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Red Right Paw

Joe Buckley's hooves made a jarring, clanging noise as he walked over the rusty old bridge. It suited his mood, however, and as he reached the other side, he leaned against the railing and looked out across the skeleton of this once-great city with a gusty sigh. Spread out in front of him was a mass of factories, steel-mills and smoke-stacks reaching for the gray, cloudy skies, while the old railway viaduct loomed behind them all like a destitute backdrop. All of it was like this bridge - rusty, abandoned, and naught but a memory of past prosperity.

Joe knew that most of his peers, when feeling down, would retreat to their rooms to listen to emo music. But he'd always preferred this. The bare bones of the city that used to be made for such a great metaphor for his future - or lack of same. Granted, the weather wasn't what you'd call reliable, as he was reminded by a few errant drops of rain hitting the bridge with noises far too great for their feeble mass. But he didn't mind a bit of rain, really. In fact, it felt nice when the drops hit the fuzzy covering of his still-growing antlers.

But while the raindrops were still few and far between - the kind of drizzle that couldn't really make up its mind as to whether it wanted to make something more of itself or not - the wind was picking up with a lot more determination. Powerful gusts were blowing down the concrete canyon of the abandoned factories, making his clothes flutter on his bony frame. Well, that was a nice metaphor too, he decided - for the winds of progress that had blown away the prosperity of this city.

After all, decades ago, this had been the American Midwest's center of appliance production. Detroit built the cars, but everything else - from washing-machines to hairdryers - came out of Augustown. That is, until all the corporations started moving their production overseas, where wages were low and environmental impact legislation was nonexistent - leaving behind acres of dreary concrete and rusting metal, as well as a city with no jobs, no opportunities and no future. Everyone here wanted to get away. Nobody had anywhere to go, or any way to get there. His friends at the local community college were full of crazy plans for making a quick fortune and escaping this sinkhole of a city - but it was never more than just talk.

He sighed again, gazing out over the river, and then glancing up at the steel-gray skies. The clouds were whirling faster and faster up there. A storm was coming. He should probably start trying to get over his funk so he could head home. The small, run-down apartment he shared with his mother and younger sister wasn't much, but it kept the wind and the rain out, at least. For the most part. Then, a particularly fierce gust of wind blew down the concrete-lined alley, physically forcing his head to the side, and he found himself instinctively glancing back in the direction it had come from as it passed - as if he could see the source of the wind.

What he saw instead was a tall, gray-furred fox wearing a dusty, black trench-coat, walking calmly through the graveyard of industry towards him. Joe blinked in confusion. That road kept going towards the mountains, and the equally-disused ore-mines, far enough that it vanished into a spot in the distance. Last time he'd looked in that direction, mere minutes ago, it had been as empty as always. Even the city's sizable population of vagrants and homeless rarely ventured into the old factory-district - there were enough abandoned buildings in the center of town for them to squat in, and most of them were better insulated. But now, this gray fox was walking towards him like it was the most natural thing in the world, his black coat billowing around him in the wind. A flash of color drew Joe's eyes, and as the stranger drew closer, he noticed that his right paw seemed to be covered in red fur...

His heart started beating faster. The whole scene had a surreal quality to it, like something out of those old episodes of The Twilight Zone that the local TV-station kept running repeats of. The stranger was walking calmly towards him, his face mostly concealed under an old-school fedora that would have looked hopelessly hipsterish on anyone else, but on him merely made him look like he'd just walked off the set of an old gangster-movie. In fact, if it wasn't for the eye-catching flash of red on his right paw, the whole scene would've been perfectly monochrome - gray concrete, black pavement, gray skies, black coat, gray fox. Even the mountains in the background seemed to have had all color leeched out of them by the dark clouds.

However, as the stranger drew nearer, the sudden, overwhelming urge to run began to diminish. Beneath the black fedora, a friendly smile decorated a handsome, gray face. There was really nothing ominous, vicious or predatory about it - it was the smile of someone who spent a lot of time laughing. Taking a deep breath, Joe chased the last remnants of his sudden, superstitious fear away, and nodded at the stranger in a friendly manner. The fox stopped his stride a few paces away, and with his bright-red paw, removed his hat.

His eyes were azure, reminiscent of a morning sky at the height of summer, and mirrored the smile on his lips. His age was indecipherable - he seemed to simultaneously be no older than Joe himself, and far, far older. Perhaps it was because of the trustworthy, almost fatherly look of his otherwise youthful face. "Hello there, young man... might you tell me the way to the nearest city? I'm afraid my car broke down a ways back..." Joe blinked quickly. Well, the guy's mannerisms certainly seemed to suggest a certain age. "Umm... sure. Augustown is just a stone's throw thattaway. Though it's more of a town than a city these days." He gestured back towards it - the parts that were still somewhat alive - and tried not to wince at his own stupidity. 'Twilight Zone' surrealism, indeed. It was just an unlucky guy with a broken-down car. "We've got a good mechanic, too. Ol' Bruin - he can probably fix up your car."

The stranger nodded, smiling even more broadly. "Ah, that's good to hear - I was getting a bit tired of walking, to be honest. I take it your town's got a watering-hole where a weary traveler can wash the trail-dust out of his throat, too?" Joe found himself returning the smile without thinking. The stranger's way of talking was old-fashioned, but it certainly suited the way he dressed. "Of course we do - 's about the only place around here making decent business. Buffalo Bob's Bar and Pool-Hall - just follow the stench of stale beer, and you'll find it no problem... oh, actually! I was just about to head home, and I live right near it. I can show you the way, if you like."

The fox laughed. "Well, that's might generous of you to offer, kid! I guess I'll take you up on it. What's your name?" He proffered his red paw, and Joe took it with only the slightest hesitation, returning the firm handshake. "Joe... Joe Buckley." The paw he was holding felt strangely warm, considering that the guy had apparently walked a long way through the cool autumn weather. "Nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Sirius Heylel Eisenbaum. Just call me Sirius... or Sir, if you prefer." Joe laughed at the joke, turning to walk back towards the town with his new friend - no longer a stranger - beside him. "That's quite a name, Sirius. You Jewish or something?" He would normally have been hesitant to ask such a question so openly, but something told him that Sirius wasn't the kind to be easily insulted. And sure enough, the gray fox just shrugged, making his black coat billow. "Eh, my father is... but me? I don't know about any gods - I prefer just to believe in myself, and my fellow furs."

Sirius' paws made no sound as he walked across the cracked asphalt of the old roadway and, for a time, they walked in silence but for the sharp, clip-clop sound of Joe's hooves. As they crossed the rusting railroad-tracks that marked the unofficial city limits of Augustown, Joe noticed Sirius looking around with a great deal of curiosity, sharp eyes taking in the crumbling, run-down buildings, closed shops and boarded-up windows. "Heh... kind of a modern-day ghost-town, isn't it?" Sirius' voice was light, but Joe still winced a bit. "Yeah. Nothing much here anymore. Used to be something, I hear... but I wouldn't know. It was before my time." The handsome fox nodded, seeming at once understanding and sympathetic. "I can imagine. And lemme guess - you and your family can't afford to leave, since the property-prices around here are measured in empty gum-wrappers, correct?"

Joe sighed miserably. "Pretty much. We're not the only ones, either. Those who don't work with what remains of the local businesses have jobs in neighboring towns, and spend most of what they earn keeping their rust-bucket cars fueled and repaired. Others are surviving - barely - on government benefits. Like my folks." He nearly bit his tongue shutting his mouth. He usually didn't like to talk about his parents. How they'd basically given up. They'd spent years searching for a better life, for work, for opportunities... but they'd found nothing, and for every attempt, they'd looked a bit more tired. These days, they just went through the motions, reading the jobs-section of the paper with hopeless eyes and calling it a day.

Sirius did not reply, and they once again walked in silence, through what little remained of the town, until they reached what passed for the 'city center'. Joe pointed down the road. "Over there's Bruin's Garage. He's got an old tow-truck, so he can probably pick up your car and fix it. Buffalo Bob's Bar is right there, on the corner. Probably won't be a lot of people there this time of day." The fox nodded, his sharp eyes seemingly marking the two locations. Then he turned to look Joe in the eye. There was something vaguely disturbing about the fox's eyes. Maybe it was their unusual color or their nearly unnatural clarity - either way, the gaze made him acutely uncomfortable, and yet unable to look away.

"Thank you for guiding me, Joe Buckley. Let me give you a tip in return... and I'm not talking about money. The system is broken - you know that, don't you? If it was working properly, this city wouldn't be dying, its people wouldn't be living in poverty, and your parents would still have hope. It's rigged, of course. Those who make the rules and set the laws are on the very top, and they have no interests beyond STAYING there. So of course, that's what the system's designed to do - keeping them up there, and you down here. If you want to break out of that... you need to stop listening to what they tell you. Right and wrong, good and evil, moral and amoral - who taught you what those things meant? School? Church? They're all part of the system. They teach you the truths that suit them. The instruments of law do not exist to protect justice, but to protect the wealth and power of their masters. If you let them choose your future for you, you'll always be poor and hopeless. Don't let them. Do what is right for YOU."

The gray fox placed his bright-red paw on Joe's shoulder, and he found himself nodding in understanding. Of course he knew that the system was rigged and rotten. You only had to look around to see that. The government gave his parents just enough money to survive, but not enough to have any chance to escape and better themselves. And they were providing him with an 'education' that would set him up with a future as a menial worker at best. In the end, he was nothing but a serf... but Sirius was right. He COULD do better. He just had to be ready to take whatever opportunities came his way, regardless of those arbitrary rules the system so zealously enforced...

Mind whirring with new ideas, he barely noticed the smiling fox walk past him, towards the garage, red right paw disappearing into the pocket of his dusty coat again. The smile was as friendly as you please, and the sharp eyes were gleaming. Clearly, the face of a man who was always happy to lend his fellow furs a helping paw, or just some sage advice...

---

'Buffalo' Bob Arnee looked up from the glass he'd been polishing as the bell above the door jangled. The usual afternoon crowd was already all here, so the sound of another potential customer merited at least a glance. One of his thick, bushy eyebrows rose several millimeters as he saw who had entered - a stranger. A gray fox wearing a black coat and a fedora, looking for all the world like he belonged in a 1920's speakeasy, rather than Bob's run-down old bar. Throwing a quick glance over at the table where Sheriff Scrofa was chatting amicably with his waitress, Betty, while nursing his coffee (with a shot of strong whiskey, as usual). Both of them had looked up too, each scanning the stranger in their own way. Betty was obviously assessing his potential tip-value, while Sheriff Scrofa was searching for signs of trouble.

The stranger looked back at them with a friendly smile under his fedora and walked over to the bar to sit on one of the many well-worn, but still sturdy, bar-stools. The eyes that flashed out from under the antiquated hat were bright and filled with mirth. "Well, now... are you the bartender, or the bouncer?" The stranger's pleasant voice made what could've been easily construed as an insult into a fine joke, and Bob replied with a laugh. It was true, after all, that he was somewhat on the beefy side - despite his growing paunch, his stocky water-buffalo frame still had a thick layer of muscle hidden under his slate-gray coat, and he took care to keep it that way. Partially because he enjoyed staying in shape, and partially because... well, he couldn't actually AFFORD to hire a bouncer, and some of the locals COULD get a bit rowdy after they got a few drinks into them. "I've been known to do both. Depends on whether you need a bounce or a drink, I s'pose."

The stranger answered with a laugh of his own. "A drink, for now - whiskey, neat." Bob nodded and pulled a glass and a bottle of his best whiskey out from under the bar. He got the feeling that this fellow wouldn't have any trouble paying for the good stuff, and besides, he already liked him. "Somehow, I figured you'd order something like that. You seem like the type. Yanno, old-school, like from a gangster-movie." The fox grinned broadly, showing off his rows of pearly-white fangs. "Heh, yeah, I like the look. You watch a lot of those kinds of movies?" Bob shrugged as he uncorked the whiskey-bottle and began to pour. "Eh, not really, but my dad used to tell me stories from the old days..."

As he handed the stranger the glass of whiskey, he found himself continuing to talk, feeling far more chatty than usual. "I inherited this place from him, see. It's been in the family for generations, ever since the good ol' days when there was still some life in this town. And, yeah, back during Prohibition, too, when my grandfather was running the place. My dad was just a calf back then, and he thought it was great fun, what with all the secret deliveries from bootleggers and the hidden speakeasy in the basement..." Bob sighed wistfully, remembering the stories he'd heard from his father growing up, and even been told on his granddaddy's knees when he was just a calf himself. Those had been different times. Even the criminals had a sense of style back then.

The stranger chuckled. "I take it THAT place isn't operating anymore, huh?" Bob shook his head, instinctively bending forwards to avoid hitting any of the bottles on the wall with his long horns. "Hah, nah, not for nigh-on 80 years. I just use it for storage-space nowadays. Not that I've got that much stuff to store." The fox nodded in understanding, then threw back the rest of his whiskey before pushing the glass towards Bob, who immediately refilled it. "But you kinda' wish it was, don't ya? Just like the old days. Gangsters and molls and cops on the take, eh?" It seemed a dangerous sort of question, when phrased like that, but they were just talking fantasy, after all, so he shrugged and nodded. "Well, yeah, kinda'. Might've been dangerous work, sure, but at least grandpa made a heck of a profit. I can barely afford to keep the lights on and the kegs stocked these days."

The strange fox chuckled and leaned back, waving one paw through the air. It was bright red - standing out noticeably from his otherwise gray fur and black coat. "Yeah, it's always rough going to be a small business-owner... still, 's funny how we romanticize those days, isn't it? Bootleggers and speakeasies, they were _criminals_back then. But they operated with impunity because the cops - the very people who were supposed to shut them down - were just as eager to partake of their work as anybody else. Bribes probably seem a lot more compelling when they come with a side-order of hard liquor you can't get anywhere else, eh?"

His head craned a bit and he looked over his shoulder, glancing over at Sheriff Scrofa, who seemed to be dividing his attention equally between the stranger, his coffee, and his waitress - who, as ever, was wearing a short skirt and a tight shirt to encourage tips. Then he leaned conspiratorially forwards over the bar and lowered his voice. "D'ya think it's any different today, though? Looks like you got a tough old boar back there, ready to smack down law-breakers - but suppose he couldn't get that whiskey in his coffee from anyone but a bootlegger. Would he remain incorruptible? Or would he wind up on the take, like his predecessor was when your grandfather was operating?"

Bob couldn't help but hang on the strange fox's words. There was a strange sort of enticement in them, getting him thinking in odd directions. Sheriff Scrofa... yeah, he'd known him for most of his life. The old boar was generally the tough-but-fair type, but it wasn't as if he never 'looked the other way' as a favor to someone. Including, occasionally, a bottle on his desk adding a bit more weight to arguments that it was just 'kids being kids' or whatnot. It wasn't exactly bribery, but... well, it kind of was, wasn't it? Yeah, he could see Scrofa turning a blind eye to a speakeasy back during Prohibition, for the right price. Quickly, he shook his head, trying to clear it. What was he thinking? "I'm sure I can't say... Scrofa's always been a fair and just boar, as far as I know. Besides, it hardly matters - Prohibition ended decades ago."

The fox shrugged and flashed a lopsided smile. "Did it? Well, ALCOHOL-prohibition, sure. But the ol' G-Men are still around, and still eager to stop folks from having fun. Drugs and prostitution and whatnot. You know how a couple of states recently legalized weed? Lots of folks are crossing themselves at the mere thought, but the fact is that it's ultimately less addictive and less harmful than the likes of alcohol and tobacco. 's just 'tradition' that alcohol's fine and weed isn't. And just because of that, lawmen in most states - including this one - are supposed to crack down on anyone partaking in a simple, calming joint... hah. But I'm getting off track. My point was, if your Sheriff is the type who would've ignored a speakeasy for a payout and a drink, what ELSE might he be willing to ignore... and for what price? It's worth thinking about, I'd say..."

Their conversation - or, more accurately, the fox's monologue - was interrupted when Sheriff Scrofa rose from his booth-seat, meandered across the dusty floor with his coffee-cup in hand, and finally landed his broad ass on the barstool next to the stranger. "Howdy there... new in town?" The sheriff's opening line was as subtle as a prybar to the skull, but the fox just smiled pleasantly in reply and reached out his red paw for a handshake. "You could say that. I'm really just passing through, though. My car broke down on the road not far from here - just had Mr. Bruin tow it back to his garage for repairs. He said it might take a day or two to fix it, though... not that I can blame him for that. I get the feeling that he hasn't worked on a lot of Ferraris in his time. He suggested that I call AAA and get it towed to another city instead, but I figured, what the heck - it's not like I'm in a hurry to get anywhere. So I'll probably just crash at the local motel for a bit."

The sheriff, like everybody else in the room, had stopped paying attention to the story halfway through, and asked the question everyone was thinking. "A Ferrari. You drive a FERRARI?" The fox nodded, shrugging it off like it was no big thing. "Well, yeah. An old Ferrari Testarossa from the early 90's. A bit of a temperamental beast, alas. Really, those kinds of sports-cars are barely worth the trouble - sure, they LOOK great, and they sure can go fast... not that I'd ever break the speed-limit, of course..." He grinned and winked at Scrofa, who smiled almost in spite of himself. "...but I swear, they break down if you look at 'em too hard." The fox shook his head and sighed.

The rough-bristled old boar nodded, reminding himself that he should maybe drop by ol' Bruin's place for a drink and a game of poker sometime soon. Or maybe just swing by and say hi. "Right... well, I was just curious, you understand. Lemme know if you need any help or anyone gives you trouble, y'hear? I may be a lawman, but really, I'm just here to help folks." He patted the stranger on the shoulder as he lifted his hefty corpus from the bar-stool, and found his hand held down by a red paw as the fox looked up at him with those almost disturbingly clear eyes. "Oh, I'll keep that in mind, Sheriff, no worries." Then the strange fox released his hand, and Scrofa walked back towards his usual table, feeling slightly unbalanced. He couldn't help but notice, either, that Betty was starin' holes in the back of the guy's black coat, chest heaving under the indecently tight shirt.

---

Mrs. Shear looked tiredly out across the black, mostly-empty parking lot of the small motel she managed, cigarette hanging loose from the corner of her mouth. It was getting late already, but she was still expecting two more visitors, which would neatly double her occupancy. Ol' Bruin had called earlier, told her that there was a stranger in town and that he'd probably crash at her place - for lack of any alternatives - while getting his fancy car fixed. And based on the gossip she'd picked up on earlier in the day, one of her regular customers would also be coming by.

Her ears perked as she heard approaching voices drifting through the evening quiet, and quickly straightened her headwool - from what Bruin had said, the stranger was a wealthy sort, so he might be inclined to tip. Looking presentable certainly wouldn't hurt her chances of that - she might not have the kind of youthful vivaciousness that Mrs. Lapins' daughter, Betty, used to trick the menfolk out of their coin down at Bob's Bar (the slut), but she still had womanly curves lurking under her wool, and could certainly turn a man's head if she put her mind to it.

Two men rounded the corner, entering her car-park, seemingly deep in conversation. One of 'em she recognized immediately - Doctor Hubert. The tall basset-hound usually looked tired, his wrinkly face giving the illusion of many more years than he really had. No doubt thanks to his shrewish wife who had, as the gossip suggested, once AGAIN kicked him out for the night. She'd seen him tiredly drag his way into one of her motel-rooms many times before, his usual overnight-bag under his arm... but tonight, something seemed different about him. There was an uncharacteristic spring in his step, and the conversation was animated.

Perhaps it was just the novelty of meeting a stranger, she thought. He certainly looked novel enough - a tall, handsome fox, dressed to the nines. His black duster-coat was open, billowing out behind him as he walked, and revealed a nice, equally-black suit underneath it, complete with white shirt and black tie. Even from a distance, his eyes stood out - almost glowing in the darkness, bright and eager. As the two reached her small, neat office, the fox stepped back and beckoned Doctor Hubert through, who nodded gratefully as he stepped inside. "Good evening, Mona." She nodded in greeting. Something was definitely different about him. He was standing up straight, for one thing, showing off his impressive height for once - usually, he walked kind of stooped-over so as not to force others to look up to him.

"Evening. You want your usual room, doc?" He nodded, sighing in annoyance. "Seeing as my 'dear' wife did not desire my company for the night, I suppose so." There was a lot of bite in his voice - rather uncharacteristic of the usually soft-spoken and easily-bullied doctor, and she found herself giving him a second glance as she grabbed the key from the board. She'd never thought of him as a suitable sort of man before - too much of a weakling, much like her own, weak-kneed husband, always going "Yes, dear" when they were together, and then complaining about her while playing poker with his 'mates'. As if every last word he said wouldn't get back to her eventually. But right now, Doctor Hubert seemed... different. Mona wondered if he'd been drinking as she silently handed him his key and gave him a polite nod, her usual affinity for picking up the latest gossip momentarily silenced by thoughtfulness.

As soon as he left, the stranger entered, grinning pleasantly at her in a way that made her suddenly blush. "Mona Shear, yes? Doctor Hubert told me a thing or two about you as we walked over here - he was kind enough to show me the way. I trust you have a room available?" The ewe nodded, and pushed the guest-book over her desk towards him as she got up to grab one of the (many) keys left on the board. "Sure thing, mister. Sign in here, please." The fox picked up the pen and started writing - his handwriting was elegant and neat, she noticed, while she picked a key at random and sat down again. "Okay, then, it's 60 bucks per night - up front, if you don't mind, mister... Eisenbaum."

