FSE

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"Order up!"

In a dingy old bar, down in one of these so called strongholds, a slinky, slutty female cat took the order of Nuclear Hot Wings from the bartender, "I'll take that. The old dog's bein' a sourpuss today."

The bartender sighed, "So what's new?"

The pussycat swung her cute butt at the stallion, "I got a new boyfriend."

The old stallion cocked an eyebrow, "Again? You go through these men like nothin', Puddy... Why don't you just settle down and get a real man for a change?"

She stuck her tongue out at him, "'Cause real men are too much hard work."

She returned to her boss's booth far off in a dark corner of the bar.

The dog was an old bloodhound. His eyes were bloodshot like he'd been on a week-long crack binge, his skin showed signs of mange and he had more gold teeth in his mouth than any that were actually real. His cataracts were acting up again as he was looking at his cards. The dog was playing Solitaire.

He barely looked up when the cat put down the basket full of hot wings for the dog.

The siamese huffed at the dog, "You have a lot of fat nerve, askin' me to get your food for ya, then ya don't even tell a girl thank you."

The bloodhound grumbled low as he took those wings from his employee. He started to eat the wings, using a knife and fork since he didn't like getting his hands dirty, especially not when playing Solitaire.

The siamese sat there letting her face screw up while she watched him, "Well, I'm waitin'?"

The bloodhound drank his beer and he coughed into his right palm before he finally addressed the cat, "Thank you, Pudding."

Pudding was indeed her name, not even a nickname, but her actual name given to her at birth. The siamese perked up, "There you go, I knew there was some mannahs unda all that gruff, god knows I see plenty of it in the bedroom." She kissed him despite the mange on his neck. She didn't date him for his looks, but for what he had between his legs and in his wallet.

The dog kept eating and playing cards, "How's that new man of yours?"

Pudding smiled, "Oh, I've got a good feelin' on this one, this time I know this one's real husband material."

The bloodhound looked at her, "Is he a cat?"

Pudding blew a raspberry, "Fuck no, he's not a cat! You think I actually wanna have kids? A bunch o' whinin', annoyin' little mutants tuggin' on my tail, Mommy, Mommy, I want attention! Fuck that!"

He touched her pretty face in a gentle way which certainly did not fit his rough exterior, "You'd be a fine mother, though."

Pudding scoffed, "And what're you, my mother?"

He caressed her soft neck as he drew her in closer, "Sometimes I feel like I am, as incestual as that may be." He kissed her with a tenderness he only ever had for a good friend like her.

She purred hot and heavy for her sugar daddy while they kissed, while she fondled his pants and felt the one part of him that remained young and spry.

The bloodhound pulled away from their kiss, "Does your boyfriend know about me yet?"

Pudding whispered, "What he don't know won't hurt him."

He whispered back, "Good answer."

...

Half an hour later, they'd retired out to the old dog's own private shack at the farthest edge of this stronghold.

It was a pretty ramshackle old dump, but in this day and age, one couldn't complain.

These strongholds were what served as towns or rather closed communities in this new age. They were dirty old places with scattered metal thrown about, gangs squabbling over what little territory they owned, whores selling themselves in these little shantytowns at the edge of these strongholds.

Military-grade firearms were often seen here in the hands of the gangs that fought over these places, and there wasn't a day where some severed head would be found placed upon a bayonet as a warning to other trespassers.

The only thing heard almost as frequently as the fighting was the immodest moans of some couple trying to bust a good nut or two.

Pudding was in her old friend's shack, paws gripping his rickety dinner table while the bloodhound plowed her pussy.

The whole shack was just one big room. It had a small table with two chairs, it had an armchair in the middle and a bed with exposed springs sticking out of it. The bed wasn't even on a frame, just laid flat on the ground.

There was no form of a kitchen, not in this compact space. If the bloodhound wanted to cook himself something, he had to make a fire outside and roast, boil or fry his food like anyone else who lived in the shanties.

Pudding yowled with no shame as she let her old friend use her pussy, "Yeah, there's that old army dog... Beat it... Beat it like you hate it!" She urged him on while her tits swung freely with each heavy thrust.

There wasn't even a door or even a front wall to shield their illicit activity so if someone were to walk pass, woe to them if the bloodhound caught them on his property, they'd get to see that horny old dog using this slutty kitty all over every piece of furniture he owned.

They'd eventually moved to his dusty old bed by the time the dog felt his nut about to blow.

