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Old Glory

The coyote picked his way through the weeds and long grass. The land was scrubby, covered in plants that could either be large overgrown bushes or small trees, growing wild by themselves or in rough clumps. Around and among them, the grass grew tall, green in places, yellow and half-dead in others. Unseen insects buzzed in the grass. And up ahead, two large concrete blocks, waist-high, stood across a path which curved left and down from the main road. They blocked access for vehicles, but not for a slender coyote like him. He slipped between the blocks, and carried on down. He followed a rough approximation of this path, almost obscured as it was by overgrowth. He checked his surroundings as he went. However, nobody was around, not even a bird.

At the bottom of the bank was a paved lot, with a building at its centre. The old rest-stop was brick-built, with some sheets of iron on the facade, possibly for reinforcement. It was flat-roofed except for a triangular stack, which could have been ventilation for the kitchen. He remembered this rest-stop back in its heyday, though now it stood completely abandoned. The lot itself was open, but the paving was now cracked and full of weeds. On either side of the building was a patch of tree-bushes, which the coyote vaguely remembered as tended gardens for diners and travellers to sit outside, but which now grew natural.

The prairie wolf panted. The day was hot, the sky clear and greyish-blue but with a haze in the air, a dusty smokiness of trapped heat and humidity. Standing in the lot, the coyote took his water-flask, and allowed himself two precious gulps of refreshment. Surely it was cooler than this inside.

Behind the building, out of view of the main road, was a metal emergency door. The coyote swallowed, and tapped his belt, checking his sheathed knife was still there. The rubble at the building's base had been swept in an arc by the door, suggesting that someone had opened it recently. The coyote pulled, and the metal door snapped loudly out of its frame.Damn. He paused a moment, scanning around and behind, but no-one could be seen or heard or scented. Putting it out of his mind, the coyote opened the door a little further, slipped inside, and closed the door behind him. He didn't even realise he'd been holding his breath until he took a deep exhale.

First to strike him was the promised and welcome coolness. However this was almost straightaway coloured by the multitude of scents that reached his sensitive canid nose. Mould and dampness, the bitter aftertaste of tobacco and marijuana, and the mark of unknown animals, sprayed here in the dining area, but seemingly stronger elsewhere. The last of these, though pungent, did not entirely deter the coyote. Wouldn't have made sense to. Considering why he was here.

He took a quick sniff around the dark diner. A few tables and chairs stood centre, some intact, some broken, all covered in dust. There was a food counter, and beyond it was the little store that once sold refreshments and books and smokes for passing travellers. However its shelves were now almost empty. Even the books were nearly gone, save for some damp and water-soaked titles. After all, books could be burned for kindling.

The coyote's main interest, however, was the small corridor to the left, with the word_Restrooms_marked above it. A door straight ahead was marked with the letter M, with a corresponding letter F to the right. The coyote stepped into the male restroom.

This place was filthy even when the ovens were hot and the coffee was flowing. It seemed that nobody had cleaned it since (and why would they?) Scraps of paper and patches of water covered the floor of chipped tiles, while to the sides were more paper, cigarette ends, even one or two pieces of foil. The walls too were tiled, or mostly tiled, with several of them missing or fallen off and cracked on the floor. The ceiling had square recesses for tube lights, but most of these were broken or missing. Above two of the four grimy sinks were two mirrors, one intact, one broken. The urinal troughs at the far end stank of men, a tiny piece of disinfectant in each as a token and futile attempt at civility. And opposite the entrance were the three stalls. One of which was occupied. He saw shadows shift under the leftmost door.

"Take the middle stall."

The coyote almost yipped in surprise. The voice was low, sharp, almost snarling. So there he was. The animal he'd come here to see. He didn't even know what species he was dealing with. This had all been arranged remotely and clandestinely, first with the help of a friend of a friend, then with a few anonymous messages exchanged by bird. The coyote gulped, willing his heart to still. Maybe this was a mistake. He could still turn around, walk out of here. But then what would happen? He'd agreed to this, all but made a promise. Maybe the animal would give chase, and take his side of the bargain one way or the other. Could he run fast enough? His fractured ankle had healed, but it was still weaker than before.

Biting his tongue, the coyote opened the door to the middle stall. It swung noiselessly, revealing an old chain-pull toilet and a toilet roll holder with a few sheets remaining. The scent from the bowl was offensive and the water discoloured, so the coyote closed the lid. He then pulled the door closed, and pulled the lock across, out of habit more than anything.

