in the corner of the room. There was no doubt Zafir was heamorraging his vocal chords int he sound-proofed interrogation room.

But John was far from done. Bending down again he stuck out his tongue and dragged is lasciviously across Fatima’s exposed nipple, up along the soft roundness of her breast and to the collar of her hijab, up ending a trail of her short, soft fur as he went. He lapped further up, across the soft fabric, then he worked a wet matted trail across her cheek and to her puckered lips which wantonly sucked his broad tongue into her mouth for another moaning, passionate kiss.

In that moment Fatima’s toes curled in her stilettos and her back arched higher than before. She screamed with utter delight into John’s muzzle, grabbing his cheeks and setting her nails into his flesh like a clingy feline. His quick fingers, trained by almost a decade of practicing double-taps, continued to vibrate and caress her squishy, creamy depths. Her heat was almost searing as she clenched, trembled against his grip, and then released with an asymmetric flutter of her eyelids revealing only the whites of her eyes momentarily.

She went slack in his grip, and gushed uncontrollably across the glass counter, heels rattling against the glass as her long legs trembled in the warm glow of her orgasm.

John pulled back, his fingers still buried inside her, and looked down at the woman with a sense of pride. Fatima’s face blushed furiously through her fur, her full lips parted in a languid smile, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. She clenched and relaxed spasmodically around his fingers.

“Y-you... you have quite the touch, John,” she gasped.

He smirked at her, his heart racing as he felt her wetness drip down his wrist and onto the countertop.

“I’ve had practice,” he replied, slowly withdrawing his fingers from her depths and leaving her gasping for breath. 

He traced a slow path up her trembling thighs, along her flat stomach, and up to her full breasts. Flicking the ebony moundst hat stood like flagpoles at their apex, he brought the musky scent of her own orgasm coating his fingers to her lips where she lasciviously licked the entire length of his digits.

Fatima bit her bottom lip as she finished, her shudders dying down at the final warmth of an orgasmic afterglow began to fade, leaving her nethers and extremities tingling with satisfaction. But as satisfied as she was, she brushed her slender fingers across the throbbing bulge in John’s pants and sensed there was much more pleasure and satisfaction to be had to night.

“Take me to your bed and fuck me,” she stated, more than asked and John chuckled, taking her hand and helping her sit up on the sodden orgasm-soaked folds at the seat of her skirt.

“Let’s hope we make it as far as the bed at all.”

 

Part 3
They did not, in fact, make it to the bed. But to their credit, they made it to the hallway just outside the dark bedroom before John grabbed Fatima by the arm, whirled her around and pinned her firmly against the wall.

“The bedroom is right there,” she whined playfully, eyes flitting to the door just behind John.

“I can’t wait,” he growled from where he kissed along her wrapped, slender neck, drinking in the mixture of her sweetly perfumed fur and the softness of her cotton hijab. Her breast was heavy and firm in his hand as he groped her, his lips snuffling canid nose tracing a path to her cheek, then her waiting lips again.

Truth be told, John could in fact wait. He was patient, his career in black ops had tempered that trait. But his neediness for Fatima’s MILFy softness was just another lie that came easy. And not just because Fatima was pleasant to the senses. But also because there was still a mission. Like everything John did, stopping Fatima along the hallway right here and pinning her against this very wood panel was a calculated decision.

Because now he was pinning Fatima against the hidden door behind which Zafir was restrained and watching the western agent defile his darling mother.

“You want to fuck me here and now against the wall like a brute?” she asked innocently.

“We’ll see. Get on your knees first,” John ordered.

A flash of intrigue shot through Fatima’s eyes as she bit her bottom lip and fondled the persistent bulge in his pants. then ever so slowly she slid down along the wall until she was squatting underneath him and deftly began to undo his pants.

“I’ve never been with one of your kind before,” she said softly. “What treasure awaits me here, I wonder.”

With a dexterity that belied her age, she freed his hard cock from its confines with practiced ease, then stared with mouth agog as she ran her slender fingers up his furry sheath and then across the angry red flesh of his sizeable erection. His enflamed cock was easily the girth of her slender wrist at its base, tapering elegantly to an almost pointed tip. It was radically different to the average homoform anthro she was used to, easily longer by two or three inches than even the biggest cock she’d ever had. 

