FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

--1

Lars didn't like the football team, and if he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't much of a nerd, either. He played some video games and could navigate the internet just well enough to find porn relevant to his interests, but he didn't click with one group or the other. Neither was he one of the ironic loners, outcasts joined in their weirdness, because he wasn't particularly weird. Lars was just Lars.

If his social standing was that of an enigma, so was his body. Lars was conventionally handsome as a red panda. His lips were typically creased in dry humor, and his eyes were furtive, as if he were always on the lookout for something special. In a climate where most other students were skinny as a rail, growing buff for sports or following the natural progression of childhood obesity, Lars occupied all three places to various degrees. He had tone in his arms, but was plain in the core. It was his heavy ass which nominally made him one of the tubby kids. The cheeks were round with fat, and they jiggled precariously with every step. That he made a point of wearing too-tight gym shorts which had a tendency to show the overhang of his cheeks was no mistake; Lars was proud of his big ass.

Not unusually for a fifteen year old, Lars was sexually active and had popped his fair share of cherries, both vaginal and anal. It was impossible to decide what he liked best. Both orifices had merits.

He watched lustfully like a man three times his age in a panel van as a true sissy of a stallion sauntered past, making gentle taps on the tile with his hooves. He pushed the limits of the dress code with booty shorts so snug that they hugged the crack of his ass, and in the right step, the donut of his equine anus could be seen in relief. Lars thought of the silky, yet dry snugness of a tight asshole and automatically hugged his tail around his waist.

It was the lull around lunchtime that Lars meandered and thought idly of scoring a little action in the restroom. Blowjobs were simple to get, and though they served their duty admirably, he was always in the market for something more involved. The sight of the stallion had left him hungry for another boy, but that horse was long gone, and his prospects were getting slim.

Ultimately Lars fell in with the lunch crowd and had his meal in the cafeteria. He sat at a table with athletes whom paid him no mind and received none in return. Lars didn't even say goodbye to them when he got up with his empty tray. This was how Lars usually operated, drifting in and out of the school's social scenes like a ghost unless he happened to need something. The panda went on his way to gym class. It was his least favorite subject, but the showers provided a fair chance of sex.

If Lars and his chubby behind were unwelcome and uncomfortable at gym class, Desmond the foxcoon was anathema. He was mostly athletic in build, but faggoty with his pretty blonde hair and Dutch braid. He and Lars had brushed past one another in the halls here and there. It seemed obvious now, as Desmond approached the red panda, that he felt some ringtail camaraderie toward Lars. Lars saw something much more pragmatic in Desmond. Either way, he smiled at the foxcoon.

While other students struggled with the ropes and others still did stretches, Desmond and Lars talked at the margins of the gym floor, where none of the instructors seemed to care to deal with them. They had their eyes on the promising kids, the ones they'd groom for football stardom.

"I've seen you here and there," Desmond said, resting his paws on his hips. "You always wear those booty shorts."

Lars smiled resplendently. "Thanks for noticing. Dad always told me to use my assets."

It surprised Lars not that Desmond laughed, but that he was such a dandy when he did so. He covered his mouth and tittered. Lars knew his dick was as good as wet.

"You have cu-u-ute hair," the panda said, grinning and looming over Desmond. "I bet you condition it like crazy."

"I do," Desmond evenly said.

"Did you know," Lars nonchalantly said, pulling Desmond aside and into the shadows of the fold-out grandstand, "that sweat is very good for your pores?"

The foxcoon smiled, but it was lopsided. Something was off. "I kinda knew," he murmured, putting his paws on Lars' shoulders for the sake of keeping him at arm's length. "But sweat's so gro-o-oss."

"Is not," the panda said defensively. "You just need to appreciate it." Defying Desmond's bracing touch, he pushed in closer and pressed his hips against the twink's. "Let's do something."

"I don't follow," the fox tersely replied.

"Sure you do," Lars cooed, nosing into his neck. "I bet you suck all kinds of dicks."

"Once, just once, with my boyfriend like two years ago," Desmond winced. "We should start exercising, the teacher's gonna be mad if we don't do anything."

Lars had tunnel vision for Desmond. He scoffed. "One dick? I don't buy that. Come on. How many?"

"One!" Desmond barked, and Lars kissed his lips gently to quiet him. The fox absently kissed back and pitifully said, "Let me go."

