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For all intents and purposes, Leon was a fixture of the library. As a place used less and less in a digital society, he found it was often a sanctuary, a place to brood amongst the company of only musty books and his own thoughts, though he wasn't always such a lonesome young man. Once a creature who loved the company of others, his existence had been changed in an instant, for he had been chosen to be raped and killed, and though he escaped with his life, he felt dead inside from the ordeal. Upon his body, a myriad of poorly-healed scars marked him as a victim, and it was to hide these old wounds that he wore sweaters no matter the temperature, so as to cover the entirety of his arms and neck, leaving only the scars upon his paws, both hind and fore, visible to prying eyes. By no means were his scars purely physical, however, for Leon had at once been instilled with a traumatic fear of others, so much so that it bordered on the phobic, but such a complex for a young thing who suffered so much was understandable, not that Leon ever sought out pity or reassurance, instead rejecting such kindness and the individuals who offered it, an almost involuntary defense mechanism his broken self had developed, but as he would come to learn, it could do more harm than good.

Bearing such large, keen ears, being the fennec fox that he was, to be snuck up on was the exception to the rule for Leon, and so when he was bumped from behind, he nearly leapt from his skin with a wild-cat squeal. In one swift movement, he lurched ahead and twisted himself completely around, then pressed himself back-first against the nearest bookshelf, his slender body pressed flush to it. When he first saw the individual who bumped him, he thought it was a very pretty vixen, though a second longer and he realized the clumsy, quiet sneak was definitely male. Upon his feminine, gentle face was a frown, and his eyes conveyed a deep concern and regret. "Oh, jeez," he huffed, taking a step closer to Leon, reaching out to benignly set his paw on the fennec's shoulder, but Leon wasn't going to have any of that. Jerking away from his fellow fox, he hurled himself down the aisle with a warning growl welling up in his chest, then turned and kept his eyes on the feminine creature; upon yet closer inspection, he saw that this fox had a raccoon's mask, and bands upon his tail to match. "Hey, look," said the foxcoon sympathetically, "I didn't mean to frighten you." He offered Leon a smile that was passable, but Leon saw it as fraught with insincerity. "Don't you fucking touch me," hissed the fennec, at once seeing the foxcoon's expression turn sour, his nose crinkling with clear indignity and offense. "I'm sorry?" he asked, but Leon chose then to bear his teeth. "You sneak up on me again, and I'll, rrf," he huffed, his tail lashing behind him, "let's just say you won't walk away from it, pretty-boy." For the entirety of the confrontation, the foxcoon was still, but he leaned inches closer to Leon - though the fennec was the better part of six feet away - and narrowed his eyes. "I wasn't sneaking up on you," said the foxcoon quietly, but to speak in such a low voice wasn't to calm Leon; his words were more of a threat. "That kind of attitude is uncalled for. Watch it, bitch." For all his theatrics, Leon was most definitely more bark than bite, and through his grimacing poker face came a ripple of fear. The foxcoon had visibly shaken him, and he disappeared into the maze of bookshelves to figuratively lick his wounds.

For Leon, bad memories came back like heartburn, putting him in a world of discomfort and uncertainty that he hadn't felt since the endless days after the attack. Before he'd step into any aisle, he peered down its' length, and whenever he walked down one, he spent almost as much time looking back as he did looking ahead, but for all this caution, he literally walked right into the foxcoon, coming face-to-face with him as the two of them rounded a corner. At first, they both made to apologize dismissively, but they simultaneously recognized one another. Leon's ears flattened down against his skull in record time, and at once, he involuntarily showed his teeth. The foxcoon's expression was quite the opposite, for he grinned in the most devilish way Leon had ever seen. "Well, hello to you again, my little bitch," he chuckled, narrowing his eyes at Leon. Every fiber of the fennec's body was telling him RUN. It was a simple command, the most basic tactic of self-preservation; three letters, one syllable, incredibly easy to parse, yet he stood his ground and snarled at the foxcoon instead. "You know, had you just let me apologize earlier, I wouldn't be upset," he hissed, suddenly snatching Leon by the shoulders. Though not a terribly athletic creature, the foxcoon had the element of surprise on his side, and he used it to whip the fennec around, clutch him tight in a bearhug, and shove him face-first against the wooden end of the immovable, colossal bookshelf. In that isolated corner of the library, nobody could hear or see them.

Beyond a shriek, Leon made no sounds of fear, but the emotion was certainly there. With all his strength, he struggled and squirmed against the foxcoon, who pinned him tighter and squeezed him harder, leaving the fennec no room to break free or try to scratch and bite. What Leon expected was to be simply hurt, but that would've been too easy - the foxcoon began ruthlessly dry-humping him, grinding the swelling erection in his jeans against the broken fennec's taut behind, and Leon bellowed with a helpless, wavering sob, followed by a fit of rage he used to his advantage. "Mother_fucker!" he squealed, tossing his head back as hard as he could, scoring a lucky strike on his attacker's nose, a blow so painful that even the determined, would-be rapist yelped, then staggered back until he leaned against the far wall. Leon whipped around, similarly leaning against the end of the bookshelf, his body nearly crouched, his claws out, a classic primal stance brought on by instinct - smallest target possible with weapons ready. The foxcoon no longer had the upper hand, and if he came at Leon again, the fennec would've torn his eyes out of their sockets without a second thought. "Rrf, _you," the attacker grunted, cupping his bloodied snout, glaring at Leon through the involuntary sheen of tears in his eyes, "I'm gonna get you for this, you fucking pussy." Leon hissed like a serpent, then he simply turned and ran, exiting the library with all due speed. It was a short walk home, but an even shorter sprint, and when he was safe in his apartment, he locked the door, closed the blinds, and cried himself to sleep.

For a day and a half, Leon refused to leave his apartment, but when he did, he avoided the library for another two days, instead haunting his other preferred spot, the park, but only in the safety of daylight. By the time he did begin returning to the library, the specter of violent retribution no longer loomed in his immediate worries, instead lingering at the back of his mind with his other constant terrors. After breaking the foxcoon's nose the way he had, Leon foolishly assumed he'd frightened the creep away, and he was almost justified in thinking such a thing, since several days passed without incident, and without even a hint of the aggressive twink of a fox.