Fatima was dancing around her next act, gently brushing her painted nails and slender fingertips across his pounding flesh, licking her lips and letting out soft breaths that bathed his senses in the sticky warmth of her breath. Her soft lips were so close to the crown of his cock he could almost feel them. She was hesitating, considering what she’d gotten herself into with this intriguing wolf whose anatomy was closer to his feral ancestors than the more civilised modern anthro.

That wouldn’t do.

Reaching down he touched a four-fingered mitt large enough to envelop her entire head to the top of her hijab then thrust forward, slipping into her wet, welcoming mouth as if he were penetrating her for the main event.

Fatima’s eyes widened as she peered up at him, then after a moment of consideration she let her arms dangle down by her sides, submitting her mouth to John’s whims. She was all in, and with a smile, John began sliding in and out of her hot cavity.

Her lips spread wide around his shaft, and the tip of his cock throbbed as he sank deep into her warm depths. She sucked gently, and the sensation of it was exquisite.

John watched as Fatima’s head bobbed to meet his thrusts, her mouth gliding over his length, leaving behind a trail of gleaming saliva. Her tongue swirled around his throbbing member, kissing, licking, sucking on it with expert precision. The tip popped wetly from her mouth and she caressed it with long licks and gentle rubs of her puckered lips. A streak of saliva and precum smeared up along her cheek as she worked, worshipping the length as if she were prostrated in prayer. All the while keeping her hands away, using her mouth and only her mouth.

She was talented, highly experienced in pleasing a man with her mouth even if she wasn’t used to something this big stretching her lips into a gaping ‘O.’ And from the way she sucked and devoured him, she was enjoying the act as much as he did. John’s crotch tightened with each eager lick and suck, and it took all of his impressive mental fortitude to hold back the flood of hot, sticky cum churning in his heavy, fuzzy balls.

Gripping the sides of Fatima’s head with both hands, he stared down with wonder at her skilled lips wrapped around his manhood, a little more than halfway before the tip disappeared with ease into her throat with a wet gulp. She gargled encouragingly, her moans muffled by how her lips were stretched around his girth.

All the while her eyes were dutifully gazing up at him, gauging her performance by his expressions and asking silently: “am I doing good, daddy?”

John assured her she was doing good with a smile that tugged across his muzzle, then rolled his head back to peer up at the camera, hidden like the others in a high corner along the ceiling. Leaning against the false panel behind which Zafir sat restrained, he fucked the terrorist’s mother’s mouth with several more thrusts before he could feel his cock twitch against Fatima’s tongue.

As degrading as it might be to bust his load in Fatima’s mouth and have her smile for the camera as his haram seed flowed like a waterfall down her body, John didn’t want to waste time with a back and forth. Fatima would get impatient if he kept breaking off their r engagements to sneak way and speak with Zafir. So his defilement of this woman had to be absolute, thus breaking Zafir completely in one fell swoop.

Pulling back, he scooped Fatima up by her chin and lifted her until she was standing again. Then drawing aside her long skirt, he picked up one of her legs by the thigh and nestled his throbbing, wet erection against her belly.

The woman smiled with unbridled excitement as his chest squished against her full breasts and with hardly any effort he scooped up her other leg, wrapping them both around his waist as he skilfully lined his wet length up with her sopping quim. Even after a pair of orgasms, and then having her mouth fucked, she was even wetter than she had been before, her body screaming for the main event.

With one hard, swift thrust, and a squelch of her wet lips forcing apart to envelop his canid erection, John buried himself deep inside her. They both groaned in bliss, her arms gripping his shoulders tightly as he pinned her against the wall again and began to pump into her with the pent-up energy of a beast in heat.

His thrusts were quick and hard, each one feeling like he was punching up against her sternum and knocking the wind out of her; making her wail for more. And John was happy to fulfil her wishes. He fucked her like a monster, his balls slapping against her ass and echoing through the dimly lit hallway with the wet smack of sodden fur.