Grinning, the fox pulled a thick, leather-bound wallet out of his coat-pocket, and withdrew two 100-dollar bill from it. "Well, from what Mr. Bruin said, it seems like I'll be staying here for three days... so I think this should cover it. Keep the change." Eyes widening, she quickly reached out to grab the bill, only to find the stranger's right paw touching her hand. It was red, she noticed. "By the way, Mrs. Shear... I feel I should say, it seems a shame for a woman of your beauty to waste away her years in a place like this. Beauty is a fleeting thing, and yours won't last forever. If you want to use it to get something extra out of life - don't let a chance to flaunt it pass you by." She froze, blushing furiously, and the fox - Sirius was apparently his name - laughed quietly and released her hand to instead grab the key from the desk. "Room 13, huh?" Blinking rapidly, she tried to clear her head. "Uhh... yeah. You're not superstitious or nothin', right?" He just grinned down at her as he turned around to leave her office. "Nah. 13 suits me fine."

---

Betty Lapin paused in front of the Motel, breathing hard. It wasn't from exertion - it wasn't that far from her house, and thanks to her cheerleading practice, she was in excellent shape. She was also, however, scared, nervous and excited, all at the same time. She wasn't really sure what she was doing - or if she'd have the guts to go through with it. But she'd come this far. Crouching low, careful to bend her long, floppy ears back along her skull, she snuck closer to the office from which Mrs. Shear watched over her property. She did NOT want that old sheep to spot her - even under the best of circumstances, Mrs. Shear seemed inclined to stare daggers at her. Maybe because of Mr. Shear's tendency to tip her generously when he frequented Bob's Bar.

She carefully glanced into the office from the corner of the window. It was still lit, even though it was well past midnight. Not surprising. Roman Lupe, the long-distance trucker, would be bringing his rig through town at some point during the night, and he always stopped to catch some shuteye at Mrs. Shear's motel, so that he could catch up on the ol' hometown gossip. And certainly, if one wanted gossip, that was no better source than Mrs. Shear.

However, as Betty had hoped, Mrs. Shear was sleeping soundly in her chair, a burned-out cigarette still dangling from her lips. Standing up straighter, she looked past the sleeping sheep, to the board where the motel's keys usually hung. Number 9 was missing... but that was Doctor Hubert's usual room, which probably just meant that he'd had ANOTHER fight with his wife. Ah, but number 13 was gone too! That HAD to be that handsome stranger's room. It wasn't as if anyone else would be staying in this run-down dump.

Her heart started beating faster again as she stealthily moved past the office, towards the stairs that led up to the motel's second floor. That fox... so different from any of the local men, OR boys. Handsome, suave, dressed like a movie star, and those sparkling eyes... and, of course, he was obviously rich. Maybe he could take her out of this dreary old place. To the big city, like this place had once been - a place that pulsed with life and overflowed with opportunities. Well, that was probably hoping a bit much. She couldn't tell how old he really was, but he was definitely older than her. Probably old enough to be her father. But she'd seen how her father's poker-mates and drinking-buddies looked at her. Maybe he wouldn't sweep her off her feet and take her off into the sunset in his Ferrari, but she felt certain that she could get SOMETHING out of him...

However, as she approached the door marked '13', her excitement began to give way to that sinking feeling that was only too eager to remind her that she hadn't really thought this through. Well, it wasn't as if she was a virgin... she'd dated a couple of boys at school, and convinced them to spend their meager allowance or the take from their part-time jobs on nice stuff for her. And she was used to shaking her fluffy little tail at the drunks at Bob's Bar to draw bigger tips from them. She knew that many of the older women in town were already calling her a whore. But... actually going through with it, offering her body up for cash... that was scary. And besides, the stranger was obviously a worldly and experienced man - would he actually be interested? And what if he asked about her age? She WAS 18 - just barely - but it wasn't as if she'd brought her ID. Well, legally, she couldn't have served alcohol at the bar if she was still a minor, but HE might not know that. Or he might figure that the local law wasn't bothered about details like that, which would also be true, seeing as she'd worked part-time at Bob's Bar since she turned 16.

Frozen before the door, she forced herself to lift her hand, only to realize a potentially major problem. What if he was already asleep? Sure, it was only barely past midnight, and people from the big city didn't go to bed so early, she'd heard... but he'd obviously had a hard day, walking all the way from the main road after his car broke down. He might very well be snoring already. Hesitating for a moment longer, she knocked very softly on the door. Waking him up just wouldn't do - he'd be grumpy and angry, more likely than not. On the other hand, if he WAS asleep, and didn't answer the door, then she could go home with the knowledge that she had, at least, tried. She'd reached for the opportunity, dammit, and it wasn't her fault she'd been too late! After all, she hadn't been able to sneak out until her parents had gone to sleep.

The door opened, painting a silhouette of light on the night-dark parking-lot below. The stranger was standing in the doorway, no longer wearing his long, black coat. His white shirt was open several buttons down, revealing a sculpted musculature beneath his light-gray chestfur. His tie was unknotted, hanging loosely around his neck. He had a glass of scotch in one hand, and was leaning on the doorframe as he looked her up and down, bright eyes twinkling. "Well, now. You're that cute little bunny-girl from the bar. Betty, isn't it? What can I do for you?" Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Bob had told him her name? She hadn't guessed. She had, however, just about managed to convince herself that nobody would answer that door.

Before she could find her voice, he stepped aside and gestured with that eye-catching red paw of his. "Well, whatever it is, there's no point standing around out in the cold like that... why don't you come inside so we can talk?" Her feet moved almost of their own accord, following his suggestion even as her heart pounded against her ribs. The flimsy motel-door swung shut behind her with a strange note of finality. The room was shabby, but clean - Mrs. Shears kept the place spotless, for all that most of her rooms never saw use these days - and the covers had already been peeled off the single bed in the room.

Leaning back against the wall, the semi-dressed, gray-furred fox smiled pleasantly at her, his handsome face and sparkling eyes making her knees weak. "So... what brings you to my door so late at night, Betty?" He asked again, and she took a deep breath, gathering her courage. Layering her voice with as much sweet seduction as she could - the effects somewhat reduced by the way her voice cracked halfway through. "Well, I was just thinkin' that a fancy fella like you might want a bit of company in the evening... must be pretty lonely, spending the night alone in a place like this, right?"

The fox nodded, and said "Ah!" Then, in a single swift movement, he had pushed himself away from the wall and covered the distance between them in what seemed to be a single, long step. Before she could react, his arms were around her, pulling her face-first into his fragrant chest-fur, holding her tight. She could feel the contours of his well-toned muscles through her fur, and something long, hard and hot pressing against her stomach. One of his paws reached up to grab her long, sensitive ears, pulling on them to force her head backwards so that she found herself staring right up into those clear, blue eyes. His fangs flashed as he grinned - then he leaned down, and forced a kiss on her lips even as they parted with surprise.

It was a fierce, primal, passionate kiss, one that made her fur frizz out across her body and the slit between her legs begin to drool with eagerness. Her past boyfriends had made clumsy attempts at 'french kissing', awkwardly shoving their tongues into her mouth, and she'd mostly tried to play along while doing her best to avoid gagging. This was something from a different world altogether. His tongue danced with incredible agility, exploring her mouth and stimulating her gums, teeth, palate and tongue seemingly all at once. She felt like she could just melt into that kiss, into those strong arms that were holding her so firmly...

She wasn't even sure how they'd gotten to the bed. The kiss did not seem to be interrupted at any point. All of a sudden, she just realized that her head was pinned down to the sheets, and that the fox's body was looming over, rather than embracing her. She felt her short, tight skirt being pushed up, and his fingers caress the silky fabric of the 'special occasion' panties she'd put on before sneaking out of her room. A gift from a past 'boyfriend', now serving a much greater purpose. His touch made her shiver, her spine curling with eagerness as if to push her groin up into his fingers. When those fingers found their way around the waistband and into direct contact with the naked flesh beneath - the fur covering her labia carefully shaved down to near-nothing - a throaty moan made its way out of her mouth and into his.

She felt her panties being pulled to the side, and then he was on top of her, his weight pushing her into the mattress. The heat she'd felt before wasn't contained in a tight pair of black pants anymore, either - she could feel it resting against her groin, hard and slick, still moist from the sheath, drooling precum into the neatly-kept little bush she'd maintained atop her mons pubis, mostly to accentuate the otherwise clean-shaven look of her pussy. Her legs spread seemingly on pure instinct, as if in direct response. The fears and concerns she'd carried on the way to this room seemed a distant memory, replaced by a hungry desire. If this fox could turn her body to jelly with a kiss, what would the sex be like?

Well, for starters, he was way bigger than any of her past conquests - hardly a surprise, since they'd largely been teenagers. Her labia strained around his girth as he pushed into her, his pointy cockhead parting them easily despite the tightness. She already vaguely knew that this wouldn't be the end of it, though. She'd never dated a vulpine, but she had dated one or two canines... and she'd heard that their equipment was much the same. So when his long, smooth shaft slid neatly inside her, filling her up, she wasn't surprised to feel it gradually taper - only to then suddenly expand into his still deflated knot. It rested against her labia, now - hot and heavy, seemingly too big to fit even before swelling to its full size.

Some distant part of her mind was protesting. He wasn't wearing a condom! She'd even brought a couple in her purse, the same purse now lying discarded somewhere on the floor - she wasn't sure exactly when it had fallen from her limp hands. Pregnancy wasn't a concern with another species, sure, but what about STD's? It was, however, only a distant part. Most of her mind was currently occupied dreaming about what it would feel like when his knot swelled inside her, tying them together. What it would feel like when his cum poured into her, filling her womb.

His hips snapped forwards, and somehow, with a brief, sharp burst of pain, his knot pushed past her tautly-stretched labia. She gasped, her neck and spine curling in response to the powerful sensations radiating out from her groin. She felt so full! She could feel his cockhead so deep inside her, grinding past her cervix. Was this what it felt like to be with a man instead of a _boy?_Her long, shapely, powerful legs still seemed to have a mind of their own, rising up now to cross behind the fox's rear, feet hooking together just above his bushy tail, pulling him in. The kiss had ended, but with everything going on between her legs, she'd hardly noticed.

Then he started to fuck her - really fuck her. Not the awkward and inevitably short-lived thrusting of her past boyfriends, but a primal pumping motion driven by fully-matured instincts. He was _mating_her, grinding into her with an insistent, irresistible force. His knot was swelling, filling her, stretching her open - it felt impossibly large inside her, like a volleyball or something, even though she knew it couldn't possibly be that big. Certainly, it made for a very solid tie, nestled inside her teenage cunny, ensuring that he wasn't about to pop out no matter how fiercely he pounded her body.

The knot tugged and stretched her labia when he pulled back, practically lifting her groin with it. Then the pointy head would rush into her deepest depths, grinding against every sensitive spot inside her on the way and making her womb tremble. He clearly knew exactly what the strengths and limitations of a knotted cock were, and how to maximize the former while working around the later. His speed was rising steadily, taking her pleasure-level along with it. She panted as it began to peak, then buried her face in his chestfur to muffle her orgasmic screams.

But while she peaked, he kept going, accelerating, pumping faster and faster. All she could do was hold on for dear life, clinging to his muscular body, groaning and moaning and crying into his chest as the pleasure washed through her in wave after wave, flooding her mind. When he finally stopped, she was badly out of breath, her chest heaving - but he seemed like he still had stamina left to spare, despite the vast exertion he'd just gone through. Not that his apparent athleticism was foremost on her mind, however - that part of her brain was fully occupied by the sensation of his cum pouring into her. So hot, and so much of it... it tingled as it filled her womb, making her irrationally wish that species wasn't a barrier to procreation, so that she could be knocked up by this incredibly virile stranger and feel his kits grow beneath her heart...

As the minutes ticked by, however, those feelings began to disappear, as the fog of pleasure lifted from her mind. They were still stuck together, waiting for his knot to shrink back to its regular size so that he could pull out, but now that he wasn't thrusting anymore, now that the orgasms weren't coming hard and fast, she could begin to think straight again. She'd actually just done it, hadn't she? She'd had sex with a complete stranger, not even knowing his name - just hoping that he'd give her money for the use of her body. She really_was_ a whore, just like all the wives in the town said...

A sob raked her body, and tears welled up in her eyes, remorse filling her... but then his arms were around her again, lifting her from the sweat-stained sheets, pulling her in close. She could feel his body against hers, naked and strong, their groins locked together and his cock still hot and hard inside her. His hand was brushing through the fur on her back, caressing her spine, and his mouth was next to her long ears, whispering comforts. "Sssh... don't cry, now. You're not a bad girl, whatever they say. Jealousy and outdated puritanism is all that drives their jeers. Secretly, they wish they had the looks and the guts to do what you do..."

Her breathing steadied. Yeah... now that he mentioned it, there was a glimmer of envy in their eyes when they gossiped and grimaced and called her a slut and a whore, wasn't there? They envied her beauty and her many suitors, unhappy with their own faded looks and layabout husbands. They tried to tell her that she shouldn't, just because_they_ _ couldn't _. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed, enjoying the feeling of warmth and comfort that his arms brought, and the lingering pleasure in her pussy, while his calm, pleasant voice continued to whisper in her ear.

"They don't call it the oldest profession for nothing, you know. As long as a concept of value has existed, a concept of currency, there has been prostitution. And for most of mankind's history, that wasn't considered a bad thing. In ancient Babylon, prostitution was considered a holy calling, and the Temple-Whores that followed the goddess Ishtar were revered." He sighed then, with a kind of gusty regret for a world long lost to the mists of time before carrying on. "It was only with the coming of patriarchal religions like Christianity and Islam that prostitution became outlawed, because it provided both power and profit for women. All you are doing is discarding those repressive rules, and taking back power over your own body. It's yours, right? Yours alone. Why should anyone, the government included, be able to tell you what you can and cannot do with it? Why should they have the right to tell you that you cannot sell it, if that is what you want?" It was all a bit hard for her to follow, but it made sense... and frankly, she could listen to his voice all night, no matter what he was talking about.

While he had talked, the swelling of his knot had gone down - and the way her body had relaxed had no doubt helped too. Apparently sensing this, he pulled out - slowly, carefully, letting her feel every second as her labia were once again stretched around his deflated knot. It was easier this time - whether because it was going out instead of in, or because the little flaps of flesh had become more subtle and flexible from the repeated stretching that the fast-paced fucking had exposed them to. She sighed while she felt that hot, hard meat-rod leave her, followed by a trickle of hot, slimy fluid as her womb began to drain. She kind of wanted it to stay...

To her surprise, rather than simply stepping away then, the fox used his grip on her to flip her over. In a flash, she was flat on her belly, her still-growing tits pushing into the duvet, feeling his hand rest possessively on the small of her back. "Now then..." he said smoothly. "That was a nice little warm-up. Let's move on to the next dish, shall we?" His fingers plunged into the gap between her still-spread legs, then, and two of them pushed into her slightly gaping pussy, leaking a slippery mixture of pussy-juice and his own ample cum. She moaned at the sensation, as his furry digits stimulated the first couple of inches of the freshly-fucked hole, twisting back and forth and plunging in as deep as they would go.

Then they pulled out - and she felt one of those digits rest against her tail-hole instead. She could feel the carefully-manicured claw at the end, the slicked-down fur... and an insistent pressure. It popped inside with a sudden stab of pain, reminding her of when his knot had muscled its way into her pussy and drawing a groan from her lips. "Wait..." she managed to gasp, her heartbeat accelerating again, and her breathing following suit. "I've never done that before!" Indeed she hadn't, though a couple of her past boyfriends, inspired by stealthily-obtained pornography, had tried their level best to persuade her.

The fox just chuckled above her, and worked the slippery digit deeper inside, sending unfamiliar sensations shivering up her spine. "Indeed? Well, then allow me to educate you. It's not really a painful thing, as long as you do it right... though, you may find that a bit of pain can serve to heighten the pleasure further. It's not an unusual thing, you know." He was working the finger in and out now, twisting it around to let his slippery fur stimulate the first inches of her rectum the same way it had previously stimulated her pussy. It... really didn't feel too bad, and the sting of pain that the initial entry had prompted had already faded away. Actually, it felt kind of nice... and besides, she didn't want to leave, didn't want to push back against the hand that was resting so firmly on her spine. The pleasure he had given her before had been mind-blowing - the best sex of her young life, no contest. Considering that, why not... give him the benefit of the doubt?

So she let him continue, soon working another slippery finger into her rectum alongside the first, prompting another short-lived stab of pain. He rubbed them against each other inside her, twisting them back and forth, pushing them apart and pulling them back out, stretching her sphincter bit by bit while spreading a solid layer of lubrication across the entire orifice. It was starting to create a tingling in her belly, similar but different from the buildup to an orgasm. She was drawing long, slow breaths through her little pink nose, enjoying the way the scent of their earlier lovemaking was tickling her nostrils.

Then the fingers disappeared, and he was on top of her again. It was different this time, though. She felt his weight more precipitously - bearing down on her, pushing her forcibly into the mattress, a firm pressure on her back... his larger, more muscular body was covering hers completely, cutting off the light, making it harder to breathe. And meanwhile, his cock was poking into her freshly stretched-out tail-hole, her sphincter gripping the tapered tip.

She'd expected him to continue his earlier, gentle massage, pushing in gradually, letting her acclimate to the growing girth. That wasn't how it went. Instead, his powerful hips flexed, and in a single smooth movement, he drove the entirety of his shaft into her ass - taking her last remaining virginity with brutal efficiency. Her overstrained sphincter was resting against his knot, now, and her short, fluffy tail was brushing against his hips. The sudden movement took her breath away, pain and pleasure rushing through her body in equal measures, causing her brain to reel with confusion. "Feel that pain and learn to relish it..." she heard him whisper somewhere above her. "It's merely your body testing its limits, no different from when you push yourself during cheerleading-practice."

He was right, she vaguely decided. She knew well that sensation, the feeling of stress in her sinews when she practiced doing the splits or otherwise contorting herself into a suitably cheery shape. It was something she enjoyed almost as much as the feeling of the audience's eyes on her as she danced through her routines and occasionally flashed her innocently-white panties from underneath her uniform's skirt, just an inch or so shorter than regulation. That feeling of testing her body's limits, and pushing them just a bit further...

This felt even better, though. That sensation of fullness, of something hard and hot resting inside her, was no different from when he'd taken her pussy. And as he began to move, something grew in her gut - a stress, a strain, a building pressure. He wasn't being gentle - he was using his full length, his full weight, slamming his cock home and mashing his knot against her sphincter with every thrust. He was stretching her open, far more deeply than his fingers had reached, and the feeling of strain and friction only served to make that pressure build faster.

The orgasm that suddenly curled up her spine quite took her breath away - not that that was all that hard, what with her lungs being caught between the hard mattress and her lover's muscular chest. It was deeper, more intense than the climaxes he'd induced earlier, which were themselves far stronger than what she'd managed to inflict with her own inexperienced fingers, let alone been generated by any of her past lovers. For a while, all she could do was gasp for air while her normally sparkling eyes stared blindly into the piled-up duvet in front of her.

He didn't stop, even as her ass reflexively contracted around him, squeezing down like a vise. He kept pounding away, inch after inch of thick, hard meat thundering into her rectum with unrestrained force. Every thrust made the bed-springs squeak, and forced a small spurt of mixed love-juices from her pussy. The sensation went on and on, almost painfully intense all by itself - the valley that would normally follow the orgasmic peak seemingly fading into the continued ass-reaming, generating a rapid build-up towards a fresh one. Her mind was going blank again, the pleasure too overwhelming... a part of her wanted it to stop before she went insane, but what could she do? He was on top of her, infinitely bigger and stronger, emitting little, rutting grunts as he drove his cock into her. There was no way to fight back, no point in struggling - she could only lie there and take it.

Overwhelmed by pleasure as she was, she barely even noticed the burst of sharp, piercing pain that resulted when his continued efforts were finally rewarded - pushing his knot past her resisting sphincter, stretching it to the limit in the process. It didn't fade like other stabs of stretching-pain had done, though, but instead carried on and on, like a dissonant tone in the midst of a symphony, as her tail-hole continued to protest its current conditions. Her ass was certainly filled to the limit, now, with his cockhead hitting the depths of her rectum, preventing him from actually advancing far enough to let her tormented sphincter close around the thin base of his cock. Instead it was stuck still distended, wrapped around his knot a bit past the thickest point, pulsating in protest.

The pain was only slowly pulling her back from the realm of mind-eroding pleasure, however - and before she'd finished that journey, he had wrapped his strong arms around her once more and rolled over, pulling her along, leaving her suddenly on top of him. She only had time to blink confusedly at the time-worn ceiling before he pushed himself up, and her along with it - leaving him sitting on the edge of the bed, with her solidly attached to his lap. His legs were spread, though, and she found that she was bearing down on his cock with her full body-weight, creating a painful pressure somewhere deep inside her. Her cottony tail, which she maintained with just as much care as her long, blond hair, was mashed flat against his hip-bones, and she was leaning her back against his slightly-slanted chest.

The pressure inside was growing as his knot expanded, creating a feeling of overwhelming fullness - her ass stretched to the limit in every direction. Thrusting was out of the question, but a strong pair of hands on her hips kept her moving nonetheless, moving or twisting her by just a few millimeters at a time, causing the swollen cock inside her to shift around and generate a steady flow of stimulation. Her feet scraped limply across the mustard-colored carpeting as she let him move her around as he pleased. The pleasure was still thumping through her, the continued, mild stimulation preventing it from fading entirely even though the fierce thrusting had ended.