"Mmm, sure," Lars said, easing off of the twink. Desmond slunk away, and Lars remained in the shadows, waiting for his boner to soften up.

--2

"Hit the showers, come on! Shower time, you smelly brats," the middle-aged ferret teacher gruffly said, ushering the boys into the shower block. "Lankett, not you," he urgently snapped, yanking the foxcoon aside even though he wasn't in any hurry to join the other boys. "You know the drill, your mom says you go after the others."

"After the others! I bet he's hung like a pencil!"

"A pencil? More like an eraser, I bet it's a fuckin' mushroom cap on his crotch."

"That's enough, boys," the ferret warned, rubbing Desmond's shoulder apologetically. He dug his weedy fingers in a bit too hard, but the fox didn't say anything.

Lars entered the showers last and shot a grin at Desmond. He pretended not to notice.

Once in the showers, Lars immodestly took a gunslinger stance and let the water splatter across him. In case his pretty face and thick posterior wasn't enough to lure in a partner, he was hung nearly to his knee, sporting a black shaft, uncircumcised and very meaty - his father's endowment, as he could unfortunately attest to.

When his body was clean, Lars approached a pair of athletic boys. They looked at him uneasily, Lars being a stranger from outside their clique, and one with an intimidating penis to boot. "What do you want, ringtail?" one of them asked, but nevertheless with that subtle upward flick of the snout that asked sup?

Lars smiled. It was his most charming smile, the one he put on when he needed a favor. "What do I want?" he parroted modestly. "What I want," he said so suggestively as to cause alarm, "is for you and your buddy to cause a ruckus once that sissy foxcoon is on his way into the shower. Get the teacher distracted."

That they were condemning Desmond Lankett to certain doom seemed not to bother the athletes, whom consisted of a cheetah and an uncommonly lithe crocodile. They exchanged looks, then the cheetah fixed Lars with his best business-savvy gaze. "What's in it for us?"

The panda rightly guessed that their own turns with Desmond wouldn't entice them. He had them pegged as party boys, however, and he had their number when he said: "A six pack." He studied their pensive faces, then added, "Each."

Now the athletes laughed and nodded. Lars smiled even more, turning out his palms as if to ask, who's your friend? "Sure, sure. Whatever, dude," the cheetah said.

When the time came, Lars, still damp and nude, hung back as much as he could. It was like him to be the lazy straggler, but there were limits to how much he could dawdle. Desmond Lankett passed him, giving him a wide and cautious berth, but Lars didn't look at the fox save for a cursory glance. Too many unfocused eyes about. Someone would see him follow the faggot inside. They might even see him leering at the younger boy and say something, so he just bided his time, and soon made eye contact with the crocodile. He bobbed his eyebrows once. The crocodile smirked and winked in reply. Good, Lars succinctly thought as the crocodile leaned close and said something into the cheetah's ear.

The commotion erupted with such sincerity that Lars thought the athletes were using his ploy as an excuse to fight. "Hey, fuck you, don't say that shit to me, motherfucker!" the cheetah screamed. "Maybe if you weren't hung like a fuckin' toothpick, your bitch wouldn't--!"

Before the cheetah went into gory detail, the leathery hand of the crocodile cracked across his cheek. The cheetah wobbled back in a daze, then yowled and pounced. The tall figure of the ferret broke through the gaggle of nude, toweling young men whom had gathered to watch. "Enough, enough of that! Jeremy, Seth, you two are in big fucking shit! Off! Get off of him! Your goddamn dicks are touchin', get off him!"

Lars was mesmerized briefly by the struggle, but his thoughts had always been on Desmond, his sweet fourteen-year-old quickie. He stole away into the showers again, unnoticed in the heat of the brawl.

--3

In peace away from leering, curious male eyes, young Desmond Lankett washed his pretty body. He had already begun developing into a fine twink, and all that remained of his growth was a few more inches of height and the shedding of some prepubescent fat. As he was then at that supple age, he had a slightly round behind which he secretly hoped to retain.

But it wasn't Desmond's petite figure or a smothering mom which kept him from showering with the boys: he began tentatively washing the true reason why. Between his thighs, swollen and soft with flesh like a delicate peach, was a canine vulva. The sight of it provoked cruelty and wanton curiosity, and heretofore in high school, Desmond had kept it a secret through careful management of bathroom trips gym class changing. He preferred being the weird boy whose mommy wouldn't let him be exposed to penises than the sissy with the cunt between his thighs.