She was tight, velvety and her incredibly creamy. Already her pussy slobbered and slurped around his length with the sheer excess of slippery excitement leaking from Fatima’s body, her quivering cunt vocalising and approving as loudly as her lips did in the form of sweet moans whispered in his ear.

“Slow down, baby. Make it last,” she pleaded, but he shook his head.

“No. I’m going to fill you up now.”

“But I want more,” she whined between moans.

“You’ll have your fill, don’t worry.”

With that he slammed into her one more time, nestling his tip deep inside her core and nudging Fatima’s cervix in a way that made her squeal with surprise. She felt him swelling inside her, something just at her opening stretching her lips apart, puckering her labia against a fat, pounding knot that formed at the base of his erection. Then he released a thick torrent of warm semen.

It filled her to the brim, and the sensation of his hot seed painting the walls of her pussy brought another scream of delight from the woman.

“Ohh~, baby! It’s so warm! There’s so much!” she cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on with two handfuls of his dark fur.

John groaned softly into her ear through the light fabric of her hijab, then as the final spurt of his seed ejected into her velvety depths, began to run his stubborn erection in and out of her again. Her pussy slurped even louder now with the added creamy lubrication of his seed and Fatima whimpered as she tightened her grip on him, locking her ankles together at the back of his waist.

“It’s still so hard!” she gasped with awe as the knot kissed her opening with each thrust.

“I told you you’d get your fill,” John growled as he pressed her tighter against the wall and doubled his efforts, sticky wet flesh and sodden fur slapping noisily though the penthouse as the force of his thrusts made the wood panelling creak and rattle.

Fatima giggled between her gasps and moans. “I shouldn’t... ah! Have doubt-... uhnf~! Have doubted you-ohfuck! There, right there!”

Her legs uncrossed and dangled almost helplessly at her sides as Fatima hung in his grip, giving her body over to his powerful thrusts the same way she’d let him take her mouth. Only now, instead of letting her stew in the anticipation, his cock railed her, giving her body the pleasure she had so craved since he first invited her to his place.

Leaning back a little, John watched Fatima undulate back and forth in his grip as he fucked her with reckless abandon, chasing his next orgasm somewhere on the periphery of numbness after his first. But his own pleasure was unimportant. What mattered was the way Fatima clenched and blushed, her mouth agape in a silent scream as her body quivered around him.

“Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck, I’m... I’m-...!”

Fatima couldn’t finish her sentence as she broke off into a scream and squirted even more violently than she had on John’s fingers. A spray of fluids soaked not only John’s jacket and pants, but Fatima’s own dress which was already heavy from the previous two messy orgasms.

Her body locked around John’s shaft, trapping it deep inside as she rode out the waves of pleasure crashing through her. She even forgot to breathe, mouth gaping open like a fish as John watched on with a small smile.

He kept thrusting throughout. She was so wet and her pussy gripped his shaft so tightly that he couldn’t help but continue. But now his thrusts were slow and languid, the frantic pounding giving way to loving, leisurely pace as he savoured the sensation of her pussy trying to milk another load of cum from him.

Then, almost without warning he pulled back. The cream he’d stuffed into her canal exploded from her sopping pussy and splattered to the ground beneath them with an audible ‘plap.’ The sudden emptiness left Fatima feeling vulnerable and exposed, but before she could protest, John thrust back into her welcoming warmth. His cock filled her up once again, knot stretching her opening out just a little more as he forced the tip against her cervix. He smiled when Fatima’s eyes rolled back in her head, her sensitive folds slurping almost as noisily as she moaned.

He fucked her hard and fast for a moment, lubricated by their joint orgasm and spurred by the fact that the camera hidden in the overhead light above them caught every move, every thrust and every lustful glance between them. He knew that her son was watching it all, tortured by the sight of his own mother being defiled by this infidel. And a filthy faunaform to boot, pumping his half-breed babies into her womb…

He wondered if Zafir was smart enough to know fuanaforms couldn’t make homoform anthros pregnant, and vice versa. But then he didn’t seem like the brightest crayon in the box for associating with the likes of Original Order in the first place.

