FSE

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--Fresh off the Bus

Lars winced at the smell of bus exhaust and tightened up his coat. It was bitter in Chicago, colder than your fuck'n bitch mom's heart, as dear old dad would have put it. That was usually followed by turn up the heat and get me a beer, you little shitass.

The red panda smiled placidly despite the miserable cold and the remembrances of papa. The doors of the bus hissed shut behind him, and the vehicle bumbled off into the maze of the city.

Lars looked around at the local fauna, streets filled with blackened slush, and an endless expanse of buildings and ghettos promising more mischief than perhaps even he could bear. Then he looked ahead at the hotel _she _was staying at.

He had a brief conversation with the receptionist who tried her best to convince him that as he was homeless and broke, and therefore didn't actually belong in the Hilton. It was only with great chagrin that she acknowledged him as a guest in the penthouse suite.

When Lars signed in, he unsubtly pocketed the silver pen she had handed him and ignored her mild glare. "This place looks super fancy," he said amicably enough. "Do you have, like, a McDonald's around here? I'm pretty starved." To illustrate the point, he pulled open his surplus army coat and peeled up his t-shirt, which was thin and pocked with holes from age. Its silkscreened Nike logo was only a shadow on the fabric. His concave belly greeted the mortified receptionist; ribs jutted under his canvas-taut flesh with galling prominence.

"Oh, yes. You must be very hungry," the receptionist evenly said, her lupine features softening into pity. "I'll send someone up to your suite immediately. I, hmm, I imagine your roommate can cover any costs."

"Kahnso? Oh yeah," Lars chuckled, lowering his shirt. "Yeah, she's loaded like fu-u-uck. So, uh, this elevator? Over here?"

"Yes, mister-."

"Oh, hey, just call me Lars!"

The wolf gave him her patient, falsely polite smile reserved for the most troublesome guests she couldn't throw out. "Of course. Yes, that elevator. Right to the top. Don't get off on any other floors. Please."

Lars was on his way and the wolf felt sorry for Kahnso, even if she was an irritating prima donna with - in this receptionist's humble opinion - a deadly taste for illicit substances. Then the next guest came into the hotel, and she forgot about Lars and Kahnso.

--The Hotel Room

Kahnso was pulling the buckles tight on her boots when the elevator politely dinged, then opened its doors. Her paranoid eyes shot to the elevator, and her gaze softened only nominally when she saw that it was Lars. "Hey. Good timing, shithead."

The panda grinned, swishing his ringed tail. "Glad to see you too, baby. It's been, what, a week?"

"Yeah," Kahnso muttered. She was bent over now, and her heart-shaped ass popped in her leather pants. Lars was about to give one or both of her cheeks a loving beep when he saw the vixen pull a handgun from under the bed.

"Jesus Christ," Lars said, backpedaling. "Is that thing loaded?"

Kahnso popped out the magazine, showed Lars the gleaming brass, "Duh," and shoved it back in.

Lars couldn't help himself. He started to grin again, and he began to get an erection. "That's really hot. Are you like, gonna put that to my head while I rail you?"

Confused disgust nested on the vixen's face. "Jesus, you're weird." She tucked the pistol into her fur-lined bomber jacket's inner pocket where it made an obvious bulge against her abdomen. Lars really liked the part where she opened her furry jacket. She was wearing a sports bra which indeed made her tits decent, but did nothing to cover the two rows of three nipples each trailing down her muscular belly. They were all stiff with excitement. "Don't take your coat off. We're going out."

The panda didn't hide his disappointment. "But-, but food. And then sex. You said you were gonna lick my ass."

Kahnso started to explain the situation, getting as far as, "We've gotta go and-," before the elevator dinged again. This time the passenger was a sober-faced marten, stooping his exceptionally long body very far to push the food cart he brought along.

"Good evening sir, ma'am. A meal for," he paused, seeming to find this casual address painful, "Lars. Dinner is served." He lifted the cover to expose an enormous hamburger. The burger was expertly made, stacked high with an imposing beef patty at least two inches thick, a slice of tomato, and crispy lettuce. "We were unsure what your tastes were, mister-, Lars. Apologies."

