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Mendo Kills a Kitty (Working Title)

A Coccotti Studio Production

Written by 'Sleazy Pete' Mariano

The cartel thug crashed through the front door of the drug house, splinters of wood showering the four anthropomorphic canines playing poker. They sat and stared with muzzles agape at the size sixteen Army boot sticking through the remains of the ruined door. Under the weak pool of light from the room's only bulb hanging above the poker table, the huge tan boot sank back into the dark recesses of the Stygian night.

Through the darkness squatting at their doorstep, the four watched as a hulking shadow brought up a LMG to rest against one of his square shoulders. Farther out, stalks of cannabis framed him on either side. The clipped tipped of a cigar blazed a bright orange cinder as the huge jowls gripping it tightened with a sick grin.

Pieces of the door plunked to the ground as the maniac pushed through it, the mammoth ursine stooping a little to clear the frame. He wore checkered ACU pants, a bandoleer, and a pair of gaudy sunglasses that just begged for rhinestones. The shirtless bear straightened, his huge pecs flexing as he did so, and finally addressed the Guatemalans still staring in disbelief.

"Well ladies," Mendo grinned, the tan fur covering his short muzzle flexing with deadpan gallows humor, "Looks like all bets are off ..."

The four twisted in their seats, going for the assault rifles leaning against walls and wooden crates. They barely had time to raise them before Mendo's thick right arm dropped the M249 to hip level and SAWed them down with five millimeter justice. They did the NATO jig, spasming with auto fire, their rifles discharging blindly into the flimsy ceiling above. Gooey bits splattered against the hole riddled wall behind them.

Mendo walked the trail of auto fire to another door, the beefy bicep of his right arm shaking hard with recoil. Smoking metal casings rained down to the scummy floor with merry jingle. Rivets of sweat poured down the contoured angles of his shoulder blades, dripping off the bandoleer and machete Mendo had used to chop through jungle and cartel goon alike.

Another lackey opened the door just as Mendo's retributive stream cut across his brow. Mendo gave him blue eyes. One to the right. The other to the left. The opposum's head exploded like an overripe melon. His ragged stump of a neck continued to spurt while the rest of him toppled forward to twitch on the floor like Micheal J.

Only after Mendo had spent the last of his nut sack did he drop the support weapon with a dull clunk, its barrel red hot and still sizzling. Mendo's thick soles clomped across the wood floor to the only sleazebag left alive. The doberman groaned weakly, paws still trying to shove his greasy insides back into his ruined gut. Mendo rolled the sorry sack of scat back onto his back with the tip of his boot. The doberman looked up at the colossal shadow blocking the sickly yellow light bulb with half slitted, near dead eyes.

Mendo put out his cigar in the doberman's right cornea. The eyeball popped with a wet sizzle. Its contents ran down the dog's bloody socket like a runny egg.

Marginally satisfied, Mendo made his way past the torso and appendages still thumping erratically near the opened door. The bear was careful not to slip in the small lake of crimson gore pooling around the doorway. The maniac wasn't nearly done. Oh no. He still had to find Bill, the CIA Operative. Dot. Dot. Dot.

What had drove this normally gentle black bear off the deep end? Was it Bill's double cross with the cartel that had left Mendo's squad dead? No. Was it the kidnapping and ruthless torture of the coyote informant that could clear Mendo's tarnished service record? No.

The cougar had hidden Mendo's remote.

And there was no room in Mendo's existence for that sort of depravity.

Petty revenge wasn't above Mendo. Oh no. Mendo's moral compass made Pedo Bear's look like a sundial by comparison. The bear stepped through the open doorway. Inside the bedroom he glanced at the grimy, shit stained mattress once, then looked this way and that. Aside from the naked coyote draped across it with his paws bound behind his back, the room was otherwise empty. No one had broken through any of the boarded up windows, and unless there was a secret floor trap, the cougar was still in here somewhere.

Bill's claws retracted from the ceiling, and the stocky cougar dropped silently behind the much taller ursine. The double crossing operative pulled out and combat knife and stabbed it deep into the bear's scapula. Much to Bill's surprise, Mendo didn't even grunt.

Granted, it wasn't the first time someone had poked Mendo from behind. Dot. Dot. Dot.

Mendo turned, his six pack abominables clenched with pent up feral rage. Mendo's stubby left paw snatched around Bill's throat. His thick ursine claws lifted the shorter feline up and off his feet. Bill's claws extended into the meaty paw on instinct. Small pin-pricks of blood welled out around them, caught in the shaggy black fur there.