Desmond rubbed his virgin muff with the washrag, and its dark lips slightly parted. Hot water and suds tickled his delicate inner flesh, and he moaned through pursed jowls. Masturbation, of course, was not a new concept for a fourteen-year-old boy like Desmond, but he hated to be aroused in school. "Not now, not no-o-ow. Tonight, I promise," he sighed, addressing his loins. It wasn't unheard of for boys to rub one out in the showers, and exploratory gayness happened with appalling frequency. But like anything with a pussy, Desmond needed time and considerable effort to get off.

Lars saw Desmond from behind, and he drank in the boy. His erection stood unfettered, and though difficult to discern for all the water, he dribbled precum. It was actually not the thought nor sight of Desmond which had gotten him hard but the naked brawl he had engineered. His wood was, however, earmarked for Desmond. He approached with his coy smile as strong as ever. Gonna get my pecker wet, hell yeah, Lars thought, channeling his father. Gonna fuck me a faggot, right in his tight little faghole.

Over the chaff of wet noises in the shower, only a truly keen set of ears could pick out approaching footsteps. Desmond, whom had cornered the market on paranoia, whipped his head around and automatically covered his loins with his sopping tail. "Um! Hello," he squeaked, looking down at the panda's penis. "Um."

"Ummm," Lars mocked, wrapping his paws smoothly around Desmond's shoulders. "Just you and me now, prettyboy."

"Don't," Desmond whined. "I didn't want it then and I don't want it now."

"Well," Lars shrugged, "it doesn't really matter, does it? Like," he chuckled as Desmond's expression soured entirely, "I want to fuck you. You should feel honored, really."

That Lars believed what he was saying was plain to see and hear. He kissed Desmond's lips, but the foxcoon nipped him. "Yow! Hey, now," the red panda groused, pausing to rub his jowl. "I'm not a barbarian. You don't have to bite me."

"I nipped you," Desmond emphatically growled. "I'll show you a real bite if you don't stop right there."

"Just turn around, hold up your tail. I promise I won't take long," Lars said with a car salesman smile. He grabbed Desmond's wet tail, making its waterlogged fur squish like a dish sponge.

The danger of exposure made Desmond lose what little cool he had. "Teacher--!" he screamed, but the panda clapped a paw around his slender muzzle and reduced his words to a muffled squeak. Desmond grabbed Lars by the wrist but the panda was older and bigger, and he put his toned arms to good use. He pressed Desmond back against the scummy wall but failed to notice that the boy's tail had moved out of the way.

"Nuh-uh. No telling," he plainly said. "I don't like to say this," he lied, "but if you tell anyone, I'll have to hurt you. Okay?" Lars slowly and cautiously let Desmond's snout go, but kept his paw near. "Okay?" he urged.

"Okay," Desmond answered, quivering. "Just--. Just don't make fun of me," he bleated.

With things finally coming around to his terms, Lars found room to be gentle. He kissed Desmond possessively upon the neck and started to straighten out. "I won't. At this point," he snickered, "I'm so used to having a bigger dick than everyone else that I don't even remark on it. Much."

Then Lars eased back enough that he saw, between thighs pressed tightly together, the unfamiliar shape of a dog vulva. He blinked. "What in the fuck is that thing?"

"It's my, um--."

"Jesus Christ, is that a pussy?" Lars laughed. "Holy shit. Jackpot!"

Desmond covered it with his paws only for Lars to pull them away. "I thought you knew," he said miserably.

"Nuh-uh. Jeez," Lars chuckled, elated and uncertain of just where to begin. He knelt on the wet tile and reached for Desmond's thighs, then started to spread the puffy lips with his thumbs. Desmond whimpered and writhed. He braced his palms against the wall and contemplated an escape.

"Please. Just please don't do this, I don't like having it touched," Desmond groaned. "I'll suck you off!" Lars didn't listen, and he nuzzled against its virgin lips. The smell of the mound reminded him of more familiar, conservative pussies he'd had before, but the shape was bizarre and thrilling. He groaned lewdly and planted a smooch on it to which Desmond cried out, "Please! I don't like to be touched there!"

Lars scoffed on Desmond's muff and pulled his short snout back. "Keep your voice down," he urged, and he added emphasis by flicking the fox's snatch. Counterproductive to his stealth, the flick made Desmond yelp.