"Oh, shit. That looks great. Thanks." He grabbed the plate off the tray and sat down at the bed, tearing into his food as if he hadn't eaten in a month.

The marten watched Lars for a few seconds, and then he looked to Kahnso, whose vacant expression suggested that this wasn't part of her script. Eventually, the vixen shelled out fifty dollars for the marten who then politely took his leave.

Kahnso watched Lars eat with her paws on her hips, head slightly cocked, teased hair dangling like the foliage of a hanging plant. "The fuck's this shit?" she managed to ask in perfect exasperation. "I have shit to do, places to be, and you're packing food in your mouth?"

In mid-bite, Lars looked at Kahnso defensively. "Whargh't?" he asked around a mouthful of food. Grease dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His army jacket caught it instead of the comforter. He swallowed heavily, then said, "I told the chick at the desk - the wolf with the really sweet jugs - that I was starving. Or I might have shown her how skinny I am. Or something." He went back to his burger happily, leaving Kahnso to simply wait.

Lars finished and left the empty, grease-specked plate on the bed. He exited the suite with Kahnso, following her without another word.

--Across Town

As the private elevator hummed down to the lobby, Lars sidled up to the imposing, stern-faced vixen. He had his most charming smile on, set to its maximum radiance. "Hey. Nice to see you again, baby."

"Mmn."

"You happy to see me or what? Where are we goin', anyway?"

Kahnso shifted her eyes to look at Lars. She pulled her jacket's halves a little tighter together. "You talk too much, shithead. Paying you to be cute and smelly, not for conversation."

Another guy might have recoiled in offense, but not Lars. He was either too optimistic or stupid to be taken aback. He slipped a chummy arm around her middle, leaning into her warm, muscular body. "Bet we're going somewhere dangerous," he effused, then paused to pick a piece of gristle out of his teeth with his tongue. He swallowed it. "Like, are we gonna go-?"

"Lars, shut the _fuck _up," Kahnso said blandly. "Just... shut the fuck _up. _'Kay? Please?"

"Yeah, sure," Lars said without an ounce of ill will. Smiling still, he squeezed her closer and cooed.

The elevator let them out into the lobby and the lobby let them down into the parking garage. Kahnso's silver Land Rover waited in a spot not quite cordoned off, but noticeably removed from the other, lesser vehicles in the rest of the garage. She climbed in with Lars and reaffirmed the shut-the-fuck-up rule when he started to ask about their destination again.

Night had fallen on the city before the armed vixen and her clueless boytoy arrived at their destination. Lars welcomed the change of pace; an hour of driving without any music or even conversation had left him stir-crazy, not unlike a small child on a road trip.

"Get out," Kahnso hissed, "and keep your mouth shut. Play along or I'll blow your brains out myself."

Voices of self-preservation the panda had nearly forgotten yammered in his mind, trying to tell him something despite their atrophy. He got out of the SUV with a mild tremble in his legs, and he rejoined the vixen at the nose of the vehicle. Instinctively, he pressed closer to her tall, unyielding figure for protection and warmth; the lot they had pulled into was wide open save for spindly weeds and rusted dump truck rims. Icy gusts passed through Lars' shabby clothing like knives. He wanted to ask, not entirely jokingly, if Kahnso had room for two in her bomber jacket.

Five minutes passed, heightening Lars' unease into something greater. A second SUV pulled into the lot around Kahnso's Land Rover, and although its windows were tinted black as coal, Lars could feel the eyes inside staring at him.

Lars felt the terrible thrill of danger. This was serious shit. His paws slid around the vixen's body, brushing the butt of the gun through her jacket. Its shape was provocative in a way her breasts and hips could never be.

The second SUV, an ashy Ford, pulled a loping u-turn in the lot and stopped facing the Land Rover about three yards away. Its front doors swung open in synchronization. From the driver's side, a frightfully muscular polar bear in track pants and a Berkeley hoodie. Opposite him was a skunk, smaller and thinner, wearing dirt-stained blue jeans and a bomber jacket just like Kahnso's. The sawed-off shotgun tucked into the jacket was purposefully obvious.

