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There was a problem with the lion costume. A couple of problems, actually.

The first problem was that the lion costume had an actual lion in it. A tame lion, mind you. He was the star of the "Big Petting Zoo" at the zoological garden and was used to being around people. Other than that one time he ate a yappy Chihuahua someone let loose near him, his record was spotless.

The other problem with the lion costume was that it was surrounded by idiots.

It all started when Jerry, who was a college junior living at the frat house and a volunteer at the zoo, found two different lion costumes at a Salvation Army. He bought them both, stitched them together and put it on Maximilian. (The zoo liked to give their lions Roman-sounding names.)

Max was a hit at the petting zoo in the week before Halloween. Then Jerry decided it would be a great idea to dress Max up in the costume and take him to a costume party at the frat.

It wasn't a great idea. It was a terrible idea. But all went well at first.

"Hey everyone, meet Max. Max is a lion." Jerry was dressed as a circus ringmaster and Max in bits and pieces of the lion costumes. A false mane covered his own, his legs were in tan-colored furry sleeves that left his big front paws and most of his back legs exposed, and the rest of the costume covered his top half but not the underside. Jerry couldn't make the tail work so the costume just sort of stopped at Max's butt.

Twenty or so college students, frat boys, visiting sorority girls and various guests stared at the lion. The lion stared back from under the fake mane. It was fortunate Max was used to meeting people because the odd collection of clowns, toga-wearing Caesars, comic book characters and axe murderers would make a less seasoned lion very nervous.

"Hey, great costume!" A sorority girl in a Wednesday Addams getup patted Max on the head but her attention was all on Jerry. She was already drunk and grabbed a glass of punch from the table to pass to the ringmaster. The punch was loaded with cheap gin thanks to the frat's resident alcoholic, Matt.

"Thanks," Jerry said, and slugged down the punch. He couldn't help but notice that Wednesday's costume was missing some material in the chest area and certain parts of her anatomy were peeking out. Another slug of gin-punch later and he was deep in conversation with her. Like many another couple in the room a certain amount of groping followed and he completely lost track of Max. Max was a tame lion, after all. What's the worst that could happen?

Max, left without a keeper and surrounded by strangers, let himself be petted and wandered around the frat house. Thanks to the marvels of alcohol people got used to this very quickly and some of the party-goers even forgot he was an actual lion. He was two guys in a lion costume, was the thinking. Then someone noticed the "lion costume" was anatomically correct.

"Dude, check it out." A very drunk Frankenstein's Monster pointed out the balls and sheath visible below Max's tail. His conversational partner, Tarzan, grinned and grabbed a nearby girl's arm.

"What?" Catwoman followed Tarzan's gaze. "Oh wow. Is that the back guy's dick or part of the costume?"

"Dude, I dare you," said Frankenstein. Everyone is a dude when you're from Long Beach and drunk enough.

"I don't know," said Catgirl, but egged on by an evil nurse and a scantily clad nun she reached down.

Max was lapping up punch (fortunately the less heavily spiked stuff, no one needs a drunk lion at a party) from a cup held by a frat boy when he eyes went wide. Used to close contact with people at the petting zoo, he'd still never had someone grab his sheath before.

A less tame lion would have whirled around and mauled the offender but with a little alcohol in his system and friendly people all around Max just grunted and pushed against the hand. Catgirl found she could slide the sheath up and down the shaft and between that and her wrist rubbing the lion's balls she soon provoked a reaction.

"He's getting hard," Catwoman said. "I guess it's the back guy's dick."

"Do it," the nurse in blood-spattered whites said. "Do it, do it, doooo it," chanted the onlookers.

Alcohol can make smart people do really stupid things. It can, for example, get a college girl to go down on all fours and slip under two guys in a lion costume. Or what she thought was two guys in a lion costume, anyway.