Finally, it was a week to the day that Leon had been attacked. As he left the library that evening, he glanced to his side, often little more than a nervous habit, but this time, it revealed to him a car in the parking lot which he didn't recognize - being a daily visitor to the library, he tended to notice such things. For some reason, seeing that unfamiliar, mid-sized, silver sedan sent a shiver up his spine, but before the feeling could sink in, he felt familiar paws snatch him, one by the forearm, the other by the ear. He started to yelp, but the foxcoon hurled him against the car, clearly his car, and Leon's head left a fine dent in the driver's side door. As dazed as he was, Leon was lucid enough to acknowledge how unlikely it was that that foxcoon would attack him right there in the parking lot, in such a way that anybody walking by would see the crime, but not so lucid so as to help his situation. He tried to sit up, but all that did was aggravate the agonizing throb in the crown of his skull, a pain which saw him drop to the asphalt with a defeated cry, the kind of a sound a newborn puppy might make if it lost track of its' mother. He shut his eyes against the world and curled up into the fetal position, just as a light rain began to fall. Leon wasn't left to himself for long; the foxcoon rolled him to his stomach, then quite effortlessly tied him, binding his wrists and ankles separately, using tough clothesline to do the job - not only was there a laughably small chance of Leon squirming free or clawing through it, but the rough texture would leave his wrists and ankles very raw from such struggling. "Oh, god," Leon whined, finding his self-pity interrupted when the foxcoon hoisted him up and uncaringly dropped him into the trunk of the car. Leon thought to plead with the tod, but he slammed the trunk closed, and Leon's world went black.

Though the daze of the impact had begun to wear off - the fact that the fennec lacked a concussion was a small miracle - Leon was only made more aware of the intense pain in his head. None of this was helped by the cramped darkness of the car's trunk, an all-enveloping black that the fennec couldn't see a single thing in, and it aggravated a feeling of claustrophobia, a fear he had harbored well before his rape, but still one which could effectively incapacitate him. "Oh, god," he whined again, doing his best to curl in upon himself, reduced to shaking and shivering as he awaited his fate. So terrified of his predicament was Leon that he couldn't even find the will to pound on the inside of the trunk, or at least try to chew through his bonds. Ever the victim in life, the fennec simply sobbed his eyes out, and unconsciously hoped that the wicked pain in his head was an aneurism that would soon end his terrified suffering. Leon soon lost track of how long he was in the trunk of the car; it seemed like an eternity to him. He felt an infantile desire to sleep, to hope that he would wake up in warmth and safety, but the jostling ride saw his head and knees painfully knocked again and again into the walls and planes of the confined trunk. Though the bruises on his knees were a pain he could tolerate, the ache in his head was an agony he felt would soon break him. Not even the worst migraine in the world could prepare him for such a discomfort. More and more vividly, he imagined burst blood vessels in his brain and other such catastrophic injuries, but the truth was, for better or worse, that Leon simply had an extremely painful lump on his head.

Each time the car came to a halt, Leon's heart jumped into his throat, yet he would again move; the fennec had started to become accustomed to the stop-and-go, but finally, they stopped for good, and the engine was shut off. Oh my god, Leon thought, his form shaking with a full-body tremor of fear and anxiety, this is it, I'm gonna die. The trunk popped open, and Leon was momentarily blinded by a light overhead, which was soon eclipsed by a familiar face. The foxcoon grinned down at his prey, then reached in and hoisted the shaking bitch out, setting him on his feet, though with his ankles still bound, running was not an option. Leon's eyes were on the foxcoon, but he was vaguely aware of the fact that he was in a garage, no doubt belonging to his captor. "You motherfucker," Leon hissed, his voice absolutely tiny, but laced with a defiant, feisty attitude that made the foxcoon grin even more. "Not the worst thing I've been called, but it's a classic." He slammed the trunk closed, a sound that made the fennec flinch, then hoisted the bound bitch up and over his shoulder, grunting with exertion. "I'll tell you something," the predator began, carrying Leon up a short flight of wooden steps and into the actual house - it was an attached garage, it seemed. "If you want to make this evening pleasant and put out for me with a minimum of fuss, I'm willing to forget the fact that I had to wear a stint on my muzzle for four days and not beat the fucking shit out of you, sweetheart." The tod's voice was really quite casual and pleasant, yet it began to escalate when he talked about the fennec's fate; Leon could have sworn he picked up a hint of lust in those final words. Had he been a little less high on adrenaline and not suffering from the ache in his skull, Leon might have taken this cowardly route and played the foxcoon's bitch for a night, but such was not the case, and Leon buried himself: "Fuck you, you bastard!" the fennec snarled, slamming his bound paws against the small of the tod's back, knocking him into a stumble, but it was one he recovered from. Beyond a grunt, the foxcoon was still calm with Leon, though he did toss the fennec on the bed quite roughly. "If that's how you want this night to go," he began, unzipping his jeans, "that's fine. Either way, I'm getting off tonight, cunt."

The foxcoon undressed without much flair for Leon, and though the fennec thought the feminine shape of his attacker's body was rather attractive, he'd already chosen his fate that night. "Let's at least be a little bit civil about this," the foxcoon sneered, grabbing a pair of scissors from his desk - they were enormous, made for cutting through fabric, and not the kind of tool one would expect to find on a computer desk. He knelt and began cutting through the fennec fox's sweater, and Leon was completely still, rendered almost catatonic by the sight of the gleaming point of the scissors. "Tell me what your name is, unless cunt works for you." Leon was deathly silent, and so his assailant jabbed him in the nose with the point of the scissors, coaxing a startled yelp from him, one followed by an almost involuntary snarl. "It's Leon, you sick fuck," he grumbled, afterwards bearing his teeth for the foxcoon, but, tied as he was, it was difficult to find him threatening. The foxcoon had previously been examining the fennec's scars - a menagerie of poorly-healed, furless slashes of reddened flesh - and though he meant to ask about them, the thought slipped his mind. "Leon, hm," he grunted, his voice absent, his eyes trailing the inoffensively slender body on his bed. "My name is Desmond, not that it matters too much to you, huh?" What came next surprised Leon, for Desmond set aside the scissors, and he undid the fennec's jeans in the proper manner. He lowered them, along with the rather dull panties beneath, and what he saw was worthy of a true double-take. With the attractively effeminate fennec's jeans and undergarments around his ankles, he saw that cunt was, indeed, a very accurate name for Leon, because in place of a sheath and scrotum, Desmond instead saw the pleasingly smooth lips of a pussy, just as delicate and beautiful as the boy who owned it. "My god," Desmond grinned, his tail at once wagging behind him, "my horoscope was right - I have found true love." Leon could only growl in disgust, but with an air of helplessness, he turned away, shut his eyes, flattened his ears, and whimpered.