"Here to cut a deal?" Kahnso asked them. Her scratchy voice carried easily on the dry, cool wind.

"Said you'd be coming alone," the bear growled, sinking his paws into his hip pockets. He nodded his square snout at Lars. "Who is the ringtail?"

"Bimbo arm candy. Mama needs her boytoy." The vixen patted Lars' head, smooched the bridge of his muzzle. "So don't you mind this beautiful boy one bit. It's me you're here to deal with."

The bear exchanged a look with his skunk. It said far more than a simple glance should have been able to. The skunk went back into the SUV and took a combination lock briefcase off of the back row of seats. As he opened it on the hood of the smoothly idly vehicle, the bear walked slowly across the lot.

Kahnso moved to meet the bear, and dragged Lars along. Legs made crisscrossing shadows in the beams of the headlights like swaying scrub trees.

"Carrying?" the bear asked.

Kahnso pulled out the side of her jacket, flashing six stiff nipples and the polymer grip of a handgun. "And you?"

"I find guns distasteful," the bear said. "Your nipples, however, are not."

The fox snickered. "Looking's free, but no touching. Only my boy gets to touch." She turned and nipped at the panda's cheek. "Touch me."

Lars fondled the vixen under the cover of her jacket, twiddling and tweaking her bared teats without self-consciousness. His eyes drifted often to the skunk, whose numbing fingers fumbled with the combination lock. Poor guy, thought Lars, strumming Kahnso's nipples again and again. Doesn't have a girl to warm his hands up with.

The skunk heard nothing of the brief exchange. His focus was solely on the combination lock of the briefcase. When it swung open and revealed pillowy white cocaine, double-wrapped in zip lock bags and plastic wrap, he turned around to announce his success. He saw Kahnso leaning into the fondling paws of the skanky red panda and forgot that he had anything to say.

"You are quite the minx, are you not?" the polar bear asked in what seemed like a suppressed Austrian accent. "But I assure you, I am here for money. Not your body."

Lars groped and squeezed and kneaded Kahnso with no regard for the rarefied flesh and fur he was touching. She wasn't a famous singer whose sex appeal was practically copyrighted, but a filthy, ass-eating skank just like he was. He slid his fingers up under the cups of the sports bra. Kahnso leaned back into him, and although her body eclipsed his with its amazonian size, he thought her weight was pleasant. He loved a sturdy woman.

"Good god," the skunk mumbled, scandalized by the open display. "We here to sell or are we getting a live sex show?" he asked, ostensibly speaking to his partner.

"Why not both, you high-strung fucks," Kahnso said plainly. She elbowed Lars in his jutting ribs. He placidly coolly Kahnso, leaving her sports bra disturbed but still mostly cupping her breasts. "Over here, shitstain. Next to me."

The skunk and bear watched with fair poker faces but mounting disbelief at what could only be described as reckless sexuality. The muscular bitch swept Lars up to her side and stuffed her paw down the front of his ragged, ill-fitting jeans. Softly, but with that veneer of hateful dominance she imposed on every man in her life, Kahnso nibbled his neck, preening scruffy fur. She squeezed his large, black penis firmly, thinking in the heat of the moment that it was the only part of his body which wasn't scrawny and underfed.

"Look, this is... interesting, but we have business," the polar bead said firmly. "Business, Miss Kay, do you understand the term? Business? To conduct commerce? Preferably in a timely fashion."

"Yeah, yeah. Glad you know what the word means, buddy," Kahnso said, not giving him a glance. "Open your fly up, slut. Show 'em that dick."

"It's cold out here," Lars said in a small voice. He complied anyway and let his crotch breathe. He didn't have on underwear because he personally didn't believe in them, but when his testicles began their inexorable climb into his body, he thought he could see the value in a little bit more clothing.

Despite biting cold, Kahnso charmed his penis stiff with embarrassing simplicity. Its plump, uncircumcised bulk filled out even her gigantic paw like a fat sausage. Precum drizzled from its tip, and as Kahnso began to masturbate him, Lars clung to her tightly and shuddered. "Oh, god. Yeah. You're good."