Pudding had climaxed twice for him already and was building up her third, tongue wagging wildly while he fucked her silly.

Her old dog had her on her back then pointed towards outside so he could also keep an eye out for some dumb fuck that wanted to see him in the middle of his business.

Pudding shrieked and hissed as her sugar daddy slammed his fat knot in her all of a sudden, tying him to her as he began to unload his puppy batter into his pretty little kitty.

"Oh, Sarge... You bring out the feral in me sometimes." She dug her claws into his shoulders while he inseminated her with healthy but incompatible semen, just the way she liked it.

There were footsteps as the pair waited for Sarge's swelling to go down.

The bloodhound reached under his mattress then pulled out his old army six-shooter, "Speak, trespasser! You'd better have a good reason for interrupting me and my Pudding."

The trespasser spoke, "I don't but I know you won't shoot me anyway."

The bloodhound recognized the voice then looked up from his kitty to see a big, brawny male coyote standing over them. He put down his gun but didn't put it away just yet, "Did the little fag do his job?"

The coyote shook his head, "We haven't heard from Ferral in over a week, so I guess this Oso guy of yours is a better grade of asshole than you'd let on before, old man."

The bloodhound cursed, "Fuck... Can you give me a moment? I just blew my load and it takes me a while to go down."

The coyote pulled over an old tire then sat down on it, a playful smirk on his face, "I can wait. I'm surprised someone as old as you can even get it up."

Pudding purred, "This old dog can teach you some new tricks, Dusty."

The coyote shot a dangerous glance at the old ex-soldier, "I'll bet he could."

...

As this was going on, Darla was somewhere out still a day's drive away from the nearest town.

The old Abrams tank was currently parked with her engine still running.

Sherman stood by the old girl peeing into a coffee can.

Kyle was somewhere else doing his own business in a bush. While he'd become quite comfortable about being naked around his new friend/lover, the coyote was still embarrassed about going potty around other males, being a male who had to squat when he needed to pee.

Sherman was done long before his friend was, throwing his liquid away while he called out, "Shake it and wipe it, Kylie! We gotta get a move on! We're almost to civilization! I'd like to make it before next sundown!"

Kyle was pulling up his pants when he heard his friend, "I'm just finishing, you grumpy old bear!" He hurried back to the tank to find Sherman already climbing back in.

Sherman stopped to smirk, "Did you have to go 1 or 2, baby?"

Kyle found it weird the bear needed to know that, but it was a thing he'd gotten used to in the week they'd been together now, "Both, Dad..."

Sherman nodded, "Good, good to keep up that regularity, son! You don't want no doctor someday tellin' ya you've got dysentery or somethin' worse!"

Kyle sometimes felt Sherman did this all on purpose to make him feel queasy, "You really love to twist a fun little camping trip don't ya, Shermy?"

The bear took the time to wipe his muzzle plate, "It's good you're catchin' on, Kylie." He dropped his head down below leaving Kyle with those last teasing words.

The coyote mouthed off to himself as he climbed on top of Darla, "Anymore like that and no yote pussy for you tonight, grumpy bear."

He climbed in then pulled the lid down.

Once the lid was secured shut, Darla drove off into the distance towards the nearest stronghold.

...

Meanwhile, a now fully dressed Sarge was being led through the current stronghold he'd made his home these last few years.

The coyote known as Dusty walked ahead of the bloodhound while two armed canines flanked him on both sides.

Sarge grumbled, "Was the armed escort really necessary?"

Dusty chuckled at the old man's question, "You know Mr. Terran has a hard time trusting old-timers like you, Sarge. You're more unpredictable, who knows when you might go into some PTSD trip."

Sarge grumbled, "Don't talk to me about PTSD, sonny! Not 'til you've been out there in the desert, watched your nearest and dearest comrades shredded to pieces 'cause they stepped on a landmine, or you've had your buddy's brains splattered all over your face!"

Dusty chuckled, "But, I haven't seen anything like that, so you're right I don't see things your way, and I really hope I never do."

They made it to a big building, biggest for this stronghold at least. It was a three-story building, it was the center of the community and where some form of law enforcement was at least upheld.

They went into this building.

A receptionist at the front desk greeted the canines, "Welcome back, Dusty! Is this the old deadbe- I mean, the reasonably worried pensioner?"

Dusty looked back at Sarge, "That he is."

Sarge rolled his eyes at his treatment. He was a war hero once, this was no way to treat an old army dog like him.