When his voice whispered in her ear "Take off your clothes..." she clumsily obeyed without much thought. Pulling off the tight top she'd worn for the occasion, and then struggling for a minute to unhook the lacy silk bra that went with her fancy panties. Her short skirt was more easily unbuttoned and pulled off, though the fact that it was bunched around her waist made it a bit harder. She was a bit surprised to realize that this left her entirely naked. Her panties weren't scrunched up between her pubic mount and her thigh any more, but rather lay discarded on the floor in front of her, a tiny pile of ruby-red fabric. When had he pulled it off of her? Everything just seemed a blur since the kiss.

His hands shifted, the soft paw-pads rubbing across her now-naked skin and making her shiver. "Keep moving on your own, just as I showed you..." he whispered, and once again she obeyed without really thinking about it. Planting her feet more firmly, she reached back to steady herself against his wide hips and started grinding against him, using the same kind of short, firm movements _he'd_used. Every motion brought twin flashes of pain and pleasure as his swollen knot strained against her insides as well as her sphincter, and his hot, smooth shaft rubbed against an erogenous zone she'd never realized she had. At the same time, warm, firm hands gripped her tits - already developing into pleasant handfuls - and began to knead them, playing with them, pinching and twisting the nipples.

His muzzle moved closer, fitting itself into the gap between her head and her shoulders, and a long, wet tongue lashed out to lick her neck. His hot breath caressed the whetted fur, adding a soft, erotic sensation to the intense pleasure/pain of her overstuffed ass - all of it coming together with the skillful manipulation of her breasts and nipples to form a steadily-rising tide of pleasure. Then one of the hands abandoned her tits and instead reached down. Her legs spread automatically at his touch, and unlike any of her other, previous lovers, he instantly found her clit. Just a light rub across that hypersensitive organ sent a forceful shudder up through her entire body - a shudder that was only reinforced as he rubbed harder, and then ran his two middle fingers inside her in order to apply the stimulation more roughly using the hilt of his hand. The digits themselves seemed to be searching for something inside the moist hole - and seconds later, they found it.

The orgasm that exploded through her seemed to come from everywhere at once - from her ass, her clit, her pussy, the G-spot hidden inside, her rock-hard nipples, even her shivering neck. An animalistic, high-pitched shriek emerged from her mouth, only to be cut off by a pair of juice-soaked fingers. She instinctively sucked on them, tasting the mix of her own sweet juices and his bitter, yet savory cum, while the orgasm flashed through her like an earthquake with aftershocks in attendance.

Even as the pleasure wracked her, however, an intense pain radiated out from her ass. The instinctive muscular contractions that the orgasm brought with it were now attempting to clamp down on a cock that was already taking up all available space, squeezing it tightly and making her incredibly aware of its exact size and contours. Apparently, this pressure was just what he had been waiting for - with a muffled groan, he lifted his hips to fully impale her once more, and blasted a fresh load of cum into the deep darkness of her ass. She could feel the hot, slimy liquid splash around the bend and deeper into her system, and the sensation served to drag her orgasm on for several more seconds.

Of course, when the orgasm finally faded, and she was left panting in its wake, she was still sitting impaled, her ass painfully full. It would take a while longer before his knot shrank to the point where he'd be able to pull out, and she rather suspected it would be painful even then. "Well, I'd say you have a talent for this business..." he commented calmly, his face right next to hers. She couldn't resist giggling at that. "I guess I do..." she said, mostly to herself, then tried to focus her tired, pleasure-blasted mind. "Umm... are you actually going to pay me, mister?" She asked, hesitantly. Frankly, even if he didn't, she'd consider the night well-spent, having learned so many new pleasures.

He chuckled in response. "Of course. But in the future, you should probably make sure to negotiate a price beforehand." She flashed him an awkward smile. "I guess. I'm a bit new at this, really. And... I'm not sure if there'll be a next time. It sure does seem like an easy way to make money, but wealthy and handsome travelers don't drift through town all that often, and I couldn't get away with doing this with any of the locals..." This got her an outright laugh - a very pleasant one at that, making her feel all warm inside. Beyond the hot cock and hot cum that was filling the lower part of her body, even.

"Oh, you may be surprised, my dear girl... on both counts. It's really a very capitalist thing, if you think about it - free-market powers in action. Supply and demand. If you have the supply and the demand exists, you'll find clients. And this particular demand ALWAYS exists. Throughout history, various cultures have dealt with prostitution in various ways, from embracing it to looking the other way to trying their level best to wipe it out entirely. In some places, at some times, it has carried a death-penalty. Do you think that stopped it from happening? Heck no! It's practically a constant of the furry condition..."

His voice trailed off, but only for a moment. As before, she found it comforting just to listen to it, even if she didn't entirely understand all the complicated stuff he was talking about. "Well, seeing as I'm apparently your first customer, let me give you some advice. First and foremost, supply and demand is king. And you'll be competing against your customers' wives and girlfriends, as well as, eventually, colleagues of yours. If you want people to willingly pay in order to share your bed, you need to be able to provide something they can't get for free. Being a pretty young girl is a good start, but that alone won't carry you far..."

He shifted a bit, making his cock twitch inside her and prompting a sharp intake of breath that made him chuckle. "Anal, that's a good one. You seem to be enjoying it, hmm? And it's a field where there's quite a bit of untapped demand. Many men want it, and many girls don't want to provide it. It's an economic niche you can exploit." She nodded absently. Yes, she'd definitely enjoyed it... and, well, all the rest of the stuff he said was probably true too. "Ah, but if you really want to make bank, you need to go further than that!" His hands were still moving lazily, rubbing her belly and caressing her breasts as he talked.

"Another rule of economy is that any time someone finds a profitable business, others will rush to copy them. If you are successful as a prostitute, you will soon find yourself with competition, believe me! So, if you want the customers to keep coming, you have to be willing to provide whatever they want. Limits, restrictions, no-go zones, those will only hamper you and drive away customers. If they want something you can't provide, they'll go to the competition for it, and probably stay there. On the other hand, if you offer a customer something they didn't even know they wanted, you'll probably have him hooked for good - and willing to pay extra for those things that he wouldn't even dare ask another girl for."

She made a vague sort of 'hmm' sound. "Like what?" She asked, feeling kind of hazy. Well, it WAS pretty damn late, and all this strenuous physical activity would tire anyone out. Except, apparently, this handsome gray fox, who was breathing steadily as she leaned against his chest, his voice firm and his head obviously clear. "Oh, lots of things..." he chuckled. "I'll give you a couple of examples in a bit. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out some other possibilities on your own. You seem to be a creative and highly engaged young woman, after all!"

Nobody had ever said that about her before. Mostly, people just called her 'pretty', or 'a real dish', or stuff like that. It made her smile. The smile was, however, interrupted when she felt his fingers dig into her hips and begin to lift her. His knot had shrunk while they talked, and it was probably back to its regular size by now, but it still felt pretty goddamn big as he tried pulling it out of her. It felt like her tail-hole was trying to follow it, breaking away from her shapely ass - but finally, it relinquished its grip and let the thick bulge, followed by that long, hard shaft, slip out.

She gasped as he held her like that for a moment, feeling her ass flex and shudder as it tried to resume its original shape. His thin, hot cum poured out of the gaping hole that remained until it managed it, corked in by his knot until that moment. When he finally pushed her forwards, away from him, she found herself stumbling on numb legs and falling to her knees. "Ah, good, you're already down there... turn around, girl." His voice was still pleasant, but it had a commanding edge that she was already used to obeying.

Shimmying around, she looked up at him, and realized that his clothes had disappeared at some point too. The black pants and white shirt were lying on a chair nearby, giving her a full view of his manly physique, coated by dark-gray fur that veered towards cream around the neck and belly... except for that one bright-red paw. His cock still stood proud and hard from his groin, making her marvel at the fact that it had all fit inside her... it was quite a mess, though, what with the way the cum pouring from her gaping ass had splattered down across it.

He'd apparently noticed where her eyes had been caught. "Yes, quite the mess, isn't it?" He commented casually. "Now, then, I believe I promised you some examples of added service that could bring in more customers and more money for the enterprising prostitute." He cleared his throat theatrically. "Come here, girl, and clean my cock with your tongue. Suck me off nice and thoroughly and leave it gleaming, spic and span, in your wake. I'll pay you extra, of course..."

She blinked and then grimaced. That was disgusting! Wasn't it? She was so tired, it was hard to think straight... and he WAS offering extra. She could use the money. He waggled a finger at her. "Come, now. If you won't do it, some other enterprising soul probably will. Then, the next time I've got an itch in my pants, I'll probably go to her in the first place, instead of you..." She winced at that. She didn't want him to go anywhere else! She wanted him to come back to her... so... if that was what it took...

Even crawling on the floor, it didn't take more than a second to close the minute distance between them, allowing her to put her lily-white paws on his gray-furred thighs and pull herself up into his groin. Her little pink nose vibrated as it took in the rank smell. Cum dominated the scent-image, of course, but there was another darker, more bitter, smell underneath. There were bits of brown mixed into the white slime clinging to the long, hard shaft here and there. Hardly a surprise - it wasn't as if she'd had an enema beforehand or anything, after all. She hadn't exactly expected to lose her anal cherry tonight.

Still, overcoming a brief urge to retch, she leaned in and delicately licked the tip. It tasted like ass, all right. She was just starting to develop second thoughts when his red right paw descended on the top of her head, just between the long ears. It wasn't really pulling her in or holding her in place, or anything - just resting there, like a comforting weight, lightly massaging her scalp. She took another lick, aiming her tongue at one of the cum-splatters. That bitter flavor was familiar to her - she'd gone down on a few boys in her time, after all. She hadn't cared for it at first, but eventually she'd gotten used to it, and even come to enjoy it - though partially just because she felt like such a quitter when she spat it out.

Maybe this was the same way. Maybe she just needed to... get used to the taste. And the smell. She leaned in more, feeling the paw between her ears rub her approvingly, and opened her mouth wide. She always had to be careful with her large incisors, but experience had taught her how to work around them, applying her soft lips and little pink tongue to their greatest effects. And so she did, working her way down the stained shaft, licking up cum-traces as well as the layer of ass-slime her intestine had left on it. By the time she reached the bulge of his deflated knot, she already felt like she'd grown accustomed to it. At least, she didn't have to suppress the occasional retch or rising gorge anymore. It wasn't really all _that_bad, she decided. A... mature sort of bitterness, kind of like black coffee.

As she carefully worked her tongue around the knot, cleaning it fore and back alike, his shaft - now softening - draped itself wetly across her forehead. Looking up past it, she saw him smiling approvingly down at her, and felt strangely fuzzy inside. She couldn't recall her father ever giving her such a look of approval, even back when she'd put serious effort into her schoolwork. It made the dark flavor that lingered on her tongue seems worth it and then some.

Having finished the clean-up job, she leaned back slightly to admire her work - all clean and glistening just like he'd asked. Bright red and veiny... it looked delicious even now that it wasn't fully hard anymore. She hadn't dared try to deepthroat it before - she'd done that with some of her past boyfriends, but something this size would've just been too much. Now, though, as it shrank, it looked more realistic, and she couldn't resist leaning in to suck delicately on the sensitive head again.

The red-furred paw resting on her head rubbed her one last time, then let go. "Well done, girl... well done. I think you will find many eager customers with such skills. Let me show you just one last service you could offer to impress your clients, though..." Suddenly, she felt his hands firmly grip her sensitive ears, right near the base, using them as handles to pull her forwards. She automatically moved with the insistent tug, leaning in, letting his still semi-hard cock slide across her tongue and into the back of her throat.

He didn't stop until her incisors were nestled in the thick, light-grey bush of fur right above the root of his shaft, his balls against her chin and his thick, masculine musk filling her nose and making her feel faint. Even in its currently diminished state, his cock was long enough to tickle her tonsils, and would definitely have made her gag if she hadn't already trained to control her gag-reflex. Feeling his shaft filling her mouth wasn't an unpleasant feeling, and the careful tongue-washing she'd given him had removed any lingering flavor from it. So what was he getting at? Just... deepthroating? She already knew how to do that, and how easily it made boys whimper. That was why she'd practiced it, after all.

But no, there was something else on his mind - that became clear when she felt something pour down her throat. Something thin and hot. Something that filled her mouth with an intensely sour flavor, even though it only hit the very back of her tongue. It had to be pee. He was peeing in her mouth, pouring it right down into her stomach. But the visceral reaction that realization should have sparked somehow failed to occur. The scent that filled her nose was so strong, so overpowering, that it somehow made that sour, acidic taste in her mouth seem unimportant by comparison. Even if she could pull away, which she really couldn't while he held her ears so firmly, doing so would also have meant pulling away from that smell... and she didn't want that.

So she just knelt there, feeling the hot liquid make its way from the back of her throat to her stomach, until it stilled and stopped. Only then did the hands gripping her ears pull her back, just a bit, moving the increasingly soft cockhead from her throat to her tongue. "Give it a once-over for stray drops, would you?" He asked, in such a casually off-hand way that she was working her tongue around the tapered tip of the shaft before really thinking about it. There were, indeed, a couple of sharply-flavored drops, giving her a more clear impression of the taste of hot piss than when it had been pouring so amply down her throat... and it really didn't seem all that bad.

Then, finally, the grip on her ears was relinquished entirely, and a gentle push against her forehead sent her back, leaving her sitting on her ankles and watching as the fox's cock, glistening with her spit, retreated back into its sheath. Soft finger-pads caressed the base of her ears, and he smiled warmly down at her. "I hope I wasn't too rough, there... but, really, that's just another thing you should consider getting used to. Your ears do make a fine hand-hold, after all. And the service you just provided is one you could certainly sell dearly to quite a few real perverts..."

She nodded vaguely, feeling her eyes droop. She kind of wanted to go brush her teeth, and get the taste of his piss and her own ass off her tongue, but right now she mostly wanted to lie down and have a nap. So much had happened, and it had to be way past midnight by now. Did she have school tomorrow? She couldn't really remember what day it was. Well, it wasn't as if it'd be the first time she'd skipped class. Graduation was lurking around the corner, but she'd squeeze by, probably, as she usually did, she thought tiredly to herself.

The fox seemed to notice her fatigue, and chuckled. "I suppose it's a bit past the bedtime of good little girls. Well, no worries - we can settle up tomorrow." Rising from the bed, he took a step forwards and bent down to pick her up like a child, lifting her without apparent difficulty. She let him carry her over to the bed, depositing her on the sheets next to the wet patch that their earlier activities had left there, and pulling the duvet over her sweaty fur. Something told her that she going to sleep in a handsome stranger's motel-room was a bad idea, but she was too tired and worn-out to care. So she just lay there, looking at him under increasingly-heavy lids as he sat down in the threadbare chair and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the nearby table. The aromatic smell of burning tobacco spread through the room as he clicked open an engraved silver lighter and lit one up, then leaned back and started blowing smoke-rings towards the ceiling.

Eventually, with a groan, she woke up. Her bladder was strained, her stomach rumbled and her mouth tasted like something had crawled in there to die. A cursory look at the antique clock-radio next to the bed confirmed that she'd already missed the first couple of lessons, and would have to scramble if she wanted to get to school before lunch. Stumbling out of bed, she looked around to confirm that she was, indeed, alone in the shabby little motel-room, with a couple of stubbed-out cigarettes in a glass ashtray by the chair being the only trace of the handsome gray fox who had actually rented it.

Putting that aside for the moment, she quickly made her way out to the small, age-yellowed en-suite bathroom and went through a somewhat nonstandard version of her usual morning ablutions - evacuating her bladder and bowels, washing out her mouth and lapping a few mugs worth of water straight from the tap, and finally trying to wash off the dried cum encrusted in the fur of her inner thighs and bum. She felt a bit unsteady thinking about everything that had happened last night, but a lot of it was also kind of a blur...

Returning to the main room, feeling somewhat refreshed, she did a more thorough scan and spotted her discarded clothes - neatly folded on a small table, with a thick envelope lying on top of them. Her heart started beating faster as she picked up the envelope and read her own name on front, in a neat, highly-readable handwriting that nonetheless carried a fair bit of personal flair. Underneath the large 'Betty' that had drawn her eye, a smaller text continued, and she voraciously read it. "Enclosed here is the standard fee that a professional escort would charge for an overnight stay, along with a bit extra for the additional services you provided. Go buy yourself something nice!"

Swallowing, she opened the envelope with a shaky hand, and pulled out a stack of grass-green bills that made her heart skip a beat. This was more money than she made working the tables at Bob's in months. Heck, it was probably more than her father made in a month, even though he still had a somewhat decent job. She knew this because he never failed to complain, on the first day of every month, about how hard it was to feed an entire family on his salary. And all that for a single night of dubious 'work'... well, okay, some of the later bits had been kind of gross, but not even that bad, really - she would've considered all of that a fair trade just for the pleasures that had gone before, despite the fact that her no-longer-virgin tail-hole still gave the occasional pained twitch to remind her of what it had been put though.

A broad grin split her face as she flipped through the bills, holding one of them up to the ceiling light to check the watermark and confirm that they were real. Screw school, screw cheerleading, and screw... well, actually, she'd probably better stick with her part-time job at Bob's, or even just see if he'd take her on full-time. It would be a decent cover, and an excellent place to look for more customers... but either way, what did she need a diploma for when she could make that much money working on her back and having fun with it more often than not?

---

Bob yawned as he clomped down the stairs into the basement to pick up a fresh keg of draft beer. Technically, the bar was already open, just because it served as a sort of local gathering-place as well as a drinking-establishment - and he DID serve coffee, for those who preferred their morning caffeine mixed with a bit of hair-of-the-dog - but there weren't any customers at the moment, so he didn't feel too worried about leaving the place unattended. Grabbing one of the kegs stacked up next to the stairs, he paused for a moment, his eyes drawn to a seemingly innocuous set of shelves on a nearby wall.

He'd had a dream last night - an unusually vivid and coherent one. He didn't usually remember his dreams that clearly, but this one had stuck with him. He'd seen the Speakeasy his grandfather had run, just as his dad had described it to him, filled with people and laughter and the sound of clinking glass, smoke curling from a hundred cigars to hide the ceiling in a gray haze. Only, the one standing behind the bar, slinging drink after drink, had been himself - and a lit stage and stripper-pole that certainly hadn't been part of any of the stories he'd heard had been added to the image, with Betty cavorting on it, wearing a skimpy version of her waitress uniform.

Stepping over to the shelves, he reached down along its side to find the well-hidden latch, flicking it and then pulling back on the entire unit, sending dust flying. The hidden door behind the shelves shrieked open on hinges that badly needed a bit of oil, revealing a large, dark room beyond. Searching in the darkness with one hand, he found the light-switch and flicked that too, prompting an electric hum to kick up for a few seconds before any of the aging light-bulbs actually flickered into life. Many of them didn't, their filaments either corroded by time or worn through by use - but there were still enough live ones to light up the room nicely.

Most of the original furnishings were still there. His father had never had the heart to clean it out, and neither had he. It was all covered under a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, the gray ghosts of past glory. Near the door he'd just opened, a few equally-dusty cardboard boxes were stacked up - stuff he didn't need, but couldn't throw out. A fitting resting-place for it all. As his eyes panned across it, the dream came back, clearer than before. It wouldn't take that much to shine it up again... a thorough cleaning, a fresh coat of paint, maybe some new wallpaper? Most of the original fittings could be kept, for that classy retro-feel. And if he moved a few of the old tables, a long stage could be fitted in without much trouble...

He shook his head to clear it, tapping one of his horns against the doorframe in the process. Sighing, he stepped back and turned off the lights again, before pulling the concealed door closed and grabbing the keg he had come for in the first place. What was he thinking? He was a grown-ass water-buffalo - he shouldn't be confusing dreams with reality.

With the keg slung over one shoulder, he mounted the creaking staircase and emerged back into his run-down, above-ground bar to find that it wasn't as empty as when he'd left it. A familiar, gray fox was sitting at the counter, giving him a friendly wave as he stepped in behind it and put down the keg. No longer quite the stranger he'd been yesterday, though - the local rumor-mill had been working overtime since his arrival, and Buffalo Bob's Bar & Pool-Hall was where they all coalesced. So he knew, by now, that the fox's name was Sirius Eisenbaum, born into a Jewish family but not, himself, of a religious disposition.

"Sorry about the wait!" He politely told the fox, who shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. "Think nothing of it. Frankly, I was just surprised to find this place open so early." Bob could only answer that with a shrug, offhandedly cleaning the bar with a cloth. "So what can I get you?" he asked, hoping for a chance to sell another glass of the pricey stuff - wasn't as if there was much of a call for it most of the time, after all. Sirius, however, flashed him an infectious grin. "Well, 's a bit too early for whiskey, I'd say - and probably a bit early for drinking altogether. Maybe just give me half a beer?"

The muscular old buffalo couldn't help but snort in laughter at that. "You DO know we have several different kinds of beer here, right?" But this was merely met with a laugh and a wave. "Well, I'll trust your judgment. I'm not really a day-drinker, honestly - I just didn't really know what else to do with myself. What is there to even really do around here?" Bob could only sigh at that, while grabbing a glass and half-filling it with the most expensive beer he had on tap. Not that that was saying a lot.

"Well, some folks like to go watch the local College Football team practice at the stadium, but that's not 'till after lunch..." he ventured as he put down the glass in front of his sole customer. The fox nodded thoughtfully, a strange smile playing across his lips. "You've got a stadium here?" Bob shrugged awkwardly at that. "Well, kinda'. It's really not much to look at, and it's shared by the community college and the high-school. There used to be a fancy one, a bit further out, but the city couldn't afford to maintain it, so now it's basically a deathtrap." This information, however, did not seem to put off the gray-furred visitor at all. "Indeed so? Maybe I'll go check that out later." Then he started quietly nursing his drink, clearly intent on stretching it out, while Bob settled down to get the new keg connected.

