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"You two're related? He's awful cyoot! Ah never woulda guessed."

"What, you sayin' I'm not cute?"

The unfamiliar voice with the syrupy drawl laughed like a Southern Belle. "Well hayull no. You're awful cute too! Just ain't as cute as he is."

Jericho grunted. He barked over his shoulder, "I can hear you two." And he added in a mumble, as if he didn't intend for them to hear him but obviously did, "Dicks."

"Well that's fucking great," Ricky said, clapping his hands together. "You're always a better lay when you know it's coming."

Jericho took off his headphones and spun around in his chair. He dragged a hoof on the carpet to slow himself, facing his cousin Ricky and the unfamiliar friend he'd brought along. The huffy black stallion with his Egyptian cum goth trappings thought Ricky's friend was very cute, though he had no intention of letting it be known.

"I'm not sleeping with you again, Ricky," said Jericho, firmly. "And especially not with you, stranger."

"Name's Desmond, cutie." He said his name with such looseness that it came out Deyzmund. If he had been wearing a cowboy hat, Jericho thought, he would have certainly tipped it. He most definitely looked wrong in skinny jeans and a t-shirt that said MY OTHER RIDE IS YOUR MOM. No, Desmond sounded like someone who belonged in a white suit with a glass of sweet tea. A pretty, southern fox (with raccoon markings adding a certain flair) like him didn't belong with peckerhead Ricky.

"Yes, well. Desmond." Jericho handled the handsome name as if it were excrement. "Whatever it is my cousin's told you, he's misled you. Goodbye."

As Jericho turned around again, Desmond shot Ricky an unsure smile. The twink of a stallion winked as if to say everything's going as planned.

Jericho knew exactly what was coming. He went back to watching the visualization in his music player, doing his best to look unaffected and uninterested, but his body was readying itself for sex. His penis stirred under both a thong and black boyshorts. His nipples stiffened beneath fishnet better suited to a rave than listening to music at home at two o'clock in the afternoon. Then he felt their hands on his biceps, Ricky's firm and knowing, Desmond's cuddly and soft and unsure. Oh, he already liked Desmond a lot.

One of them took off the headphones, setting them down on the desk. Jericho didn't know who it was because his eyes were closed. "I said no," he bitched.

"Sure seems like yer sayin' yes to me," Desmond cooed. "Ah kin smell it on ya', cutiepie."

"Gonna smell something else on him real soon," Ricky snickered. He peeled up Jericho's fishnet. Desmond was much more direct, going for the crotch. Jericho bit his lower lip and grumbled.

Sissies, every one of them, but Desmond and Ricky pooled their meager strength to lift Jericho up and lay him on his back. Moving swiftly, hungrily, they molested him. They pulled off his shorts; yanked down his thong; left his fishnet exactly where it was. His thin and ineffective garments were no obstacles to even their uncoordinated effort, but not helping was Jericho's utter lack of a struggle. He sighed and scoffed, uttering little discouragements, letting them know just how bored and unimpressed he was. Even when Desmond nosed under his balls and began to rim him and Ricky sucked him off, he was nothing but blase.

The attention was wonderful, even if Jericho gave no clues aside from his utter compliance. When Desmond ceased his loping laps and pulled back his snout, however, the facade tellingly cracked when he groused: "Oh, done already?"

Desmond giggled with that diabetes-inducing sweetness again. He patted the horse on the thigh. Ricky was still sucking, eagerly lost in his own little world. "Well, if ya' want me to kiss yer butt, ya' gotta let me know I'm doin' the right thing, sugar..."

"Ah." Jericho laced his fingers over his belly. "I see."

The foxcoon sniggered. It was decidedly less gentlemanly than his warm laugh. He flopped back only long enough to get out of his jeans and briefs. "Ya' know, Jericho, yer like m'sister."

Ricky came up for air and started to laugh. Spittle gleamed on his lips until he wiped them on the back of his arm. "You kidding me? Your sister's a fucking slut. Ain't nothing cold about her."

"Well that's what I was a'gettin' to," Desmond said, not ruffled by Ricky's words. He got up on his knees, a small and uncut penis jutting eagerly from his loins. Jericho thought it was cute - no derision whatsoever. "She's a slut. Yeah. Absolutely," he laughed. "An' that's what's remindin' me of'r at this per-ticular moment."

