FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Series Commission for Tomek | July 2022 January 2023 | 7750 Words

"I... I just can't believe it," the fatherly raccoon whimpered softly, grinding his knees into the grass as he knelt in the backyard. A warm flush of smoky air wafted over Tomek's body as he stared blankly down at the smoldering remains of the carnage. In any other situation, he might have been inclined to drool at the fragrant scent of roasting mouse meat that wafted nearby him, the mixture of smoldering scrap wood scorching under succulent rodent flesh as it sizzled and popped over the tiny backyard chiminea. The flavorful smell was intoxicating, even if intermingled with that of singed fur of the remaining Mu Omicron Sigma fraternity mice desperate not to further burn their paws as they tended their shish kebabbed former friends. Tomeks stomach churned sickeningly. Stifling a tear, he mournfully muttered "Y- You were so young... In the prime of your life."

Staring down at his favorite toaster, the portly, fatherly raccoon fought desperately to keep tears from welling up in his eyes as his paws reached down to caress the appliance's mangled slot. Carefully, he began to fish around with two fingers, his muzzle curling in a gentle wince as he teased the burning hot body of a mouse he'd welcomed into his home out from between the vice-like grip of the heating coils. As flakes of charred flesh peeled off the now very still and nearly carbonized corpse, settling in the crumb collector like so much burnt toast, Tomek lost his battle with his own tortured tears.

"O- Oh god..." He whimpered, snuffling back a noseful of snot as he finally freed the little rodent from his torturous death chamber, far too late to have stopped his untimely end. "Ohhhh Blake?!" He called aloud the moment he recognized the former frat boy's face, despite his complexion having contorted into a twisted grimace. "F- Fuck, Blake..." It seemed as if Tomek might have had a change of heart, the pudgy mouse's visceral death truly tugging on his heartstrings. This remorse came to a quick stop as he haphazardly threw the rubbery meatball against the ground before grabbing his beloved toaster up out of the dirt. "Why'd you have to go dying inside my favorite toaster, Blake?! You didn't HELP the situation by being a selfish asshole and charring up the insides!" Cradling the sizzling metal against his cheek, the fatherly raccoon lost control of himself at last, screaming to the heavens as he cried, "WHYYYY?!"

"Mister T, you know that toasters cost like... Twenty bucks on Hamazon, right?" The crass and insensitive comment snapped Tomek out of his tortured sobbing, the fatherly raccoon growling as he jerked his head to the side to lock eyes with his smug son-in-law. The cocky little tabby cat did not seem phased by the death glare, the feline more concerned with his tail flicking in the wind as he laid back in one of the slatted Adirondack chairs on the patio. In fact, Toby seemed rather flush with success removing the rodent problem from the house. It did not help that instead of consoling the mourning raccoon, both his paws were literally full. Either hand held one of the long skewers he had brought outside, each one laden with two or three fat little mice bros, their pudgy bodies nestled in amidst a few grilled vegetables to give them that summertime look. Calmly opening his squat little jaws, Toby shot a self-righteous glance over towards his father-in-law before slowly chomping through the choice, formerly white-furred rodent in the middle.

"It's not the same! They don't make them like this anymore," Tomek pouted, his brow furrowed as he watched Toby's teeth tear the supple flesh and succulent meat off his former renter, taking several ribs and an arm with the mouthful. "This was a 1983 model! It's survived for forty years. I was in college when I got it!"

"Then maybe it's time for you to retire that old thing if it can't stand up to a little mouse getting stuck inside?" Toby playfully wiggled the tip of his second mouse kebab in Tomek's direction, a few drops of succulent juices pattering onto the patio as he did.

"Hmmpfh! You're too young to understand the value of good engineering," Tomek huffed with a grumpy little growl, reaching out to swipe away the untouched, meat-laden skewer from his impetuous in-law.

"H- Hey! I was saving that for Walker," Toby hissed, his orange and black hackles rising as the salt-and-pepper muzzled raccoon gave an idle chomp through one of the meatier mice on the kebab.