"Bet your smelly ass I'm good," Kahnso hissed down into the cup of his ear. Her fangs pressed into his cheek broadside, menacing him with their sheer, prehistoric size. "You gonna cum for me? Huh?"

"We gonna sell this shit or are you gonna jerk off your homeless buddy?" the skunk brazenly asked. He glanced at the bear who shot back a smoldering glare. "Come on, Julian, we're being fucked with here!"

The bear only had to take a heavy step toward the skunk to cow him. "You are here to hand over the product and collect the money. I am here to handle the commerce. You will be silent."

Through the dealers' argument, Lars groaned and huffed. The heels of his boots dug at the ground, kicking crescent shapes into the gravel. Kahnso pumped him in ruthless, heavy-handed jerks. Her fingers squeezed like she planned to pull it off. His foreskin glided effortlessly on the shaft, saving him from any pain and letting him enjoy only the benefits of such a brutal handjob.

"C'mo-o-on, prettyboy, bust that fuckin' nut for me." Kahnso bit his ear with temperance, leaving only red marks which would heal in a day. Her cradling arm squeezed him tightly, popping his prominent ribs in a slow, torturous crescendo. "Cum for me, already... we'll get our shit and leave then. You gotta squirt for your sugar mama, boy."

"I'm gonna. Shit, I'm gonna," Lars said with his breaths, each of which cast heavy clouds of vapor into the air. His toes curled inside the loose, grimy fabric lining his boots.

The dealers watched helplessly, the skunk still agitated. The bear's expression was all but serene. His small, uncircumcised penis was unnoticeably hard in his pants.

Lars began to grimace. Kahnso's implacable grip on his torso and his penis competed for his narrow attention. It was impossible, he had learned, to tell Kahnso that she was hurting him. To say as much was a sign of weakness, and it made her hurt him even more. This was very sexy in its own way, but the red panda was in no mood to have bones cracked.

The skinny panda bucked into Kahnso's jerking grip. His tail lashed and swatted at the open air. Dead follicles drifted into the cold night like dandelion spores. "Uhn, gawd. Shit." He nuzzled Kahnso's muzzle, wanting to give her a kiss, but the positioning was all wrong. Her nose was nearly in his ear. He settled for smooching and biting her chin like a hungry pup. When he tried to utter his last word before he came, he belched up the flavor of his tasty hamburger. It echoed like a thunderclap in the night, and then he squirted. His body jerked and bucked in short spasms as his spunk jetted, momentarily steaming in the cold air before it cooled against the gravel.

Kahnso righted him and took her paw off his cock before its mess was even through. While Lars doubled over as if to be sick, trembling and dribbling his semen on the toecaps of his boots, the vixen strode forward to meet the bear. She licked semen off her fingers like it was cake batter. "Sometimes a bitch has to take care of things. Let's do business, gentlemen."

--Going Back

Lars settled into the Land Rover's seat and twisted the warmer knob to its peak. Kahnso did the same in addition to hogging the vents.

"So like, can I talk now?"

The vixen palmed the one-gallon bag of cocaine. It made her smile like a mother cradling her newborn. The fact that the bear asked for a thousand dollars less in exchange for touching her breasts only added to her sublime pleasure.

"Yeah, whatever. If you want."

"Well. Like." Lars licked his cracked lips. "Did you go into that planning to jerk me off, or?"

"Nah." She slipped the bag into her duffel in the back seat. After she put the SUV into drive, she paused and threw the pistol in the bag as an afterthought. "I just can't resist fucking feeling you up. That's all."

Lars smiled. "That's cool, I guess. You should've licked my butthole."

"Later, baby. After you and me get high, then we'll go 'round the world, sound good?"

"Yeah, really good," Lars said agreeably. "So can I, uh," he licked his jowl-lips again, finding them uncomfortably dry after so long in the cold, "you know, fuck you in the box this time?"

