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This is a sort of alternate reality version of an existing story that begins the same way and is available elsewhere in non-sexual format. Furthermore, I apologize for the abrupt ending, but I have a sequel planned.

Ernie and Herman Grapple are copyright 1990 Walt Disney.

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Ernest Lloyd Grapple, "Ernie" to his friends, shifted uneasily as he stood in the parlor of the Grapple family's home waiting for the nervous photographer to finish setting his camera up. The hyena boy's hair was gelled, neatly combed and parted to match that of his father, Herman Davis Grapple, who stood beside him, and both hyenas wore business suits.

Ernie's, though tailored exclusively for his small frame, made him feel uncomfortable. His father on the other hand looked right at home in his his with his pince-nez perched impeccably on the end of his snout. The elder Grapple stood impassively, like a statue, occasionally glancing at his eternally fidgeting son.

"Stop squirming," Herman said after a moment, quietly. If the photographer heard he didn't make it known.

"Dad," Ernie whined, "this suit itches!"

"Well if you would sit still it'll be over in a moment and then you can take it off," his father said, sounding exasperated.

"Why's that jerk takin' so long anyway?" Ernie wondered aloud, not caring if the photographer heard. He noticed that the man, a canine of fairly generic breed as far as Ernie could tell, was using an antique style camera mounted on a wooden tripod as opposed to the more modern ones he'd seen used by news photographers. His father, he knew, had insisted on this, and although Ernie knew why, he asked, just to be annoying. He excelled at annoying adults, he realized.

"It's for Miss Rockefeather," Herman said, his voice a little quieter. His usually stoic face twisted into the tiniest smile at the thought of his future wife. "I thought it would be nice if--"

"All right," said the photographer, interrupting, "it's all ready!"

Herman's small smile disappeared and he stood up ramrod straight like a man about to be executed by firing squad. Ernie mimicked him, but, just to be a tart, smiled just the slightest. The photographer glared at him, but took the picture anyway. Poof! Smoke filled the air which the photographer waved away. He began disassembling the camera as Herman walked over and began discussing the development of the picture, which, Ernie knew, would take quite some time. His father had explained the antique process to him.

Miss Rockefeather, or Laura Spelman Rockefeather, as the widow of the obscenely weathly John D. Rockefeather, whom Herman had met quite by accident at a party held at the Spruce Moose. The precise details of the meeting were unknown to Ernie beyond the fact that the actual restaurant no longer existed as such, but, apparently, it had been love at first sight. Since then Miss Rockefeather had been to the Grapple house many times for lunch and dinner, and the Grapples to the Rockefeather home as well, and, quite suddenly in the last month, Herman had proposed to her.

This threw Ernie for a loop. Miss Rockefeather was, to put it mildly, ancient. And yet his father doted on her as if she were a twentysomething broad from a Hollywood picture. He didn't quite understand it, but he was old enough to know that Herman was going to marry Miss Rockefeather, and that she would then become his stepmother, and, furthermore, that he had absolutely no say in the matter.

Ernie in the meantime immediately unbuttoned and removed his suit coat and threw it aside where it landed on a sofa. He began wrestling with his bowtie and grunted but couldn't seem to get it unknotted. Glancing over he saw his father sigh and then walking over after finishing with the photographer, Herman gently assisted his son in taking the tie off.

"I don't know why you have to be so uncooperative all the time," Herman mumbled.

"Hey, I sat still for the stupid picture, didn't I?" Ernie retorted.

Herman scowled. "But as usual you complain, complain, complain! Like it's so much to ask for you to be in a photograph for your future stepmother!"

He finished undoing the tie and Ernie took it off.

"There. Your torment is over for the day," Herman said. "Now run along and play or something, I have work to do."

With that, Herman turned and disappeared from the parlor, headed to his at-home office. Ernie gathered up the discarded tie and coat and took them to his bedroom which was filled with toys and comic books, mostly of the superhero Bullethead. A poster of the helmeted hero was plastered to the wall beside Ernie's bed.

Bullethead was Ernie's favorite comic book hero of all time. Being a fairly scrawny hyena with a portly hyena for a father, Ernie admired the muscular Bullethead and also liked the fact he lacked powers like most of the other comic book heroes. He fought evil with just his fists and his jetpack.

This was a product of Ernie's upbringing. He needed a strong father figure with which to identify, and, it seemed, Bullethead would do for the time being.

Ernest Grapple had been only five when his mother, Theresa Grapple, had died of typhoid fever. Ernie barely remembered her although he knew what she looked like. His father kept a framed portrait of her on the fireplace mantle. Herman Grapple had been forced to raise their only son alone. An arduous task for a single parent, especially one so heavily involved in work.