Despite a hushed, "That's messed up, bruh," from one of the surviving mice, his coffee-stained body quivering as he tried not to draw attention to himself, Tomek seemed far more focused on the remnants of his favorite kitchen appliance to care.

"Maybe I could find one on eBay..." Tomek mulled to himself, his muzzle opening lazily to rip off another bite of mouse that also took with it a hunk of grilled onion and red pepper. "Ugh, it'd be secondhand, though. It's going to be fucking coated in other peoples' gunk and filth." Shivering at the thought of having to give his new toaster a thorough scrub, Tomek shook the idea out of his head. That is until a thought struck him like a lightning bolt. "Wait! WAIT wait wait wait... 1987... wait... '88? That's it, that's got to be it."

"Slow down Mr. T," Toby said, cocking his head softly to one side. "What are you talking about?"

"Christmas! I gave my..." Blinking softly, Tomek paused as if he was trying to contemplate the words. But Toby could sense something was amiss behind his father-in-law's eyes. A gentle mistiness seemed to roll over his features, even as he blinked them away. "I gave Grandpa the exact same model as a gift... Y'know... when I was, uh... trying to get back in his good graces?" Pausing for a moment, the old raccoon mouthed the words 'trying' one more time.

"Grandpa?" Toby asked, his voice taking on a touch more earnestness as he started putting two and two together. "You always kinda told us to avoid him."

"Yeah," Tomek sighed, contemplating the thought as he tore off another juicy bite from the kebab. "Especially since Mom passed away, Dad's... Well, he's kinda gone off the deep end."

"You know what I think about placating a family who don't have your best nature at heart," Toby replied with an air of concern, even if he didn't quite know the full story about his father-in-law's life.

"It's, uh... it's a little different of a situation than with your family, kiddo. But honestly, he's getting ancient. I'm pretty sure he's checked out mentally." Swallowing the tender mouse flesh, Tomek thought for a moment before a chuckle escaped his mouth. "I bet he'd barely remember me. Or maybe just mistake me for one of my siblings. I could probably be in and out in an afternoon even if everything's still in storage." Licking his chops, Tomek extended his arm to the side, casually prodding the plump, coffee-stained mouse with the tip. "Hey, hold on to your friends for me, meat. Keep 'em warm in case my boy gets hungry."

"Ugh!" the horrified mouse, forced to stare down the agonized grimace of his favorite drinking bro, scrunched his little muzzle into a pout as he grumbled, "B- Bruh! I got a name, you know!"

"Not now, mousehole," Tomek added, slipping his old flip-top Razr phone from his pocket. "Just keep your little friends toasty." After keying in the phone number he dreaded the worst, the dadly raccoon lifted the phone to his ear, only to lower it once more. "And hey, you want to keep living here, you get to cleaning up this mess while I'm gone."

"Bruh... This is so fucked up," the little mouse grumbled, only to feel a second prod from Toby's skewer nudging him from behind.

"Don't worry, Dad, he's got two options, and only one of them involves him sticking around in a way that doesn't bring him up to temperature.

--

" Hello?" Tomek called nervously as he pushed the creaky door open, stepping past the threshold as he stared into the darkness of his father's one-bedroom ranch. It wasn't like Dad to just leave the front door ajar like that. For a brief moment, Tomek wondered if he might need to turn today's visit into a talk about getting his dad back into the nursing home. Considering the last foray ended with a restraining order, both from the nursing home and the local barbecue joint, the idea formed a heavy pit in the middle-aged raccoon's stomach. "Hey, Pa. It's Tomek... Remember? I sent you a text that I was gonna stop by for a bit."

"Maybe the old man's already asleep?" Tomek muttered to himself amidst the ensuing silence. Stepping into the entryway aligned with family portraits, and a few newly framed magazine spreads from "Cooking Critters". While trying to remember the layout of his childhood home, Tomek quietly made his way towards the kitchen. Hell, I can probably get in and get out before he realizes I'm here, he thought to himself as he padded past the tiny living room, groping around on the wall to try and find a light switch. But the moment he hit the overheads in the little mother-in-law sized kitchen, the fatherly raccoon's hope shattered into a million pieces.