He glanced to the side, down to waist height. And there it was. The coyote knew a glory hole when he saw one. And he'd known about this one since he was a pup. Of course he didn't_use_it back then, though he did remember running up to his father outside, after his discovery. "Dad, Dad, the stall in the men's room had a hole in it! You could see right through!" The older 'yote downplayed it, simply nodding and saying, "Really?" (Oh, the old man must have been embarrassed beyond belief.) It was only a few years later, when as a curious teenager he stumbled across the concept of 'glory holes', that he remembered the hole at the rest-stop, put two and two together, and realised that ten-year-old him had inadvertently found one. One of those long-lasting childhood memories, maybe. Well, when arranging this rendezvous, it was he who had actually suggested this place.

A sharp breath next door, a murr, the familiar sound of paw on slick flesh. Then, a moment later, the other male slipped into the coyote's space. The canine's eyes went wide.

_ _

Whoa, he's got... two heads....

The uncut animal was pulled back, partly revealing his double endowment, both heads dripping precum. The shaft itself was thick, probably a good two inches longer than he, and it had a mottled pattern, pink at the tip with a blotchy fade to black nearer the base, where the animal thickened more and disappeared into a scruff of grey fur. There were no words, no introduction. The coyote simply got to his knees, and stared at the obscene length of animal cock before him. He touched his nose to the animal, wet nose on wet cock, and behind the partition, the animal sniffed sharp, and the whole cock twitched. The coyote took in the scent, and with his muzzle, he rubbed on the animal, letting the cock (cocks?) brush on his short muzzle-fur, feeling the musk of another male trickle over him, wash over and seep into his fur, covering his own subtle dusty dog musk with that of a bigger, better hung male. It had been too long.

Goodness I want that in me...

He reached up a paw, massaging the animal mid-shaft with his pads. This got an approving murr, and so he stroked the animal ever so slightly firmer. Very soon, precum was trickling over his fingers, and a string of it even dripped lazily to the floor. Wow. Talk about a messy animal. He wished he could fondle its balls.

He licked his lips, and glanced his broad canine tongue over both heads at once. Then, he cradled those final two inches with his tongue, wrapping underneath and around both sides. With his paw, he pumped the animal's shaft a few times, and was rewarded with a hard double-shot of precum, from both of the beast's barrels. He pulled back slightly, focusing just on those tips. Both together, then one, then the other. He paid particular attention to this side, flicking it with his tongue-tip, until that side and that side alone twitched. But there was more of this unusual animal to explore. Still working with his tongue-tip, he slipped between the animal's heads, a half-inch, quarter-inch at a time. The gap between heads was wider at the end, so at first he slipped in between without much trouble. However, soon the gap narrowed. He pushed the foreskin back with his tongue, until he was wedged between the two halves of the animal's shaft. He tried to slip the foreskin further back, but by now it was too tight, and so instead he pulled back, and simply held the creature, teasing with gentle breath.

The coyote's own length strained and twitched in his underwear, and he used his spare hand to free himself. He was sure the animal heard the belt open, the zip lowering, and the rustle of clothing. Still, he heard no comment or complaint. The animal stood still, waiting, its bare paws partly visible under the stall. Five splayed toes, each tipped with a wickedly sharp claw. What was this animal? Some kind of giant rat? He took a firm grip of his coyote cock, and began to stroke, fingers squeezing his length while his thumb teased his tip, the way he'd enjoyed since he was a pup. Though that was many years ago. Now here he was, adult, male, revelling in his sexuality and the company of this mysterious, and yet unseen, fellow beast.