Herman's efforts to divide his time between his work and his son had been unsuccessful to say the least. The day-to-day runnings of Grapple Electric consumed most of Herman's time so that even when he was at home, he was in his office doing paperwork and making phone calls. Uninterested in business matters, Ernie found it difficult to look up to his father. Thus, he turned to comic books for people to idolize.

Ernie flung the tie and jacket onto his bed. Quickly he changed clothes, putting on his usual outfit of blue shirt with purple pants and suspenders. Then he grabbed his "gear," which to the untrained eye seemed to consist of mostly junk stuffed into a backpack, and ran out. He shoved past the photographer nearly knocking him down as he carried his camera tripod out to his car, and then jumped onto his bicycle.

If Herman ever knew where it was his son went all of the time he would've been furious. He and his friends had a clubhouse near the old airplane junkyard near the outskirts of inland Cape Suzette. It was an unfitting place for any child to play in, much less a Grapple, Herman had said. And the few times Ernie had invited his buddies back to the Grapple house, his father had ignored them completely.

He skidded his bike to a halt near the clearing where the clubhouse was, a large boxlike structure in a tree made of plywood and airplane and car parts.

Ernie liked to boast that he had designed it, but it had actually been Kit Cloudkicker. Kit's intimate knowledge of airplanes was one of the few reasons Ernie hung out with him. Kit, Ernie knew, was the friend his father would've approved of the least, being from an orphanage and all. The the kid's mechanical skills outweighed Ernie's own, and so the hyena kept him around. Even if he admittedly didn't like Bullethead.

None of the other Jungle Aces were here, it seemed. Dismounting, Ernie put his kickstand into place and wandered over to the base of the tree. Cupping his hands he called up.

"Skip? Orville? Humphrey? Kit?" Then after a moment of nervous uncertainty, he added, "Oscar?"

No answer. Amazing. Not even the over-eager Oscar Vandersnoot, possibly the one boy in the bunch Herman Grapple would've approved of his son having for a friend, was here! Where was everybody?

Shifting the weight of the backpack, Ernie kicked at the dirt and scowled. Oh well, he figured he would just wait for them in the treehouse.

He had just started to climb up when he heard a gruff voice say, "Hey, kid!"

Startled, Ernie turned to see who had spoken, losing his balance and falling hard on his butt. Shaking the dizziness away he watched as some burly men in yellow hardhats came running over. A dumptruck and bulldozer he hadn't noticed before sat parked behind them. Construction workers. Not an unusual sight. Numerous times, workers came by the junkyard to either deposit or collect scrap. Their motors weren't running, which was why Ernie had noticed them until just now.

"You okay, kid?" asked one of the men, a Great Dane, helping him up by the arm.

"I'm fine," Ernie grumbled, jerking his arm away.

"Sorry if we startled ya," said the Great Dane. "But, uh, you gotta get outta here."

"Whaddaya mean?" Ernie said, defensive. "Can't you read?" He pointed up at a handpainted wooden sign nailed to the clubhouse that said Jungle Aces on it. "This tree is the property of the Jungle Aces!"

The workers exchanged bemused looks. "Another one," said the second worker.

The third, and biggest, worker, a bulldog who appeared to be the foreman, put his hands on his hips and glared down at Ernie. "Look, kid, I think it's you who can't read! C'mere."

They took Ernie over to where a large sign had been obscured by the parked bulldozer. It identified the empty lot as now belonging to the Miniversal Corporation.

"What?" Ernie gasped.

"Yeah, sorry, kid," said the Great Dane. "But you an' your little pals're gonna hafta build yer little clubhouse someplace else."

The bulldog foreman was not at all sympathetic. He glowered angrily. Apparently, the others had resisted being ejected. "And that means you've got to vamoose, like right now! This whole place is gonna be the site for the new Miniversal Industrial Park! Now get!" He jerked his thumb at the nearby road.

Ernie blinked. His lack of knowledge in economics made him question the sanity of tearing down a scrapyard to build an office building. But nevermind that! These jerks were gonna tear down his tree! Growling, he lashed out with one foot and kicked the foreman in the shin. The big canine yelped and jumped up and down.

"You little son of a bitch!" he snarled, and, after recovering, lunged at Ernie.

Wow, he was one to talk! The boy easily dodged his big hands and Ernie took off like a shot in the direction opposite the workers, towards the fence. A glance thrown over his shoulder revealed the workers in hot pursuit, the foreman in front. Ernie skidded to a halt at the fence, and, stooping down, grabbed a loose board and moved it aside, chuckling to himself as his thin frame easily slid through. The burly adults would never be able to squeeze through to follow him.

There was just one problem. Ernie didn't actually get through. He found himself stuck, thanks to the backpack which snagged on the boards and refused all efforts to squeeze it through. Panicking, Ernie struggled and pulled, but the pack wouldn't budge. He had two choices, his mind racing as his pursuers drew ever nearer. He could pull out, and try to escape some other way, or remove the pack and leave it behind.