Desmond knew that such a special creature deserved special treatment; with care, he undid the ropes that bound Leon's wrists together, then tied them to the ornate wooden posts of the headboard. In much the same way, he untied the fennec's ankles, and, beyond nearly getting his nose broken again by a foot, he re-tied them without incident. The position he chose for them was truly unexpected, and had Leon not been both terrified and blinded by raw hatred, he might have found the novelty of it appealing to the bondage bitch inside of him - the foxcoon tied nooses around them at the ankles, and secured them, spread-eagle with only minor slack, to the same posts his wrists were affixed to. It was something of a stirrups position, minus the stirrups, and Desmond was proud of how effectively it left Leon bound, yet also presented. "Very nice," the foxcoon chuckled, already sporting an erection, "this is going to be a fun evening, my sweet little pussy." He leaned down between the legs of the squirming, perpetually growling fennec, kneeling until his chilly nose bumped the unfortunate creature's cunt; despite his resistance, this sent a brief twinge of pleasure up through Leon's body, but to say he was about to willingly enjoy himself was foolish. Desmond showed surprising care as he began drawing his tongue along the lips of the fennec's cunt, making no effort yet to part them, merely teasing that lightly-furred flesh with the long, lewd surface of his tongue, causing the fennec yet more unwanted pleasure. "Heh," Desmond chuckled between licks, finding himself emboldened by Leon's reserved whimpering and stifled moaning, "I haven't licked pussy in months, but I'll tell you right now that this is the best one I've ever tasted." Looking up Leon's body, between his spread legs and at his disgusted, upturned muzzle, the foxcoon bore an expression that was almost sympathetic, though the fennec didn't see it. "I could ask you again if you want to enjoy this with me, but I already know what the answer is," said the foxcoon, planting the tiniest of kisses on the albino fennec's clitoris, "and I can't say I mind that at all."

Gently, Desmond parted the quivering lips of Leon's cunt to expose the pink flesh within; for the better part of a minute, he quite intently studied that pussy, seemingly baffled by how normal it was. By any definition, it was a perfect pussy, absolutely beautiful, pink, and snug. Desmond decided not to dwell on his fortune for having literally bumped into such a divine little bitch - he buried his tongue in the humid depths of Leon's cunt and began to unceremoniously slobber that flesh, savoring the taste of the musk and the moisture. Leon resisted the foxcoon as much as he could, tensing his body, clenching his snatch down on the tod's tongue, unintentionally spurring him to lick and suck with even greater ferocity. "Oh god," the fennec gasped, now thrashing in the ropes, his cunt growing warmer around Desmond's tongue, soon dripping with honey, and in a vicious cycle, Desmond ate that sweet pussy like never before, shoving the great length of his tongue as deep as it would go, so far that he lapped across the fennec's cervix with inches to spare. With this sinful contact, Leon could resist the pleasure no longer, and he cried out with an ambivalent mixture of pleasure and shame, climaxing around the squirming muscle of Desmond's tongue, his cunt spasming and twitching, splattering the foxcoon's jowls with liquid musk, laden with pheromones that weren't quite one gender or the other. Forced unwillingly into the afterglow of such a bastardized climax, Leon shivered and subtly sobbed, his jowls pulled up into a toothy grimace, his pretty, albino-pink eyes completely lidded, though tears snuck past them. Desmond plucked his tongue free of that wonderfully tight passage, then moved up to his knees, his face plastered with a lewd grin. Clearly, his head was swimming with the fennec's pheromones and musk; his eyes were hazy, almost inebriated, and Leon opened his own eyes in time to catch this dulled look. Truthfully, the foxcoon almost looked satisfied, but he was far from it. "That is one nice pussy," Desmond growled, the words dripping off his tongue with a sultry flair, as though they were liquid sex. "Rrr, god, I am gonna have so much fun with you, baby..."

Desmond stood from the bed and rummaged through his closet, something Leon did not at all enjoy; he knew for a fact that the foxcoon wasn't going to emerge with anything pleasant for him. In the anxious struggling that ensued, however, the fennec learned that if he curled his body into a crunch and leaned forward with his head as far as he could, he could wrap his teeth around the ropes binding his ankles. Hope shot through him like a rush of adrenaline, giving him the energy he needed to start chewing. Yes, I can do this! Leon thought, mentally encouraging himself, but as time went by, he could no longer keep himself so contorted, and he'd only managed to fray the rope a little bit. Fuck, no! I can't stop, I can't let him have me! thought the fennec, beginning to sob again with pity. Not again, oh, god, why is this happening to me again? Very soon, Desmond returned, but Leon was too involved in his defeated theatrics to notice. Clutched in his paws was a paddle, one made specifically for blistering the behinds of any and all individuals it encountered, though the foxcoon had a few other uses in mind for it, as well. To anyone with an affinity for spankings, the paddle was beautiful; made of solid, varnished oak, its' surface was aerated with a number of one-inch holes, thus removing most of its' wind resistance. Clutching the handle of it, Desmond tapped one of the fennec's demure plantigrade paws, something which attracted his attention, snapping the cuntboy out of his self-pity. Leon began to show his teeth in defiance, but his eyes fell on the paddle, and any and all fight was temporarily frightened out of him. In place of a snarl or even a bitchy greeting, Leon simply squeaked, and Desmond's grin was so wide that it threatened to split his face in two. "Say hello to my little friend, Leon," said Desmond, not bothering with the Cuban accent.

With Leon's position, Desmond might have been able to paddle the fennec, but it was hardly ideal. In a moment of brilliance, he set the paddle aside, then re-tied the ropes that bound those shapely legs, removing much of the slack, putting his feet over the headboard. Though Leon was flexible enough that this contorted position didn't cause him much discomfort, it left his taut rump vulnerable. Out of an involuntary sense of modesty, he draped his long, bushy tail over the crack of his behind, and incidentally his cunt, but this was a trivial obstacle for Desmond, who merely tied the appendage around the fennec's leg with another length of rope. "Heh, full moon tonight," Desmond grinned, gently tapping the broad edge of the paddle against Leon's entirely prostrate behind. Where he expected whimpering, he was met with yet more defiant snarling and a menacing show of teeth - it seemed being tied and splayed like so had reawoken the cuntboy's rage. "When I get out of these ropes, I swear," Leon shuddered, clenching his jaw afterwards, closing his eyes just as tightly, "I swear to god," he sobbed, letting the threat hang in the air, incomplete and destined to stay that way. "Big words," Desmond growled, kneeling in his place near Leon's taut behind, winding up with the paddle for a home-run swing, "but actions speak louder." With a smile laden with sadistic glee, the foxcoon swung as hard as he could, and the hardwood paddle crashed into the taut curve of Leon's ass with a sickening crack! The pain was so agonizingly sharp that Leon couldn't make a sound; he flinched and gasped, but no howls or whimpers passed his lips. Pulling the paddle back, Desmond inspected his work, and as clear as day, beneath the white fluff, Leon's flesh practically glowed with a red soreness.