The receptionist flashed her eyelashes at the brawny coyote, "Mr. Terran's upstairs in his office, I'll ring him for you."

The four canines stood and waited while the bubbly poodle called her boss on his office phone. "Mr. Terran? Yes, your 5 o' clock is here to see you now. I'll send them right up." She hung up, "You can take the elevator to my right, fellas."

Dusty nodded, "Thank you, Hillary." He led Sarge and his two armed soldiers over to said elevator.

The poodle called out to them, "And when are you gonna take me up on that date like ya keep promisin' me, Dusty?"

Dusty called back, "As soon as I get some free time, Baby!" Then as soon as the elevator doors closed he muttered, "As if I'd date that whimpering shrew..."

...

Upstairs, in his office stood Mr. Terran, Mayor of this stronghold, currently named Terran Town for its current ruler, something which he intended to make permanent. He stood at ready with a nine-iron golf club in both hands when the elevator doors dinged then slid open. The mayor swung his club, striking a golf ball which went sailing fast.

Dusty stepped out with his typical smug smile when a golf ball suddenly hit him in the forehead. The coyote cursed as he held his face, "Jesus Fuck!" He kept his paw over his face as he complained, "It's always the fuckin' golf balls with you!"

Sarge felt like laughing to see the smug coyote suddenly lose his cool composure.

Mayor Terran hissed as he laughed, "You need to work on your reflexes, Terrence." His long scaly tail wagged to the left then right as he laughed, "You never know when a sniper can get ya, is that right, Sarge?"

Sarge had heard about Terran, but until recently, he hadn't known Terran to be one of his own old war buddies, a jovial, fun-loving monitor lizard with a tail like a whip and a terrible sense of humor. Where the fuck that flamboyant lizard got the name Terran from, he had no idea. But here he was, the big scaly queer wearing a wig of Rastafarian dreads and dressed like the island native he'd been before somehow finding his way into the desert.

Sarge chuckled, "Yes, you got it right, Miles... You walking bag o' luggage you."

The lizard always thrilled to hear his real name spoken by an old friend, especially one like Sarge who could look over the fact the reptilian was gay and treat him like a normal person. His forked tongue stuck out as he laughed, "Luggage, me? So says the old pup who looks like he could keel over any second."

Dusty regained his composure, "Mr. Terran, I did what you asked and brought you this guy, now can I please go?"

Terran wagged his tail at the coyote, "Yes, you may go, Terrence."

The coyote grumbled, "And I keep telling you, I'm Dusty!"

Terran pouted, "Aw, but Terrence is such a nice name."

The coyote shook his head before shouting to his mercenaries, "Come on!"

The three canines left, leaving Sarge behind with Mayor Miles Terran.

The big gay lizard smiled at his old friend once they were alone, "So... Apparently, your Oso has killed one of my best assassins... I get the feeling you didn't tell me everything I needed to know, last time I had you up here, Mason..."

Sarge sighed, "I... I didn't think he'd be a problem. The Oso I know has always lived alone, so I don't know how we coulda fucked up on this."

Terran sighed, "Old war relics like you and me, this world has no more place for us. Some of us had learned to adapt, even evolve. This Oso..."

Sarge groaned, "I'd served with the guy before I knew you Miles. Back then, I woulda trusted the guy to tie my shoes, but you're right. Old weapons like us need to adapt, and Oso refuses to do so, him and all our old troops."

Terran hissed, "So, better to do away with old relics, throw them in the rubbish where they belong, let the rest of us evolve." The lizard peered out of his third story window, down at the city he now called home.

...

"You out there in the tank, halt!"

Sherman and Kyle had made good time and now they were right outside of the stronghold.

Two armed guards stood at the gates barring any possible raiders from getting in, "I am ordering you, please shut off your vehicle then step out slowly, outlanders!" One commanded with authority and an AK at the ready.

Sherman shut off his dear Darla. "It's okay, Girl. These city folk just don't understand you the way I do." He petted his tank's controls like he was truly calming a pet or something.

Kyle remarked, "Sometimes you creep me out, Shermy."

The tank hatch popped open and the two guards stood at ready, in case these proved to be raiders.

Kyle climbed out first, best have the prettier, younger face be the first to be seen. The coyote waved happily to the soldiers, "Don't shoot, we come in peace!"

The guard spoke up, "Are you alone, Madam?"

The coyote rose an eyebrow, "Really?" He cleared his throat, "I'm not alone, my boyfriend is in here, down below but we mean no harm. And I'm not a girl!" He added that last part.