With his own length free, he dived back down, taking both heads plus a good half of the length into his maw. Now he got to work, taking the male as deep into his throat as he could, again and again. His paw slid to the base, pressing as far into the crotch-fur as the glory hole would allow. Eventually, the build-up of dog drool and animal musk became too great, and the coyote had to swallow. He pulled his muzzle off, while still keeping a paw-hold on that cock. He raised his muzzle, and gulped it all down loudly, smacking his lips and giving a murr. There was some soft sharp hissing behind the wall, which could have been a laugh. Still the animal stood to attention. He stared down the length, watching it bob and twitch ever so slightly, taking in the patterning and the foreskin and the deepness of those pre-dripping holes. And to think, at any moment, even the slightest touch in the right place, maybe even the slightest breath, could make the animal tense, make him snarl, make him dig those toe-claws into the tiles (which would surely leave scratch marks), make those unseen balls tense up too, before, finally, the animal erupted to life. By now, the coyote could not refuse. With tongue-tip, then full tongue, then full long maw, the canine teased the animal, gripped him tight, to draw him to his climax. And when the coyote pricked his ears at a low growl and what sounded like a slow scratch into the fibreboard panel, he wrapped tighter, pressing his lips around the length as he bobbed and holding tighter with thumb and finger. The animal began to buck, shaking the partition with each thrust, until the coyote gave a single hard paw-squeeze to the animal's base while still sucking, and a series of sharp wet hisses picked up and built and built to a full-throated snarl, the claws under the stall tensing, the animal's cock rigid as two streams of liquid poured into the coyote's muzzle followed by two hard shots straight to the back of his throat. While he was by now quite acquainted with the creature's anatomy, nothing could prepare him for two hard shots of animal cum hitting his throat in two different places. He coughed and spluttered, pulling off the male just before the next double-shot, even harder than the first, splattered the partition behind him. A third shot, then a fourth, streaked across his face and his back and his muzzle, covering one eye. With a soft 'mmf', he quickly opened his good eye and took the length back into his wide-open muzzle, using both paws plus his maw to stroke and to tease the ejaculating animal. That second paw didn't stay high for long, and the coyote soon slipped his paw to his own length, the pleasure already in him now surging as he slipped his sheath further back to expose his swollen knot, the bulbous flesh needing only a few squeezes and strokes before the coyote pulled his muzzle back and went tense, stifling a howl which would surely raise suspicion, and instead bucking helplessly into his paw, spraying wild coyote cum over the wall and the floor before him, his finger and thumb wrapped behind his knot in an approximation of a canine tie. His panting was hard and his pointed ears were ringing, but both of their erections stayed hard.

The coyote hauled himself up onto the toilet seat, fighting hard to catch his breath. He reached for some paper and dabbed some of the animal's musk from his muzzle and eye, dropping the paper to the floor beside him. He heard the animal next door breathing, though nowhere near as harshly as he. Suddenly a set of claws gripped the top of the dividing wall, there came a grunt, and a slender fanged muzzle slipped into view. Before the post-coital coyote could react, the animal slithered his lithe sinuous body over the division, and dropped into the coyote's stall. On instinct, the coyote backed up, taking in the animal before him. He was an opossum, and a rangy muscular one at that. He (and he most definitely was a he) was fully naked, and the coyote could see every detail, from the shock of green-and-black hair, to the long tail reaching the floor, to the bifurcated cock half-hard and slick, to the plump marsupial pouch underneath. Without a word, the possum closed the short distance to the coyote. The coyote's paw slipped to the knife, but the possum saw the move and sprang with a hiss, using both paws to grab the coyote's wrist, which he jerked sideways to crack out of joint. The canine yelped, loosing his grip, and the possum ripped the sheathed knife off his belt and tossed it over the wall, where it clattered hard on the floor-tiles.

The coyote's heart raced. He stared at the marsupial, who met his gaze with sharp green-and-yellow eyes. Their muzzles were less than a whisker away, the possum's nose twitching, his muzzle twisted into a scowl, wide maw showing off what had to be dozens of jagged yellow teeth. He loomed over the seated coyote, back arched, a growl in his throat, and that erection rapidly rising again to full hardness. The possum brought his muzzle in close, to the side of the coyote's neck, ruffling his neck-fur with hot smoky breath, letting a string of drool drip onto the coyote's throat. He licked his lips, lapping the string of his own saliva, and brought his muzzle to the other ear, whispering.

"We're not done."