"Heh. Well, one good smack," Desmond trailed off, winding up for another swing. Just as hard as before, he let loose; the paddle cut through the air with a dramatic whoosh!, and then it met the tender, furred flesh of Leon's ass in a mighty, wooden slap to rival the first. The sound this strike emitted was a cross between an open-palm slap and an exploding firecracker, but Leon's squeal was noisy enough to drown it out. "F-fucking, oh, god!" Leon whelped, momentarily beyond any coherent words, and shortly after his fragmented bellowing, he simply sobbed, a noise which Desmond's perked ears savored. "That hurt?" Desmond asked with a curt smile, his tone rather mischievous. "Fuck you, you sick, evil fuck! D-does this get you off, beating the hell out of some defenseless boy!?" he sobbed at the foxcoon, yet without looking his way, instead screaming at the ceiling, which was blurry and wet in his teary eyes. Widening his smile in the tiniest way, Desmond leveled the paddle at Leon's behind and said: "As a matter of fact, it does." The third strike was nowhere near as ferocious as the first two, but it didn't have to be; the tender flesh of Leon's ass cheeks had become so raw, so red, that even the softest touch would've been agony. To feel the bitter kiss of the paddle again was an unreal pain that made him forget about everything; the ache in his head, the fear of what was to come, the memory of his rape, none of it mattered, for all he could think about was the stinging burn on his behind. "Gaaawd," Leon groaned, his body quaking, his words interrupted by sniffles, "I hate you so fucking much, Desmond, you're a demented fuck! You're fucking retarded and sick in the head!" Leon punctuated this with a whimper, a protracted noise of despair and pain, and Desmond correctly interpreted it as such. "That's a shame, Leon," Desmond cooed, trailing his fingers over the yet-damp lips of Leon's cunt, though the fennec showed not even the smallest sign of pleasure, "because I just love you. This is the most fun I've had on a date in years."

"D-date!? This is a fucking date to you!?" Leon squealed, again filled with that violent scorn, displaying the side that would've gladly disemboweled the foxcoon through his asshole. Desmond's expression was, at best, puzzled; he tilted his head and gave Leon his best "confused dog" look, even going so far as to droop one ear. "Well, yeah, I thought you liked me, I mean," Desmond shrugged, trailing a finger down one of Leon's shapely, helpless legs, "you didn't really fight back when I was putting you in the car. I thought you just really liked it rough, that we were role-playing or something." Leon suddenly pinned his ears to his skull; could it have really been true? Was Desmond just a socially maladjusted idiot who assumed the broken nose was foreplay? Could he have avoided all of this by simply telling Desmond he didn't want to have sex? Oh god, Leon thought with a shudder, this guy is so fucking weird! Doing all that he could to straighten his expression and level out his voice, Leon thought he might try playing things Desmond's way, hanging on to the hope that he could escape with what remained of his dignity. "Okay," he said with a sigh, one intended to relax himself, though it was less than helpful, "Desmond, this is not a date. I never wanted to do any of this, okay?" The foxcoon narrowed his eyes, yet his expression was even more confused. "It's not?" he asked, and Leon shook his head. "No, no, it's not! Desmond! God, Desmond, you're raping me," he whimpered, his voice again plagued with despair. "You're hurting me." The foxcoon paused; many long seconds passed, but he finally set the paddle aside. "So you're saying that, huh, knocking you out and throwing you in the trunk of my car, and tying you up, and undressing you and paddling you, that's not a date?" Leon nodded his head slowly, as if dealing with a special needs child, and Desmond twisted his lips into a grin. It was a grin that Leon recognized, and it most certainly was not the grin of a confused man-child. His heart sank before the foxcoon even spoke. "You figured all of this out yourself, and you think I'm the retarded one?"

Leon was completely flustered. "Y-you!" he snarled, nearly frothing with rage, though his anger only made Desmond grin more and more. "You're a sick mother_fucker_, Desmond! I hate you! I fucking hate you and hope you die!" the fennec sobbed, struggling for everything he was worth against the ropes, succeeding only in chafing his wrists and his ankles. "You're absolutely right, sweet little Leon," Desmond cooed, again raising the paddle, resting the broad side of it against Leon's cunt, "I'm one sick motherfucker." Lifting up the paddle, he brought it crashing down between the fennec's legs, lighting up the flesh of his cunt with the same swollen, red soreness that his abused behind suffered from. Unlike the first strike on his ass, one met with silent suffering, this herald spank on his pussy saw him erupt with a cry that cut through the air, so shrill that it stung Desmond's ears like claws on a chalkboard, yet, ever the sadist, he savored the agony. "Completely sick motherfucker!" he cackled in triumph, reaching down to rub firmly against the throbbing lips of Leon's cunt, grinding his pads against them. Even though Desmond's pads were velvet-soft, much like the fennec's demure pussy flesh, this contact was enough to put the cuntboy in shaking agony, a discomfort met with bellowing sobs and deep whimpers. "And you're a broken little victim with a tight pussy and a big mouth. Match made in heaven, what do you think, cunt?" Lifting his paw from the fennec's cunt, Desmond raised the paddle again; Leon watched in slow motion as the twink foxcoon brought the wooden implement of pain down, as it smacked into the lips of his cunt, already red and swollen, rendered even more so by the second strike. He heard his own squeal from a distant place, a place where he objectively analyzed every little facet of it, the exact pitch, the way it wavered off into more of a sob towards the end. Most fascinating of all, however, was the pain; it began so sharply, and though he expected it to peak then and there, it didn't. As the foxcoon dragged the paddle off of his cunt, it aggravated the sore flesh of his folds, leaving him with a sensation in his loins that felt like he'd been rubbed raw with sandpaper. His lucidity returned to him in full just so he could experience the height of this discomfort, and after it faded into a dull throb, he simply sniffled and wept to himself.

As far as Desmond was concerned, he was satisfied with the suffering he'd inflicted on the outside of Leon's most intimate flesh, but what remained to be explored was considerably more violent and obscene. Setting the paddle aside once more, he stood from the bed, then re-tied the fennec's legs as they'd been before, allowing the poor bitch some room to move, while still leaving him fully exposed. Still coming down from the unwanted high of the selective spanking, Leon offered only trivial resistance, his struggling so futile as to be passed off as simple flinching, but Desmond correctly assumed that the bitch had a little bit of fight left in him. "I'll be completely honest with you, Leon," said the foxcoon, reaching into his nightstand, emerging with a bottle of lubricant, "I didn't think you'd last so long. I figured you would've broken for me quickly." Again, he knelt between the fennec's legs; Leon stared at him with intense, burning eyes, his lip quivering with unspoken threats and taunts. "You're doing wonderfully, Leon," the fox said, ending his cryptic praise with a wink. Though the cuntboy wanted to ask, another part of him silenced this desire - instinctively, he knew it was a mystery he didn't want to solve. "I've always wanted to try this," Desmond mused, interrupting Leon's stewing; the tod had begun to squirt that slippery, slimy lubricant all over his paw, leaving it and a few inches of his wrist entirely saturated. Immediately, Leon knew what the sick foxcoon was going to do; whimpering in near silence, he shook his head. Desmond, however, twisted his muzzle into a naughty, toothy grin and nodded to the fennec.