Thrilled, Jericho said with a flash of anger, "I am not a slut!"

"Yeah. You a-a-are. An' that's why yer gonna wrap one of them right purdy hands 'round my pecker. C'mon, purdyboy."

Jericho did. He found himself amazed that he could be so attracted to somebody with such a small penis. "And what about you, Ricky? Going to pile on since your little friend here has paved the way?"

"Well, as a matter of fact!" Ricky chirped, and he yanked down his gym shorts. Fat black horsemeat sprung out from under the waistband, big and matching balls underneath it, the curves smooth of hair and wrinkles but pocked with angrily throbbing veins. He flopped his dong on Jericho's breast. "Hey Desmond, what do you think? Four, maybe five of yours would make one of mine, huh?"

Pleased by the dichotomy of his two assailants' sizes, Jericho masturbated them with skillful strokes tailored to their lengths. Ricky's was long and strong and very familiar from countless adventurous trysts throughout puberty and into adulthood. He was rough with it, tugging and squeezing. But Desmond was so small and cute, his minuscule penis something to be cherished - and was that a blonde bush? Jericho was completely in love with the little southern gentleman. He pleasured the foxcoon with no more than a thumb and a forefinger and used this fine control to lump on the affection. His own penis throbbed, betraying his true feelings. They had never been much of a secret in the first place.

"Mmm, well, yer a'what, twelve inches?" Desmond murmured. He rubbed his chin consideringly. "Twelve d'vided by three-an'-a-half... well, I think the number comes out to three-an'-a-half isself, roundin' up a lil' bit." They chuckled at each other. Jericho was shocked that Desmond was just so small. Weren't such tiny cocks only found on stammering, bashful virgins?

Desmond and Ricky leaned over Jericho and their lips met in full view of him. They smooched and suckled and made their tongues wrestle - the same dirty, dirty tongues which had so recently been on Jericho's body and which, in his opinion, belonged there again.

Lips pressed to Ricky's, precum webbing through Jericho's slim fingers, Desmond murmured, "Mmm, yer cousin's real good with a dick. S'where ya' learned yer strokin' from?"

Ricky gyrated against his cousin's jerking. He didn't have to look down to know Jericho was pouting and blushing. His fingers played across Desmond's body, rubbing his nipples through the tacky silkscreen legend on his breast. "I'm a natural at jerking guys off, I didn't learn it from Jericho. I mean, shit." He nipped Desmond's fine black jowl and laughed. "Who do you think taught him?"

"Muh'most sincerest of apologies," Desmond cooed, and he glanced down at Jericho, shooting the gothy twink a grin. "Well, hell, he don't do too bad a job. Guess them sloppy handies y'always gimme at the movie theater's just proof that your student done surpassed ya'."

"Fuck you and your accent too, Desmond."

The fox laughed. He forced another kiss on Ricky, pushing his lips into the horse's until he reciprocated. They made out again, making a vibrant display of it this time, suckling and slobbering and moaning like the utter faggot whores they were.

Jericho drank them in, his own penis aching and spitting precum on his belly, fingers working their hard dicks eagerly, skilfully, even needfully. He loved to be stretched by Ricky's, to feel that huge black flare rearranging his insides while he just grunted and huffed about it, but he wanted to feel Desmond's inside of him. He couldn't recall ever receiving one so tiny.

"It's so small," Jericho muttered, thinking aloud. "Why can't yours be so little, Ricky?"

Nearly embracing Ricky, Desmond eased off and laughed nervously. "What, ya' think my pecker's tiny?"

"He doesn't think that." Ricky smiled. "He outright said it is. It's like your cock missed the memo when you started puberty."

Desmond bristled, but he was grinning. His ears splayed flat. "Git fuckin' fuck't, pony! I'll slap a saddle on yer ass and ride ya' all the way to th' fuckin' border!"