"Well, well, the big bad predator's come to dinner," a soft, yet bitingly firm, voice called. Despite his age, the venerable old raccoon still looked the picture of deliciousness. While some seventy something-year-olds would hit the gym with religious fervor, Tomek's dad was instead fastidious about his own weight and marbling. His body was enviable for even the most prime meal, and with his wife no longer in the picture, there was nobody to stop him from reaching those goals.

The thick, meaty raccoon must have been up on the countertop for hours; whether out of dedication to his desires or just because old folks fixated on 'that one thing they had to do today' was Tomek's guess. His ankles crossed and bound tight with soft cotton rope, the raccoon lay face-up on a heavy iron roasting pan, his meaty rump propped up over the edge, hovering just within easy access for anyone who happened to stumble upon such a prime meal. For now, his arms were unrestrained and resting upon his chest, the older raccoon propped up on a small pile of chopped vegetables so he could keep watch without stressing his gut. But even with all this preparation, Tomek's father did not look excited about this chance to see his boy once more.

"Pa, you-" Tomek huffed, shaking his head softly as he stepped closer to the half-bound raccoon. "You got a hot date tonight you didn't tell me about it?" Tomek's chuckle ebbed as a moment of awkward silence fell between the two.

"That depends, boy," the older raccoon hissed softly. "Meat doesn't get to pick the recipe." "C'mon dad, let's get you down off th-"

"I knew it." The old man growled, his eyes narrowing as he watched Tomek pause his forward movement. "As soft as the fucking day you left home."

"Dad, I'm not here t-"

"Oh, you're just here to say hi? Make sure your old man's taking his medicine and tuck him into bed. Just as soft-bellied as ever, you big, bad predator." The words cut Tomek's mind like a knife, the middle aged raccoon swallowing as he realized what this was all about. Even if his mind was beginning to falter, his dad could still recall old events with perfect clarity. And despite all those years of brooding kindness, the elderly raccoon had finally dredged up the past he'd stewed upon for so many long years. "Where's your meat, boy? You bring him over too, hoping to make me jealous?"

"Devin's.... Devin's dead, dad." Tomek swallowed softly, shuddering as he felt the words leave his mouth before he could stop them. "He's been dead since 1989."

"Pfft, figures you fucking go hog-wild the moment you get out from the house." Squinting, the old raccoon growled as he leaned his head to one side, spitting on the countertop as he rumbled, "You're a disappointment, boy." Turning his gaze to face his son, Tomek's dad stared down his son as he added, "I'm not getting any younger, predator. Now's your chance to face your family's legacy and devour it."

--

Boxes stacked. Underwear packed. Almost everything seemed to be in place as the young raccoon tightened up his backpack. But as the 18 year old Tomek set his pack down upon the floor, he paused to scratch his head, the nagging thought that he'd forgotten something making it almost impossible to set aside his packing.

"Hey Tom?" Called a soft-spoken voice from the other room. "You got some space for some clothes?" Tomek smiled as he noticed the hefty, pink-skinned pig pop around the corner, his arms full of a few odds and ends of clothing.

"Of course," he commented, tugging open the top of his under-packed backpack once again. "You filled up your suitcases quick. You're sure you don't have some space in your bags, Dev?" Tomek asked as he reached out a paw to take the clothing, not quite pushing him to rethink his packing strategy, but certainly hoping he might stop the hefty hog from bringing along some unnecessary items.. "The car can only fit so much."

Leaving for college was never an easy task, especially for a fresh-out-of-high school graduate. But moving from home was a lot easier for Tomek considering his best friend Devin was in tow. Since they met a few short years ago, the pair was inseparable. Some might even say too inseparable. As Tomek zipped his bag closed once again, he was met with the gentle sensation of two thick and pudgy arms draped around either side of his chest. Wrapping his arms around Devin's, Tomek smiled as he cuddled close to his lover's, nestling his fluffy head back against the hefty hog's thick shoulder and neck.