"Desmond," Leon pointlessly whined, watching with a resolve of helplessness as the foxcoon began to pump him with two well-lubricated fingers, digits which encountered literally no resistance for all the slippery lube on them. This touch brought Leon some pleasure, but it was nearly impossible to enjoy for the overwhelming terror and unease that welled up inside of him. Deeper and deeper, Desmond pumped, twisting and curling his fingers, smearing the coarse sheen of lubricant over even the deepest inches of Leon's tender pink. Very soon, he added a third finger - and not a second later, a fourth. Keeping his fingers bunched close together, Desmond continued to stretch the bitch of a fennec with that tight mass of digits, and though Leon felt his loins tingling with unwanted pleasure, it was negated completely by the foxcoon's hand bumping against the intensely raw, thin skin of his snatch. Those pussy lips were so reddened that Leon expected the flesh to blister and peel, and though it didn't, the pain was truly unbearable. It was a discomfort he bore in silence, uttering only tiny, nearly silent whimpers for Desmond's pleasure. Gazing up at Leon's so clearly hurt expression with a coy smile, he began to work his thumb into the fennec's entrance as well, at the same time clutching one of the cuntboy's slender thighs in a benign way. "As tight as you are, I'll bet you've never been fisted, have you?" cooed the twink, looking at Leon's squinted-shut eyes in the hopes he might open them, but he came up disappointed. Leon refused to give Desmond the satisfaction of hearing his pleading and begging, and so he merely stayed quiet. "Silent treatment, huh?" Desmond grinned, momentarily pausing, leaving just his fingertips in the cuntboy's namesake. "I was gonna do this the right way, but now I just gotta see if I can make you start talking."

Had Desmond waited a second longer, Leon might have realized that, with his childlike attitude, he'd just thrown another shovel of dirt on his already deep grave, but the foxcoon gave him no time to contemplate his actions. With a grunt of exertion, Desmond punched forward, sinking his fingers and the widest point of his paw in Leon's cunt in one glorious shove. The sound of slippery lubricant making way for the tod's fist was a loud series of squirts and squishes, but these finer noises were impossible to hear over the air-raid siren squeal that erupted from Leon's lungs, a noise so shrill and so gruesome that even Desmond cringed, but it coaxed a throb from his erection. In the aftermath of the penetration, the foxcoon looked carefully over the sight of Leon's quivering cunt gripping his wrist; inside of that pussy, he felt the delicate flesh conforming to the very shape of his clenched fist, squirming and writhing around the invading object. Squeezing the fennec's thigh a bit tighter, Desmond forced his fist a little bit deeper, coaxing winces and helpless whines from Leon, but no pleas for mercy. Though this lack of verbal groveling upset Desmond, he saw the opportunity for yet more mischief and abuse; curling his lips into a grin, turning his eyes up on Leon's grimacing snout and closed, weeping eyes, he asked, with a purr in his tone, "Not going to ask me to stop, Leon?" The cuntboy opened his muzzle to speak, but the first word was broken by a sob. Oh my god, that hurts, Leon thought with an agonized shiver crawling up his body, one which reduced him to sobbing and sniffling, but, ironically, his words came more clearly than ever. "I know begging just gets you off, Desmond." Though this thoughtfulness surprised the twink and gave him pause, he quickly regained his attitude, and he grinned wider than ever before. "That may be true - you are, indeed, denying me a pleasure by keeping that begging to yourself, but honestly," the foxcoon said, licking his lips, "you're the one with a stranger's fist up your affront-to-god birth canal. You have bigger worries than I do."

Desmond enjoyed the sensation of wearing Leon's cunt as an arm warmer for a short time longer, but the novelty of the act had fast worn off. Keeping his fist clenched to maximize the fennec's otherworldly discomfort, Desmond pulled back, not relenting even when the widest point of his paw was poised at the fennec's exit, the greatest point of resistance. Leon's idle whimpering became a frenzied stream of cries and yelps, and he even began to beg the twink foxcoon for mercy, to stop, to do anything but pluck his hand out in such a brutal manner. He looked into Desmond's eyes pleadingly, his own entirely defeated, prepared to offer only submission and obedience, but Desmond wanted neither. Grinning, he shook his head for the fennec, and then, bracing himself with his free paw against Leon's leg, he pulled with all his strength, freeing the bulk of his fist, leaving Leon's cunt entirely gaping and ruined, wrenching a squeal from Leon's lips that cut through the air and hit a pitch so high that not even a canine like Desmond could hear it. Once a beautiful pussy that any woman would have killed to possess, Desmond had absolutely wrecked it, leaving it as a lube-drooling maw that not even childbirth could accomplish - and though Desmond knew it would heal up on its' own, Leon would be most definitely be worse for the experience. "Heh," the foxcoon chuckled, wiping his paw off on Leon's bushy, tied tail, "definitely a lot more fun than doing it to another guy's ass."

"Mmf, fuck," Leon whimpered, fidgeting in his bonds, wondering just how else the foxcoon could possibly demean him, though not too intently. "Desmond, please," the fennec shuddered, his will well past broken, "let me just go home, I'll never tell anyone, not the cops, not anybody, just let me go, please?" The eyes he looked at Desmond with reflected this submission and defeat - they had no ulterior motives in them, no defiance. The feisty Leon had been reduced to a quaking bitch, and Desmond was pleased with himself. "I'll think about it," said Desmond with a noncommittal dismissiveness in his voice, shooting Leon a grin and a wink. He expected the fennec to reply in anger and frustration, but no; "Thank you, Desmond." Slowly, Desmond stood from the bed, briefly stretching, unintentionally reminding Leon just how uncomfortable he was in bondage. "So you're really done resisting me, huh?" asked the foxcoon, speaking to Leon without facing him, instead looking out the window - a scene of rain and occasional lightning, a very melancholy view, but quite fitting for Leon's predicament. "I am," Leon sighed, looking in the opposite direction, his hazy, wet eyes studying the far wall of the room none too intently. On it, he saw a number of photographs pinned to a corkboard, all of them of beautiful young men and women, and all of them faces he was certain he recognized, however vaguely. The fennec began to sink into deep thought, listening only to every other thing the foxcoon said. "I'm glad you finally made the right choice." Where have I... I know I recognize that guy from somewhere, but... "Heh, I was so worried I might have to start doing really weird things to..." Wait a second, that skunk, that mouse, those two wolves, I've seen them at... I've seen them on...!