Both guards looked at each other before the one in charge spoke, "Okay, sweetheart. Are either you or your, uh, boyfriend armed?"

Kyle nodded carefully, "We are, but like I said we come in peace. We're just simple hunters living out in the desert sand, in need of some real rest and relaxation."

The guard relented, "Okay, you can come down, but we need to see your boyfriend."

Kyle smiled, "Thank you! Shermy, you heard the man!" He shouted into the hatch before jumping down.

The 7 foot tall grizzly bear climbed out to show himself to the city guards, "I'm here! And I'm unarmed!" He flashed his dog tags, "Ex-Colonel of our Divided States, Sherman Costas!" He saluted.

The guards both looked at each other again, "Colonel? Then you're aware that your weapons must be inspected if we let you in."

Sherman nodded, "Yes, I am aware, I've been through this thing many times before, just the first time having a partner at one of these."

The guard spoke, "Fine, get down slowly. We'll have to frisk you and look in your tank before we let you in."

Sherman nodded, "Yuh-huh, I got that." He climbed down then both he and Kyle walked forth with their hands raised.

The guards lowered their weapons, "Okay, just hold still."

Sherman and Kyle stood in place as they got closer.

The bear joked, "I haven't had a proper bath in some months."

The guard remarked, "I'll hold my breath." He let his partner hold his rifle while he started to search both the bear and coyote. He found Sherman's hunting knife, he confiscated that. "You'll get your things back as soon as we are finished checking them, Colonel."

He also found the pistol that Sherman had given to Kyle as a gift. He took it out then checked it for bullets. It wasn't loaded, "This is a nice piece of work, where did you get this?"

Sherman spoke up, "It's mine, I gave it to Kyle here as a gift."

The guard nodded, "Mmhm." He continued checking. He did notice Kyle was missing a certain bulge to denote his malehood. He had to ask, "You're sure you're not a female?"

Kyle answered respectfully, "I'm only female in the best part, everything else is 90% real man."

The guard let his hand linger over Kyle's crotch, before his partner shot him a dirty look for being a pervert.

Kyle didn't mind the touch, but Sherman showed discomfort.

The guard checked Sherman's package, "Yeah, you're definitely male. Okay, everything seems to check out, you both may enter and I promise your weapons will be returned in due time. We will also have a team out to fetch your vehicle. It will also be inspected. Do you understand everything I am saying and are you in compliance?"

Sherman nodded, "I understand and I comply, on condition."

The guard scoffed, "Condition?"

The bear pointed to his prized possession, "I really don't care about my weapons, all my other belongings, those are more important, but above all... I want my Darla returned to me in one piece, you understand?"

The guard sensed tension building in the great bear, "Darla?"

The bear nodded calmly, "My tank, she's as precious to me as if she were my own wife, so no one hurts her. If I find even a single bolt out of place, there will be trouble." He kept a friendly face but let his ultimatum fall firmly.

The guard somehow felt he had better make sure this bear was kept happy, "Sure, I-I'll make sure the team knows this when they get here."

Sherman smiled, "Much appreciate it."

...

After the pair had been let through, Sherman took the time to ask an officer, "City guard, what is the name of this stronghold and where can we find the best bar here?"

The guard answered the great bear, "You, my large friend, are in Ratten. And if it's good beer you're wantin', the Rat Hole is this way. I'll gladly show you and your lady friend the way."

Kyle started to complain at being called a lady again but Sherman interrupted him, "That will be fine, thank you."

...

And so, Sherman and Kyle had found themselves at the Rat Hole, which despite the name was actually a pretty stand-up joint. The bear and coyote both ordered beers then sat down together at one table.

Kyle leaned in, "So, what's the plan, Papa Bear?"

Sherman drank his beer, "Don't have a real plan yet, and we can't really do anythin', not until we get all our stuff returned to us tomorrow mornin'. It's just..." He pulled out the picture he had taken off of that fox he'd killed. The picture of himself in his army days, with his old army nickname scribbled on the back. He explained, "There's only one guy I know of, one guy alive who used to call me Oso when we were in the army together. It was us and a bunch o' guys, we fought so many battles during the war."

Kyle hadn't touched his beer, "The Second Civil War? You were in that?"

Sherman nodded, "I was and I saw plenty o' my friends die in that fuckin' thing. By the end, all that was left o' our troop was me an' one other guy. Sergeant Frank Mason, but most of us just called him Sarge or Mason." He pulled out his wallet and found more old army photos of himself. There was one of him with the bloodhound, "That's Mason right there."