Mendo rammed the back of Bill's feline skull into the door behind him. The flimsy wood caved with an audible crack. Bill's heels drummed against the door as Mendo squeezed, threatening to pop the cougar's round head like a festering zit. The remote hiding two timer sputtered pathetically as his airway closed off.

"What ... do you ... want!?" Bill choked out, gasping, straining at the raw masculine strength handling him like a rag doll. Only eighteen hours ago they had greeted each other with a mid air arm wrestle, their sweaty grip slapping with over the top homoerotic bravado. Now on the wrong said of said grip, the cougar mewled.

"You want ... money?" He gurgled out. "Drugs? Whores? I've got an unused ... coyote over there ... for fuck's sake!"

"No." Mendo took off his rhinestone cowboy glasses, dropping them callously to the floor. He looked Bill steely in the eyes. "All I want is some head."

Despite the implement imbedded in his shoulder blade, Mendo's other paw reach around and pulled out his machete. He stabbed it through Bill's gut, impaling the cougar's sorry excuse for a spine to the door. The kitty screeched, yowling as his paws clutched the plastic hilt jutting out from just above his jeans.

Mendo causally reached behind him and pulled out the combat knife with a wet slurp. He jammed the blade deep through the side of the cougar's thick neck. A bright red gush cut off Bill's scream abruptly. Foamy red poured over Mendo's demented paw as he used the serrated edge to saw through the cougars neck and windpipe.

The cougar's body convulsed as the hardened steel tip pierced his spinal cord. Mendo sighed and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his paw, then down his mountainous pecs. It left a bright smudge on his glistening, ripped body.

Who knew getting some head would be so hard?

Undaunted, Mendo sawed through the remaining tendon. Bill's head toppled off his neck stump, gaping like a fish until it hit the wooden floor with a ghoulish thud. Pleased, Mendo watched Bill's eyelashes blink, irises still fighting to focus on anything. He rubbed the hardness pressing from the inside of his small checkered pants. Few things got him hotter than playing 'Trashcan Man and the Kid' with Michael Cera.

Killing Kittens was one of them.

Mendo let out a guttural growl as he unzipped his fly. An entire foot of veiny bear meat flopped out. He gripped the purple throbbing log in his right paw and felt over the glistening shaft. A thick shot of ursine pre spurted out, hitting the head right in the eye. Mendo's thick claws interlaced, scraping his majestic bear cock as his fist pumped back and forth. He started to really pound his meat, huffing in clipped primal grunts.

Not satisfied, Mendo left go of his aching need and snatched up Bill severed head. He eased the head of his purple soldier up through the ragged windpipe, moaning at the feeling. The bear only stopped when his blood streaked knob poked out from between Bill's feline lips. Mendo humped the severed head, shivering as the cougar's sandpaper tongue caressed his sensitive frenulum. Bill's muzzle bobbed on Mendo's cock like a dismembered torso riding high tide.

Reverse fellatio never felt so good.

Mendo's huge furry balls swung back and forth between his tree trunk thighs, heavy with pent up need. His release built slow; starting just above his swollen grapefruits. Mendo's prostate hardened when this thumb claws dug deep into Bill sockets for better grip. His hips rocked. His nipples burned.

Mendo's climax ripped through his insides, climbing up, until it culminated in a bestial roar that shook the flimsy wooden walls of the drug house. Spittle flew from his flapping jowls, joining the first wad of bear spunk splattering all over Bill's impaled body. The next spurt caked the operative's tented trousers. The final gout simply poured between the top of Bill's triangular ears.

Spent, the bear licked his meaty chops through half slitted eyes.

He let the used cock sheath fall back to the blood stained floor with another unceremonious thud before using the machete's handle to scratch an annoying prick on one of his shoulder blades. Mendo looked around, smacking his lips for a moment. He looked at his watch. He found difficulty in waiting for the second part of Atlas Shrugged. Instead he strolled over to the unconscious coyote and grabbing him by the tail, dragging the informant out of the room.

As Mendo passed Bill's headless corpse out the door, Mendo thoughtfully patted its jizz splattered shoulder.

"Stick around."

Mendo tromped back to his apartment to find his remote, prize in tow. Although Bill had always been a liar; there were no unused coyotes. Instead Mendo, being the thoughtful sort, decided to give the coyote the Dark Gift once they got back. Still, there were some things Mendo couldn't do. Those sick fucks who put on chimp costumes and fucked each other at conventions, well, that just sent a shiver of revolution up his twisted spine. Dot. Dot. Dot.

...And all the corpses in the drug house lived happily ever after ...

~ Fin ~