The vixen stopped at a red light and took the opportunity to sneer at Lars. "The box, huh? That what you're calling it, retard?" In the dim orange glow of street lamps and the instrument panel, her fanged, shadowed face reminded him of Nosferatu, even though he didn't actually know that name.

Lars never responded to insults. It was what separated him from the rest of Kahnso's pump-and-dump boytoys. "I think it's a pretty good way to describe what you got going on, sure. Like, it's a pussy, yeah, but it's really thick and-, whatever. All thick and black. I guess box works better than the other words for it."

The light turned green and Kahnso gunned the Land Rover through it. The officer in the cruiser two cars back noticed, but didn't care.

"Whatever, box works. Yeah, you can fuck me, I guess. Can't knock me up, I'm on the pill, but if you manage it anyway I'm gonna cut your head off." She glanced at him, her red eyes gleaming in their hateful, dominant, and unbearably sexy way. Lars no longer used rubies or blood as his baseline for red; he thought of Kahnso's hellish gaze first. "Got it?"

"Yeah, got it." He scratched his balls. They were sweating in the heated seat, baking the dormant funk of his semi-vagrant life into a fresh stench. "You gonna lick my butthole still?"

Kahnso cackled laughter. "Baby, please. Whole reason I keep your homeless ass _around's _for that fine ass. You better be working up a good sweat, too - I can smell your nuts. I think it's your nuts. They're like fucking teabags gone wrong, always all soaked with that grime." She slurped one of her fangs the way Lars would lick his lips when particular lust overtook him. "Speaking of, I'm gonna suck those. Just fucking suck 'em. You know how fucking grody you are, dumbass?"

"Grody enough that you keep buying me nice stuff," Lars said shamelessly, smiling. "You in love with me?"

"No." Another glance; another peek at those scornful rubies. "You getting any sappy ideas? We are not a fucking couple. I smell your ass, you fuck mine. I buy you stuff, you stick around 'til I get bored or you take a shower." She pulled off the main drag into the Hilton's parking garage, and Lars' heart jumped: he was about to get high, and then he'd get some box.

"Oh, well," the panda mumbled, his thoughts sidetracked by the idea of Kahnso's plump, black vulva being bared to him, "I'm not in love with you either. I mean, you're actually a real cunt. I wouldn't stick around if the sex and the crank weren't so awesome."

The vixen snorted a laugh. "See, that's _what I fucking like. You're not a bullshitter. You don't kiss my ass-, well, you do kiss my ass, but not figuratively. You're not all, _oh, ma'am, you are so perfect and I want only to be your willing lover boy for all time. You know how it is." She pulled into a spot which was in the section nearest the elevators. After she killed the engine and unbuckled her seat belt, she shifted in her seat to face Lars more-or-less.

"And see," she continued, "that's what guys don't get. You're not a fucking phony gentleman, or some chivalrous asshole. You're a dude who wants to get his pecker wet. You like my money and my drugs and my tongue up your asshole." She leaned across the partition and forced a kiss on the panda, slopping her tongue past his lips and along the rows of his plaqued teeth. When she tugged it back not two seconds later, Lars had already begun to get an erection.

"You're a hot piece of shit, Lars," she said lowly, as if it were a terrible, unknowable secret. "And I wanna keep you around as long as the ass is good and your dick smells the way I like. But I don't love you, you street urchin motherfucker."

Lars had a rare, jaunty smile. His green eyes were cool as the winter night. "Nah, I get it. You got daddy issues or something. Love being a bicycle but afraid of saying you're getting close to someone." He winked. "Hey, daddy issues? Makes two of us. Maybe if my dad spent less time with his head soaked in beer and his dick up my ass, I wouldn't be such a skank. Can't change it, might as well enjoy what I got."

Kahnso stared at Lars with an uncertain expression. She searched his eyes for bullshit - it was always the eyes that gave it away - but found veracity in his stare. "Your dad did that kinda shit to you, huh?" she asked lowly, almost mumbling.