The silence in the room stretched on for several long minutes, interrupted only by the ticking of the antique wall-clock hanging on one wall, the creaking of the old ceiling-fan he kept meaning to switch out for a newer model but never had the money for, and the occasional drawn-out sip. The silence somehow felt more oppressive than when he had the bar entirely to himself - and eventually, the weight grew too much. It went against the Barkeep's Code to initialize a conversation with a customer unprompted, but this one time, he was willing to break that particular taboo.

"You know, that stuff you were talking about yesterday kind of got me thinking about the old speakeasy in the basement again..." he said conversationally, prompting the fox to lift his muzzle from the beer-glass and lick off the foam from around his nose. "Hmm? Oh, you mean about whether the local law today would look the other way like back then?" He asked, quite offhanded. Bob snorted. "Yeah... though, I don't think he would. Bathtub gin is one thing - if there were such a thing as a Speakeasy these days, it'd be more of a drug-den, right? And I doubt ol' Scrofa would overlook_that._ There's a hell of a difference between a drink and a drug!"

Sirius clicked his tongue, leaning forwards with a sparkle in his eyes. "Oh,is there, now?" Bob blinked, taken aback. "Well... yeah?" With a sigh, the fox shook his head. "Come, now. What is alcohol, again? It's something people consume to feel good. A chemical that affects your body in a pleasant way at first, can be deadly if over-imbibed, and harms your body in the long run. In other words: A drug." He took another sip of his beer, then held the glass up to look at the buffalo behind the bar through the foamy remains. "Face it, my friend - you are a drug-dealer. Always have been. You just happen to be peddling one of the few drugs that have been arbitrarily settled on by society as an 'acceptable' one."

Putting down the glass, he reached into his black coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out and settling it in the corner of his mouth even as Bob, mind still trying to wrap itself around the fox's declaration and find a viable objection, automatically grabbed his lighter and held it up. A few puffs later, a bright-red glow lit the end of the cigarette, and the fox pulled it from his mouth to blow an elegant smoke-ring. "Nicotine being another fine example..." he continued, waving the cig. "This stuff will kill you, you know. No ifs, ands or buts. Every drag is another few hours off your lifespan. I could name several ILLEGAL drugs that are less dangerous, but nobody's ever even TRIED outlawing smokes!"

Meanwhile, Bob's brain - still a bit foggy with dreams of running a jam-packed Speakeasy rather than a run-down pool-hall - had caught up, albeit without much in the way of arguments in its luggage. "It's not quite the same..." he nonetheless said stubbornly. To his surprise, though, Sirius nodded. "Well, that's certainly true! I mean, I don't think anybody snorts cocaine for the smell, but some folks do drink alcohol for the flavor." Bob eagerly nodded, only to belatedly realize that he'd walked into a trap as one of the fox's eyebrows rose and quirked inquisitively. "So... about how many of your regular customers would you say come here for the flavor of the beer, as opposed to the buzz? Be honest, now..."

Sighing, Bob shook his head. "Not many, I'll grant you that. Lots of troubles to drink away around here." Saying anything else wouldn't just be dishonest, it'd be downright silly. The fox on the other side of the bar wore the smile of a gracious winner as he continued to puff on his cigarette. "Actually, since we were talking about the Prohibition Era..." he then continued, leaning in over the counter and once again looking very much like he'd just walked out of that particular period, what with his black fedora-and-duster-coat ensemble. "If you like stories from those days, I'm sure you can tell me what the most dangerous thing about having a drink was, back then."

Leaning heavily on the counter, Bob nodded. He did, indeed, know about that from his dad's stories. "Oh, I know that, all right. Wasn't the G-men, or even the gin-running mobsters. It was the booze itself. Brewing good hooch isn't for amateurs, and lots of would-be moonshiners and bathtub distillers wound up either making booze that was more methanol than ethanol - likely to blind you or kill you outright - or distilled their goods so much that you wound up basically drinking pure alcohol, which can kill you dead right quick..."

The fox nodded eagerly, looking impressed with the depths of his knowledge - something that made Bob feel unreasonably satisfied. "You know your stuff!" He said, making an extravagant gesture with his cigarette. "But I'm sure that kind of bad booze never got served up in your grandpa's speakeasy, eh?" Bob nodded proudly. "Damn straight. Grandpa knew his suppliers, and checked every bottle of moonshine that came in. Nobody ever wound up dead OR blind from visiting the Buffalo's Watering-Hole."

With a grin, the fox put his cigarette back in his mouth for another drag, continuing in a drawl. "Well, you know, things are pretty much the same way with 'hard drugs' today. Kids die all the time, either because the drugs were made wrong or cut with the wrong stuff, or because they wound up with a product that's purer than they were expecting, putting them on the short bus to OD-ville." Shrugging, he slouched on his bar-stool. "When stuff's being produced under the table, there's no quality-control and a lot of amateurs involved - and the results are the same whether you're talking drugs or alcohol. That's why speakeasies were so popular back in the day - they were a reliable, trustworthy source of your choice of poison, much safer than taking a gamble on a street-corner supplier. Thinking of it that way, would a modern-day version really be that bad?"

Bob leaned heavily against the bar, looking up at the lazily creaking ceiling-fan with his mind once again in a jumble. Drugs were bad... so he'd been taught, and always believed. But Sirius was right - the hooch he was slinging across the bar every day wasn't much different, nor were the cigs he often lit for customers, though he didn't smoke 'em himself. And he knew that no amount of disapproval from him would make drugs go away. The rumors all reached his bar, if they didn't_start_ there - so he knew the whispers about pills being passed around, about kids at the community-college being caught with bags of the little white things and Sheriff Scrofa having some long, hard talks with those involved before the bags were mysteriously misfiled and disappeared from the records...

Who knew what was really in those pills? And if one of those kids tried some while hiding out in an abandoned building somewhere, and had a bad reaction... he'd wind up dead, with no-one to help 'em. A place that provided drugs that had been suitably vetted, with known purity, as well as a safe place to take them and someone to cut them off before they overdid it - same way he kept an eye on his thirstier customers, basically - well, that could save lots of lives. Not that that would justify it, of course! He just couldn't quite figure out_why_ it'd be a bad thing anymore.

A red-furred finger tapped the back of one of his own work-worn hands, drawing his mind back to reality and his eyes back down to his customer. The smiling fox was holding out a folded ten-dollar bill with a raised eyebrow, and he awkwardly took it from his hand, trying not to eye the colorful fur too obviously. "I'll get your change..." he mumbled and worked the register, but as yesterday, the clearly affluent gentleman just laughed and jumped off his bar-stool, leaving behind the empty beer-glass and a stubbed-out cigarette-butt in the nearby ashtray. "Keep it. Thanks for the beer and the chat!" Then he was gone, leaving Bob alone with his thoughts. The first one that popped up was that if Sirius stuck around much longer, he'd be able to afford to fix up the basement-room just from all the 'change'.

---

Coach Löewe sighed and ran a hand through his thick, sand-colored mane as he leaned back against the bleachers, watching the students run though their set exercises. The weather was holding, for now, which was why he'd decided to take the routine outside in the fresh air - soon enough, snow and rain would push them inside, into the musty-smelling, poorly air-conditioned gym-hall. The students weren't complaining - both because they preferred the stadium to the gym-hall too, and because they knew perfectly well that complaining, in general, did not go over well with this old lion.

Well, he for his part could not complain about their performance today. They were throwing themselves into it with vigor, soaking up the late-autumn sunlight and clearly relishing their own youthful vitality. He could not complain, no... only look on in envy. If only_he_ still had that kind of vigor! He felt tired. Tired and worn out. Working two jobs to make ends meet - teaching gym-class at the high-school AND coaching the football-team at the college across the road - and then going home to his sad, lonely apartment, eating his reheated dinner in front of the telly, going to sleep in his chair, and then doing it all over again the next day. Or, if it was the weekend - as it blessedly soon would be - sleeping in and then spending half the day at Bob's, drinking, playing pool, and shooting the bull with the other regulars.

What kind of life was this? Not the one he'd envision when he was the age of the kids now jumping and stretching on the field before him, that was for sure. Back then, when there'd still been some life left in the city - heck, when it had been a city, rather than just a ghost-town surrounded by abandoned factories - he'd had big dreams. His mane was still just fuzz, but his heart had been bursting with hope and strength. He'd been the rising star of the football-team, the Roaring Quarterback that few even dared try to tackle! Everybody wanted to be his friend, and the girls had flocked to his side - why, he must've bedded half the co-ed population during those years!

But then, the usual story. It hadn't even been any mistake he_made. The field hadn't been properly maintained. Budget-cuts. The city had been dying, after all - slowly, less obviously than now, but dying nonetheless. An irregularity in the surface, a misstep, a torn rotator-cuff, and his career crash-landed before it even got a chance to really take off. He'd considered suing the school, but his father had dissuaded him. They wouldn't have been able to pay him much, no matter what he sued them _for - the money just wasn't there - and in the process he'd be burning a lot of bridges.

So he'd bit down, smiled, and accepted the deepest apologies. And once he graduated from college, he'd used the resulting goodwill to secure a steady job for himself. So he had money, food on the table, a roof over his head - more than lots of people got in this economy. But most of the 'friends' had disappeared along with his prospects, and the ladies with 'em. So there he was - decades later, with a mane that was starting to grow gray hairs, working a career with no real prospects of advancement, no kids, no wife, and a bare handful of drinking-buddies to keep the lurking specter of depression at bay.

Trying to shake off this sudden bout of morose moodiness, he pushed himself away from the bleachers, grabbed the whistle that hung from his neck and blew sharply into it. The noise thrilled across the broad field, bringing an end to all activity as his students turned attentively towards him. Taking a step forwards he clapped his hands and raised his voice - which could still shake the entire arena if he wanted it to. "All right, looking good there! Enough warmup, though - put up the net, and get out the volleyballs. Girls versus Boys, girls always get the serve by default. Show me what you've learned!"

There was a general cheer, if not an entirely unanimous one - but that was general for any team-based sport he pushed them into. The stronger students were eager to strut their stuff, but the weaker ones were afraid of holding back their team - and feared the ribbing that might result if they wound up losing a vital point. But hey, that was the idea! It was supposed to be a bit of added motivation to push themselves, maybe even train at times when he wasn't directly shouting at them to do so! Not that it seemed to work out that way very often, alas...

He stepped back to lean against the bleachers once more as he watched the more eager of the students run to the equipment-shed just off the field to get the gear. A shock went through him as a smoothly pleasant voice spoke from just behind him - "Volleyball, huh? Nice choice - always fun to watch!" Spinning around, he saw that there was a man sitting at the lowest tier of seating, right behind him - a gray-furred fox who looked like he'd just stepped off the set of a 40's gangster-movie, clad in a black duster-coat and fedora. His smile, however, was anything but intimidating, and he found himself automatically responding in kind when the fox leaned forwards and stretched out his right arm, the red paw at the end an eye-catching flash of color. "Name's Sirius - Sirius Eisenbaum. Nice to meet you!"

Taking the paw in his own, he gave it a shake, feeling the other man's firm grip. "Ah... Maximillian Löewe. My friends call me Max. You're the guy whose fancy car broke down right outside of town, right?" He'd heard the rumors, of course - they'd been all over town last night, and all over the school this morning. The fox nodded pleasantly. "Indeed. So I've found myself with some time to burn, and I'd heard that the local College Football team's practice might be worth watching!" Max shrugged at this. It was certainly true that there tended to be a few onlookers - mostly parents of players who had nothing better to do because they were out of work - and he large approved of this since it helped the players get used to the pressure of having an audience. "Could be, but I'm afraid you're a bit early for that. This is just gym-class." He replied, but Sirius just shrugged it off. "Eh, like I said, volleyball is always fun to watch, and I've got nothing better to do... so, would you mind terribly if I just stayed here?"

The old lion shot the gray fox a suspicious glance, but then he sighed, shrugged and turned around to lean on the bleachers as he had before. "Eh, sure... guess there isn't much else to do 'round here, unless you fancy staying in your room and watching daytime TV." Generally speaking, he didn't much like the idea of an adult - who wasn't even related to any of his kids - hanging about and watching them jump around in their gym-clothes. But this fellow seemed harmless enough, and it wasn't as if he was likely to try anything with Löewe right there, even if he was some kind of creep.

The fox had not, however, missed his suspicious glance, and now chuckled quietly behind him. "These kids are lucky to have such a conscientious guardian..." he commented, sounding entirely sincere. Then he continued, in a more humorous tone. "Though, honestly, some of them don't look much like kids anymore, do they? I mean, just look at that bear!" Max had to chuckle at this, since he'd thought the same thing himself at times. Bruin Jr. was shaping up to be the same kind of massive bruiser as his dad, and could easily look his gym-teacher in the eye already, even though he was quite tall for a lion. He was currently carrying both of the net-poles on his shoulders, showcasing the muscle that rippled so readily beneath his dense, brown fur. Max was basically counting the days 'till Bruin Jr. applied at the neighboring community college - not like he had a lot of other options, after all - so that he could recruit him for the football-team.

The fox didn't say anything else for a while, merely watching as the net was set up and the ball served up for the first bout. Thumps and the huffing of winded students soon resounded across the field. The teams were surprisingly evenly matched, thanks mostly to a couple of girls who'd shot up like weeds in the past few months, granting them impressive blocking-abilities, for all that they still seemed awkward with their over-long limbs. Though, the fact that the boys kept trying to show off and spike the ball instead of aiming for safer shots helped balance the books too.

"Pretty good for their age! Must have had a skilled teacher..." Sirius commented smoothly behind him. Max just harrumphed. Though he might be a footballer at heart, he didn't slack off at his day-job - whatever sport he was teaching his kids, he gave it his all. "How old are they, anyway? 15? 16?" An innocuous enough question. He shrugged. "Thereabouts." The fox gave a little laugh. "Just imagine... in just two or three years they will turn 18, and magically, overnight, become responsible adults who are fully qualified to make weighty decisions about their future, and that of the entire country!"

This was enough to draw a bark of laughter out of the laconic lion, who quickly disguised it as a cough. The gray fox, meanwhile, seemed content to talk for both of them, though keeping his voice pitched low enough that the kids out on the field wouldn't overhear. "You know where that comes from? That whole idea of becoming an adult specifically at age 18, I mean?" He gave his mane a little shake in response. It wasn't really something he'd given any thought before - it was just... the way things were, right? But the chatty fox behind him seemed to have different ideas.

"Well, the magic number of 18 is from way back in medieval times, where it was considered a suitable age for a young fellow to become a Squire - that is, a knight-in-training. Gives you some idea of just how outdated the whole notion is, and how arbitrary, huh? But the modern usage is a bit more recent - as in, the 19th century. And it wasn't really started to protect kids or anything - the ones who wanted the law in place were nobles and other wealthy souls who wanted a way to keep their cubs, particularly their boys, on a short leash. They demanded a change in the law, and seeing as they were rich, they of course got it. Prior to that, you were basically an adult when you could support yourself, simple as that - and folks were getting married at ages twelve to fourteen, without anyone raising their hackles over it. Imagine that, huh?"

Max blinked and grunted in a noncommittal kind of way. It was hard to really imagine, honestly... well, apart from the bit where a bunch of high-and-mighty types decided that the law needed to be a particular way, and then got it exactly as they wanted it. That, he could easily imagine. "On the other hand, maybe it makes more sense that way than what we're doing today..." the fox continued, seemingly undeterred by the lack of a vocalized reply. "I mean... it's really kind of ridiculous, when you think about it. 18, bam, you're an adult, you now have the right to buy guns, have sex, and vote. Might even be allowed to have a drink, d'pending on the state! What, you're only 17 years and 11 months old? Then you clearly aren't mature enough for any of that yet!"

Another laugh had to be disguised as a cough, but hey, the autumn air _did_have quite a bit of bite to it, so he could hardly be blamed for being a bit coughy today. "Well, what else can ya do?" he finally said, somehow feeling like he needed to defend the system he was accustomed to, however weakly. He heard fabric and fur shift behind him as the fox shrugged. "Eh, good question, I s'pose. I guess what's really needed is something a bit more flexible, you know? People mature at different rates. I'm sure you know a few furs in their thirties or more who really shouldn't own a gun, and who persistently make really bad decisions about who to fuck and who to vote for... never mind how much they drink!"

He snorted in acknowledgment. Couldn't deny, couldn't deny... one of his regular drinking-buddies was Sheriff Scrofa, so he'd heard all the usual stories about gun-toting drunkards and womenfolk who persisted in going back to the same abusive mate who'd nearly sent them to the hospital several times already. "That's what I thought. Heck, some of the kids out there on that field are probably more qualified for making those kinds of decisions than some of those supposed adults. Ya know, I think that ideally, there should be some kind of objective judge instead of just an arbitrary age. Someone who knew the kids and saw them every day, but wasn't so closely related to them that he wouldn't be able to stay objective. He'd be able to tell when someone was ready to start acting like an adult - at least, better than a calendar-page!"

Max found himself nodding along with this. Why, he knew his students probably better than their doting parents did - half of _them_wanted to wrap their cubs in cotton-wool, while the other half seemed too busy to even care. "Maybe some of them would wind up starting a bit early and making a mistake or two..." the fox continued smoothly, and Max noticed that a hand was now resting on his shoulder as its owner apparently leaned forwards to keep a better eye on the ongoing volleyball-match. "But really, isn't that part of growing up? You make mistakes, get hurt, learn that the world has sharp corners, and grow tougher and wiser from it. It doesn't do any good to try and shelter kids too much, I'm sure you'll agree - they have to face the real world sooner or later, so they may as well be prepared for what that means!"

He nodded again, even though it seemed like a bit of a disjointed aside. It was certainly true! It was like those parents who wouldn't even let their cubs climb trees, afraid they'd fall or get stuck up there or whatnot. Ridiculous! Sure, maybe they'd take a tumble, and get a few bruises, but like the fox had said, that was part of growing up! What did you get if you shielded kids from every possible risk? Wimpy teenagers. And if you kept sheltering the teenagers too? Wimpy adults!

And he knew his kids, oh yes he did. His mane might've started picking up gray hairs here and there, but his eyes and ears were still sharp. He heard them whispering and gossiping and saw them texting on their phones when they thought he was too far away. And spending his weekends cherry-picking interesting tidbits from the town rumor-mill at Bob's filled in the rest of the blanks. He knew which ones were already sexually active even though they weren't supposed to be, which ones had snuck a drink or a cigarette, and which ones had liked it. He knew which ones still threw childish tantrums when things didn't go their way, and which ones had learned to handle adversity stoically. And he certainly knew which of them were being watched over by helicopter-parents, and which were left largely to their own devices.

He was pulled from his mental cataloging by a shriek, and quickly stepped forwards to blow his whistle and bring the game to a halt. Sharp-eyed as he was, he could immediately tell what had happened. The fact that Jane Buckley was on the ground, blood oozing from her nostrils, was kind of a tip-off. Sighing, he walked in amongst the students, who swiftly parted before him. The boy who'd been responsible for this particularly misaimed attempt at a suitably cinematic spike was standing near the net, wringing his paws and looking rather nervous - Brad Onca, a panther whose sleek, black fur was drawing the eyes of quite a few girls already. He had an impressive pair of legs on him too, as he had just demonstrated.

"Coach Löewe, sir! I didn't mean to hit her..." he started up, but Max quickly silenced him with a gentle paw on the shoulder. "I know, son - I know. Don't worry about it - accidents happen when you play sports, that's just part of the game..." he reassured him, then ducked under the net to take a closer look at the fallen victim. Lifting up the young doe's face, he carefully checked around her nose and forehead and then nodded. "And besides, it's nothing serious. A bit of a nosebleed is all!" Wagging a finger, he chided young Jane, who was blinking back tears. "And as for you, what have I told you about keeping your eyes on the ball? If you hadn't been woolgathering in the middle of the game, you would've been able to block that easily."

She winced, but nodded. "I'm sorry, Coach Löewe. I'll try to do better." With a sigh, Max straightened up, and took a quick glance around the playing-field. Had she spotted Sirius back in the bleachers and been distracted by him? Well, if so, that issue seemed to have resolved itself - looking back to where he'd been standing until just recently, there was nary a soul in sight. The chatty fox must have finally gotten tired of watching amateur volleyball while flapping his jaw and wandered off to bother somebody else.

His eyes locked on the sturdy Bruin Jr. "Bruin - you're off the playing-field to even the teams. Keep an eye on the score and make sure everybody plays clean while I take Jane to the nurse's office." The tall, young bear nodded gravely and walked off the playing-field to stand by the sidelines, escorted by a chorus of regrets from his team-mates. Unlike many of the rest of them he'd been focusing on blocking and passing the ball rather than showing off, and made a lot of difference in the process. A solid, responsible young man, that one, just like his father. It really seemed silly that the law put him in the same category as some of his vapid, empty-headed classmates, just because of an arbitrary number.

Jane protested too. "Really, Coach Löewe, there's no need... I'm fine - it's just a bit of nosebleed, like you said!" She sounded a bit thick while saying this, though, seeing as she was tipping her head back and holding a finger under her nose to stem the crimson flow. Max snorted and put a hand on her shoulder. "Yes, it's just a nosebleed, but we need to get that stopped too! You kind of need that blood inside of you, you know - just in case you've been woolgathering in biology, too!" This prompted a smattering of giggles from the surrounding girls, who all knew as well as he did that she did, indeed, tend to let her attention wander regardless of what class she was in.