Max, horny thanks to the girl's hand and slightly tipsy, regarded this with bemusement right up until she pulled her leather pants down and pushed her butt into the hollow of his belly. That caused his unsheathed tip to jab against her naked rump and there can be only one response to that if you're a healthy young lion.

"Hey - Ow! Ow, Ow, Ow!" It was Catwoman's time to go wide-eyed as Max hunched up over her and mounted. Like any cat big or small he began to thrust rapidly the second he was in her. Max was bigger than most lions back there, but not painfully so. Everyone would have been happy with the experience were it not for the barbs. Each thrust was pleasant enough but each withdrawal scraped her sex cruelly. It wasn't enough to draw blood but Catwoman found it a painful experience and not one she could back out of. When she tried to squirm away from his thrusts Max bit into the furry nape of her costume, pinned her between his forelegs and didn't stop humping until he arched and snarled.

"Oh wow," Frankenstein said as Max dismounted. "Those guys are super into roleplay, man."

"That wasn't roleplay," Catwoman said as she pulled her leather pants back up. "That's a real lion!" She tugged as her costume top to get it back into place after a randy big cat scruffed her. Then she reached down and rubbed herself. "That hurt."

"Bull," Very Drunk Frankenstein said. "Look, it's a costume."

"It's a lion in a lion costume!" Catwoman snapped. "That wasn't a human dick in me, it had barbs! Look!" She lifted Max's fake mane to show the real mane under it.

Max paid little attention to the argument. The nun's hand was around his sheath and the nurse was rubbing his balls. Lions do not mate for long but they do it frequently and a minute after he shot his wad in Catgirl he was thrusting against the nurse's hand.

Only severely drunk people would think Max was two men in a lion costume but most of the people in the room were, in fact, severely drunk. Max snarled, arched, and thrust again the nun's hand. Drunk and as aroused as Catwoman was before Max fucked the horny out of her, the evil nurse went down on all fours.

"Wait a second!" Max paused, one lifted to step over the nurse. "It's two guys in a costume. I can prove it." He grabbed Max's fake mane, already at his chest level due to the size of the cat, and tugged it upward. Confused and not in position to mount the nurse yet, Max sat down. This was all very strange compared to his usual outings but he was used to taking orders and that sounded like one.

"Look," Drunk Frankenstein said. "It's a costume." And he stuck his head in Max's mouth.

Max looked crosseyed at the shoulders outside his mouth. He'd never had a human face pressed against his raspy tongue, just as he'd never fucked a human before. Circus hijinks like this just didn't happen at the zoo but he was tame enough that all would have been well if Frank - Drunk Frankenstein's name actually was Frank - had just stopped.

Frank did not stop. Convinced he was right, he pried Max's jaws open and crawled in. Sinews creaked and stretched as his jaws gaped but Max was not your average lion. Many generations ago his forefathers crossed with merfolk exploring African rivers and like many animals with Mer ancestry, he was unusual in several ways. He was smarter than average and his cock was both longer than and twice as thick as a typical lion's, as Catwoman had just found out.

And he could yawn. Could Maximilian ever yawn. In search of the two frat boys he was convinced were operating the lion costume, Frank leaned forward and shoved himself into Max's maw. Upper and lower canine fangs scraped Frank's chest and back but his woolen jacket, bought to be part of his Frankenstein's Monster costume, protected him. His shoulders slipped out of sight past Max's thin black lips and the lion's cheeks ballooned out cartoonishly.

Slimy throatflesh slithered past Frank's eyes as he pushed his head physically down Max's throat. He felt the bulge of a human head move through the lion costume's neck and heard ribs creak and pop as his ears moved from lion neck into lion torso.

With his eyes gummed shut by the mucus that lubricated the lion's prey for easy swallowing Frank tried to peer around. There was nothing to see in the slimy dark. Gullet walls squeezed in from all sides and the muscle and fur behind them was as opaque as a brick wall. He heard Max drag in a rasping breath, struggling to suck air in past this obstruction, and felt the deep bass beat of the lion's heart a lot closer now than it had been a moment before. Drunk as he was, the conclusion was obvious.