John could almost feel the mixture of religious and racial hatred emanating from behind the hidden door and revelled in it. He wanted Zafir to feel like his entire world was collapsing around him, and this was merely the first step.

John gripped Fatima’s hips tightly, slamming into her with a fervour that echoed throughout the hallway. The sound of their fur slapping together was almost deafening in the dimly lit space, punctuated only by Fatima’s screams of pleasure.

“So good,” she complimented between gasps. “I love it. But please... please take me on the bed. Make love to me all night long.”

John slowed, smiling as he set her down, then continued to support her by her waist as her knees wobbled and ankles buckled on the unsteady stilettos. She had two handfuls of is shirt, giggling as she struggled to stay upright in the aftershocks of leg-numbing pleasure.

Then John all but carried her to the bedroom.

 

Part 4
Excitement helping her to find her balance and strength, Fatima’s long, slender legs carried her swiftly towards the gleaming glass doors that separated John’s penthouse bedroom from the rest of the apartment. Her hips swayed enticingly, the curves of her bountiful derriere jiggling deliciously with every sharp step that clicked noisily in the quiet. She knew he was watching, his eyes trained hungrily upon her curves as she moved. She could feel it, the weight of his gaze, as heavy as his cock had been draped across her tongue and as impossible to ignore as the rapid beating of her own heart.

She loved that the most, perhaps even more than his sizeable erection filling her up to the brim and pounding tirelessly until she was satisfied to completion. She wanted to be seen, ogled and appreciated. And she wanted to be heard, but not her opinions or conversations; she wanted her man to hear her moans and be aroused to maddening heights by her voice.

She wanted to be a maternal deity of sex, worshipped and enjoyed by energetic, youthful men like John.

If only she could see through the act.

John followed, watching as she removed her hijab and uncoiled her long raven hair, her dress followed, sliding down her sleek tan body like a golden veil before pooling around her feet as she stepped out of the silken puddle. She halted at the foot of the bed, wearing only her stilettoes as she turned with her hands on her hips, her bareness brazenly on show.

Her ample breasts heaved slightly with each shallow breath, and her nipples stood out as darkened, pebbled points of excitement ringed by her pale fur.

“You’re ready for more?” John asked, running his gaze over her with a hungry, possessive glint in his eyes.

Fatima nodded, grinning. “You are too, I think,” she said with a sultry purr, reaching out to slide her fingers down the length of his pounding erection. She curiously fingered the knot that still pounded there like a firm bulb at its base.

He chuckled under his breath, and moved closer until they stood toe-to-toe, letting her fumble and remove his belt before working on his shirt buttons. Before long he was as naked as she was, albeit arguably more so considering she hadn’t slipped out of her heels yet. She was too busy, pressing her soft body against his hard musculature, feeling along the subtle grooves of his cut physique and raking her fingers through his long, velvety fur.

He didn’t have so much an aesthetic musculature built around raw strength and brute force, but more an athletic necessity considering John Doe’s profession. He needed stamina and strength to be sure, but he also had to remain light on his feet for when he had to pick up an M82, hike for days on end to deliver a dangerous target long range fifty-calibre brain surgery.

As she explored, he let his hands roam over her soft curves, pinching her nipples as she worked his way up to her plentiful breasts.

The warmth radiating off Fatima’s body, paired with the intoxicating smell of her perfume, made him feel like he was being absorbed into a world nothing but pleasure.

He gripped her hips tightly, and dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Lay down.”

A flash of defiance shot through her eyes as Fatima peered up at him. “No. You lay down.”

Wringing her hands across his cock, both completely enveloping him and even then leaving enough shaft to spare for another lover to join in – perhaps a pleasure to indulge in later, Fatima thought as she considered the phone numbers of a few of her friends who would be immensely jealous if she didn’t share – she gently pushed him to the bed then shoved his chest.

John let himself fall then crawled onto the mattress, watching as Fatima took her time running her hands through her wavy hair to undo the few knots that had formed in the bun under her hijab. Then, without bothering to remove her elegant high heels, she leaned forward and crawled on top of him.