If Kahnso expected emotion, she was disappointed. Lars only smiled and gave a shit happens shrug. "Hey, I liked it. After a while, anyway. You either accept the shit happening to you or you go nuts, so what the hell. Then he had a stroke and it was just me." Again he shrugged. His smile was fixed. "We gonna get high or what? And I'm fucking hungry, too."

"You're a weird motherfucker, Lars," Kahnso said. "I still don't love you."

"Not asking you to." Still easygoing.

Kahnso could only stare at him, scrutinizing what wasn't there.

"Yeah. Well. It's getting cold in here." She grabbed the duffel bag out of the seat and caught the pistol as it started to slip out. "C'mon. Let's go. I gotta take a major piss."

--The Hotel Room, Revisited

Naked and content with a cigarette in his fingers, Lars watched as Kahnso laid out the paraphernalia. From left to right on the table was a four-course meal.

Starting off the evening was the bong, ready to be puffed off of with a load of prime Hawaiian weed in its bowl.

Next to the bong were the often abused but never ignored pills: generic tablets of hydrocodone and oxycontin. Lars surreptitiously took a pair of off-brand Vicodin from the pile and swallowed them with a sip from his beer.

Third on the menu and the star of the show where any Kahnso party was concerned, ten neatly-cut lines of cocaine stood like hedge rows on a shiny dinner tray. A halfassed-rolled fifty dollar bill was nearby.

Finally, put last by virtue of how debilitating it was, was the heroin. This was the most DIY element of the meal: two foil balls with obvious contents, a tablespoon courtesy of the hotel, a syringe in a blister pack, cotton balls, and Lars' belt which the vixen had swindled after she undressed him.

"Looks like a cool night," Lars said. He took a drag off his cigarette and blew clumsy smoke rings at the vixen. "Can I hit first?"

"No. Eat shit." Kahnso took the bong for herself and pulled an overlong hit from the tube. The sound of the bubbles amused Lars in a puerile way.

While she sputtered and winced, Kahnso thrust the bong and her Zippo at the panda. Lars dropped his cigarette on the bed - thank goodness for fire-retardant linen - and took a momentous hit for himself. He started to cough immediately, and his coughing fully set off the vixen. They hacked and wheezed for the better part of ten seconds before the vixen moved onto the pills.

"Never got much outta weed anyway," she said before shoveling a small handful of the pills, mixed like M&M's, into her mouth. She gulped them down with a chug from her own beer. "Gawd, liver failure, here I fucking come."

"That's-, yeah, that's bad for you," Lars clucked. He took two of each pill for himself on top of his earlier sneaky sample. "Man, I'm not gonna be able to move. I don't think I can even make my wiener hard with this much shit in my system."

Kahnso eyed him doubtfully. "You never have any trouble getting it up, shithead. Don't act like you're some lightweight chump now."

"Hey, I can be pretty delicate."

The vixen knelt and rolled up the fifty. She chuckled and muttered something the panda didn't catch and didn't care about anyway. After she snorted up one, two, three, and eventually five of the immaculate lines, she flopped on her back with the suddenness of a convulsion. This was the part where things got interesting. Suppressing opiates struggling against invigorating cocaine; the money shot of black tar in a vein tipping the balance into complete neurological depression, omitted this time around. That was the part where you either vomited and died like Hendrix, or you experienced a kind of nirvana the body was simply not made to handle; a bliss unlike even the most powerful orgasm, but a bliss which made orgasms more powerful itself. Something she could never describe, but which she skirted death to feel every time she could.

"Hey. Hey. Kahnso. Bitch, hey. You dead?"

"Just feeling like it," Kahnso said blandly. "Hey. Homeless fuck-o. Get down here, have a little coke. And eat me."

Lars noticed his cigarette when he put his knee on the cherry. He swore and hissed and swatted it out, but ignored the singes in his fur and on the comforter. From the other side of the table, where the meal went right to left instead of left to right, he clumsily re-rolled the bill and snorted up the lines she had left him.

The frigid numbness of the blow made the panda shudder and grimace, bruxism grinding a few more micro-layers of enamel off his teeth. He rocked back on his knees and sighed. It was almost impossible to get a grip on the feeling that came with a few toots of such pure cocaine. As energizing as it was, the urge to simply lie back and ponder whether or not your heart would detonate like an overcharged battery was compelling, but Lars stupidly craved the vixen's swollen cunt more than his own health.