Guiding her off the court, he leaned down slightly. "Besides, your antlers are still coming in. If that ball hit you just wrong, they might come in crooked - and you wouldn't notice 'till they grew a fair bit longer. Better to get something like that checked right away." This made her eyes widen, and stilled any further protests. Crooked antlers was a surefire recipe for teasing, mean names and general bullying, and she clearly knew it. As they walked away from the supposed 'stadium' and towards the nearby school-building, Max found himself assessing the girl he was escorting.

Jane Buckley. One older brother. Parents both unemployed, and not the kind who took advantage of their ample free time to engage more freely with their kids. Mostly, they just moped around, showing up for parent-teacher conferences and nodding along with whatever they were told without much sign that they were really listening. She was a good girl, though. Very mature, despite only being 15. When she took that volleyball straight to the face, there'd been nary a tear, and no crying or screaming beyond that initial shriek of surprise. A tough young girl who already knew that life didn't offer free lunch, her skinny frame and lack of curves - a natural result of short meals - making her look even younger than she actually was.

Unfortunately, she wasn't performing well in school. Her attention wandered, homework was forgotten or went entirely unnoticed, and any question directed at her usually had to be repeated three times before she actually realized somebody was talking to her - something that tended to annoy her teachers to no end. When she actually engaged with the lessons, it was clear that there was nothing wrong with her intelligence - but nonetheless, she was well on track to failing several subjects, and if she was able to drift off during a game of volleyball, that was hardly surprising.

Entering the nurse's office, they found it empty. Wise to the vices of his colleagues, Max peered down into the wastepaper-basket and clicked his tongue. Sure enough, an empty bottle of cheap hooch was lying there, freshly discarded, which meant that Nurse Mouly would be currently on her way out to pick up a fresh bottle. Everybody knew about that mouse's drinking-problem, as well as the fact that reporting it wouldn't do any good - she had regular 'meetings' with the school principal, after all, which she largely spent underneath his desk. And besides, she was a rather competent nurse as long as she wasn't too drunk, and kept her office neat and organized, ensuring that you could usually find what you needed even if she was otherwise engaged.

Certainly, Max had no trouble finding a couple of cotton-balls that could cork Jane's nose, nor the stethoscope. Running the sensitive pad over the young doe's skull, he carefully nudged her tiny, fuzzy antlers, listening for any tell-tale cracking that might suggest that they'd been loosened by the impact, fortunately hearing nothing of the sort. With a sigh, he put the stethoscope away, and looked down at his charge, who was in the process of cleaning clotted blood off her face with a wet-nap now that the source had been stoppered.

"What am I supposed to do with you, Jane?" he asked without preamble, feeling tired. "I don't usually like to fail kids, but if you carry on like this, I won't have any choice. You never pay attention, and mostly just hang out in the back and try to avoid being noticed." She looked up at him, her mouth forming a surprised 'O', and only now did tears begin to appear in the corners of her large, brown eyes. "Oh, please don't fail me, Coach Löewe!" She begged, leaning forwards and putting her hands on his knees. "I know I'm already failing several classes... one more, and... and..."

One more and she'd likely have to do the year over, indeed. An intolerable humiliation that might actually wake her parents from their stupor long enough to be properly disappointed in her. This had clearly occurred to her, too, and she had slid from the high stool she'd been sitting on why he inspected her antlers to literally fall to her knees before him in supplication, clinging to his legs. He put on a stern face, much as he wanted to comfort her - if you let these kids think that they could get a passing grade just out of pity, they'd stop putting in any kind of effort!

But when she tugged on his knees and pleaded, tears in her eyes, "Please, Coach Löewe... I'll do whatever I have to... anything you want... just don't fail me..." his mind found itself redirected down a different path. Did she actually understand what she was saying? There was a trembling in his loins as he considered it. She WAS very mature for her age, and he knew she'd had a boyfriend before, although they had broken up again pretty quickly, and there'd been no particular suggestion in the rumors that they had gone beyond makeouts and light petting. Of course, it wasn't as if the rumor-mill truly picked up on every detail of these kids' lives...

Looking down at her pleading form, he saw her in a new light, suddenly. She looked so small and skinny... but, well, she was a doe after all, and they tended to be wiry by nature. Her face, despite the tears and the bloody cotton-swabs stuffed in her nose, was pretty... beautiful, even. His cock jumped, stirring in his sheath, and for some reason he couldn't immediately quash the thought. He was a man, after all - he had needs! And his usual way of satisfying those was, ultimately... less than satisfying, not to mention rare. The local homeless population numbered a few females of negotiable virtue among their numbers, but none of them were particularly attractive, despite the caked-on makeup they tended to cover their pockmarked faces with. Wearing a condom was obviously mandatory, not so much due to any rule of theirs as because they were likely carrying a splendid collection of STD's - which meant an extra expense for those fancy 'Feline Friendly' condoms with the reinforced tips, which also meant reduced sensitivity exactly where it mattered most...

He knew that some cats had the little flesh-covered barbs surgically removed from the tip of their penises, just to make things easier on themselves and their partners, but his father had been militantly opposed to that practice. "Those barbs aren't just part of what makes you a male, they are part of what makes you a lion!" he had declared the first time the subject had come up, thrusting out his chest proudly. If he had his own tip 'shaved', the old man would spin in his grave - and if he had it done to make it more convenient to bang drug-addled prostitutes, the tough old sod would probably rise from it just to slap the shit out of his misguided son.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at the kneeling doe before him. "Do you actually mean what you are saying?" he asked, voice slightly uncertain. Hope blossomed across her face, and she eagerly nodded. "Oh, yes Coach Löewe! I'll work hard, I promise!" Looking around the empty office, he did some quick calculations and reached a quick decision. "All right, then. Come with me..." He rose from his seat, and she quickly scrambled to her hooves to follow him as he walked out of the nurse's office.

It wasn't far to go to the storage-space next to the gym hall - a place where they'd certainly go undisturbed. She followed him inside, and looked at him curiously as he locked the door behind them. His heart was speeding up. Was he really going to go through with this? Well... she wasn't a kid, not really, despite her age. And what she had seemingly proposed... that was how the world worked, wasn't it? As Nurse Mouly so amply demonstrated, a pretty girl who was willing to play the game could easily get ahead in the world. If she didn't_truly_ understand what that meant, well, she needed to learn. And learning was what she was here for, after all - heck, it was basically his responsibility as an educator to prepare her for the realities of the adult world!

And so, he cleared his throat. "All right, Jane... you want to get ahead by making deals instead of by putting in the effort? That can work - indeed, you could walk out of this room with a guaranteed passing grade for my class, regardless of what happens for the rest of the year. But you're still going to have to work for it, in another way..." She nodded eagerly, leaning forwards, eyes intent. With a shrug, he grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down, along with his underwear, letting his cock - bright-red and fully emerged from its sheath - swing into the air. "You know what to do with one of these?" he asked, pointing at it.

At first, she recoiled - well, she'd probably never seen one this size before, and probably not a feline version either, so that was hardly a surprise. He waited patiently for a couple of seconds, just standing there with his hands on his hips and his cock swinging free. Then, finally, she seemed to swallow something and nodded jerkily. "Y... yes, Coach Löewe..." She still seemed hesitant, though, and he glanced around the room. There, a big sack of old softballs that'd take his weight. Stepping over to it, he sat down on it as if it was a particularly low-quality beanbag. Legs spread, he leaned back. "Well, then, get over here and put in the work..."

And she did, after only a moment more of hesitation, sinking to her knees between his legs and reaching a shaky hand out for his cock, which was painfully hard by now. She slowly started to stroke it, her fingers light and soft against the heated tissue, and he breathed deeply as he enjoyed this mild stimulation. After stroking it for a bit and throwing a hesitant glance up at him, she leaned in further and wrapped her soft, delicate lips around the tip, applying suction while her tongue clumsily brushed over the heavily-textured surface. It seemed like her relationship with her one-time boyfriend indeed_had_ gone a bit further than most realized, Max decided - but clearly not for very long, based on her clear lack of experience.

Regardless of her skills, however, her mouth was hot and moist, her tongue was deliciously soft, and watching her head, with its fuzzy little antlers, bob up and down over his cock as she tried to go deeper was a right dish all by itself. She was wrapping both of her hands around the shaft beneath, one above the other, and jacking them up and down in a way that suggested that she was at least marginally more experienced with handjobs than with blowjobs. His breathing grew steadily more labored as the pleasure and pressure rose in his loins, the muscles in his legs twitching with the instinctive urge to thrust.

He let the pressure build until he couldn't take it anymore, and only then reached down to cover the top of her head with his hands, her stubby little antlers fitting neatly into the spaces between thumb and hand as his fingers dug into her short-cropped hair. Letting his hips rise from the improvised beanbag-chair as they willed, he pushed her head down on his throbbing erection with a grunt, forcing his cockhead into the tight confines of the back of her throat and letting the resulting pressure push him over the edge.

With a stifled roar, he came - balls tightening and cock twitching as he poured his load down her tight throat. Only once the singing tension had completely abandoned his thighs, and the last anemic spurts had made their way out the tip of his cockhead, did he sink back down into his uncomfortable seat and release his hold on the young doe's head. She popped off his cock instantly, coughing wetly, tears streaming down her face. He patiently waited for her to regain her breath, at which point her first words were "Was... *cough* was that okay, Coach Löewe? Did I do good?"

She was looking hopefully up at him, and he carefully considered his answer. He hadn't cum that hard in decades, that was for certain... but his cock was still standing firm and hard, showing no sign of shrinking, deflating, or retreating back into its sheath. Arousal was percolating in his mind, reminding him of the vigorous days of yore where the co-eds had been fighting for a chance to ride his barbed shaft. He hadn't been able to go twice in a row for YEARS, that was for sure - and it seemed a shame to let that opportunity go to waste. "Not bad..." he finally said. "Certainly a good start. But you've still got work to do..."

He rose from his reclining seat, making her scramble back on her ass to make room, and took another look around. The vaulting-horse was about the right height. Reaching down, he grabbed her under the arms and easily lifted her into the air, her skinny body surprisingly light. There was a look of surprise and consternation on her young face as he carried her over to the tall piece of gear - had she expected that it would be that easy to earn herself a free pass? Well, if so, that was just one more lesson he needed to instill in her - success rarely came that cheaply.

Draping her over the vaulting-horse, he stepped around behind her and resolutely pulled down her gym-shorts, revealing her innocently white, sweated-through panties beneath. They were virtually the same color at the underside of her short, fluffy tail, making for quite a nice view! As he reached for them and began to pull them down as well, however, her legs flailed. "Please, Coach Löewe, sir! I'm saving my virginity for someone special!" she wailed, and he briefly hesitated before pulling off those cute little panties with one swift movement nonetheless.

"Very well, then... there's an alternative we can go with. Just keep in mind that it will likely hurt quite a bit, at least right at first..." he rumbled, lifting the cottony white fabric to his face to sniff at them without much thought. Alas, the sweat that had soaked into them during her earlier exertions overpowered whatever hints of feminine arousal they might have carried. "Are you prepared for that?" Her slender legs stopped flailing and stiffened. Then they hung lax again. "...yes, Coach Löewe. Just please don't take my virginity..." she said quietly, and he nodded, leaning over her.

"You'll need this, I think..." he said, stuffing the balled-up panties he was holding into her surprised mouth, and pulling the bloodied cotton-balls out of her nostrils at the same time. There was a brief spurt of mostly-coagulated blood from them as she instinctively cleared her airways, but the bleeding itself had clearly stopped by now. "Wouldn't want you making so much noise that someone comes looking, would we?" He calmly commented. The only reply was a muffled groan, but she made no attempt to pull or spit the wadded-up fabric out. Meanwhile, Max squatted behind her and worked his jaws, before spitting a thick wad of saliva right at her diminutive tail-hole. His aim was on point, and with a thick thumb he worked the spit into the taut sphincter, massaging and relaxing it as he went. His glans was covered in her saliva already, but the rest of his shaft was mostly dry, so a bit more lubrication would be needed.

Bending over her skinny frame, he gripped her waist with one hand to hold her steady, and guided his erection towards its target with the other. It wasn't a very big target, but fortunately his cockhead was quite heavily tapered - and his thigh-muscles were still strong. Her untried sphincter fiercely resisted the intrusion, but once the very tip of his tool was positioned, he could shift to a two-handed grip on her slim waist and really put his back into it. Bent over the vaulting-horse, he let the claws on his feet unsheathe and dig into the rough floorboards, ensuring his traction as he pushed forwards with irresistible force.

A drawn-out, muffled shriek emerged from the gagged doe beneath him as he forced his way into her ass, enormously stretching her sphincter in the process. He himself had to groan out loud at the feeling of intense tightness around his bare cockhead - he'd almost forgotten how good it felt to go 'bareback'. She was wrapped so tightly around him that the fleshy barbs lining his head were being pushed into the surrounding tissue, adding further stimulation to a particularly sensitive region of his tool.

He wasn't done, though, not by far. It was still just his head that had managed to get inside. The shaft behind it, though, was both a bit thinner and a bit smoother, so it shouldn't be too hard to make it follow suit... except, of course, for the fact that this would require his thick, barbed cockhead to force its way deeper into the young doe's tight rectum. Leaning further forwards, he let gravity assist his already significant leverage and did just that, flexing his hips to force himself deeper and deeper, until finally he bottomed out and felt his fuzzy balls rest against the soft curvature of her teenage pussy. Even though he had more girth than length going for him, Löewe was still a bit surprised she'd managed to take it all like that...

Her slender legs were spasming, dancing in the air beneath him, her hooves occasionally clipping his own legs - nearly a foot above the floor. He could hear her breathing rapidly through her freshly-cleared nose, and emitting a steady stream of muffled whimpers. Still, she seemed to be managing - at least, she wasn't screaming her head off. He tried to wait a while, to let her ass grow accustomed to the strain it was under, but the feeling of intense pressure was making his instincts stand up and roar. It didn't take much more than a minute before he couldn't restrain himself any further - he had to start thrusting.

And so he did, letting the breath whistle through his clenched fangs as he felt the intense friction on his way back out. Jane's body stiffened between his hands, and he could hear the leather of the vaulting-horse squeak as she gripped it - clearly, the way his bristly cockhead was scraping over her intestinal tissue on its way out hadn't gone unnoticed. Her sphincter practically followed him out, deforming her ass, so tight it was around his shaft. He kept going until he could feel his head-barbs catching on the inside of that taut ring, and only then thrust back into her.

He couldn't go very fast - the friction and tightness was just too great. But that suited him just fine - something like this needed to be relished. A slow, deliberate rhythm was best for that. Long, steady strokes, putting all of his weight into each of them, breathing in sync with his movements. Bit by bit, it got easier, the friction dropping as the overstuffed orifice adapted to its situation - plus, probably, a bit of added lubrication in the form of blood from the shallow scratches his barbs would be generating. Jane's body seemed to be relaxing as well, her whimpers gradually sounding more like moans to his ears. Either the pain was fading, or she was simply growing accustomed to it.

As he began to slip in and out of her more easily, he slowly yet steadily accelerated, feeling his pleasure rise in response - his balls were beginning to itch with eagerness to generate yet another thick load, his instincts fortunately unaware that neither of the holes he'd used so far led to any kind of fertile womb. With increasing force, he slammed his hips into the doe's subtle buttocks, generating dull thumbs as fur met fur. The vaulting-horse was starting to rock and skid under the violence of the assault, but that didn't matter - he was nearly there.

With an orgasmic roar that hissed out between his tightly-clenched teeth, he came for the second time in less than an hour, spraying his seed into the bloodied depths of Jane Buckley's 15-year-old anus. He embedded himself fully as the climax hit him, thrusting into her right to the root and bending heavily over the vaulting-horse, squeezing her young body between his muscular bulk and the time-worn leather. He spent a couple of minutes like that before he'd recovered sufficiently from the intense wave of pleasure - and the exertion - to straighten up.

At that point, all that was left to do was to pull out - a process that was fortunately eased by the way his cock, having risen spectacularly to the occasion, was now rapidly deflating. His spurs hardly scratched the edges of the sphincter when his cockhead emerged, and he quickly reached down to grab his handkerchief from the pocket of the sweatpants that were still piled around his feet, wiping the blood and cum-traces off his tool before it retracted back into its sheath.

He cast his eyes over at Jane, then - or rather, her fully-exposed rear. Her tail-hole was still gaping and twitching, a light-red mixture of blood and cum beginning to ooze from it. Balling up the handkerchief, he forced it into the freshly-deflowered orifice, prompting a surprised yelp from its owner. "Here - you can keep it. Wouldn't want to stain those pretty panties of yours..." he said lightly, still floating on a cloud of sexual endorphins. He then reached over in front of her and pulled said panties back out of her mouth - soaked, now, with both sweat and saliva - and pulled them up her limply-dangling legs, back into place. Her gym-shorts followed suit.

Finally, he lifted her off the vaulting-horse and put her back on the ground, where she nearly collapsed - he had to help her stay on her hooves until she managed to steady herself. With his spare hand, he gave her a quick pat on the head. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it? Not for a big girl like you, anyway. And now, you've got that passing grade you wanted. Even if you spend the rest of my lessons slacking off, you are secure in that - though I'd prefer it if you at least put in a modicum of effort! It's important to stay in shape, you know."

She smiled wanly up at him, and wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. "Yes, Coach Löewe... thank you, Coach Löewe..." she replied shakily. He nodded, and once he felt certain she wouldn't collapse without his support, he pulled his own pants and underwear back into place. "Now, then, we'd best get back to the field before the lesson ends..." he said, feeling strangely distant from what had just transpired as he herded her back towards the door and unlocked it.

It didn't really feel real. Had he really just had sex with a student, in return for a passing grade? He had, he supposed, and it had felt really, really good... and hey, valuable life lessons, mature for her age, realities of the world, and all that. It wasn't as if he'd really done a bad thing - that whole '18 or over' bit was just an arbitrary social construct anyway. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to talk to anybody about this, including your family..." he said as they returned to the still-empty hallway, reminding himself that not everybody was enlightened enough to appreciate his reasoning.

She nodded quietly, and followed beside him as they left the school. She was walking a bit strangely at first, but gradually her stride became more natural. As they stepped back out into the autumn sunshine, she touched his hand and he looked questioningly down at her. Somewhat shyly, she looked away. "Umm... Coach Löewe, sir... I know I've got a passing grade now, but... what if I need something a bit_higher_ than just passing?" she asked hesitantly, and he chuckled. "Ah, well, I'm sure we could... work something out for that. For that matter, I could possibly convince some of your _other_teachers to guarantee you a passing grade..."

Her head spun around at that, eyes wide. "Really? You could?" He nodded firmly. He was wise to the vices of his co-workers, after all, and a couple of the other teachers were among his drinking-buddies. Others could, he knew, be persuaded with a bottle of the right stuff, a box of cigars, or just the promise of a favor to be returned in the future. He wouldn't need to come up with much in the way of explanation, either - just words of grave concern for the future of a young girl who wasn't stupid, not at all, she just had trouble keeping her attention focused, so why not give her a pass, just this once, eh?

"We'll work something out." He promised her. "This is how the world works, you know - under the surface. Make the right connections, know who to talk to, and pay the right price... then all the rules start to get real flexible." She nodded thoughtfully, and soon they reached the stadium, where the rest of the class were sitting around at the bleachers, chatting, the game apparently already over. Bruin Jr. - conscientious as always - was working on packing up the net as they approached, but straightened when he saw them coming.

"Coach Löewe! Girls won 2 out of 3 games, and carried the match. You didn't say if we were doing best out of 3 or a full match, but since it didn't seem like we'd have enough time for that, I, umm..." he paused rather awkwardly, clearly worried that he might have overstepped his borrowed authority. Max chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. Best out of three was what I had in mind from the start. You done good. Everybody play clean, I trust?"

The tall bear smiled and nodded, while the rest of the students rose from their various seats and curiously drew near. "Yes, Coach Löewe. Wasn't any trouble." Meanwhile Brad, the handsome young panther whose misaimed spike had originally knocked Jane down, nervously approached her. "Are you okay?" He asked. "You were gone a long time... I'm really sorry about hitting you like that." She smiled up at him, trying to look steadier than she probably really was. "It's fine, Brad, don't worry about it... it was just a nosebleed, like I said." Max quickly nodded and interjected. "Yeah, nothing serious - only reason it took so long was that Nurse Mouly wasn't in her office. I had to search around for everything myself, and then figure out what to do with it!" He sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid poor Jane wound up losing a fair bit of blood, along the way. Well, accidents happen, and they rarely travel alone, as the saying goes..."

He glanced down at his wristwatch, then, and shrugged. "Right, then. You lot may as well hit the showers now - it's a bit early, but what the heck, enjoy an extra-long recess on me." He was in a splendid mood, after all, and as they cheered and departed the field, he found himself looking after them in a detached, analytical kind of way. Jane wasn't the only one who was having trouble keeping her grades up. There were a few others who might benefit from a lesson on how the world really worked, same as her. Whistling tunelessly and feeling a decade younger than he had that morning, he began carrying the remaining gear back to the tool-shed.

---

Bob grinned as he looked out across his bar, enjoying the unusual sense of vibrant liveliness it seemed to be inspired with. Not only were all his regulars here, quite a few less regular guests were in attendance too, leaving the place not exactly packed, but certainly more full than usual. Both of the well-worn pool-tables were in use, and the jukebox in the corner was playing constantly, fed quarter after quarter and contributing significantly to the festive atmosphere.