Her thighs pressed against his hips as she straddled him, the softness of her groin teasing at his already-hard cock. The woman’s warm, sweet breath washed over John’s face as she leaned down and sealed her lips around his, breasts squashing firmly against his chest.

Their kiss deepened, and they moaned into each others’ mouth. Then with her hands on his firm chest, Fatima shimmied her feet under her, heels sinking deep into the mattress either side of John as she settled in a deep squat.

Knowing what she wanted, John reached down and gripped his erection by the knot, guiding the slender tip to her yawning, eager opening. Fatima didn’t waste time and began to sink down around him, impaling herself quickly and settling her stretched quim over his wet knot with a gasp. It would not fit inside her, but that hardly seemed to matter as her flat tummy bulged just below the belly button as if to indicate where the tip of his erection had gone.

“So deep~!” she cooed as John bottomed out in her canal. Even it if weren’t for the fat knot that simply would not fit into her tight quim, there simply wasn’t enough space inside her to take any more of his shaft anyway.

“Fuck,” John growled, feeling her cunt tighten around his manhood.

Feeling his hands on her ass, with powerful arms helping her to rise and fall, Fatima rolled her eyes as her hips gyrated experimentally on top of him in a back-and-forth bucking motion. A few more wiggles and shifts, and she found the up and down rhythm that made her moan reflexively.

She started out slow, but soon sped up, her stretched pussy slapping against his knot, filling the room with a chorus of wet slapping noises mixed with their heavy breathing and the groaning bed frame.

Her clit rubbed against his pounding knot on every downward thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. Her toes curled and uncurled with every thrust, and she squealed in delight every time his tip threatened to push through the neck of her womb and touch places it wasn’t supposed to enter.

Curling her fingers until she set her nails into his chest, Fatima brought her knees together, clenching her slurping pussy even tighter as she bounced on his cock. She was close, yet again, and savoured the delightful edge of climax that was dragged out as she slowed her rhythm.

“I’m going to cum,” she sang with a high-pitched waver in her voice.

John suddenly muscled her up and lifted her clear of his cock with a wet little pop. In the same motion, before she could cry out with annoyance, he rolled Fatima onto her back, holding her legs straight up in the air as he knelt behind her, running the tip of his cock back down along her slit.

Biting her lip as she realised what he was doing, she crossed her slim ankles together, pointing her heels at the ceiling as she felt the erection slide effortlessly back into her velvety depths. She bent, doubling over a little as he slid back inside her, digging her manicured nails into the sheets as his slow, languid entry grinded firmly along her g-spot from this wonderful new angle.

“There. Right there, please fuck me there,” she pleaded between moans as John hilted into her quivering cunt.

Prodding that special spot she wanted so desperately, he started to roll his hips until he was rhythmically slamming her tight, clenching canal with reckless abandon. One hand held on to her ankles, keeping her legs up int he air while the other dug into her waist to keep the woman from riding up the bed towards the headboard.

The position left Fatima’s tits bouncing enticingly, John’s thick cock pistoning in and out of her at a pace that left her gasping for breath. Her raven hair pooled under her head like a dark halo as she thrashed and clawed and squirmed under him.

“You like that, huh?” John growled loud enough for the microphones to hear him over the lady who screamed in sweet ecstasy under him. “You like it when I fuck you deep and hard like this, you dirty little slut.”

“Yes!” Fatima wailed. “Yes, I love it! I’m your dirty little slut! I’m completely in love with your big doggy cock! You can fuck me like a cheap whore whenever you like! Use me any time you need!”

John smirked as he hilted inside her one more time and held there, twitching in her deepest depths such a way that rubbed tingly little circles across the circumference of her cervix with the wet glans of his erection. “Bend over then. If you’re going to whimper and whine like a bitch in heat I might as well fuck you like one.”

Pulling out of her one more time, John just about let her roll over onto her hands and knees before he slapped her firmly on her light brown ass. And without further ado, he tugged hard at the base of her long tail and slid back into the slick canal quivering on the cusp of ecstasy.