The possum gripped the coyote's sides, and flipped him around. The canine spun halfway before he put up resistance, pressing back at an awkward sideways angle. Seconds later, he felt his hind paws being bound - that had to be the possum's tail. Losing balance, he spun with his rear to the possum, and he had to prop himself on the toilet seat to avoid falling completely. He writhed beneath the possum, but with two bound feet and one injured hand, the marsupial could easily grip his neck and pin him in place, scoring a claw down the coyote's carotid for good measure. He got the message and settled down, save for his quick breath and quicker heartbeat. The coyote's belt was already undone, so it was the work of a moment to haul down the coyote's trousers and underwear, just enough to reveal his slim rear. The coyote tried to tuck his tail, but the possum gave it a hard yank, making him yip. With the coyote holding his tail limp to one side, the marsupial spread the canine's cheeks wide, holding the now-motionless canine open with both dextrous paws, before he took his mount, his stance wide. The coyote froze, not knowing what to do, what to say, until he felt firm flesh, pressing directly on his tailhole. Biting his lip, he tensed his entrance, denying the possum a direct penetration. However, with all of that natural lubricant, and with the possum taking his shaft and dragging it top-to-bottom, top-to-bottom, loosening the muscle regardless, the coyote knew it was only a matter of time.

The penetration was sudden, deep, and it hurt. Badly. The coyote raised his muzzle, maybe to howl, maybe to call for help, but the possum grabbed his muzzle and squeezed it tight. A few hard bucks of the haunches later, and the slim coyote could not move. He could not speak. Jaws closed on the nape of his neck, sharp teeth biting, holding him there, hot wet breath laced with smoke and cannabis against his neck and his face. The coyote held rigid, his paws propped on the toilet seat, the condensation of the walls and the pipes mere inches from his nose, and his tail reamed deep and fast by that thick double possum cock. The marsupial was relentless, powerful, that lithe muscular body of his clearly not just for show. The coyote tried to hold his own, of course he did. He even tried flexing his tailhole around the possum, to spur the marsupial to his peak quicker. But locked in here with that great snarling machine, pistoning into him with those ragged bucks, he was exhausted in moments. What was more, the possum's earlier orgasm meant he needed a longer build-up, which only prolonged the coyote's agony. Though with the marsupial getting harder under his tail all the time, he was under no doubt that the animal would reach climax under his 'yote tail. And as the faintest trace of a familiar pleasure rose to numb the pain, the thought of a sticky marsupial load under his tail didn't repulse him as much as he expected. Or maybe hoped.

_ _

The coyote whispered to himself. "Come on, stay strong, he's nearly done, he's nearly done..." Either the possum didn't care about the whispering, or his attention was elsewhere, because suddenly he raised his tempo, haunches tight and slapping into coyote rump, eyes slit and muzzle curled into a fanged growl, which once again grew louder and louder as he pounded into the canine before he suddenly lifted his lethal jaws and snarled, harsher than before, holding the breathless canine tight for second after tense second, before relenting with a yowl, delivering buck after buck under the coyote's tail. Everything still hurt, everything still stung, but there was a new, perverse liquidness to their connection. And the coyote had to admit that this, at least, felt good.

It took a while before the possum slowed his thrusts, stilled his breath, and eventually settled on the coyote's back. He still bucked now and then, or let his cock twitch within the coyote, but otherwise he revelled in his afterglow, holding the 'yote in place, nuzzling into his neck. The possum was warm, and the coyote felt that warmth spreading from his tail through his furry body, both from the marsupial cock, and from the copious cum the possum had deposited, even on a second orgasm. He always loved that warmth, and there it was. Just like every time he lifted tail, right?

Well, no, actually, this was different. Suddenly, the implications of what they went through hit the coyote hard. His voice, when he spoke, was small.

"We... we didn't agree to this."

"Actually, we did," the possum retorted. "We agreed to meet here, anonymously, and make use of that glory hole. Nobody talked about what might happen_after_."

"But... why?" The coyote was lost for words beyond that.

"Why? Why did I slip over here and take your tail? Because you wanted it. I heard what you said."

"That doesn't mean... that's not what I... did I say that out loud?"

"Oh yes. And let's face it, neither of us would be satisfied with just a blowjob. And when we were so close, it would have been such a shame to deny you what you craved. After all, glorious as a glory hole is, it's no match for a proper dog-fuck."

The possum pulled back, dragging his arousal the length of the coyote's burning tail. On and on that withdrawal went, until the marsupial slipped free with a hiss, and the coyote yelped in response. Panting, shaking, and crashing from the endorphin high, the coyote took his seat again, wincing at his pained and possibly torn tail.

"So yeah, pup, you're welcome. Oh, and if you're up for another round, you know how to reach me."

The possum opened the stall door, and left. There was some rustling of clothes or maybe a pack from the next-door stall, and a silver foil wrapper was thrown over the partition. And with that, the opossum's door opened, the restroom door opened, and he was gone.