_He_was making quite a bit of money, too - slinging glass after glass, with several of his customers trying to replicate the smooth classiness of the party's centerpiece by ordering scotch or bourbon. Yeah, there was little question that the reason so many of this dying town's residents had decided to spend this particular night hanging out at Buffalo Bob's Bar & Pool-Hall was the presence of a certain charming, gray-furred fox - the mysterious, wealthy stranger who had drifted into town the other day, and whose Ferrari had caused every boy for miles around (young and old alike) to home in on Bruin's Garage just for a glimpse of such a magnificent machine.

Sirius certainly didn't seem to mind being the center of attention - he mingled masterfully with the crowd, dealing out friendly handshakes and often sitting down at somebody's table for a lengthy chat before paying for their drink ('Keep the change', of course) and moving on. Right now, he was seated across from old Mr. Putorious, who taught chemistry and science at the community college. The normally nervous-looking ferret seemed remarkably animate, eyes sparkling as he repeatedly tapped on the table to underscore his point. Both of them were leaned in across the table and talking quietly despite the apparent enthusiasm, so it was hard to make out what they were really going on about - but based on the occasional word that rose above the general din, it sounded like they were debating that popular new TV-show, 'Breaking Bad'... which seemed a bit strange, considering that Mr. Putorious usually had looked pretty sour whenever anyone joked about that whole 'Chemistry-teacher cooking meth' deal in his presence.

He got a chance to satisfy his curiosity when Sirius caught his eye and hefted one of the empty beer-glasses on the table, signaling for a refill. A quick glance told Bob that Betty was busy on the other side of the room, bending over the table of Jack Taxton, the badger who ran the town's only surviving supermarket. Since he hadn't brought his wife along today, he wasn't making much effort at _not_staring at Betty's chest, not that he could really be blamed considering the way that particular pose exposed it, not to mention the fact that she'd left her uniform even more unbuttoned tonight than she usually did.

Either way, rather than shout at her to get back to work, he decided to bring over the two fresh glasses of draft beer himself just to get an idea what the two were talking about. As he approached, he watched Mr. Putorious lean back from the table with an enthused wave. "...so you see, 'meth' is child's play, which is why every idiot with a trailer thinks he can cook it - but MDMA, that's complicated_stuff, and really easy to mess up!" Sirius, for his part, nodded attentively and flashed a fang-filled smile. "Obviously - but not beyond the skills of someone like you, of course!" The old ferret preened and returned the grin in kind. "Of course not. Beyond the reach of amateurs, sure, but I am _hardly in such a category!"

Bob blinked at that, wondering how the conversation might have arrived at such a point while he put down the beer-glasses and collected the two empty ones. Sirius looked up at him and smiled, giving him a salute. "Ah, a much-needed delivery of irrigation for our drying throats! Thanks, Bob." The graying buffalo nodded, automatically smiling back. "It's what I'm here for. You seem to be fitting in pretty well yourself, for someone who just blew into town yesterday." The fox chuckled and raised the full glass in the direction of the ferret on the other side of the table, who eagerly returned the gesture and clinked the two glasses together. "Well, why wouldn't I..." he said, after taking a quick sip - while Mr. Putorious drank rather deeper. "There are good people here! Why, I was just talking to this gentleman about how criminally underpaid teachers are, considering the grave responsibilities their duties carry, and the many other, more profitable uses they could, potentially, put their hard-earned skills towards..."

"Damn straight..." said the old chemistry-teacher, putting down his already half-empty glass with a thump, his voice slurring ever-so-slightly. It was enough to raise one of Bob's thick eyebrows - not so much due to the signs of increasing drunkenness, which was to be expected, but rather just because he couldn't recall hearing the ferret ever utter even the mildest profanity before. "Sounds about right..." he ventured, in a display of generalized agreement, before noticing that a couple of his other customers were waiting by the bar and hurrying back there.

Back at his perch, he continued to sling beer as well as stronger things while the evening wore on, watching as Sirius moved from person to person, often spending as much as half an hour in deep conversation before moving on. He spent a fair amount of time sharing a booth with Mr. and Mrs. Silvestris, despite the fact the cat-couple weren't usually the chatty types - they were the quiet kind of regulars, who showed up when they could afford it and silently drank away the hours, seeking to numb the pain of being unemployed, living in a decaying apartment, and trying to raise a young daughter at the same time. By the time he left them, however, they were looking tremendously energized, leaning over the table and holding hands, talking quietly with one another.

Many others were graced by his presence too, though. From regulars like Sheriff Scrofa and Coach Löewe to rarer faces like Doctor Hubert and Mrs. Shear, several of the town's residents got to enjoy his company. It was only when the hour grew late, after most of the guests had staggered home, that he wound up sitting at the bar as he had when he first arrived, seemingly unaffected by all the drinks he'd shared along the way.

Most of the other remaining customers were just working on finishing their last drink - or waiting for a spouse or a friend to come pick them up, too unsteady to walk home - so Bob no longer had much left to do. He felt strangely elated - not only had he made a lot of money tonight, but the sense of life, the music, the sound of many people talking and laughing... it had once again reminded him of that dream he had last night. Was this what it'd be like to run a proper speakeasy, like in the old days? Well, of course, the town had been rather different back then, which rather raised a point.

Leaning on the counter next to the gray fox with the red paw, who was quietly sipping away at his drink with a content smile on his face, he once again opened the conversation. "You know, I've thought of a bit more about that thing we spoke about earlier..." he said, prompting Sirius to raise an eyebrow and put down his beer. "Indeed? Do tell." Bob leaned over the bar and lowered his voice - he didn't want to risk any of the other, remaining guests drunkenly overhearing and misinterpreting what they were talking about.

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but it seemed like you were basically arguing that a 'modern-day' speakeasy-equivalent would be both practical AND ethical - serving up hard drugs instead of booze, with quality-control and guaranteed purity making it a far safer way for those so inclined to pursue their vices. That more or less it?" Sirius shrugged. "More or less, indeed. I'd say that it could be advantageously combined with prostitution, too - theoretically, of course. Kind of getting all the sins under one roof, y'know? Plus, there's the same logic at play there. Women in dire straits _will_resort to prostitution regardless of the law, and as a result often wind up in abusive relationships with pimps, catching various STD's, or even just straight-up being assaulted by their 'clients'. A safe environment with onboard healthcare and security would be a major step up for them, improving the situation both for them _and_their customers... likely making said customers willing to pay more for the services.

Bob paused at this, his mind forced to shift gears rapidly at this add-on, and he found himself reminded of that dream again - with the stripper-pole and Betty writhing on it in a skimpy outfit. There were lots of rumors swirling about her - 'dating' boys in return for dinners or gifts, things like that. Combined with the way she kept flashing her tight little bubble-but and youthful cleavage at the more affluent customers, he'd sometimes found himself wondering if and when she'd wind up becoming the whore several of the city's women were already naming her. The idea that she might wind up in the hands of some abusive pimp, or beaten bloody by a customer who didn't feel like paying made his blood run cold.

Shaking his head, he chased those thoughts away, and reminded himself of the point he'd been trying to get at. "ANYWAY... I don't have the education to argue about all that ethical stuff. But practicality,that I know a few things about. And what I knows tells me that none of this is relevant to me." He finally said. Sirius tipped his head, a politely inquisitive smile on his lips. "It's not? Even though we've already established that you've got a pretty nice location for such a den of sin right in your basement, _and_that you could probably convince the local lawkeeper to look the other way?"

Bob grimaced. Had they actually 'established' any of that? Well, he couldn't really argue with it in either case, so whatever. "Yeah, fine, maybe all that's true..." he grunted. "BUT there's something you're not taking into consideration." He waved his arm at the mostly-empty room with its detritus and the handful of napping drunks propped up in the corners. "The crowd you saw here tonight... that's more or less it. That's my entire customer-base, give or take - and most of them are on a tight budget and can't afford to so much as swing by for a beer more than once or twice a week. Sure, there are more folks in the town, but some folks don't drink, or prefer to do it alone, or are too young, or too pregnant, or just flat-out can't afford it at _all._Apply that to drugs and, you're suggesting, hookers? There's no way a place like that could turn a profit."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, yes, I DO see your point, Mr. Arnee... but I think you're falling victim to a limitation of perspective." Taking another sip of his drink, he looked thoughtfully towards the ceiling. "Las Vegas. You know what's special about that place? Nothing - nothing whatsoever. It's just a city in the middle of the desert with nothing going for it. By all regular logic, it should be a ghost-town, or maybe just barely managing to cling to life - kind of like this place, really. The only reason it ISN'T so is that State and City ordinances happen to combine to create an environment that is very tolerant on the subject of gambling. For that reason alone, casinos sprung up there. And for that reason alone, it's become one of the most visited tourist-destinations in the world."

Leaning forwards again, he took another sip and grinned. "It's like in that movie, you know... 'If you build it, they will come'. People are willing to travel remarkably far to have fun, particularly if it's a kind of fun they can't have at home. So, say for the purpose of argument that you were running a modern-day speakeasy, selling an array of high-quality, carefully-vetted drugs and prostitutes. In that case, I daresay you'd be seeing a lot of customers from out of town - and out of state, for that matter." With a dismissive wave, he thus threw away the objection. "Any other problems you can see?" he then asked, grinning mischievously.

Grimacing, Bob rubbed his squared-off chin. "Hrm... well, I'm not an idiot. I saw you chatting with Mr. Putorious earlier, so I'd lay down wagers that if I bring up the issue of actually obtaining drugs to sell, you'll point to him as a possible source of the more chemical stuff like Meth and E... and I wouldn't be able to claim with a straight face that I wouldn't know where to find someone who knows how to grow some fine Mary Jane. But a place like you seem to be envisioning would need some of the classics that you can't grow in a back-yard greenhouse or cook up in a lab - stuff like smack, nose-candy and maybe some old-fashioned dope. And how, exactly would a humble bartender get his hands on stuff like that, let alone in high quantity and proper quality?"

Sirius, however, seemed to have been expecting this question, and raised a finger immediately. "Ah, about that! This morning, as I left my motel-room, I met a certain Mr. Lupe. A trucker, born in this town, and now traveling far and wide across the country with his 18-wheeler. I'm sure you know him well." Bob nodded - he hadn't seen Roman in quite a while, but until he got his current job, he'd been a regular. The fox, seeing his nod, continued. "Well, the thing about truckers is that they are kind of like... transportation mercenaries. They run loads for whoever is willing to pay, is what I'm saying."

Tapping a finger on the bar, Sirius leaned in with a grin. "Now, quite a few such truckers have found that they can vastly improve the profitability of their routes if, in addition to their main cargo, they bring something else along. Something... compact, but valuable. Something that someone is willing to pay quite a lot to have safely transported. This is particularly true for those whose routes swing close by the Mexican border at some point. As, incidentally, Mr. Lupe's does."

Bob leaned over the counter, brow wrinkling. "Are you sayin' that Roman's running drugs for the Cartels?" Sirius, however, just grinned and finished off his drink with a quick swallow. "I don't believe I said any of those words, actually. All I did was suggest that if you WERE in the market for certain high-quality products delivered reliably and in quantity, a supplier could possibly be found closer than you might think!"

The fox's thick, black leather wallet came out, then, and a stack of bills that more than covered the various drinks that Sirius and his drinking-buddies had consumed landed on the bar. "There you go... keep the change, as usual." He sighed, then, as he hopped off the bar-stool and looked around. "This is a nice place, you know, for all that it could be so much more... I think I'll miss it. Bruin says my car will be ready tomorrow morning - miracles of overnight shipping, eh?"

Nodding slowly, Bob collected the deposited bills, his mind slowly beginning to whir. Somehow, the silly what-if scenario of turning his basement-room into a den of sin had started to look both realistic and downright appealing. All the pieces were there, apparently... it almost felt like it was meant to be. As Sirius walked out of the bar and into the windy night, the thoughts continued to whirl, growing sharper and more defined. It had all just been ideas, theories, 'for the sake of argument' and what-ifs. But... it wouldn't really be all that hard to pull off for real, would it?

The thoughts were still with him three days later, as he polished a glass in his once again mostly-empty bar. He looked up from his work when he heard Sheriff Scrofa grunt in surprise, and saw that he was pointing at the fuzzy old TV hanging in a corner above the bar-counter. "Hey... don't we know that guy? Oi, Bob, turn up the sound, wouldya?" The old boar called, prompting Bob to obediently pick up the remote - held together with duct-tape and spit at this point - and walk around the counter to point it at the telly.

As he did, his eyes widened - sure enough, the face there was familiar, gray-furred and handsome. With the rising volume, the equally-familiar voice joined in, crackling through the crappy old speakers. "...on your luck? Life passed you by? Fresh out of opportunities? Don't despair! Don't give up! My book will tell you how to turn your life around and seize the opportunities you never realized were right in front of your face." The fox on the screen was holding up a book titled 'Don't Let The World Hold You Back: How To Find And Break The Chains That Tie You Down' The letters were big enough that this over-long title essentially covered the entire front of the book.

Scrofa barked with laughter behind him. "A self-help guru! Shoulda' figured. No wonder he was such a fountain of sage advice." He shook his tusks, then shrugged. "Well, a lot of what he said made sense, though. Shame there's so much static on the screen - if I could read the phone-number at the bottom, I'd buy that book of his. If nothing else, I think I still owe him for a drink or two." Bob quietly nodded, looking up at the screen. It was weird, really. The bottom of it was terribly staticky, that was for sure - the 'toll-free number, call now!' bit was entirely unreadable. But the rest seemed pretty clear - the gray fox's piercing blue eyes seemed to be staring right out of the old CRT screen and into his, and the red right paw holding up the book was remarkably vivid...

---

Winston Preswick sighed as he lifted himself out of his first-class seat and disembarked from the plane. There wasn't a lot of other furs getting off here, and no wonder - this place was solidly in the middle of 'flyover-country'. A small, regional airport. At least that meant it didn't take long to collect his luggage. He paused on his way out the luggage reclaim room to check out his reflection in a window. It was dark enough outside to give him a decent look - not that it was particularly late, but it was late winter and cloudy besides... seemed like this place wasn't going to sell itself on its fine weather either, he thought sardonically as he straightened his hair, ruffled by the nap he'd had on the flight.

He still looked good, he decided. Not too travel-rumpled, and though the specter of middle age had taken its toll in the form of a growing paunch, he was still fit and healthy! Which, alas, meant that when upper management had decided that somebody needed to go on this particular wild goose chase, his name had immediately come up. So here he was, wearing an expensive suit in a cheap airport and hoping that the limo-company he'd hired would have a decent car waiting as promised.

The aging bulldog was gratified when he emerged out into the arrivals-hall, however, and found a handsome young chap in a well-pressed uniform waiting for him, holding up a sign with 'Winston Preswick' printed on it in a neat and tidy handwriting. A gray fox, looking right dapper in his black driver's uniform... though, he couldn't help but notice that the paw that held the actual sign was bright-red. Well, hardly the kind of thing you brought up.

Approaching the young man, he was politely greeted and had his luggage taken care of, soon finding himself comfortably ensconced in the back of a limousine that was far nicer than he'd dared hope. "Where to, Sir?" The fox asked politely from behind the wheel. With another sigh, Winston shifted around a bit to get more comfortable and answered with a faint grimace of distaste. "A place called Augustown. I've booked a room at a motel there."

The fox, however, waggled his eyebrows and replied in a strangely knowing tone as he started the limousine's engine and guided them out of the airport parking-zone. "Augustown, eh? Lucky you! I'm sure you'll have a grand ol' time there..." Winston stared at his driver's gray-furred neck for a few moments, brow wrinkling. Had that been sarcasm? It hadn't sounded like it, and limo-drivers didn't usually throw sarcastic rejoinders at their customers, in his experience.

"What do you mean?" He finally asked. "From what I'd heard, it's just a podunk town without so much as a decent hotel to its name." The driver shot him a surprised look by way of the rear-view mirror. "Huh... you mean you don't... um. Yeah, that's pretty much it, I suppose. Just, ya know, friendly folks there. Nice and quiet away from the hustle and bustle, and all that." Winston narrowed his eyes. Sure, that made sense, of a sort, but the fox's expression had looked more like that of someone who'd accidentally said too much, to the wrong person. It was one he'd seen a few other times in his career.

He let it drop, for the moment, and pulled some papers out of the briefcase he'd brought with him into the limousine while the rest of his luggage was loaded into the trunk. He'd napped on the flight, so now he had a bit of work to do - he wanted to make sure he had everything as ready as it could be, ensuring that he'd be able to do what he was supposed to do and turn around ASAP. He probably wouldn't be able to avoid spending the night in a motel, but he could at least make damn sure that he wouldn't have to spend _two_nights there.

So, he thought as he leafed through the relevant documents. Summary! Some archivist who was too clever for his own good had noticed that in a recent merger, the company had acquired some derelict property - a couple of disused factories in the rust-belt, which had apparently been passed around from company to company in a series of mergers and acquisitions stretching all the way back to the 70's, when the local industry had first started to collapse. And this had led someone with a poor sense of perspective to go - hey, aren't we talking about building a new factory soon? Why not check if we can maybe use the_old_ factory we already own instead? Even if it was a bit run-down by now, surely it would be cheaper to restore and refit it rather than building an entirely new one...

It was all ridiculous, of course, and ignored two very important facts. Firstly, the new factory was slated to be built in Vietnam, where wages were low and neither OSHA nor the EPA were likely to stick their noses. Secondly, there were very good reasons why this_location was now known as the 'rust-belt'. With the modern, globalized economy, the only possible reason why you'd build something in America was if your product was sufficiently unwieldy and heavy to make long-distance transportation either impractical or overly expensive, _and the majority of your customer-base was_in_ the USA. The first simply didn't apply here, the second was only barely true.

But alas, you did not just look the CFO in the face and tell him he was being ridiculous - at least not if you wanted him to keep signing your paychecks. So someone had to go and inspect the factory, taking stock of not just the conditions of the building itself but also the local infrastructure, local government, potential recruitment-base and several other complex factors, in order to reach the entirely obvious conclusion that it wasn't economically feasible regardless and provide a clear go-ahead for the new Vietnamese plant. And of course, since reaching that obvious conclusion was a terribly complicated matter, someone high-up and trusted had to be sent in order to do that. So here he was.

Putting down the papers, he leaned back in the admittedly comfy seat and sighed again, pondering grabbing a drink from the on-board mini-fridge. Well, silver linings, he reminded himself. At least this silly expedition got him out of the house for a couple of days. Ever since the last of the pups moved out on his own, he and his wife had pretty much stopped even pretending that they were still getting along. They didn't even share a bedroom anymore. It wasn't as if he really minded, per se, since it also meant that she'd stopped complaining about his affairs. Not that he really thought of them that way himself - an 'affair' was if you had a lover or a mistress, in his book. Professional escorts hardly counted. That was just a... business-transaction.

But regardless, it certainly created a rather frosty environment back home. Not really something to look forwards to returning to. Divorce, or at least separation, was definitely in the air - it was just that neither one of them really felt like taking on the hassle of getting the ball rolling. Especially since they both still rather liked the_house_ itself, which would lead to some inevitable and bitter struggles about who got it. So hey, with all that in mind, maybe spending the night in a motel wouldn't be so bad, for all that he'd be spending it alone...

An hour - and several drinks - later, he felt confident in saying that he had all the relevant details of the case memorized, and that he'd be able to get it all out of the way tomorrow. Good thing, too - it was getting properly dark outside by now, so it wasn't likely that he'd be able to get anything done today. Maybe grabbing a drink at a local bar, assuming that any such place wouldn't turn his stomach the moment he walked in the door - heck, with a bit of careful wording, he could use such a visit to check off the 'inspect potential recruitment-base' box on his to-do list.

However, as he flicked open his suitcase and poured the documents back inside, something whizzed past the darkened window going in the opposite direction - a row of lighted windows. Another car - hardly worth noticing, except for the fact that the length of it had suggested that it, too, was a limo. His own situation was rather unique - why would anyone else be riding around like that in this kind of area? Well, perhaps there was something further down the road that could justify it, but if so, he hadn't noticed it on the map. It made him think about that thing the driver had said when they took off... about having a 'grand old time' at Augustown. Was there something about the place that hadn't been apparent when he'd looked the town up online prior to heading out? Well, he had been specifically tasked with inspecting the place! So it wasn't just idle curiosity, he had a need to know!

Clearing his throat and raised his voice. "Hey, driver... what was that you said about me being lucky to go to Augustown, back when we left the airport?" The fox's eyes flickered in the rear-view mirror. "Umm... nothing much, sir. Just commenting on the quaint and quiet conditions there. Great place to de-stress!" Winston harrumphed at that. "Don't play games with me, son. I've been lied to by professionals often enough - you're an amateur, at best."

The eyes, blue and guileless, flickered again. "Look... I'm really not supposed to talk about it... 's as much as my job's worth, ya know..." he pleaded, but this just made Winston narrow his eyes and lean forwards with keen interest. "Is it, now? Well, I'm the one who'll be providing your employer with an assessment of your conduct, being the customer and all... so screwing with _me_could very quickly be more than your job's worth too." The gray-furred fox seemed to slump in his seat, sighing. "So it's one of them 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situations, then?" he asked, sounding downcast.

Winston chuckled and leaned back in his seat again. "Not necessarily! You're definitely damned if you don't, but if you do? Well, that depends. I dunno what it is you think might happen if you tell me, but it also might not happen. So with that in mind - feel like taking a gamble?" With a sigh, the driver straightened up again and shrugged. "Well, when you put it that way, sir, I s'pose I might as well... but you'll have to forgive me if I got a bit light on the details, m'kay?"

Grinning, Winston nodded, sending his jowls shaking. "I might forgive you, at that... so start talkin'." His hand reached reflexively for his vest-pocket, before he once again had to remind himself that he wasn't a smoker anymore - on account of the doctor telling him it was liable to kill him if he carried on. He still felt like having a cigar any time he won an argument, though. It was his own personal version of that stereotypical post-coital smoke.