“Nnnh~!” she moaned softly, lowering her head to the mattress as if to hide her face out of embarrassment in this bestial position.

Not good enough. John reached forward and still yanking at her tail for leverage, he grabbed a handful of her black hair and pulled, yanking her head back up and giving the hidden camera in the headboard front row seats to Fatima’s agape expression.

Her eyes were rolled back with sheer delight as her lips opened into a perfect ‘O.’ Beneath her firm, pendulous breasts undulated back and forth with the rhythm of John’s pace, each firm slap of his hips sending delightful ripples through the wide, MILF-y curves of her asscheeks.

Zafir would be seeing it all about now, from the vacant stare of near orgasm in his mother’s eyes to the way the mascara was running in black streaks down across her blushing cheeks. Every aspect of her was utterly violated, and from the terrorist’s perspective it hardly seemed it could get worse.

But John was something of a specialist when it came to making things worse.

“I’m cumming!” Fatima cried as a slow, open mouthed smile spread across her vacant, pleasure drunk face. “I’m going to squirt all over your cock!”

Instead of pulling out this time to drag out her edging delight, John suddenly doubled his efforts, yanking the woman backwards and deeper onto his cock until she screamed and clenched onto the throbbing knot.

A few more rough, powerful strokes, and she was done.

Fatima’s cunt clenched down hard as a gush of liquid erupted from deep within her. Streams of it pumped out around John’s manhood, dripping down his balls as he continued to jackhammer into her creamy depths. The waterfall of delight dribbled down her thighs and pooled into a dark stain across the expensive sheets beneath them.

John was close behind her, but not so close that he couldn’t tease her overstimulated quim just a little more. Fatima lost balance and lurched forward, landing flat-out on her front across the bed. Her knees bent and feet stuck up in the air, trembling so hard that one of her heels popped from her shoe, letting it dangle a moment before flopping to the mattress beside them.

John went down with her, pressing his hands into the mattress either side of her as he continued rolling his hips, pounding her deeper into the mattress. Fatima gathered one of the nearest pillows and bit hard into it, muffling a scream of ecstasy as her entire body shivered, wide eyes peering up into the headboard camera, and unbeknownst to her directly into her terrorist son’s tear-streaked face.

At the first tingle of orgasm coiling deep in his loins, John pulled out of Fatima then shuffled on his knees over to where she lifted her makeup smeared face from the pillow. She took one look at the large, throbbing red stem hovering just a few inches form her face and with a smile, dutifully took the thing into her mouth.

A few flicks of her tongue along the inside and hollowing her cheeks with a single suck was all it took to take John the rest of the way. He grabbed another handful of her hair at the back of the woman’s head, then forced Fatima another few inches onto his cock, puckering her lips against the knot before he released into her mouth.

John held her head in place as he came, filling her mouth with his hot, salty load. Fatima gulped reflexively, her throat bobbing as she drank down as much as she could. Her cheek’s bulged and with a splutter, some of the cream shot from the tight seal her lips made around the girth of his shaft, and another stream burst from her nostrils as she suppressed a choking cough.

He pulled back and Fatima tipped her head back, mouth agape to let a mouthful of cum glazing her tongue to flow down her chin as she caught several more long ropes of pearly white jizz across her face. One draped across the bridge of her muzzle and her cheek, narrowly missing her fluttering eyes as several droplets clung to her lashes. More sprawled over her forehead and landed in her hair, and before long the beautiful mature camel’s face was a runny, fresh-fucked mess of makeup and cum.

Fatima then dragged her cum-covered tongue up along John’s glistening cock and kissed the tip, cleaning up after herself before panting for breath.

“Did you like ruining my face?” she asked with sweet innocence as her eyes opened and she peered warmly up at him. “Was I a good girl?”

“Yes you were,” John admitted with a sigh, gently slapping his cock on her cheek. “But you’re not entirely done just yet.”

Fatima rolled onto her back and reached up, wrapping her pretty fingers around his cock and jerking up and down along the slippery length to test its hardness. It was still as stiff and rigid as it had been when they first started, and the thick knot she was contemplating about forcing inside her body somehow persisted.