Suddenly, Leon knew exactly where he'd seen those faces; the missing persons bulletin board at the library. Oh my god, these are fucking trophies, Leon thought, at once going almost perfectly still, his eyes fixated on the corkboard. Distantly, he heard his name. Then, he heard it again, and then again; finally he paid attention. "Hey, Leon! Cunt, don't space out on me like that," Desmond warned, dangerously lacking in composure or calmness. "Wh-what?" Leon blurted out, looking the tod's way again. Suddenly, to look in those devious eyes was to feel absolute horror and to know the fear of death. "Oh," Desmond said suddenly, cutting the tension with an alarmingly friendly smile, "you were looking at the photographs over there." Very slowly, Leon nodded; he tried his best not to betray what he knew, that he recognized the dozen or so creatures represented there. "Yeah, I, um," he stammered, "I thought most of them looked kinda cute, are they your friends or exes or...?" Desmond narrowed his eyes, giving Leon a truly queer look, as though he suspected something. Oh god, Leon thought, though those two words floated across his train of thought a thousand times each in what came to be the longest second of his life. "Exes, yeah, that's what they are. I loved them all so much that I had to keep a little part of them around." The smile that he offered Leon was so peaceful that, had Leon not known better, it would've fooled him. "I know exactly what you must be thinking, Leon, sweetheart," Desmond cooed, sitting down beside the prone creature, resting a paw quite harmlessly on his smooth, scarred chest. He allowed this to hang in the air; it was bait through and through, but Leon simply refused to bite it, and so Desmond continued. "I'm a real heartbreaker. What can I say? A drop-dead gorgeous thing like me, well, it's pretty much inevitable, now isn't it?" Leaning down close, he smooched Leon on the nose; Leon's first thought was to chomp the foxcoon's muzzle, but he wisely suppressed this urge. "I bet you are," Leon said in a low hiss, disguising his suspicion with genuine contempt.

Whether Leon knew or not didn't matter to Desmond; their time together was nearly over, and one way or the other, the fennec's ordeal would end. Mounting the bed once more, he knelt between his victim's splayed, restrained legs and grinned down at the pitiful, big-eared creature. Reaching down, he took hold of his swollen, knotted shaft, the pink flesh slick with pre, the tip oozing with yet more of that natural lubricant. Ever the tease, Desmond first rubbed his shaft against the abused folds of Leon's stretched, sore cunt, but his subtle torture was rewarded with only gentle hisses and the neutered beginnings of defiant snarls. The fact that Leon's will had been so broken wasn't lost on the foxcoon, and though he would certainly miss the cuntboy's tantrums and impotent frustration, he had at least gotten an entertaining evening out of the bitch. "Seems like I might have shot myself in the foot, wrecking your poor little pussy the way I did," Desmond grinned, grinding his shaft against the short run of lightly-furred flesh that was Leon's taint, though he betrayed his true intentions now and again by letting his tip prod against the fennec's yet-ignored tail hole, a very snug pucker which promised to be a far more satisfying fuck than the ruined, gaping cavern the foxcoon had made out of that pussy. "You're a fox, though," he mused, pushing more intently into Leon's puckered asshole, coaxing a very subtle wince and gasp from his lips. "You'll heal up like it never happened... We're natural sluts."

Biting his lip and flattening his ears in an endearing tic of concentration, Desmond pushed forward with his hips and began penetrating the yielding, yet clenched pucker of Leon's tail hole, drawing an intensely pained shriek out of the young, pitiful bitch. "Mmh, does that hurt, sweet thing?" Desmond grinned, his shaft already halfway buried; it was no surprise that he wasn't taking his time at all. To be such a rough, efficient lay was a desired quality for some creatures, but not Leon. Such a timid creature needed gentle love and affection, and the way Desmond so ruthlessly forced his cock inside was ripping open poorly-healed mental wounds. The fennec shut his eyes against the sight of Desmond's grinning, sadistically lewd face, and he did all that he could to relax himself, to ease the pain of such a sudden penetration, though when the foxcoon's knot kissed up against his stretched, pink orifice, he let loose with a soft cry. "Ah, god," Desmond huffed with genuine pleasure, beginning to buck his slender hips, "I don't know if it's because it's so close to such a sweet little cunt or not, but you've got one hell of a tight, warm ass on you, too." Leon showed his teeth, but it was hardly in defiance or even threat; it was simply a grimace of mind-bending discomfort, though Desmond didn't really care what it was. With the fennec so broken, and his cock buried so deep in that bitch's behind, the foxcoon knew the truly entertaining theatrics were well in the past, and so he chose not to waste his time pursuing such feistiness, focusing instead on his own pleasure. Desmond allowed one particularly rough thrust to last a few seconds longer, using that momentum to grind his knot against the fennec's aching tail hole. "Aah!" Leon gasped, his entire face contorted in a pained expression.

"Nngh, god," Leon whimpered, soon breaking down into a fit of helpless, uncontrollable sobs. "Shit," Desmond growled, hunkering down over the fennec, fucking that asshole a little harder and a lot faster, planting kisses on the cuntboy's neck in a foul mockery of affection. "Keep crying for me, you don't know what that does for me." Closing his eyes tight, his jowls pulled taut in an involuntary grin of domination and sexual bliss, Desmond pounded his swollen knot against the fennec's asshole over and over again, each thrust threatening to force that bulging gland inside. In truth, Leon hoped the foxcoon would simply get it over with; he would've gladly taken that sudden, sharp burst of pain than to continually feel the damned thing punching against him and bruising him. Luckily for Leon, Desmond began to truly thrust with all of his strength, throwing the weight of his slender hips into every buck. At last, with a grunt of pleasure building up in his throat, the tod plowed his bulky, throbbing knot inside of the fennec's tail hole - and then just as quickly popped it back out before the bliss of a climax washed over him. For Leon, the pain was nearly enough to thrust him into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, but not quite. That ethereal sensation teased him with the prospect of escaping it all, if only for a few precious moments, but it slipped away from him, and he was left to suffer the horrific discomfort that Desmond inflicted on him. The cry he made was an incredibly gruesome squeal, but it tapered off into something of a death cry, a wavering, helpless moan that made Desmond chuckle in sick pleasure. "Like my knot?" he beamed, planting a kiss on the fennec's lips, one met with a snarl and a feisty snap. "Oh!" Desmond said, jerking back, grinning wider, gazing into Leon's now-opened eyes, rendered swollen and bloodshot by crying and sheer stress. "Still a little bit of fight in you, huh? My kinda bitch..."