"I'm not gonna--," the foxcoon started, though he had begun to blubber from fear and indignity. "I'm not going to let you do this to me, I'm gonna go tell the teacher!"

The red panda watched, from his kneeling position, as his fellow ringtail slipped away and began to storm out of the shower. Lars, with the smile of one cool customer, stepped up and trotted after the foxcoon then grabbed his big, wet tail to halt him. He hauled the boy back by its length. Desmond gasped and the fight was on. He jerked around and lashed out. His pads cracked impressively on the panda's cheek; but Lars, tempered by abusive parents, was unaffected.

When a victim didn't cooperate, Lars wasn't one for excessive abuse and colorful threats. Raw efficiency was what he practiced. Tight holes got him off, striking and crying did not.

"This is happening," Lars coldly said, grabbing Desmond by the muzzle, then the hair, "whether you want it to or not." There in the middle of the showers, as steam rose and water sputtered from one shower head, Lars stared down his would-be fuckthing. Though they shared their green eyes, Lars' leer bored holes through Desmond's soulful, wet gaze. He kept a strong grip on both the boy's hair and face, and he growled, "Let me have that pussy."

He felt Desmond trying to open his mouth. A foxcoon undoubtedly had wicked biting power, but his jaws were only powerful when they closed. Knowing that shortcoming had saved Lars from many bitten fingers. "I'm going to let go. Don't scream if you like having such a beautiful smile."

The panda's grip loosened, and Desmond thought of screaming like bloody murder anyway. Maybe if he did it just right and with all his breath, someone would hear him. But he knew the ferret had probably left, him being so often impatient and disgusted with Desmond's special treatment. That left him all alone with the rapist. He sobbed.

"Good. Don't scream," Lars patiently reiterated. "I just want your pussy. You don't have to make things worse."

"I don't want to give it to you," Desmond blubbered. "I've never had anyone inside it. It's gonna hurt."

Lars dragged Desmond toward the wall by his hair. At first Desmond yelped, and then he smartly followed his leash. "It will, yes. Not gonna lie about that. But we're gonna do this my way," the panda firmly said, beginning to smile again. "Or, the whole school's gonna know about your little cooter. Heck, why stop there?" he beamed, watching Desmond's eyes go wide. "The internet's a great place for secrets like that. Desmond--, Lankett, wasn't it?"

"Um. Yes," he numbly, automatically answered.

"Right. Desmond Lankett's Pussy Dot Com," he said, gesturing as if placing each word in the air. "Yeah, that has a nice ring to it."

"Stop."

"We can have a little countdown. Less than a thousand days before he's legal! Oh, and on the side, used tampons for sale! Gotta defray the cost of the domain somehow, right?"

"Stop it!"

Lars pressed Desmond's shoulders against the wall and held him there. "Meet the man who popped his cherry, and then there can be an interview with me," he growled, grinning from ear to ear. "What do you think?"

"I think you're a prick," the fox hissed.

"Give me that cherry pussy," Lars calmly said, "and I'll forget about this when we're done. If no-o-ot..."

"God, fine," the younger boy emphatically whined, closing his crying eyes. He sniffled sharply and said more evenly, "Just get it over with..."

Smiling in his coy way, content in the fact that he was about to get some fresh, new pussy, Lars spun Desmond around and grabbed him by his feminine hips. "Put your paws on the wall and spread your legs," he sedately instructed Desmond as he pulled the boy out from the wall, forcing him to incline. This put the twink's snatch at the perfect tilt and height, and Lars bumped his meat against its young lips.

Fingers and the smooth plastic handle of his hairbrush hadn't prepared Desmond for the reality of sex. What hit him first was the most obvious thing, but it only really sunk in when the panda started grinding against his pussylips: he had no control over Lars. The pace, the angle, and of course the fact that it was happening at all were all things completely out of Desmond's grasp. He cried through clenched teeth, sucking snot in his cute little nose.

Lars negotiated his thick, blunt glans into the foxcoon's cunt and huffed. Just the first give-or-take inch of that delicate dogmuff was a treat. The pussy didn't want him, and he could tell by the way it clenched down, trying to bar his entry. That just made it more appealing - an even tighter hole to fuck. Considering this, Lars giggled when he decided Desmond's pussy was therefore extra-virgin. He figured his playmate wouldn't find the humor in it.