"I'm here," Lars said, his words mildly slurred. He was growing clumsy, stupid, as if he were some presence unfamiliar with its body. He pulled apart Kahnso's legs in shaking paws which went past their marks and only managed to catch her by hooking back.

Kahnso was of no more assistance. Her legs spread for Lars, but only because he moved them himself. She was leaving the planet. An ill-advised cocktail of uppers, downers, and beer were the rocket fuel boosting her into parts unknown to the sober mind. Drool lackadaisically rolled from the corner of her maw, the first drips caking into her fur, each successive globule sliding further and further on the building rink of slicked fur. Her hair and the carpet were next.

"I really like your pussy," Lars mumbled. He reached for her plump vulva. His paw missed, and his fingers brushed through the trendy puff which was her pubic hair. "Oh, shit. Oh. Depth perception." The trick of catching it on the way back worked again. Lars maneuvered his fingers around the protruding, black mound of her cunt. His thumb tweaked the ring in her clit and the flesh of her vulva, then trailed inside, through the lips, dragging out a runner of semi-viscous wetness like dipping a finger in a jar of honey. "I bet you smell... like, really smell. Stink like-, you know, the watery things. Like fishy-fishes."

"Mmn." Kahnso's eyes had dilated into entranced saucers. Each pupil was a black void where no life existed. Saliva loped to the carpet.

The panda, through careful, slow movements, beat out his lacking coordination. He got his mouth near, then against, then around the vixen's heated cunt like he planned to chomp on it, but Lars could barely hold his mouth closed, let alone gnash his teeth. He lapped the lips of her box, but the considerate effort was wasted on the spacefaring vixen.

"Mmn... mmh," Kahnso muttered, not pleasurably but absently. Her fingers swept through the plush carpeting. Her muscular legs, parted around the panda's head, moved gracelessly but with harmless laze. "Mmh..."

Lars could barely smell anything, but her scent was still there, noticeable even in nostrils marred by coke. He sniffed and smelled, sucking her in, but stopped when he felt a soft, wet pop somewhere inside his head. Panic now, but it was distant like a tornado siren heard two miles away on raging winds. Relief now; beads of blood rolled from his left nostril. Whew, just my old blood clot. I thought my brain was leaking out for a sec there.

Florets of blood oozed through Kahnso's bush. The vixen was too gone to care, and might not have cared even if she were still sober. She said some infantile, tiny nonwords. Lars listened but didn't care. He was losing his own head, maybe not as quickly as she was, but it had begun like a slow sink into quicksand. Just when he started to slowly wonder if he could suffocate with her pussy in his mouth, she urinated. She had to take a major piss indeed.

It came on slow. It wasn't a concentrated, purposeful piss but the kind of evacuation which came from total muscle relaxation. She trickled into his mouth, right onto his tongue, and he did not react except in mild arousal. Lars, a kinky creature, thought that the foul urine washing across his slack tongue and rolling down his chin made for a fun twist on the usual overdose story. He took drinks of her, but infrequently. The muscle combinations for swallowing had become something of a mystery; he settled for having his mouth rinsed.

Lars pulled away before she could trickle to a stop. Her urine splattered against his chin, his chest, his belly; he was moving over her, dragging his half-hard cock along the floor slowly enough not to carpet burn himself. With his piss-stained lips, he tried to say, "I'm gonna fuck you." What came out was unintelligible. He burped and tasted the earlier hamburger, mixed with the fresher, fouler taste of pee. It didn't gag him; years of vagrant living had destroyed his gag reflex.

As the skanky panda with his jutting ribs and piss-stained visage straddled the limp, dead-eyed vixen with drugs on the table and a gun on the bed, the scene more resembled some artistic tableau than a real situation. Lars struggled to force his semihard penis past the plump, gleaming folds of her vulva. Pushin' spaghetti, that's what dad called it when he got too drunk to-

The panda braced it with his fist, and he forced the glans past her thick black cuntlips. The matter of the vagina itself was a more troubling one; he struggled to get hard, and then to stay hard long enough to keep it going. If he hadn't been so obliterated and happy on the pills and the blow, he would have been embarrassed.