Yanking the entirety of his swollen penis free of Leon's asshole, Desmond raised his shaft away from that now-ruined orifice and quite simply jammed it into the fennec's cunt, by that point somewhat healed, and tight enough for what Desmond wanted out of it. Leon shuddered with a pained cry, but it was nowhere near as blood-curdling as the noise that that anal knotting had wrenched out of him. "Mmm, christ," Desmond rumbled, leaning over the fennec, practically cuddling him, "I've tasted pussy, I've buried my fists in pussy, but there is nothing like fuckin' pussy." Closing his eyes tight, the foxcoon began to rut that abused cunt, plowing its' pink depths for everything it was worth. Before long, he involved his knot in the fun, freely popping that thick gland in and out of the fennec's snatch, and though Leon thought to whimper and sob, what would it have accomplished? He stayed nearly silent, simply grimacing, keeping his weeping eyes shut tight against the world, hoping against hope that he could just wake up in his own bed. In his own mind, he told himself to just hold out a little bit longer, that Desmond would finish up and it would be over soon. He used it to drown out the filthy nothings that Desmond shuddered and moaned to him, the bastardized praise and unwanted sweetness that the sociopathic foxcoon endlessly whispered into his ears, but finally, one thing stuck out to him. "Ohh, god, Leon, I'm going to keep you around forever, I swear." The fennec couldn't take it anymore - no amount of self-prescribed coddling could help him stomach the tod. "F-fuck you! You're going to get arrested and you'll be some mugger's girlfriend in prison forever, you sick bastard!" Desmond was momentarily stunned into silence and statue-like stillness, meeting Leon's furious gaze with a dumbfounded expression. Leon didn't stop; he'd already sealed his fate, and anything else he could say to anger the sick bastard was just a bonus. "You're gonna find out what it's like to be the bitch, Desmond, you mother_fucker!_ Wait until some eight-foot-tall bear or dragon or something is wearing you like a fucking handpuppet after the cops get their hands on you! I swear to god, I fucking swear!" he shrieked with every gasp of air in his lungs, hoping that each word cut Desmond like a razorblade, but he was silenced before he could go a syllable further. What came first was so sudden and so out of character that Leon knew he'd hit a nerve, for Desmond struck him across the face in a ferocious open-palmed slap, but if that weren't enough, the foxcoon took hold of his neck with the very same paw and squeezed with all his strength, at the same time resuming his brutal fucking.

"Shut the fuck up," Desmond unnecessarily grunted, his expression no longer sadistically giddy, but instead quite annoyed. He pounded the fennec's cunt as hard and as fast as he cared to, popping his knot in and out with every single buck of his hips; as if that pain weren't enough for the loudmouthed victim, Leon found the horrible sensations heightened by the lack of oxygen imposed by Desmond's deathgrip, making it a very violent form of erotic asphyxia. "Ngh, god," the twink foxcoon huffed, closing his eyes, his thrusts becoming quite haphazard. He's finally gonna cum, Leon thought, closing his eyes, wanting so badly for his ordeal to be over, whatever the outcome would be. "Shit, mmh, yes!" Desmond gasped, momentarily squeezing down yet tighter on Leon's slender neck before letting go, planting his paws on either side of the restrained cuntboy. Plowing his knot in one last time, he shuddered and let loose with a climax so thick and warm that even Leon briefly shivered in gratification. "Oh, god_dammit," Desmond wheezed, so high off of his climax that he felt dizzy, but he pushed himself up and off of the fennec. Seemingly back in control, exuding only the calm, cool attitude that Leon had come to expect, the foxcoon smoothed his hair back, then quite roughly plucked his knotted shaft free of that accommodating cunt, an action met with a sharp cry from the owner of it. "Heh, well," Desmond muttered, climbing off the bed, disappearing into his closet yet again, "I don't have any use for a cunt that's gonna talk to me like _that!" Leon froze, yet his body shook with tremors of fear. This is it, you're dead now. That was the last thought that crossed his mind as Desmond emerged from the closet.

Where Leon expected to see some implement of murder, he instead saw only an aerosol can and a washrag in the foxcoon's paws, which he generously spritzed with the former. Then, quite smoothly, he knelt down at the fennec's side and grinned. "Night, Leon," was the very last thing he heard - Desmond shoved the rag against his snout, and an acrid smell filled his nostrils. In but a moment, his world went hazy and black, and it stayed that way. It was peaceful, really, a wonderful respite from all that had happened. Sleep without dreams and the rapists that came with them. Darkness, but no fear associated with being enveloped in such a thing. It didn't last long, however - he began to stir, though mere seconds had passed as far as he was concerned. He was cold; he was confined; he knew instinctively where he was, having been there recently. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in the trunk of Desmond's car, the lid open, the tod standing over him. "Mmph," Leon whined, his head throbbing with the familiar ache of the lump, but also a new pain, a migraine which he couldn't begin to reconcile. "Awake so soon? You've got a lot more endurance than I thought, I'll tell you that." Leon didn't really acknowledge these words; in some subconscious way, he knew Desmond was being his typical self, but the pain in his head overwhelmed any and all functions of logic or reason. He curled in upon himself, but again, that foul-smelling rag was thrust against his muzzle. This time, he didn't resist the unconsciousness in the least, instead willingly giving himself up to that sweet oblivion, and again came the dreamless sleep that took him far away from Desmond.

Though mere seconds passed for Leon, hours went by in the real world. Very slowly, he stirred; the migraine had reached such a snowcapped peak that, as he sat up, the throbbing of blood vessels was so loud that he briefly thought he heard thunder - and though it was indeed quite rainy, there was none of that to be heard or seen anymore that night. Leon's first instinctive thought was to figure out where he was, if he was still in Desmond's clutches or not, but his world was still so hazy, dulled not only by the pain of his headache, but a stench in his nostrils, a burning that wouldn't go away. It was like the nasal itch of allergies, but a thousand times more intense. The more he tried to think of what had brought him to wherever he was, somewhere cold and wet, somewhere outside and in the dark of the night, it eluded him. A name tried to come through to him, but the memory was weak and distant. _Danny? Drake? Damien? No... None of those are it..._Something terrible had happened - a lingering pain in his loins and bottom made him sure of that, but like anything else he tried to recall, it stayed in the very fringes of his memory. Slowly pulling himself to his feet, defying his migraine, forcing his sore, stiff muscles to move, the nude cuntboy took in his surroundings, and he recognized them immediately, even in the gloomy streetlamp lights; he was in the library parking lot, between the dumpsters. As he took a step, he winced and froze mid-stride, at once pressing against the brick wall of the library, clutching his abused cunt in an involuntary gesture of pain. "Oh, god," he whined to himself, "it happened to me again..."

Dropping down to his knees, and then his stomach, Leon curled in upon himself and sobbed himself into a very uneasy rest, but he would later stumble his way home, stripped of what little dignity he still held, as well as his clothing, for such was being a victim; the story of Leon's life.