"Okay," Frank muttered. "I guess it's not a costume." In the lion's gullet to the elbows he bent his arms so he could grab the mane and pull himself out. At that moment Max gagged, coughed...and swallowed.

It was simple reflex, the lion's effort to clear its throat for air. It also grabbed Frank's head and shoulders as though in a soft fleshy fist. A great contraction of the lion's throat muscles rolled over Frank and slid him deeper. Something like a rubbery valve expanded over the top of his head and as his face slid into the lion's stomach he realized he'd made a mistake. It wasn't two men in a lion suit. It was just one man who was about to be wearing a lion.

That one gulp sucked Frank in to the hips, and he'd already been leaning forward. Unable to see to keep his balance and with most of his weight sliding down Max's gullet he toppled forward. The lion, still struggling to breathe, saw it happening and stretched his jaws wider. Frank's own weight sent his butt into Max's maw.

Suddenly there was nothing left of Drunk Frankenstein but a kicking set of legs. The other college students, drunk themselves, stared in confusion. The comical pirouette of Frank's legs made it look as though it was all for show. Maybe Frank was right and this was like the halftime shows where a giant mascot head swallows up a cheerleader.

There was no time for hesitation for anyone involved. If Max didn't swallow his accidental meal he'd choke. If another student grabbed Frank's feet in the instant before Max gulped, they could pull him out. That was the best possible outcome. Max would gag and retch and be unhappy about the whole situation but he and Frank would both live.

No one grabbed Frank's feet and the wheezing lion, desperately trying to clear his throat to breathe, snapped his jaws upward and took in Drunk Frankenstein's knees.

"Hey," Tarzan said, perceiving through the fog of drink that maybe something was going wrong. "That looks really real -"

Before anyone twigged to the fact they should be doing something Max closed his fanged jaws around Drunk Frankenstein's boots, lifted his nose and swallowed. The other students could only watch the bulge move through the fake mane. Max's formerly sunken belly, already swollen with Frank's upper body, drooped so low it almost dragged the carpet. Max swallowed again, sucked in a breath, and looked as confused as the students.

"Well," said Catwoman, the least drunk of the bunch. "If it wasn't a costume before, it is now." Catwoman, it turned out, hadn't liked Frank very much. Though she did try to warn him.

Max burped loudly and everyone laughed. The lion's belly was heavy and lumpy. It was funny as hell watching Drunk Frankenstein squirm around. The lion's fat belly looked so unnatural that most of them went back to the idea that they were actually looking at two men - now three men - in a lion costume. Any minute now it would yawn or part at some seam and a grinning Frank would reappear.

Someone offered Max another cup of punch and the lion, thirsty after a whole wool-clad man slid down his throat, lapped it up. It'd only been a couple of minutes since Max went to step over the nurse and everyone still wanted to see that happen, but the lion's lumpy belly - which, for whatever reason, was twitching less now - would get in the way.

In the sloshing confines of Max's stomach Frank made out muffled conversation as the frats and girls tried to figure out how to get lion tab A into sorority girl slot B with a belly full of Drunk Frankenstein in the way.

"Help!" The cry from inside the lion was drowned up by drunken chatter. Frank squirmed and tried to kick, but he was rolled up in a ball in a slimy stomach. There was nothing to grab, no leverage. He could squirm all he liked but the acid kept trickling in.

Max belched again and most of the remaining air departed. Frank knew he'd made a mistake now. His thick costume was slowly soaking through and the lion's stomach juices stung him wherever his skin was exposed. It would consume him there first, and if it couldn't get through the wool of his Frankenstein outfit it would eat its way into him through the sleeves and other holes. There would come a time when the costume would still be there, but no Frank. He was in a lion's stomach, and a lion knows what to do with meat, even when that meat is an entire human swallowed whole.