Slowly but with the kind of determination which frowned upon settling or letting the pussy adjust to his presence, Lars drove it home. The big, black shaft of his cock disappeared into the plush and similarly black mound of Desmond's cunt, which quivered around him in what Lars found to be an intensely erotic way. Desmond only hissed and whined as his box was wrenched open. Lars was used to those sounds from girls and boys alike.

Not even a quarter of Lars' cock fit comfortably in the foxcoon. He noticed that he couldn't take it any further, and he swished his tail in that creepy delight reserved for his most pleasurable moments. "My anatomy might be a little rusty, but I'm pretty sure that's your whatchamacallit," he murmured, triumphantly adding a moment later, "your hymen! That's it."

Hissing through clenched teeth and peering back at Lars, Desmond so clearly wanted to say something, but he didn't. He opened his mouth to talk, and Lars tilted his head with a smile, hoping for some poetic vitriol from the younger boy, but nothing came out.

As he tightened his grip on Desmond's shoulders, Lars tittered, "I've always loved doing this." Sudden as you please, with his grin growing markedly more sinister, he mashed his hips forward and coaxed from Desmond's sweet lips a scream. The boy went out of his way to silence himself, and this took a couple of forms in the course of just a few seconds: he clenched his jaws and held his muzzle much like Lars had done for him earlier. The cry was muffled down to an acceptable moan, and Lars patted him under the armpit with a coo.

"Mmm, busted you right open, didn't I?" he purred. "I hope there's no blood on my thing. That's always pretty gross, you know?"

By then the tears were pouring out of Desmond's sad eyes. Focusing was impossible, but he knew that there was nothing to see except for his rapist's face; and without a hammer to smash that with, he didn't much care to look at it. Heaving with sobs, he rested his head on the scummy wall and let Lars have him.

Following the popping of the cherry (which Lars was surprised to find happened cleanly, a first in his experience), the fuck was like any other Lars had partaken of. Eagerly, he pushed his black meat in balls-deep, accomplishing this with a few rough grinds and a lot of disregard for Desmond's whimpers and whines. When the gaping maw of the foxcoon's dogcunt was smooched against his loins, Lars took a moment to indulge his cuddly side.

Reaching around Desmond and pressing his breast flush to the twink's back, Lars began to pet and caress the fox. There was true reverence in those touches and the manner in which he fondled Desmond, tracing flawless girly lines and the subtle curve of his belly, was something Desmond found just mildly relaxing. In spite of his ongoing weeping convulsions, he put a paw over Lars' and squeezed it. Lars, purring, kissed the back of his Desmond's neck. He sweetly tongued the boy's ear.

And then the cuddling came to an end. Lars let his touch linger on the boy's belly, but only for a few seconds longer. He pulled his hips back, drawing his moistened cock back until just the blunt head was hidden in the dark mound. He bucked in then, smacking his chubby hips into Desmond's fine ass with no delay whatsoever. Desmond hissed sharply.

Uttering moans barely heard over the running shower, Lars humped his victim energetically. One hasty buck chained endlessly into the next. The sound of wet coats of fur colliding made a repetitious smack, bouncing off the spacious walls and creating a chorus with itself. Lars' smile was enormous, his teeth nearly gleaming - an expression was one of pure delight. There was no malice in his expression, none whatsoever, but hatred bubbled in Desmond's eyes. Like the anger of most any other high school sissy or nerd, it was helpless and impotent; the kind of anger that either led to a long life of self-loathing or a short one climaxing in a massacre which everybody would say they never suspected from somebody so quiet.

Lars, of course, wasn't dumb. In fact, he full well hoped that Desmond wanted to claw his face off. That kind of sass was dangerous, but it added to the fun. But besides that facet, there was someone else he wanted to introduce to Desmond. Somebody who would, without a doubt, enjoy not only that perfect pussy but the seething rage that went with it.

That was a ways off, Lars reminded himself. First and foremost, the pussy was his to partake of. Wrangling his smile into something tighter but humping vigorously and beginning to puff with each breath, he said, "I changed my mind about one thing. I'm not forgetting this when we're done."

Desmond grunted through his clenched, shown teeth.

"I'm gonna keep fucking you," Lars coolly said in spite of hunkering down over the foxcoon. He hugged him tightly around the middle, and then it was only Desmond's arms holding both of them up. "Whenever I want."