“So much energy. You’re going to break me, darling.” Fatima smiled at that, adding, “I like it.”

“I have to check up on some work,” John told her as he shuffled off the bed and shrugged on a robe. “Help yourself to the shower in the meantime. I’ll only be a minute.”

 

Part 5
As the sound of the shower running echoed through the lavish penthouse suite, John shut the interrogation room door with a whisper quiet ‘snikt’ that was almost drowned out by Zafir’s blubbering sighs. His wrists were raw and bled where he’d struggled against his restraints and his long hair fell over his face where he bowed his head in defeat. Especially when John reached over and adjusted the monitor to show one final image of Fatima as her face hung in the shadow of his freshly satisfied cock, his haram western seed glazing the woman’s aspect.

Zafir’s precious mother appeared in her true colours, a used up slutty mess. And the smile she wore begged for more.

“I can do this all night, Zafir. In fact, I’d enjoy it thoroughly,” John told him, not having bothered to tie up his robe and hide the large, pounding erection still jutting up from between his thighs. “Tell me something useful and I’ll call your old lady a taxi home.”

Zafir snivelled, and the way his head bobbed indicated he’d broken. He could bear no more seeing and hearing his beloved mommy getting fucked silly. “I’ll tell you... please, just stop violating her. I’ll tell you.”

John crossed his arms. “I’m waiting Zafir. Or maybe I should help your mother scrub her back in the shower?”

“No, please. I’ll tell you,” Zafir sobbed. The fur on his cheeks was darkened by the volume of tears and he’d filled the entire room with the stink of fear. It was the familiar scent of a bully who had been isolated and broken, a common scent to fill this interrogation room and the many others like it that John Doe curated across the globe. “The next target, it’s a school in Haven. The contact assembling bomb parts sourced locally is called Ahmed. Ahmed Alzhared.”

John bent over a nearby laptop and made notes before looking back at the sobbing terrorist. “How the fuck are you sourcing bomb parts locally?”

“Ahmed is an Skirran citizen, clean record and legal gun owner. You can buy anything you want if you live in the right place in Skirra. Just don’t buy it all at once.” Zafir sniffed sharply. “He’s been amalgamating supplies over the past three years with the help of other agents in the country.”

John nodded and sent the details up to his higher-ups. It would hopefully be enough to stop the potential attack, but he wanted more. To be sure. “What’s the address?”

“I don’t know his address.”

“What about the school. Which one is being targeted?”

“I don’t know,” Zafir pleaded.

John straightened abruptly. “Not good enough Zafir. Give me something I can use to stop the attack.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. Please.”

John chewed his tongue, peering down at Zafir’s teary eyes, then nodded with a sigh. “Okay. In that case, I wonder if your mother likes anal.”

“What? No! Wait! Please, no! I don’t know! I don’t-...”

Zafir’s screams momentarily echoed through the penthouse, but were drowned out by the sound of the shower before being cut out entirely by the interrogation room closing again. Shrugging off his robe as he walked back to the bedroom, John moved straight to the lavish en-suite bathroom where the smooth tiled shower was occupied by the sleek, curvy figure of Fatima Haddad.

“There you are,” the camel said, looking over her shoulder as her black hair clung to her wet body and water ran down her sleek tan fur in thick rivulets. “Will you wash my back?”

John smirked as he stepped into the shower and moved behind her. Then with his hands on her ass, he shoved her roughly against the cool tiles before pressing in close. Fatima was on her toes, giving her just the right height for John’s hard cock to slip between her full cheeks and prod the tight little backdoor that begged for his attention next.

Fatima gasped and giggled as she clenched. “Oh! I don’t know if you’ll fit back there!” she cooed, though she wasn’t outright telling him ‘no.’

John pressed a little firmer, feeling her ass open to take his tip with a mixed whimper of trepidation and excitement rising form Fatima’s lips. “Don’t worry. We have plenty of time to try.

“We have all night after all,” he added, flashing the hidden shower camera a devious smile.

###

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Stay sexy, peeps.
Matthew Chapel.