Something interesting was happening: they were both still hard. If anything, fussing was making them throb harder. Jericho wasn't too surprised; he knew how much his cousin liked to slap and tickle. He'd heard horror stories about Ricky's tenure in some vicious rock singer's road crew. What was more exciting was learning that the cute stranger was a cantankerous fuck as well. Jericho was tempted to roll over and offer it up almost enough to override his natural desire to be as difficult as possible. He settled for the next best thing and masturbated the two of them as eagerly as possible. Their handsome dicks slid through his fingers, gliding on beds of their own precum. The fox and the stallion were awkwardly grinding, shoving their members into Jericho's fingers.

"Your big ass wouldn't fit on my back." Ricky snickered and licked his lips. "Might wanna lay off the grits and deep-fried Twinkies. Inbred fuckin' redneck."

Desmond, sneering like a demon, grabbed Ricky faster than Jericho could see; though admittedly, he flinched when the foxcoon lashed out. He pulled Ricky's hair and made to wrench on a nipple, but the stallion - shrieking and incredibly turned-on by the struggle - grabbed Desmond's wrists in both of his. "Ow! Owww...! No hair-pulling, you cheap fuck! Ow! Ow, god dammit--, ahh!"

The fox laughed wickedly. He bucked into Jericho's hand and a shudder passed through his body. He wasn't far off now. He never was when the fighting started up. Sex with Ricky was the primary cause of all his bruises. "Ah'm about t'jizz on yer cousin," he bleated. "Imma let off yer hair, but if you go fer mine...!"

"Yeah, yeah! Just let go!" Ricky groaned. He was hard as ever in spite of the pain in his scalp. It put tears in the corners of his eyes but he was unbearably pent-up. "Fucker, let go-o-o!"

Desmond did, and he flinched back, blushing and panting, tongue starting to flop out. He didn't let himself fall all the way, however; he didn't want to slip out of Jericho's fingers. When Ricky lunged at him he was about to make that sacrifice anyway, but Ricky only yanked him back and smashed lips with him. It was such a hard collision of faces that the foxcoon felt pain blossom in his nose. His eyes watered and he yelped into Ricky's hungrily kissing maw.

Desmond suddenly came, his body lit up with violent pleasure. His small penis spat on Jericho's breast, ruining yet another in a long line of fishnet tops of his. A blush staining his cheeks, Jericho purposefully aimed Desmond's cock at his face, savoring the nasty mess of the cum blasting across his handsome snout, groaning in outward disgust as he let himself be painted.

"Oh gawd, ohmigawwwd," Ricky blurted, the words made into an unintelligible mush by the slobbery, deep kiss. He squeezed Desmond's flanks until the foxcoon's skin started to bruise, and he came, blasting off like a rocket across Jericho's pouting mug; Jericho had preemptively pointed Ricky's meat at his face specifically so he wouldn't waste its precious mess like he had Desmond's.

Jericho kept pulling the throbbing dicks of his cousin and the foxcoon, milking them for every last drop. His own penis ached, asshole in dire need of breeding and seeding, but he put aside the concern and took care to put his tsundere tendencies first and foremost.

"Are you two barbarians finally done?" he scoffed, making a show of delicately wiping their semen off his face. It was threaded through his fur and in his eyelashes and nearly in the cup of an ear. "I need a shower now, thanks to you two. Inconsiderate bastards."

"Sorry, Jeri," Ricky mumbled, decoupling from Desmond shakily. He flopped back, thudding on the floor.

Desmond was a little more stable. He looked sheepishly at the black, red and white hairs of Ricky's threaded through his fingers. "That was re-e-eally somethin'..." He uttered a laugh. "Whatcha doin' next weekend, sugarpie?"

Jericho glared at Desmond. With cheeks cherry-red and cock throbbing, he spat: "Next weekend? Oh, no, no, and fuck no. You are making this up to me tonight." He stood and stared down at the foxcoon, sticky hands on narrow hips. "I'm going to go wash off this mess you felt the need to paint me with. When I get back, I'm going to lie on my belly, you're going to rim me, and then you'll try to fuck me with that little dick of yours. We stop only when I am satisfied. I don't care how many times you have to squirt if I last forever or how blue your balls get if I'm done in five minutes."

Before Desmond could say a word (although the word would have been eager and affirmative), Jericho skulked off. Soon the shower could be heard.

Ricky smiled and nudged Desmond's shoulder. "He must really like you." He kissed Desmond's lips and stood up, scrounging together his clothes. "I'm gonna go bang your sister. You two have fun."