"Fuck you," the fox hissed, sounding so spiteful that Lars began to grin again.

"And if you don't do what I say," the panda moaned, and now he was throwing his weight into every thrust while his balls tightened up, "ooh, gawd, I'm gonna make your life even shittier than it already is. That website'll be just the start of it."

Desmond's voice cracked into a distraught cry. "I'll fucking kill you," he blubbered. "I hate you!"

Squeezing Desmond as hard as he could, Lars bucked just a couple more times, and it was all he needed to tip himself over the edge. Bottoming out in Desmond and starting to spurt, he groaned with that desperate tone of voice reserved only for orgasms, "Uhn, ga-a-awd. Good fucking god. You're so tight. Never fucked anything so tight," he emphatically gushed.

The feeling of being filled up with spunk was nothing but the expected end to a terrible day as far as Desmond was concerned. Never mind that it wasn't even midday yet; Desmond had had enough. He sniffled and wept against the wall.

Lars licked Desmond's neck and huffed into the damp fur there. "Mmm. Shit. I needed that." Staying just where he was, including keeping his throbbing shaft buried in the boy's cunt, he coldly said, "Time for some ground rules. You listening?"

"Yeah," Desmond quivered. All the emotion had been wrung out of him.

"Sex when I want it, how I want it," the panda smartly said. "Say anything about this to anyone?" he asked, letting it hang in the air like a stench. "I'll start ruining your life. Believe me, it's pretty easy these days."

At that moment, Desmond tried to straighten out. Lars kept a grip on him, and although he let the foxcoon stand up straight, he promptly leaned into the boy and pressed him against the shower wall. Desmond fidgeted for a moment, then settled into place with a defeated whine.

"This weekend, we're gonna meet up. Saturday. Definitely Saturday, 'cause that's when he'll be home."

Desmond perked his ears. "Who?" he asked, but his tone said that he didn't really want to know.

And Lars, of course, wished to play master of suspense. He chuckled coyly. "You'll see. Trust me." Suddenly and without a care, Lars plucked his uncut member out of the fox. Desmond gasped, but stayed trembling against the wall. His dense cock dangling satisfied between his legs, Lars patted Desmond's rear and said on his way out, "See you Saturday. Oh, and wear some panties on that thing, he loves panties."

When Lars left, Desmond cleaned himself up in an efficient way, and he brought his crying to heel. For the rest of the day, he said not a word unless spoken to, and that trend continued until he got home.

"There's my little man," Julia cooed, sashaying from the kitchen to the den with her wide hips. The vixen smiled at Desmond, whom shot one back tersely. She didn't notice how pallid his face seemed to be. "Whatcha want for dinner tonight, baby?" she asked before giving him a smooch on the forehead.

"I'm really not hungry tonight, momma," Desmond lied, squeezing her loosely and resting his head on her thick bust, finding a little comfort there. "I'm gonna do my homework and get to bed early, I think."

"Oh, um. All right," Julia murmured. "You sure you don't want anything though, baby?"

Already halfway up the stairs, Desmond tiredly called back, "I don't, thanks."

Lying in bed with his homework immaculately finished on the desk and his young body naked, Desmond stared at the ceiling. Pinned to it was a leering poster of a contemporary rock singer with a taste for leather loincloths and long, black hair. Most nights when he pleasured himself, Desmond was thinking of the stud on the poster. Tonight he softly traced its lips as if to make sure that it was still the same object. It was, but it felt dirty. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

Some minutes later, his phone chimed, alerting him to a text. He checked it eagerly, hoping to hear from a friend. Instead, in the name field was a phone number he didn't recognize. The body of the message made his blood run cold.

In so much bad English and netspeak, Lars had texted him to say that he really could use a snapshot of Desmond's cunt - preferably spread a little bit. Desmond, thinking fast, texted back wrong number, thats pretty creepy too.

Lars texted back. Desmond hoped it would be an apology or at least something to show he'd taken the bait, but instead, it just made him start to cry. With his bad spelling and grammar, Lars crudely told Desmond that his pussy's fansite was looking great and ready to go live. Desmond took several up-close photographs of his spread cunt. Lars evidently was pleased with them, since he didn't contact Desmond again until the morning.

Saturday morning at 8 AM, to be precise.