Kyle whistled, "Hmm, not bad on the eyes, did uh, you an' him ever go 'undercover'?"

Sherman chuckled, "Nah, back then I used to be straight. I had me a beautiful wife waitin' for me to come home an' make some beautiful cubs in her." He looked through his wallet. There she was, his favorite picture of her posing nude for him. He showed it to Kyle, "That's her."

Kyle blushed, she was very pretty especially as a larger female with those perfect curves in all the right places. She was nude, laying on her belly with her plump booty in the air and a hint of some pink wetness visible between her legs, and she was looking at the camera. "Damn, Sherman... I envy you and your penis right now!"

The bear laughed, "She was definitely somethin' special, my Darla."

Kyle understood, "So she's Darla."

The bear became a little sadder, "That she is."

Kyle put the photo down and he looked up at his friend, "What happened?"

Sherman sighed, "She's... She's not dead. She just found someone better."

The coyote gasped, "Oh shit."

Sherman grumbled, "I couldn't really blame her. After I came back from the war with half of my face gone," he tapped his muzzle plate, "I know I wasn't easy to deal with. I'd sit or sleep just shellshocked. I know she tried to stick with me, but I just wasn't there for her. She divorced me, told me she'd pray for me that I could find love again and if I did to call her and she'd be waitin'." He hugged Kyle close, "That was 20 years ago. She's remarried and she's had some kids and me... I bought a tank."

Kyle kissed his friend, not caring about them being in public, in the middle of a bar of all places. The coyote rested his head on Sherman's chest, "You have love now, Shermy. I'm here."

The bear shed some tears then he kissed his little buddy back, "Thank you."

...

Meanwhile, in Terran Town, Mr. Terran sat in his office playing with a bunch of little plastic army men. He held the little bazooka guy. That was him.

He flashed back to his army days, toting that big bazooka around like he was the big shit. He was hardly the biggest guy in the troop, but he pushed his weight enough to get respect.

Sarge, he was the only one who even knew Miles was gay. He trusted his friend with that knowledge. He remembered flirting with the tragically heterosexual bloodhound anytime they got alone.

He especially remembered sifting through the remains of assholes he'd killed with his bazooka, finding dog tags and other valuable things. As much as he was a raging queer, the monitor had also been a ruthless killer with no remorse for his enemy. It was what gave him such big respect with the troop.

Terran found his old army tag with his real name on it. Miles Franklin Devereaux, that's who he used to be. Now he was Mayor Oliver Terran, a respected and well-liked leader with bigger visions of political expansion on his scheming reptile mind. Becoming mayor was just the beginning, someday, he wanted to have it all.

Suddenly, his office doors opened and the monitor had to hide his toys and dog tags. He sat up, "Yes?"

It was Dusty. The buff coyote mercenary came in, "One of my scouts has spotted your Oso in Ratten, sir."

Terran sat up, "What? That's just days off from here! How did he get so close already?"

Dusty shrugged, "Don't know, but I'm sure he's lookin' for whoever sent Ferral. What would you like my men to do?"

Terran thought, "He's just arrived in Ratten, that means he's had to give up his weapons for the night... He's unarmed right now, he should be easier to deal with. Have someone go after him when he goes to sleep, if he goes to sleep."

Dusty shrugged, "I don't know. This guy's a trained soldier, and a fuckin' bear, I'm sure he can handle himself even without guns."

Terran scoffed, "Then have your men be really careful then. We can't have old relics like him tarnishing my perfect world!"

Dusty sighed, "Sure, I'll get right on it." He left the mayor's office, silently cursing how he'd become an errand boy for some queer lizard.

Terran pulled his toys back out, "Yes... We have to clear away all the garbage." He pulled out some scissors and he began cutting off the heads of his toy soldiers, "Every bit."

...

Sherman and Kyle had rented a room together.

The morose bear remained silent for a time until a nude coyote suddenly pounced on him and planted a big sloppy kiss on him.

Sherman's spirits lifted and he let Kyle undress him.

Soon both were naked and the bear was over his lover, plunging his fat bear cock in his coyote lover's slick pussy.

Kyle was on his back with his legs held out to the sides while the big old grizzly pounded his pussy like the alpha male he wanted him to be.

Both males hit their peaks at the same time and Kyle was again flooded by his big handsome bear.

And just outside their room they'd rented for the night, a hitman was screwing a silencer onto his pistol.