Kahnso lay still as a corpse, only breathing. Saliva caked the side of her head. Her pupils fixed on nothing, too massive to possibly be comfortable even in the dim light of their suite.

Lars got it in, barely. He felt like he could collapse and _(just die just fall over and let your heart stop) _sleep on top of her, with her, and maybe try this again in the morning. He was still only half-hard, still pushin' spaghetti. He didn't try to fuck her, knowing his tenuous penetration was like a pin on a grenade; pull it out and you can't put it back in.

The panda settled for enjoying how warm she was, how the ambient wetness of her heated box and the lingering, smelly dampness of her piss made his dick cold around the middle. He looked at her tits and her vacant face from below, and he thought about asking her for his own car when she was sober again. Nothing really expensive, you know, just like a grocery getter. Maybe a _Porsche 911 _or one of those Italian cars with like 700 horsepower. Just something-

The sudden, hideous retch Kahnso made genuinely frightened Lars. It was an alien, uvular sound. Her body leapt with it, spasming her head and shoulders off the floor a few inches. She convulsed and jerked, sputtering. Thin, foamy drool formed on her gnashing teeth. Her hair tangled and knotted, turning her lovely blonde bouffant into a nappy mess better suited to a little girl's doll.

"Um. Uh. Shit, like, you're gonna drown. On your puke." Lars stared at Kahnso's lifeless grimace. His mind worked in slow, short baby steps at the best of times; this situation was simply too much for his wasted mind to handle.

He backhanded her with all his might, slashing his knuckles on her teeth. He did not notice the pain or the runners of blood on her paw, pattering now onto her prostrate body. "Come on. You gotta wake up." He smacked her open-palmed. Her head jerked as it had with the backhand, but she only convulsed as though a demon were gaining control of her.

Another retch. Soupy, yellow bile spurted from her open mouth. Lars stared stupidly at the vomit. He wondered if any had gotten into his hair (it had) and if she would wake up now (she didn't).

"Shit. Hey! Come on!" Genuine panic now, not a distant siren but a roaring force right in the center of his head, clear in the haze but not dispelling the fog of the drugs. He Slipped off of Kahnso, bony pelvis thumping on the floor. His penis had shrunken back towards his body entirely. "Come on! C'mon!" Lars said desperately. "Um. What do I-, what the fuck do I do?"

Finally - an idea. A remembrance from fiction. He knew things in fiction didn't usually work in real life, but he was desperate. He grabbed the heavy, muscular vixen. One paw on her shoulder, one under her really nice ass which he appreciated even in these dire circumstances. He shoved with everything he had in his skanky body, lifting her tantalizingly.

"Come-, o-o-on!" Lars strained, shoving her, raising her. Her convulsing, gagging body was stiff like a seizure had taken hold. He felt the burst of adrenaline (or was it cocaine), and he shoved, rolling her like a log. With great satisfaction, he watched her tip over onto her face. Puke trailed the floor to her muzzle, and a puddle of it began to ooze out around her head as she continued to sputter and retch. He absently wondered how long it would take to get the smell out the room.

Lars looked stupidly at Kahnso. His focus shifted to the drugs, then the gun, then back to Kahnso. He had a fraction of a thought about his beleaguered penis. All he wanted was to fuck her in the cunt for once, and just when he was getting it hard, she had to overdose.

The panda gathered up the paraphernalia and the gun in the duffel bag, pausing to pop a few more of the hydrocodone before he zipped the bag shut. He checked that the vixen was still alive - checking pulses was something dad had taught him after a domestic abuse-filled night - and then called for an ambulance on the courtesy phone.

Without anything in the way of shame, Lars fondled Kahnso's semi-comatose body. There was something really sexy about her when she was sprawled, covered in vomit, and helpless. He thought it really sucked that he still couldn't get an erection.