The driver, meanwhile, did as he was told. "All right, so... you didn't hear it from me, but Augustown kind of has a sorta... underground entertainment setup. Like, literally underground. And figuratively. Kind of place where you can get all the stuff you want, but that the government tells you you can't have - like a modern-day speakeasy. Very swank. Draws in lots of furs with fat wallets, and sometimes I'm the one who winds up driving them, so I pick stuff up, ya know?"

Winston licked his lips, eyes intent. If this fox wasn't pulling his leg, it sounded like this trip had just become a LOT more entertaining! "Do you, now?" He asked. "Well, I assume that includes stuff like... where to find this place, and how to access it? Do you need a passphrase, a secret handshake, a personal invitation?" The driver did not immediately answer - it seemed like he was re-evaluating the potential pros and cons of clamming up. But eventually, he sighed again and replied. "There's this place called Buffalo Bob's Bar & Pool-Hall near the center of town. Kind of a local gathering-place. Looks like a regular, run-down sort of bar, but if you ask the barkeep for half a beer, and then ask him if you can drink it somewhere it's easier to talk, you might find that it has a... hidden side to it."

"Is that a fact..." Winston said thoughtfully, looking out the darkened window at his own reflection. "Tell you what, son... I could do with a drink. How about we head straight to that bar you just mentioned, instead of the motel, eh?" The young fox shrugged and snorted. "Hey, you're the boss, boss. I'm being paid by the hour, so if you wind up staying at the 'bar' all night, it's no skin off my nose." Not long after, lights began to appear outside the windows - they had entered the rusting outskirts of Augustown.

A little while later, the limo stopped near a run-down building with a flickering neon sign reading 'Buffalo Bob's Bar & Pool-Hall' along the top. Well, mostly. Either entropy or some kid with a slingshot and a puerile sense of humor had broken the l in 'Pool'. More interestingly, it seemed like they'd been lucky to get a parking-spot so close by - there were quite a few cars lining that particular street, including several that looked rather expensive, as well as yet another limousine.

The driver got out and held open the door for him, and with a grunt he climbed out and straightened his suit. As the car door closed behind him, the fox glibly commented "Well, like I said at the start... have a grand ol' time." Then, with a sloppy salute, he wandered off towards the other limo that had preceded them there, presumably to share a cig and shoot the bull with his colleague. With a snort, Winston checked his back pocket to make sure his wallet was there, and stepped inside.

The bar looked about as shabby inside as it did outside. It was also mostly empty, which was funny considering the number of cars parked outside. Not counting himself, there were only two people there - one of them was face-down on a table, snoring, one paw wrapped around a bottle, and the other was standing behind the bar, polishing a glass that seemed pretty spotless already. It was a towering water-buffalo, presumably the titular 'Buffalo Bob', rippling with muscles probably well-suited for helping unruly drunks find the door. He seemed to be in a good mood, for a barkeep with no-one to serve, and also did not appear at all surprised to see a well-dressed gentleman like himself step through his door.

As he walked up to the bar-counter, the buffalo gave him a polite nod. "What'll it be, sir?" he asked gruffly, and Winston grinned with the subtle thrill of the sign-countersign spy-game. "Oh, just half a beer will do..." he said blandly, causing the barkeep to snort with amusement - and not, notably, move towards the taps. "Indeed? Will you be drinking it here, or..?" he asked, one thick, bushy eyebrow lifting knowingly. Thoughtfully touching his chin, Winston answered "Hmm... maybe somewhere it's easier to talk would be better."

Nodding, the heavyset buffalo put down the glass and cloth, and walked along the counter. "That's what I figured. Come right along, sir..." Feeling increasingly excited, Winston did as he was asked and followed close behind him as he emerged from behind the bar and led the way down a rickety staircase, into a dusty, musty-smelling basement. There was nothing wrong with this old bulldog's nose, however, and he was picking up some intriguing hints underneath the general dust-and-mold scents.

The barkeep walked up to a set of rough-looking shelves, reached down the side of it with a practiced motion, and then tugged on it - causing it, and the door it hid, to swing out from the wall. The smells he'd been picking up on before instantly grew clear, and loud music streamed through this opening - a layer of thick insulation could be seen on the other side of the door, presumably specifically designed to keep it from escaping. Even now, a heavy, black curtain hanging in the doorway was muffling the sounds from within. Gesturing towards it, the barkeep nodded. "Here you go, sir. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Buffalo's Watering-Hole."

As he pushed through the curtain and heard the hidden door close behind him, Winston gave an impressed whistle for the sight that met him, a tingle of excitement rushing up his spine. The room as a whole was pure Art Deco Moderne, ripped straight from the Roaring Twenties, but with some clear concessions for the modern era - for starters, he was pretty sure the long, well-lit stage with the stripper-pole at the end wouldn't have been acceptable back in those days, where a girl showing her knees was still considered scandalous.

That pole was pretty hard to look away from at the moment. A young bunny was gyrating around it, presumably near the end of her set - at least, judging by the little piles of fabric littering the stage and the fact that she was wearing nothing but her fur right now. Well, her fur, and apparently a butt-plug of some description, judging by the heart-shaped 'ruby' that peeked out from under her tufty little cotton-tail whenever she spun around to shake her ass in his direction. And a pair of nipple-rings, currently connected by a golden chain... on the far side of the pole, effectively tying her to it by the chest. He'd visited a few strip-clubs in his time, but he'd never seen that particular trick performed before - this bunny, though, was playing it for all it was worth, spinning around the pole, rubbing her naked pussy against it hard enough to make it divide her outer labia, and leaning back just far enough to stretch the chain and make her tits deform from the strain.

He managed to tear his eyes away from her long enough to make his way across the floor without stumbling over anything. Tables were arrayed around the stage, and most of them were occupied - mostly by men dressed just as expensively as himself, some of them with pretty young scantily-clad girls sitting on their laps, laughing and groping and kissing, and some of them bending over trays filled with white powder or other interesting substances. Against one wall, there seemed to be a row of private booths, the entrance to each covered by a thick curtain, and against another stood the bar, which seemed to serve a lot more than mere alcohol and was manned by a young buck in a tight shirt, who was casually leaning on it as he watched the live-show.

He didn't quite manage to make it all the way to the bar before the dancer hit her grand finale, drawing his attention inexorably back to her. Bending deeply at the hip, thrusting her decorated rear out towards the audience, she reached back and gripped the fake, heart-shaped jewel, pulling it out - and revealing that the size of the metallic plug behind it was easily equal to his own not-insignificant knot. Her tail-hole gaped in its absence, and the stage lighting provided a fine view of the pulsating, dark-red interior. And just to cap it off, she spun around again and, while leaning against the pole, popped this freshly-revealed toy into her mouth, where she started visibly sucking on it as if it was a comforter - all while making unwavering eye-contact with every man she could see.

It was only when the music wound down and the rabbit unhooked one end of the golden chain that connected her nipple-rings, stepping away from the pole to take a bow, that he was able to uproot himself from the spot he'd paused in. She'd caught his eyes too, and that look - underneath those carefully made-up eyelids - promised acts of depraved pleasure that he didn't even have names for. Collecting her discarded clothes, she walked off the stage - still sucking on the butt-plug - to the sound of applause, while the speaker-system reminded them all that the services of 'Bouncing Betty' could be purchased at the bar, and introduced the next dancer - 'Virgin Hart'.

He managed to take all of three steps before said dancer appeared, and he found himself stumbling again. A young doe, antlers still short and fuzzy, dressed in white - including a lacy pair of panties, easily visible underneath her short, hip-hugging skirt, that covered her crotch but left her ass completely exposed. She couldn't be older than 15. Heck, she was so short and skinny that if someone told him she was 13, he would've found it hard to doubt them.

Still, with frequent glances towards the erotic strip-tease that was beginning to unfold on stage to the sound of a slow and heavy beat, he managed to make it the rest of the way to the bar - and even turn to address the barkeep. "Welcome to the Buffalo's Watering-Hole, sir. I see you're enjoying the show?" The young buck commented, a teasing grin on his face and one eyebrow up. Winston hesitantly nodded. Under any normal circumstances, he would've slit his throat before admitting to finding the sight of a young teen performing a strip-tease attractive, but these were hardly 'normal circumstances', were they?

This was confirmed when the buck laughed and nodded. "Well, rest assured, sir - she's every bit as good as she looks. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Winston felt his smile grow wider and more natural. "So, what are you having?" He then asked, placing a thick folder that looked much like the kind of menu-card you'd get at a fancy restaurant before him. "Take your pick! Oh, and if you're staying in town for a few days, you should grab one of these. We're doing a cross-promotional dealie with the motel up the street."

With one hand lingering on the untold promises of the 'menu', Winston accepted the thin pamphlet the buck was holding out to him with the other, and immediately recognized the place where he'd booked himself in on the front. Leafing quickly through it, he found himself salivating. Apparently, guests of the 'Watering-Hole' could upgrade their regular rooms to a special 'suite', indistinguishable from the outside but richly appointed within - apparently the result of knocking down some dividing walls in the motel's ground-floor rooms and refitting the results extensively. Each featured a double-bed, Jacuzzi, minibar, flat-screen TV, and various other services - including the option of ordering 'company' from the Watering-Hole for overnight stays and even an in-house Dominatrix-service, available on request. All for a 'modest fee', of course.

He pocketed the pamphlet, gave the buck a distracted "Thanks", and then opened the 'menu'. Apparently, the bar had a wide selection of drugs available, from high-end weed to cocaine, and numerous party-drugs in between. All stated to be of guaranteed purity and quality, carefully tested and vetted. Tempting - he'd considered trying something else since he quit smoking - but not what he was in the mood for right now. Not after the show he'd just watched, and the one still going on behind him.

So he turned the page, and found the 'entertainment' options. Youngsters and more mature, males and females, various races... a great selection, really. Each had a picture and a price shown, along with a variety of data including age, 'signature moves' and specific limitations. Turning through a few pages' worth, he soon spotted the rabbit who had been on stage when he first entered. Her price was... steep. Her limitations, meanwhile, were listed as 'anything goes', and her specialty was stated to be 'realizing dreams you did not know you had'.

Another few turned pages, and he found the stage's current resident. The data stated her age as 14, which he had no trouble believing, and her price wasn't really bad, considering. The reason for that was probably the 'limitation' that was mentioned - no vaginal intercourse. Apparently, the 'Virgin Hart' moniker wasn't just an affection! Meanwhile, she had a 'specialty' listed... 'Incestuous Show, see opposite side'. He glanced over there and froze as he realized that the buck shown on that page was the same one currently standing on the other side of the bar from him. According to the info, he was Virgin Hart's brother, and the two of them would perform incestuous acts together on request - with or without direct participation from the customer. Of course, it was easy to _say_they were brother and sister, but looking at them again... it really seemed like the honest truth.

With a quickening pulse, he continued to leaf through the pages, just to see what else he might find. On the final page, he froze, touching it hesitantly as if he was afraid it'd pop like a soap-bubble and disappear. It took him a couple of minutes to make his voice work, and even then it sounded hoarse as he spoke up, pointing to the page he'd just reached. "Is... ah... this one available?" The buck glanced down at the menu and, with no apparent reaction, nodded. "Oh, yeah, I believe so. That's the one you want, then?"

He nodded choppily. The buck nodded pleasantly. "All right, I'll set it up... you want anything else to go with it? Some drugs? Maybe another girl?" Winston opened his mouth, then shut it again, thinking. Then he opened it again. "Actually... the bunny who was on stage earlier. She's really 'anything goes', right?" He got a snort in reply. "Oh yeah. 's why she can charge so much. Anything you can think of, she'll do it for ya - along with several things you probably HADN'T ever thought of." With a somewhat maniacal grin spreading across his face, the bulldog tapped the bar. "All right, then - I'll take her too."

The buck behind the bar grinned. "Right you are, sir! Though, I have to remind you that if you order two or more entertainers, you _have_to get one of the private rooms - which is extra. The booths are only for couples - gets too cramped otherwise." Winston nodded and pulled out his wallet, feeling its weight in his hand. "That's just fine. I can afford it." The stack of bills he had to put down was rather wince-worthy, but the cost of the private room was frankly a drop in the bucket compared to what he was paying for the 'entertainment'.

He was about to turn around when the buck stopped him. "Ah, just a minute, sir... in case you missed the disclaimer at the start of the menu, you will need a recent STD-screen if you wish to go 'bareback' with any of the entertainers. We do have a doctor available who can run such a screen for you real quick, and at a very reasonable price - but otherwise..." he gestured towards a stand on the bar filled with condom-boxes, ranging from the Feline Friendly ones with reinforces tips, through 'Big Bad Wolf' branded ones designed with canine knots in mind, and of course the Trojans - big enough for the kind of hefty equipment most equines were packing.

Winston had, indeed, missed that disclaimer, his eyes too easily drawn to the beauties on those pages, but as it happened, the escort-service he used back home had a fairly similar rule, and... wasn't he still carrying the last one around in his wallet? Fumbling through a number of old receipts, membership-cards and bonus-cards, he dug out the folded-up piece of paper and presented it to the buck. "This recent enough? Only a couple of weeks old..." Apparently, that was recent enough - at least, the young fellow gave a satisfied nod after taking a closer look at it. "All right, then, sir, that should be everything. Please enjoy your stay!"

The private rooms turned out to be on the other side of a nondescript door just past the covered booths - a long corridor lined with numbered doors, from which faint noises and smells of interesting provenance leaked out. He found the one he'd been assigned, opened the door and stepped inside. The room was fairly small, and fairly packed. A thick rug covered the floor, making it a perfectly viable place for sex, though he had to wonder how much trouble it was to_clean_. There was also a bed that took up nearly half the floor-space, and a couch along one wall - ensuring a broad variety of possible positions and places. Another wall had a rack of sex-toys lined up against it, ranging from dildos and plugs of varying size to BDSM-gear such as paddles and restraints.

Other than that, there was a small table and mini-fridge stocked with a variety of drinks and snacks - all included in the price - and a sound-system that came pre-loaded with what seemed to be a 'Best of Porn-Flick Soundtracks' collection. Rather on-the-nose, that, he thought as he picked a suitably erotic track and settled down in the couch to wait for his order to arrive. He was doing his best to look and be calm, but it was hard - his heart was beating rapidly in his chest, pulse quickened by a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

He was still halfway expecting a squad of police-officers to burst through the door and put him in irons, or maybe that beefy barkeep from upstairs with a handful of damning blackmail... or that old beagle from that one TV-show, perhaps. Frankly, it all seemed too good to be true - and the only reason he was only _halfway_expecting such an unfortunate ending to the tale was that it all seemed entirely too elaborate to be a sting. Too many people had been watching that 14-year-old strip off her clothes and shake her ass on the stage. The whole place was just too big, too nicely-appointed, to genuinely decadent!

However, no angry men burst through the door. Instead, after a short while, there was a polite knock - followed by two girls entering the room, hand in hand. One of them was the barely-legal bombshell bunny, Bouncing Betty, her clothes tight and skimpy and an eager grin on her face - the other a most definitely illegal kitten. The menu had dubbed her 'Playful Kitty', and stated her age as 5 - though looking at her now, alive and in the flesh, he felt fairly confident that despite the simple dress and wide-eyed innocence that so nicely accentuated her youth, she was almost certainly on the far side of 6, though likely not by much.

She'd been essentially the most expensive thing on the menu, despite a long list of limitations - most of which boiled down to some fairly common-sense points: No rough stuff, and no penetrations over an inch and a half in diameter - a point that his own tool just barely fit beneath, knot excluded. Already, it was jumping in his pants, fully unsheathed, just from the sight of her - the realization of a fetish he'd barely dared think about, never mind actually try to act upon. The thoughts he'd buried deep within himself when his own daughter had been that age, never letting them show, were bubbling back to the surface now.

The kitten walked closer, guided by the much taller rabbit-girl, her face cherubic and her body still clumsy and large-pawed, covered in thick, fluffy fur. "Hi, I'm Kitty! I'm s'posed to play with you tonight..." she said, her voice as sweet and clear as the nectar of the gods. Then her eyes widened and she pointed a stubby finger at the large bulge on the front of his trousers. "Golly, mister, that looks painful! You want me to help you with that?" He swallowed and nodded, his cock jumping as if it was trying to burst out through the tough fabric all on its own. "Yes... please do."

Leaning back on the couch, legs spread, he watched as the adorable little kitten walked in between them and started fumbling with the zipper and button of his pants. The much older bunny-girl looked down at her young colleague with a kind of big-sisterly fondness, then leaned forwards to ask, in a voice thick with seductive undertones "And what would you like me to do, sir?" The pose pushed her chest out against the thin, tight shirt she was wearing, not merely showing off her tits but also making her nipple-rings clearly visible through the fabric.

Winston blinked, reluctant to look away from the prepubescent girl who was currently trying to get his pants open. He had ideas for her, of course, but right now he wanted to focus on the kitten. Glancing over at the rack of sex-toys on the other side of the small room, he pointed in that direction. "Go grab the biggest butt-plug you can handle from there, and put it in... where I can see it." She followed his finger, and grinned naughtily. "As you like, sir... I just hope you aren't planning to tie with my cute little tail-hole afterwards."

He didn't answer her, too transfixed by what was going on between his legs. The kitten had managed to get his pants open, and his rampant erection had leaped out with a vengeance, throbbing and vibrating in the air. The young girl squeaked with excitement as if she'd gotten a brand-new toy, and leaned in to sniff curiously at it before licking up its length. The rough texture of her tiny tongue sent forceful shivers up his spine, and several twisted expressions flashing across his face.

He knew he was going to lose control soon, and there was something he wanted - needed - to do first. Finding his voice, he spoke up, voice only slightly unsteady. "Um... that's a very nice dress you're wearing, but at this rate, it'll get all dirty... let me help you out of it..." She smiled beatifically up at him, one incredibly soft paw-pad resting on his vibrant erection. "Oh, yes mister, that's a good idea - I do so like this dress!" And so, he reached forwards shaking hands and began to undress her, as he'd undressed his daughter so many times, years ago. Revealing her tiny nipples, barely mosquito-bites, and her flat little tummy... and her panties, white as driven snow but not innocent by any stretch of imagination.

Whoever had put together her whole ensemble had done so with malice aforethought, adding just a touch of the depraved to an otherwise childlike getup. Her panties were white, decorated with balloons and teddy-bears - but they were also entirely bottomless, leaving her fat, underdeveloped labia fully exposed, the fur around them shaved down to accentuate their childish curvature. With that sight, he lost control - just letting her play around with his cock wasn't enough anymore. This apparently wasn't a reaction she was unaccustomed to, based on the way she giggled as he reached down and grabbed her under her arms, lifting her into his lap.

Standing on his thighs, held in his arms, she looked down and went "Gee, mister... I don't think I'll be able to take that knot..." He groaned, barely able to keep his voice from breaking. "Don't worry, pumpkin... don't worry... I won't hurt you, I promise." She lifted one tiny paw and wagged a finger at him. "You _better_not, mister! 'cuz that would be against the rules, you know." He had to look away - her look was just too innocent, too painfully pure.

This gave him a chance to see that the bunny had picked up what seemed to be the biggest plug on the rack - a lump of latex larger than his fist - and was currently covering it in her saliva, licking all around the sleek, black surface, completely ignoring the bottle of sexual lubricant that stood nearby. She caught his eye as soon as he looked her way, and with a broad grin pulled the plug away from her mouth, spun around to show her fluffy little tail, and squatted down. The movement made her short, tight skirt ride up, revealing that - unsurprisingly - she wasn't wearing any kind of underwear.

Placing the huge plug on the floor, right underneath her tail-hole, she then simply dropped down on it with all her weight - making is huge mass disappear from sight in an instance. Her spine curled and her head tipped back, a shudder going through her slim, yet curvaceous body - but that was the only reaction she showed from having a plug noticeably larger than his own fully-inflated knot shoved up her rectum. No wonder she had commented that he wouldn't be able to tie with her after such a stretching...

Taking a deep breath, he looked back to Kitty, who was still standing there, held up by his arms, paws balancing on his thighs. Her head was tipped at an angel, and she was giving him an adorably coquettish look as she waited for him to be ready for the next step. Groaning, beyond words, he pushed her down, and her legs buckled without resistance, bringing her knees into contact with his thighs and his cockhead into contact with her labia.

He wasn't entirely sure how he could have everything lined up properly - the arousal had seized him completely. The fuzzy little kitten was completely pliable in his hands, going along with his movements without resistance. With his hands now on her hips, he pushed her down on his cock, and it sank into her with less resistance than he would have expected, prompting a strange, childlike moan from her. This one clearly wasn't a virgin - but she was still tight, so_impossibly_ tight, clutching his cockhead like a fist. A bit of his shaft followed, but soon he hit the back of her pussy - her underdeveloped body simply couldn't contain more than half of his adult tool, his knot never even coming close to being a factor.

But that was just fine by him. He was actually doing it - having sex with a girl no older than six, maybe even five as she had been billed by the menu. And she actually seemed to be enjoying it, rubbing her fuzzy little belly with one paw as if feeling for the bulge of his intruding cock. With labored breath, he pulled her in close to his chest, hugging her tight with one hand positioned on the small of her back, just above her twisting, thickly-furred tail. Guiding her, directing her to move her bottom in tiny circles, up and down, side by side, sending shocks of pleasure through his body with every shifting of his cock's tight confines.