"I got everything I need right here," he whispered softly, pecking a gentle kiss on Tomek's ear. "Well... that and like eight more bags in the other room." Snorting out his broad snout, the pudgy porker asked? "You almost ready, hun?"

"Yeah, should be set to go," the raccoon said, smiling as he turned about in the thick-gutted hog's arms. "Let me just make one las-" The words halted in Tomek's throat as he spotted his middle aged father propped against the doorway, his brow knitted as he scrutinized the display of affection.

"You want to tell me something, boy?" the salt-and-pepper raccoon grumbled, crossing his arms before him.

"Devin, why don't you take your stuff out to the car," Tomek muttered, giving a gentle nudge to his friend as he sighed and stared down the older raccoon. Thankful to be out of the awkward situation, the hog quickly gathered up a few items for Tomek before walking out of the room. "What, Dad?"

"Heh, your mother was right about you and that little meat friend of yours, huh?" the older raccoon grunted, straightening up as he sternly stared down his son. "You really were making plans behind our back."

"I'm eighteen, Dad. I'm leaving the house today. I can do whatever I want."

"You always were a fucking disgrace," his old man spat, muzzle upturning to a snarl. "Fat fucking luck you got a free ride to college, you ungrateful little meat-eater."

"Fat fucking luck?" Tomek growled, gritting his teeth as he squeezed his palms tight. "I knew all the way back in puberty you'd try and fuck me over when you started calling me out because I wasn't a goddamn preyboy."

"Watch your language, young man. Your mother would be appalled to hear that kinda talk," Tomek's old man snarled, clearly unbothered by his own foul mouth in the heat of the moment. "You're a fucking disgrace to the family," the old man rumbled. "I raised my son to be a proud roast, not some meat eater. Do you even know how that feels when you turn your back on your upbringing? I was elated when you'd ask me to read Three Little Pigs as a boy, little did I know you wanted to be a wolf. We're not apex predators, we're fucking raccoons.!"

"You didn't fucking raise your son!" Tomek spat with rising anger, growling as he snatched up his bag from the floor. Refocusing his anger, Tomek growled as he forced his gaze up on his old man. "You never supported me. You never wanted me to be who I am!"

"Who do you think you are? You come from a long fucking line of prey, boy. Your great, great grandaddy became Davey Crochet's cap, I'll remind you! And my granddaddy was the first volunteer at the Donner Party!"

"Like I ever had a choice! You want to know why I never talked about it? It's because the moment I hit puberty you started pushing me to become something I'm not!"

"You never even tried! Never wanted to go to Prey Camp, or join your old man on hunting trips to Boulder Lake. Or anything, you ungrateful little shit!"

"Oh sure. Sounds great dad. Sit around the campfire at a sausagefest and sing about how much I wanna roast? Real wholesome time. Maybe I could have made friends with a few chickens and dreamt of becoming a raccoon double down."

"You watch your tongue, boy. You're no fast food, you're a fine meal!"

"I'm not a fucking meal at all, Pa! Okay?!" Tomek snapped, his paws wringing the zip-top to his backpack till the teeth popped out of their grooves. Were he not holding on tight in an anger-fueled death grip, the bundle would have spilled out onto the floor. "I'm not going to be meat, not like you or mom or anyone in this family! When will you get it through your thick fucking skull that I don't want to be prey, I never wanted to be prey!"

"Heh, some fucking way to come out to your old man, boy. Can't say I'm surprised though."

"Pfft, now you're pretending like you knew all along? You're the guy who took me out back to the woodshed when I was twelve so I could watch my big brother get slaughtered for Thanksgiving. Couldn't stop asking if I wanted to join him on the table."