No one noticed that the lion's belly gradually stopped kicking. No one heard the gurgle as it went to work. The music from the next room drowned that out when their conversation didn't. Drunk to the point of stupidity, most of them accepted now that it was just a costume and that Frank would emerge at some point. Technically he would, he just wouldn't look like Frank any more. Maybe when Max hacked up a hairball made of Frankenstein outfit they'd work it out. Maybe even before that, when the drinks wore off. It made little difference either way. It was too late for Frank.

"I have an idea," the nurse said. She'd been trying to find a position where the very willing lion could mount the nun, but the bulge of Frank always got in the way. Every time he tried to step over her his lumpy belly pushed her aside or otherwise kept tab A out of slot B.

In the course of all this, though, and while rubbing Max's sheath to get him ready, the nurse noticed that he was perfectly capable of swiveling his cock out so it pointed directly backward. She tested her new theory by backing up against his rump, reaching down to align things, and then -

"Ow!" Said the nurse as a spiny lion cock slid into her.

"Told you," said Catwoman, who already knew everything about lion barbs. She was the one person in the room who was sure the whole time that they weren't dealing with two men in a lion suit. It was just that she didn't care any more.

"Ow," said the nurse again, but the nun grabbed her shoulder as she tried to back off.

"No quitting," said the nun, and Max let out a growl of approval. He couldn't contribute much beyond his cock in this position, but that was enough. The nun helped push as the nurse rocked forward and back, and pretty soon a rhythm was achieved that made everyone happy. The was a lot of pained yelping at first, but Max was getting used to that.

Some time later, having failed to get Wednesday into one of the dorm rooms for some alone time, but having at least exchanged phone numbers, Jerry came looking for Max. Quite drunk, he was still confident the lion would get into no trouble on his own. Why, Max was probably curled up asleep somewhere by now.

Jerry arrived at the room where the lion was and Max wasn't asleep at all. Max was standing, belly heavily swollen, and at one end was the nurse with the lion's muzzle between her thighs. She yelped at each stroke of his sandpaper tongue but it was broad and muscular and she made no attempt to back away.

Max himself was glassy-eyed and at his far end was the reason why. The nun was lying on her back and Max's balls were on her chin. Even with the great swelling of his gut in the way there was room for her face down there and Jerry stared as she winced, then swallowed. He couldn't see Max's unsheathed shaft but the bulge in the nun's throat told him where it was.

"Your friend has a really scratchy dick," said Catwoman from where she was in Tarzan's lap. "Takes some getting used to."

As though drawn by a magnet Jerry's gaze went back to the lumpy belly drooping beneath the lion. He forced himself to ignore the enthusiastic cowgirl sex happening five feet away, the slurp of lion tongue, and to look away from both the nun's bulging throat and from the fingers she had dug between her thighs.

"What," he said. He pointed. "What."

"Oh," said Catwoman from Tarzan's lap. "Frank wanted to make sure Max is really two guys in a costume, so he pried his jaws open and climbed in. He's probably asleep in there."

The smile on her face showed she knew he wasn't. Frank had gotten himself into that situation. He could find his own way out.

The slow thrusting Max managed with a full belly suddenly speeded up, and from between the nurse's thighs came a snarl. The nun gagged, swallowed, and fingered herself. When the sated lion pulled his cock out of her throat she coughed and reached for a beer.

"Scratchy," she said. "Also salty."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Jerry said as he coaxed a reluctant Max away from his harem. "None of this was supposed to happen. How am I going to explain this?"

Max's belly sloshed as he walked. From somewhere in the rapidly dissolving mass that used to be Frank came a bubble of air and he burped. It isn't my problem, the burp seemed to say.

Max was, after all, just a lion, and an uncommonly civilized one. He hadn't forced anyone into anything. That it had ended with one human on their way through his bowels and three others shot full of his seed was not his fault.

Max did, however, consider in his animal way that tonight had been fun. He'd go back to the zoo willingly enough, but he very much looked forward to the next party.