NON-CANON ALTERNATE ENDING

"Shut the fuck up_," Desmond unnecessarily grunted, his expression no longer sadistically giddy, but instead quite annoyed. He pounded the fennec's cunt as hard and as fast as he cared to, popping his knot in and out with every single buck of his hips; as if that pain weren't enough for the loudmouthed victim, Leon found the horrible sensations heightened by the lack of oxygen imposed by Desmond's deathgrip, making it a very violent form of erotic asphyxia. "Ngh, god," the twink foxcoon huffed, closing his eyes, his thrusts becoming quite haphazard._ He's finally gonna cum, Leon thought, closing his eyes, wanting so badly for his ordeal to be over, whatever the outcome would be. "Shit, mmh, yes!" Desmond gasped, momentarily squeezing down yet tighter on Leon's slender neck before letting go, planting his paws on either side of the restrained cuntboy. Plowing his knot in one last time, he shuddered and let loose with a climax so thick and warm that even Leon briefly shivered in gratification. "Oh, god_dammit," Desmond wheezed, so high off of his climax that he felt dizzy, but he pushed himself up and off of the fennec. Seemingly back in control, exuding only the calm, cool attitude that Leon had come to expect, the foxcoon smoothed his hair back, then quite roughly plucked his knotted shaft free of that accommodating cunt, an action met with a sharp cry from the owner of it. "Heh, well," Desmond muttered, climbing off the bed, disappearing into his closet yet again, "I don't have any use for a cunt that's gonna talk to me like_ that!" Leon froze, yet his body shook with tremors of fear. This is it, you're dead now. That was the last thought that crossed his mind as Desmond emerged from the closet.

The tod held only one thing; a field knife, an enormous, wickedly sharp blade meant for gutting the corpses of deer and other prey while out hunting. Leon nearly shrieked at the sight of it, but the sound broke into a deep whimper. Desmond couldn't help but smile at this remarkably terrified vocalization, but he was mostly business as he again climbed on the bed - though there was definitely some pleasure as well. "Let's play a little game," Desmond hissed, prodding the fennec's chin with the point of the knife, drawing a bead of blood and a sharp gasp out of the cuntboy. He froze into complete rigidity, flinching not even when Desmond pushed the knife forward just enough to turn that prick into a tiny cut. "You're gonna tell me what all these scars are about. I bet it's a really good story." Withdrawing the knife, he laid it on the inoffensive surface of the fennec's chest, then put his paws on the petrified creature's hips. "Start talking," Desmond said in a warning growl, "or I'll open them all back up." Leon bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut; a whimper passed his lips, one brought on both by the idea of such a horrendous torture, one he knew the foxcoon would happily make good on, with an erection, no less, but also because he was forced to recall the most violent night of his life, the event that forever changed him. "My scars," he finally said, resisting the urge to cry, "are from the first time I was raped." Already, Desmond grinned so broadly that he showed every single tooth in his mouth. "While they were taking turns with me, they just kept, mmf," he paused, opening his eyes, looking at Desmond with just about the most pleading expression he could muster; Desmond merely shook his head, his grin turning into more of a coy smile. With a shudder of distaste, Leon closed his eyes and continued. "They cut me, everywhere, with a knife like that one. I'd cry and beg them to stop, but they just keep cutting and cutting." He paused and sniffled, but ultimately held back the emotions that wanted to pour out of him, continuing in an almost stoic way. "I know they could have shut me up if they wanted to, but they wanted me to keep begging. I cried and screamed until I couldn't anymore - I didn't have a voice for weeks afterwards. When they finally finished, I think they expected me to die, but I didn't." His eyes suddenly popped open, reddened and agitated, threatening to cry. "Are you happy now, you sick dogfucker?" Lifting the knife, Desmond licked the blood from its' edge, in turn opening a tiny cut on his tongue, one that made him shudder. "Very, my sweet pussy boy."

For many moments, Desmond intently studied Leon's wounds, tracing one when the urge struck him. "Talk about half-assed work, screwing up killing a scrawny little thing like you," he sneered, trailing a fingertip along one scar which, had it been just a tiny bit deeper, would have been a fatal slash through the arteries in his neck. Leon flinched, then snapped at the foxcoon's finger, issuing him a warning snarl. "Let me go home now, Desmond!" Lashing out with a paw, Desmond snatched the fennec's bitching muzzle and clamped it shut, then leaned down close, planting a kiss on that little black button of a nose. "I'll let you go," he smiled, then slowly sat up, but of course he still wielded the knife. "In fact, I'll do you one better. I'm going to release you from your pitiful, victimized existence and make it so nobody ever has to rape you again - except me. I'll keep you around for a little while. I like cold pizza, and I like cold pussy, too." Leon's face tightened up into absolute terror and stunned disgust, a stark contrast to his recently rekindled defiance. Desmond thought to further tease the creature, but their little game had gone on long enough. With the knife, he began re-opening every single scar that he could locate on the fennec's body - on his front side, anyway. Leon's cries were a never-ending stream of yelps and squeals, and he thrashed and flinched for all he was worth, something which only made his ordeal that much worse, for while Desmond had quite a steady hand, to cut on such a writhing victim in a straight line was next to impossible. Minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days as Desmond meticulously reopened every scar he could, and those weeping slits turned the white, fluffy canvas of Leon's fur into a hideous, bloody impressionist painting.

By the time Desmond had attended to every scar he found on the fennec's front side, save one, Leon's squealing had stolen his voice from him, and in its' place, he merely whimpered and whined hoarsely. Briefly setting the bloodied knife aside, Desmond disappeared from the bedroom entirely, but Leon had no thoughts of escape or retribution; in so much pain, with scars both mental and physical torn back open, he was fully prepared to step into the arms of death. It was the only escape he wanted anymore, and though he knew it would soon come for him, he knew it wouldn't be soon enough. "Oh, Leon," Desmond sing-songed, stepping back into the room with a nondescript salt shaker, "I'm in the mood for a Bloody Mary, how about you?" Chuckling in ill humor, he straddled the fennec once again; at the sight of the salt, Leon shook his head and erupted with a long, broken whimper, but Desmond didn't even allow him to finish this pitiful cry. He began to generously season the fennec's opened wounds, immediately putting him into such pain that shock began taking hold of him. He shuddered and sobbed uncontrollably, his jaws locking tight, his teeth grinding together; had his tongue been between them, he would've bitten it off. Desmond knew the end was near for his victim, and so he prepared for his grand finale. Leaning down low, he dragged his tongue along the reopened scars haphazardly, licking up a mouthful of fresh blood and salt, and he purred at the taste of such a vampiric cocktail. Moving up to his knees, again sporting a full erection, the foxcoon lifted the knife and looked down at his seizing victim's body. With a lick of his lips, Desmond dragged the knife across the untouched scar on his neck, bisecting the arteries, and he watched with a lazy, content grin as the fennec's precious blood practically gushed from that fresh wound. For a moment, he cupped the wound with his paw, immediately saturating his fine, black mitten with the fresh crimson; lifting it to his lips, he took a long, loving lick from it, then clutched his erection in it. Hunkering down over the dying creature, he stroked himself hard and fast, and his climax came to him in a remarkably fast time, before all life left Leon's squirming, hemorrhaging body. He splattered his jism across the blood-soaked plane of the cuntboy's stomach, then leaned down low, planting a kiss on the dead fennec's lips.