And things were about to get even better. With the kitten's fuzzy little body shifting and quietly mewling against his chest, he looked over at the 18-year-old bunny. She was just standing there, seemingly unaffected by the huge plug still lodged in her ass, with nothing in her eyes suggesting any distaste for what she was seeing. Finding his voice with some difficulty, he called to her. "Hey... come over here and lick this kitten's tail-hole... get it lubed up and relaxed for me."

A moment later, she was kneeling between his legs, her ears rising behind Kitty's back as she lodged her face underneath the kitten's tail, lapping noisily. Kitty squealed, her butt shifting in response to the stimulation and her voice muffled by his own chest. "That feels nice, Betty!" The bunny chuckled, digging her tongue into the six-year-old tail-hole with both skill and enthusiasm, easily following the slow movements of the child's hips with her head.

It was all too much, too close to the oh-so-secret dreams he'd once had, of he and his wife violating their young daughter together. Groaning, hips flexing to lift the kitten on his lap an inch or two, he came - spraying his hot cum into her tiny womb. She probably wasn't even on the pill, he foggily thought. She wouldn't have had her first period yet, so there'd be no point even if she wound up servicing a fellow feline. The orgasmic shudders kept coursing through him, his heart threatening to beat its way out through his chest, until finally he sank back down into the comfortable embrace of the couch with an exhausted sigh.

His cock, however, was still hard, the knot near his base fully-inflated and showing its size in the open air - and as the kitten giggled and said "Gee, mister, you make me feel all warm inside..." the rest of him revived as well. He'd paid for these girls for an hour - and paid well. He had to get his money's worth, and his cock - harder and more eager than it had been in a decade or more - seemed to agree. "Well, I've got a lot more hot stuff ready to pour into you..." he growled, and lifted her up from his lap - eyes glued to the sight of her tight young slit slipping up his shaft and resuming its original shape once she was completely off it, a bit of his thin cum oozing out to stain the short fur surrounding it.

Betty had backed off as he moved the kitten, an eyebrow lifted as she kneeled there, awaiting her next order. He ignored her for the moment and spun Kitty around in his hands so that her back was turned towards him - then pushed her down once again, steering his pulsating, cum-stained cock towards her tiny tail-hole this time. He felt her sphincter touch the tapered tip of his cockhead, and then stretch around it as he pushed her further down, a groan that sounded more pleased than pained emerging from the kitten as he did so. Clearly, the bunny's efforts had paid off, leaving the minute orifice well-lubricated and its muscles thoroughly relaxed.

His breathing grew labored once more as she continued to sink, her legs slipping out from under her. More and more of his shaft entered the tight, hot confines of her rectum, and there seemed to be a bit more space to work with here. In the end, he didn't feel his cockhead hit a true obstacle until she was virtually sitting on his swolen knot. She was shifting a bit between his hands now, showing some signs of discomfort, so he took a deep breath and marshaled his self-control - leaving her where she was, for now, so that she could get used to having his entire shaft (minus knot) lodged up her rectum.

He waved at the kneeling bunny before him. "Okay... put that mouth of yours to use again. Suck my cum out of her pussy... lick my knot, and my balls... actually, help me get my pants all the way off, for now." He was still mostly dressed, after all, his stiff business-pants merely opened at the crotch, his brand-name underpants pulled down around the base of his cock. It seemed like Betty was quite familiar with customers in that particular position, however. She quickly untied and removed his shoes before pulling his pants down and off, followed by his boxers - all he had to do was lift his ass off the seat for the last bits, making Kitty shift and groan a bit at the motion.

Then she promptly went to town, first diving in between the younger girl's thighs to lap at her undeveloped slit - prompting yet more delighted squeals from the kitten. "Oh, Betty, you're so good with your tongue!" she exclaimed. "Why can't you teach me to be that good?" The bunny lifted her head briefly from between the fuzzy thighs, grinning and licking her chops to catch a few stray drops of Winston's cum. "I already told you, Kitty, you just have a different kind of tongue than me - you need different techniques." Then she dove back in and kept licking, the resulting stimulation sparking little contractions of the tight tail-hole currently wrapped around Winston's cock, making him groan in turn.

Once she'd spent a few minutes with her lips wrapped around the young kitten's bulging pussy-lips, she apparently felt satisfied that she'd sucked out what she could of Winston's thin, hot canine cum, and moved further down. Now she was licking his knot, her nose virtually lodged in the youthful orifice her tongue had just abandoned, stimulating the only part of his cock that had gone untouched so far. At this point, his self-control predictably crumbled, and he decided that Kitty had been given enough time to adapt to his size.

He started to bounce her up and down on his lap, her lashing tail caressing his chest and belly as he did - her fuzzy little butt just barely brushing against the top of his knot at the bottom of every stroke. The thrusts were much longer this time around, the tightness and friction no lesser - creating a massive stimulation that was already making his head swim. The soft tongue caressing his knot, with the occasional stronger sensation of a pair of incisors scraping ever-so-carefully across the inflated tissue, further heightened his pleasure.

"Go lower!" He groaned, feeling that he was getting close to the peak again, and the bunny instantly obeyed. She felt her hot breath caress his ballsack for just a second - then she simply swallowed the whole thing, sucking his testicles fully into her mouth and letting her tongue dance freely over the sensitive orbs while applying just the right amount of continuous suction to keep the intense sensation just shy of being painful.

The vibrating tension in his thighs, lower back and loins finally reached their peak, his tail battering against the couch as it tried its best to wag, and deep inside the tight wetness of the bunny-girl's mouth his balls surged with virile energy. Throwing his head back, he howled orgasmically and came voluminously into the kitten's tautly-stretched tail-hole. The way she mewled in reply, stubby fingers rubbing her tummy as she felt the hot cum pouring blasting into her intestines, only served to drag on his climax - draining his balls definitively dry.

When the tension finally left his body, he sighed and slumped in his seat, ass and tail skidding across the smooth fabric of the couch. The young rabbit kneeling between his legs followed the movement, and a moment later he felt the air cool his saliva-covered ballsack as she popped it back out of her mouth. Fresh stimulating coursed through it as she nuzzled it with her nose, pushing it up - and then he felt her tongue begin to dig into his tail-hole, freshly revealed by his changed pose. It wasn't the first time he'd had a rimjob - some of the escorts he regularly patronized offered such services, for an extra fee - but he'd never known any girl to leap into it with such enthusiasm, effectively unbidden.

The stimulating feeling of that soft tongue caressing his sphincter sent a shock through his cock, just as it started to soften - restoring it to full hardness, still inside Kitty's now cum-packed ass. He snorted, blowing air forcefully out of his nose as he gathered his energy. There was still lots of time left, and many wet dreams left to turn into reality. As long as his cock and balls were willing to cooperate, he would keep going.

Grunting, he pulled himself back up - ending the delightful anal stimulation by necessity. With Kitty still balanced on his cock, panting slightly as she sat heavily on his knot, he reached out and patted the bunny-girl between her long ears. "Very nice - but enough tongue-work. Strip down, and go grab a suitably-sized strap-on from the wall." he commanded, surprised at how steady, if rather hoarse, his voice was at this point.

Chuckling, Betty rose from the floor, shifting her rear slightly to remind him that she was still walking around with a huge plug lodged up her tail-hole. "Ah, so that's what you wanted me for... no problem, sir. We'll show Kitty here a good time together, won't we?" She smiled arousingly down at him as she pulled off her form-fitting clothes, revealing the creamy fur beneath. The toy-rack on the opposite wall did, indeed, have a couple of strap-on harnesses hanging from it, along with a selection of dildos suitable for mounting on it.

A minute later, the teen rabbit was standing in front of him wearing just such a harness, with a hard, plasticky cock poking out from the front. It had been carefully selected - not much more than a inch thick, nor particularly long, making it well-suited for Kitty's prepubescent body. Rather than being modeled after any particular race, though, it was covered by hard little nubs, giving it a great deal of texture. The young kitten, however, seemed more eager than apprehensive, and without any given orders, she leaned forwards to suck delicately on the knobby cockhead - sending a little surge of trembling arousal up through Winston's canine cock.

With this foreplay out of the way, the bunny slid her knees up on the couch, spread around his own, now-closed legs, so that she was virtually sitting on his knees. Steering her strap-on in between Kitty's widely-spread thighs, she pushed it into the young kitten's freshly-fucked pussy as she leaned forwards, trapping the tiny, fuzzy body between her own feminine curves and Winston's paunch. Staring into her lust-filled eyes over the kitten's pointy little ears, he didn't even care that she'd just recently had her tongue lodged up his own ass - he pulled her into a sloppy kiss that she eagerly returned.

It was all almost too real, he thought as the bunny-girl began to flex her hips, grinding the knobby dildo into Kitty's preteen pussy, prompting high-pitched moans and mewls. Too close to the dreams that had once floated secretly though his head. The heavily-textured plastic-cock was applying stimulation to his own straight through the thin wall that separated them - enough to make his shaft, highly sensitive after two orgasms in rapid succession, shiver. The bunny broke their kiss with a moan, and he looked down to see that the kitten had taken advantage of her current position to start sucking on one of her older colleague's pierced tits, her tiny, razor-sharp teeth playing across the little nub of sensitive tissue.

He groaned, flexing his hips to make his cock jump up and down by just a half inch, jostling the kitten impaled thereon. Despite the near-painful levels of stimulation, he knew that he wouldn't soon cum again - but that was fine. If he could manage to reach one more orgasm, that would be it, and there was so much more he wanted to try first. So many possibilities with these two! Like having this dirty bunny suck his cock clean when he finally pulled it out of the kitten's tight ass... or fucking the little one standing, against the wall, while the rabbit ate out his ass from behind. Or he could finally get his knot wet by pounding Betty's juicy cunt while her ass was still filled by the huge plug, tasting Kitty's sweet young pussy while doing so. So many options, so many depraved dreams that could now become reality... there was no way he'd be able to do it all tonight, much less in the hour he had booked. But that was fine, wasn't it? No need to hurry. This place would still be here tomorrow...

Winston straightened his tie before stepping through the large, oaken door into the CEO's spacious, well-appointed office. The graying old grizzly looked up from some documents he'd been reading and adjusted his glasses with one claw. "Ah, Preswick, there you are. Turned into a bit of a longer trip than you'd thought, did it? I was expecting you back two days ago." Winston nodded, face carefully composed. "Indeed, Sir, and I apologize for my tardiness. But it was, after all, a complex issue, and I felt I needed to give it my fullest attention - there was just no way to get all the nitty-gritty details straightened out in less time than that, I'm afraid."

The old bear nodded, face mild. "Of course, Preswick, of course - your conscientiousness does you credit, and I certainly did not mean it as a criticism - you merely seemed confident that you could get everything straightened out in a day or so when you left." Winston could only smile and shrug at that. "I suppose I was, Sir, but you know what they say - the best laid plans of mice and monkeys, right?" This earned him a chuckle from his boss. "Indeed, Preswick - indeed. And being able to adapt to that is the sign of an agile mind, I always say! So, let me hear it, then - what did your in-depth analysis of Jenkins' proposition turn up?"

Winston nodded, straightening up as he delivered his report. "Well, Sir, to my own surprise, after assessing all of the relevant factors, I must conclude that remodeling the old plants at Augustown would be both practical and profitable, compared to our original plans. While we'd be paying higher salaries to the workers, and losing some money due to the necessity of toeing the OSHA and EPA's lines, various other factors will more than counteract this."

He counted them off on the fingers of one paw. "Firstly, the old plants are still in surprisingly good condition - the decay is largely limited to the internals, which would have to be replaced in order to retool them for our purposes anyway. The structures themselves were built to last, and really just need a solid cleaning and a fresh coat of lead-free paint!" The CEO nodded - this had, after all, been the foundation of the original proposition.

Bending another finger, he continued. "Secondly, I've touched bases with local authorities, including the mayor and the chief of police, and I think I can guarantee us a close, and beneficial, working relationship." This was absolutely true - he had met with both of them in the Watering-Hole, sharing a girl and a few lines of prime-quality cocaine as they hashed out a deal. Both were understandably eager to welcome industry and the resulting employment-opportunities back into their community, and willing to bend all kinds of rules to make it happen.

Another finger. "Thirdly, the fact that we'll be able to brand our product as 'Made In America, By Americans' will undoubtedly appeal to a fair portion of our local customer-base, for obvious reasons. I foresee at least a 10-15% increase in sales across North America just from that - more if we produce a few adds to drive home the fact that many of our competitors produce their goods in plants overseas. This will go a long way towards making up for the added running-costs." The old grizzly was leaning forwards over his expensive mahogany desk now, paws tented under his chin, looking increasingly interested.

One more finger bent down to touch his paw-pad. "Fourthly, the fact that we will be 'revitalizing a dying community', and 'breathing life back into the dying vestiges of American Industry' will play well with the media - it'll be good PR, which is hard for our kind of business to come by. It'll put our company name and brand in the news - from newspaper and TV to online blogs - and raise our public profile. You'll likely get a chance to do a few interviews, Sir - giving you a chance to fully drive home that we're taking a hit on production-costs by going with American manufacturing rather than going overseas, because we just love this country so damn much." This earned him another chuckle and a wry smile. "Oh, we do, we do indeed..." the grizzly answered dryly, while Winston folded his last finger down.

"And finally, the fact that we'll have a pair of production plants right in the middle of the Continental USA, and in a rather lightly-populated area at that, will make it easy to maintain a high degree of security there - making them an ideal place for running some of our more experimental projects. I know that the Chief of Security has expressed some concerns about that - both our corporate rivals and various foreign governments have a vested interest in looking at our cards. And if we have a leak, we could stand to lose a lot of those profitable military contracts you landed us, Sir..."

The CEO leaned back in his extremely pricey and comfortable chair, nodding. "An excellent point, Preswick. An excellent point. It seems like you have truly considered all of the angles! I'll take your accounting to the board, but I think I can already say that we'll wind up going ahead with the Augustown Plant approach." There was an implicit dismissal in that sentence, but Winston lingered still, shuffling his paws. The CEO lifted a bushy gray eyebrow. "Was there anything else, Preswick?"

Winston nodded. "Actually, Sir... I was thinking... setting everything up over there so that all the pieces fall into place perfectly, gaining as much leverage as we can over the local community, is going to be a delicate operation. And I've already established contacts over there and studied up on the area. So perhaps it would be best if I personally managed the remodeling and production-line setup - no substitute for hands-on management, after all. Perhaps I could even manage the plants, long term, once they're up and running."

The old grizzly blinked, looking slightly confused. "Well, I certainly can't argue with your logic there, Preswick - and being able to say that a skilled and trustworthy paw will be on the project start to finish would only make it easier to sell the whole thing to the board. But that would require you to essentially move to Augustown, wouldn't it? What would your wife say?" Winston scuffed his feet on the afghan carpet that covered most of the office's floor-space. "Well, Sir, that's just the thing..."

He took a deep breath, deliberately letting his mask slip and showing a bit of tightly-wound emotion. "I haven't wanted to talk about it out loud - you know how the office rumor-mill can be, Sir - but the truth is that me and my wife have... kind of been on the rocks for a bit. Drifted apart since the pups left the nest, you know. We've been talking about a separation, even an outright divorce, lately - on purely amicable terms, of course. It's been... a bit stressful."

The old grizzly nodded, genuine concern in his eyes. "I'm... sorry to hear that, Preswick. I remember your wife from the company picnics - she seemed like a delightful femme." Winston quickly nodded. "Oh, she is - and I wish her all the best going forwards. In fact, I'm planning to let her have the house when we part our assets - she's always loved the place, and I feel like I could use a... fresh start, somewhere else. Visiting Augustown, well, it helped me see what it was I really needed. Somewhere far from the bustle and noise of the big city, where the air is clean, the furs are friendly, and you can see for miles. Buying a little house out there and just... starting it all over in an all-new place, well, I think that's just what I need right now."

The CEO nodded and rose from his chair with a grunt, walking around his wide desk to put a heavy paw on Winston's shoulder. "Well, Preswick... we would be terribly sad to loose you here in the office, but it sounds like this is the right move for you. And if it happens to benefit the company as a whole as well, then I can hardly complain! Assuming the board gives the go-ahead - which, as I said, I feel confident they will - I'll push to have you assigned as head of the Augustown Plant Project, and the plants themselves once they come online."

Winston thanked the old grizzly and gravely shook his paw, before excusing himself and stepping out of the office. He nodded politely to the old bear's secretary, and walked out into the corridor. Only then did he allow a broad smile of triumph to twist his lips and shake his jowls. Everything had worked as planned. He'd known the CEO for years, and knew just what buttons to press. Soon, he'd be back in that hidden paradise, that underground garden of unearthly delights, to stay this time. His new living-arrangements would be far less grandiose than those he'd been used to, but they'd also be far cheaper - saving him lots of money that he could then go spend on his favorite 'entertainers' at the Buffalo's Watering Hole.

He pondered the things he'd said as he walked towards the elevators. Would his estimates for increased sales and easier security really come true? He wasn't even halfway sure of that, honestly. Not that it mattered much - by the time that became clear, the project would already be too advanced to cancel, too many sunk costs, and he'd be far from the boardroom and thus not easily taken to task. Scapegoats tended to be picked from the easy targets, after all, so if anything went south, CFO Jenkins would be more likely to catch the heat.

Well, whatever. He'd worked for Ursa Major Armaments Inc. for decades, but he felt no real loyalty towards them. The value of his stock-options were significant at this point, and a few percentage-points worth of fluctuation in the price wouldn't change that. More important was that he'd soon be out of these suffocating meeting-rooms and offices, managing the construction of a weapons-plant and a munitions-plant in Augustown - a big fish in a small pond, perhaps, but that was still better than being a mid-sized fish in a big pond.

His cock hardened in his pants as the elevator carried him down towards his own office. He had lots of work to do - he might not be able to start the ball rolling on the Augustown Plant Project until the boss had talked to the board and been given the green light, but that wasn't his only concern. He also needed to call his lawyer and get the paperwork started for his divorce, hashing out the division of assets - which could get complicated even if he was willing to cede the house - and much, much more.

But it'd all be more than worth it in the end. Word had gotten around in the Watering-Hole about the jobs he might soon bring to town, before he left, and while he hadn't exactly been given any freebies, he'd most definitely been getting special treatment. And he'd been promised that if he actually did bring those plants - and the jobs they brought with them - to town, he'd get another concession. 'Playful Kitty' wasn't usually available for overnight stays - but there'd be an exception in his case. The breath whistled through his nostrils as he struggled to contain himself - he had to focus on his work. The sooner he had everything straightened out, the sooner he could go back there...

---

A few months later, an attentive soul might have spotted something strange in Augustown. An ordinary-seeming fox, paws buried in the pockets of his black duster-coat, watched the construction-vehicles milling around two old appliance-factories, hard at work restoring and remodeling the structures, a slight smile playing across his lips. Lots of locals had turned up to watch the work begin, however, and there were lots of smiles to go around - so this was not, in itself, strange.

What made it strange was that he was watching it all from the top of a towering smokestack attached to a neighboring, derelict factory, standing fearlessly on its narrow rim. He watched intently, eyes sharp, as if the remodeling of two run-down factories into weapons manufacturing plants was the most important thing in the world. And then, once he'd seen enough, he simply turned around, took a step, and was gone. But everybody there were either busy doing their jobs, or busy watching that happen - so nobody was looking up at those old smokestacks. Nobody saw him come, or go.

---

Pablo Llamazares moped as he looked out across the barrio, stretching in all its grimy glory beneath the Venezuelan sunlight. In the distance, he could see the tall buildings of Caracas proper, where people more fortunate than he and his family lived. At night, the secluded little spot offered a magnificent view - a carpet of light stretching before you, and then rising into great towers that reached for the sky - but the daylight was merciless. You could tell, even from up here, that his home was a place of poverty, violence, hunger and broken dreams - where gangs ruled and only those who had nowhere else to go could be found.

The sound of rustling vegetation behind him made the young llama jump and spin around. This place was his sanctuary, away from the gangs and the bullies and his drunken, violent padre - accessible only via a detour through the jungle that spread so verdantly around the edges of the barrio, as if eager to reclaim the land. Had somebody else finally found this hidden outcropping with its alternatingly splendid and depressing view?

So it appeared - and an adult, at that. Not anyone he knew, though - nor anyone local. The figure that emerged from the underbrush was unmistakably a musiú - a tourist, or perhaps more likely a businessman, considering the sweated-through white shirt with the rolled-up sleeves he wore, the stylish, black hat that was keeping the sun off his lupine face, and the black pants, once neatly-creased and now covered in twigs and stained with plant-juices. A gray-furred fox, albeit with one eye-catching, bright-red paw, carrying some kind of black coat draped over one arm, bright-blue eyes squinting against the sun as he emerged from the shadow of the trees.

"Ah... finally somebody!" he said, in barely-accented Spanish. "My car broke down on the road a ways back, and my phone has no battery. I went looking for help, but got lost in the jungle. Maybe you can help me?" Pablo nodded hesitantly, wheels turning in his head. A lost visitor? Sounded like opportunity knocking. At the very least, he should be able to get a nice tip out of showing this musiú the way back down to the city - and maybe more, if he could convince the guy to take him on as a 'native guide'. Foreigners always had money to burn.

Smiling in a friendly fashion, he jumped up. "Si, señor - happy to help! I am sure you will be grateful, no?" The fox nodded with a grin. "But of course, young fellow. Please, lead the way, and we can discuss some suitable recompense for your services as we walk." As they set off, Pablo found his smile widening. This fox seemed a sensible sort of grownup, not to mention generous. Yes indeed, opportunity was certainly knocking, at long last, and he wouldn't be slow in opening the door...

END

Or perhaps a beginning...