Before he could decide he felt a powerful hand on his shoulder, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He cried out as he was jerked backwards and lifted off his feet like a ragdoll, legs bicycling uselessly in the air. He found himself staring down into the smirking face of the bulldog construction foreman, the other workers gathered around and chuckling.

"Well, boys," said the foreman, "we got ourselves a trouble-makin' little brat. What should we do with 'im?"

The muscular Great Dane, the one who had initially shown sympathy for Ernie, smiled a crooked smile as he looked the struggling hyena boy's form up and down, his arms crossed. He nudged the foreman with his elbow.

"If you ask me, I say we teach 'im a little lesson about respectin' his elders."

The foreman stared at his subordinate for a moment, but then smiled and nodded. He slowly lowered Ernie to the ground, but didn't release him. Ernie attempted to pull away, but the big dog's grip was like an iron vice.

To the other workers, the foreman said, "All right, boys, take five. Me an' Dave here are gonna teach this kid a thing or two."

The workers nodded and dispersed, all save the Great Dane, Dave. Then, the foreman dragged Ernie over behind the bulldozer, Dave following. Once they were behind that vehicle, they were totally hidden from the sight of anyone driving past on the nearby road. Ernie was liking this less and less. What were they going to do? Give him a spanking? The foreman shoved him roughly against the side of the dozer, and let go of his shirt.

"Don't get any ideas about runnin' away, kid," he snarled, bearing his teeth.

He forcibly removed Ernie's backpack. This was tossed aside, landing in the dirt with a dull thunk. Then Ernie was spun around so his back was against the bulldozer, the two men standing over him. Eye-level with their waists as he was, Ernie noticed with some worry that both men had rather large and obvious bulges in the fronts of their bluejeans. They stank of sweat and musk and the aroma filled Ernie's nostrils, making the hyena feel dizzy.

"You wanna do the honors or should I?" the foreman asked of Dave.

Wordlessly, Dave stepped forward and knelt down in front of the boy. Although his smirk revealed decidedly perverted intentions, the kind look in the big dog's face never left. His big hands reached up and caressed Ernie's chest, then slid down, over his heaving tummy, and, to Ernie's horror, undid his suspenders! The boy opened his mouth to scream but then the foreman's sweaty hand clamped over it.

"Scream, kid, and you ain't gonna leave here alive," he said. "We got shovels and a lot of places to bury trash if you know what I mean?"

"Oh, cut it out, Saunders," Dave said, looking annoyed. To Ernie, he said softly, "We ain't gonna do no such thing. Mr. Saunders here just likes scarin' people is all."

Saunders, the bulldog, snorted derisively. Regardless of Dave's reassurances, Ernie wasn't prepared to risk their wrath and so when the foreman's hand left his mouth, the young hyena didn't try to scream again.

His suspenders undone, Ernie shook with dread as Dave's big but gentle hands undressed him. Without the suspenders, his purple pants slid down his thin bony legs to pool at his feet, revealing his underwear of choice, a pair of low-cut tightey-whities. Before unbuttoning the shirt, Dave gently cupped Ernie's small boyhood through the briefs, making the boy gasp.

Dave's large fingers had some difficulty with the shirt buttons. "Would you mind, little fella?" he asked.

Ernie shook his head, not to refuse, but to say, no, he didn't mind. He was going to do whatever these two told him, as long as it meant getting out of here. His shaking hands slowly undid the shirt's buttons and, when it hung loosely and open around him, Dave did the rest, slowly undraping the hyena boy's frame. Gripping Ernie about the waist, he hoisted him up, out of the pulled-down pants, and sat him on the tread of the bulldozer.

"You sit right there," Dave said.

Ernie nodded and watched as the two grown-ups undressed. Their bodies looked about the way he expected them to. Dave was as muscled and brawny as the heroes in Ernie's comic books, while Saunders was very stocky with a sagging beer gut. Both men's cocks were erect, and quite large, about seven inches both of them, unsurprising, given they were both adult canines. Then Dave's big hands were on Ernie again, his thick fingers sliding under the waistband of his briefs.

"Lift up your legs," the big Great Dane instructed.

Ernie did so, and Dave pulled the briefs right off in one swift movement, leaving the boy nude. They didn't bother with his shoes and socks. Ernie cringed away but was scooped up into Dave's arms. The Great Dane slowly drew the thin boy into a gentle kiss, and then handed him over to Saunders.

The bulldog was decidedly less gentle than his subordinate. Again, Ernie was thrust against the side of the dozer. He felt Saunders' hands gripping his shoulders and tears welled up in his eyes as he knew what was coming. He silently prayed for any intervention, anything, even for his father, but nothing happened. Nothing, except that he felt the bulbous head of Saunders' cock rooting around his pert young rear. His tail was seized and raised up roughly.

The cock slid between Ernie's ass cheeks and the boy gasped, whimpering. His discomfort was ignored entirely. Hawking up some spit, the bulldog spat between the boy's cheeks and let the saliva dribble over his virgin anus, using his cockhead to spread it around. He chuckled softly and slowly pushed forwards. Ernie's rear end resisted as much as it could, but it was like trying to stop a freight train. Ernie squirmed first in discomfort and then in growing pain as Saunders' cock penetrated him.

The squeal the hyena loosed in response to this was quite girlish, and although Saunders seemed to enjoy it, he grabbed Ernie's discarded briefs and stuffed them roughly into the boy's bucktoothed mouth to muffle his cries. Then the rape began in earnest. Ernie's smaller body was wracked powerfully by Saunders' thrusting hips, the bulldog's sweaty beer gut rubing over Ernie's bare back. It was all Ernie could do to avoid his head being slammed against the metal side of the bulldozer, so strong were the foreman's thrusts.

Ernie's head whipped around to where Dave was standing, his watery eyes silently pleading with the Great Dane to help him. Instead, he observed Dave leaning against the bumper of the dumptruck, slowly masturbating to the sight of his employer raping a child. Ernie cried silently, tears streaming down his cheeks at his humiliation and he averted his gaze from Dave, instead staring directly at the side of the dozer even as he was violated up against it.

And then as soon as it had begun it ended. With a final deep thrust, Saunders buried himself in the little hyena, and arched his back, growling, as he nutted within Ernie. After the pounding he'd just been given, the warm wetness filling his rear was quite unexpectedly soothing to Ernie, who rested his head against the dozer, panting hotly through his nose.

"He's a tight one," Saunders said, pulling out of Ernie.

Ernie squeezed his eyes shut. Thick cum dribbled from his well-used ass and down his bare legs. Now Dave came up to him. Ernie shuddered at the thought of another pounding. He noticed the Great Dane had a length of thick rope, and backed away, but was seized by the arm and pulled back. He was spun so his back was to Dave, and his arms roughly yanked back behind him, and he whimpered as he felt the rope being used to bind his wrists together tightly.

Dave gently turned the boy around and scooped him up by the armpits. Holding Ernie thus, he pressed him up against the dozer and slid his dick into him as easy as pie. Ernie just sort of slid down over it, the bulldog's love juice lubing his ass nicely.

Under Dave's guidance, Ernie wrapped his thin legs 'round the canine's muscled torso. He started bucking his hips slowly. He wasn't as sex-starved as Saunders it seemed, and rather than another rape this seemed to Ernie more like making love. Not that it made him feel any less violated. As he fucked the boy, Dave showed his appreciation for Ernie's boyish looks by kissing and nuzzling his face and neck, and pinching his little nipples until he squealed.

He seemed to like this, and smirked, squeezing each nipple between thumb and forefinger and twisting it mercilessly. Ernie squirmed and screamed muffledly into his gag, and his young cock stiffened. As befitting his age it was quite tiny and unimpressive, but cute as the dickens in Dave's opinion. He carressed it and Ernie thought for a moment it too was going to be squeezed, but Dave spared him that.

As the rape continued, both boy and adult were soon quite sweaty, Dave moreso than Ernie. Droplets appeared on Ernie's forehead, chest and arms, to say nothing of his crotch and between his ass cheeks. Dave by comparison sweated as though someone had turned on a waterworks inside of him. Rivulets of musky wetness dribbled off of the muscular canine body, down the sleek, beefy torso, dripping onto Ernie to mix with the boy's own sweat. Held close to Dave as he was, it wasn't long before the only smell Ernie knew was that of man-sweat.

Finally the big worker hilted and his body locked up. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and threw his head back. He came powerfully, filling Ernie completely. Ernie barely reacted, just weakly squirmed. He was too worn out and sore. Slowly Dave came down from his high and bent down, licking the sweat and tears off of the boy's face and, removing the gag, kissing him forcefully on the lips, allowing Ernie to taste their combined sweat.

He extracted himself from the thin body and slowly lowered Ernie to the ground. Ernie wobbled unsteadily, and Dave had to support him. Much to the boy's relief he undid the ropes binding his wrists. Then both he and Saunders the foreman dressed themselves.

"There, now," said Dave, "I hope you've learned your lesson, kiddo."

Ernie nodded, sniffling. He hesitantly dressed himself, then grabbed his backpack, and took off like a shot. None of the workers attempted to pursue him. Behind him he heard their laughter. He didn't even bother with his bike and simply ran home.