"Wasn't he just a great gift to share with that nice cheetah family down the way." The shit eating grin on his father's face said everything Tomek didn't want to think about. "You know, that was the first time I caught you meat mugging the meal." The young raccoon's heart sank as he realized his father didn't just have his suspicions. He knew his son had a predator drive, even at the very start of puberty. "You really wanted to take a bite, didn't you, boy"

"That's not... I... fuck off!" Scrunching his muzzle, the young raccoon snatched up his bag and stormed towards the exit, only to see his thick-gutted father shift to block the door.

"Pushed around vegetables on your plate all night while you dreamt of eating your brother's roasted ass. I heard from Mr. Felicity that you asked if there were any leftovers, even just a few bits of gristle from his flank." His face slackening to a cold, stern gaze, the older raccoon pierced into his son's eyes as he rumbled, "I had you pegged from then on, boy. I knew you weren't just a pred, but a degenerate"

"I want you to be my father, not my meal, Pa. Move!" Tomek snarled, reaching a paw out to try and edge his dad out of the way. Despite his age, the old man was still in decent physical shape; the raccoon quickly managed to grip Tomek about the shoulders, shoving his son back into the bedroom. Blinking, Tomek tumbled back onto his ass, his overstuffed backpack slipping from his paws, the zipper splitting open and coughing up a few clothing items onto the floor as he tried to recover to his footing.

"C'mon, big bad raccoon!" Tomek's father chuckled as he stepped forwards from the doorway. "You gonna let yourself get pushed around by an entree?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," the younger raccoon snarled, baring his pointed canines as he tried to stuff the lost clothing back into his backpack. "Out of my way. Now!"

"Don't you wanna just take a big chomp out of your old man?" the middle-aged man taunted. "Really make him suffer for what he's done?"

"Pa, Devin's waiting for me in the car!" Tomek spat, his voice faltering as he began to realize that his father must have been brooding over some deep, incestuous fantasies all this time.

"Just one bite before you go. We could have one of those family barbecues you meat-eaters love so much." The grey-muzzled raccoon could no longer hide his twisted arousal, the front of his tight-fit jeans tenting out as he stepped a little closer. "Wouldn't you love to fucking chow down on your old man's ass right now?"

Clutching his backpack as tight as he could, Tomek sprung from the half-kneeling position he had taken on the floor, the enraged college student lunging at his own father. The sudden shock of his boy snapping, his eyes wild like a real hunter, caused the middle aged raccoon to gasp, perhaps with a tint of pleasure slipping out under his breath. The ecstasy was short lived; rather than claw his dad's guts out, Tomek tightly balled his fist, plowing the weighty paw firm into his father's gut.

It was over before it even started. Even the most perfectly marbled prey could not withstand a strike like that. And Tomek knew his dad had let himself go after losing out on that college scholarship for football. Crumpling at his son's feet, the middle-aged raccoon wheezed out some unintelligible half groan, trying to mutter something about Tomek being a failure. Using his footpaw to tip his father's muzzle upwards, the college-bound raccoon stared coldly into his old man's eyes.

"Listen and listen good," Tomek growled, making sure every word landed in his father's ears. "You stay away from me. You stay the fuck away from my friends." Tomek watched his dad's muzzle twitch, the 40-something year old raccoon trying to decide how best to get the upper hand once again. Tomek would not let him, quickly removing his foot from underneath his father's scruffy jawline, and planting it hard atop his snout, forcing his head flat to the floor. "I'm leaving. Now. This is my life, and now I'm the one in control of the rest of my life. I'm not the son you wanted? Well fine, you won't have to see me again. I will be the one who decides who ends up at the table, and not because you tell me to. And you are not going to be my first meal!"

Leaving his father in a crumpled mess on the floor, Tomek stormed out past the emasculated man. He would have slammed the door, but his dad's legs lay curled halfway around the doorjamb from the position he fell in. Perhaps he should have. If he had turned around, he might have noticed one of Devin's shirts, the cute, undersized, red cotton tee that read, 'Pigsactly!' on the chest, still lay on the bedroom floor.

--

It was no longer a shirt. Somewhere along the line, Tomek's father must have had a little arts and crafts day, cutting and stuffing and sewing his disappointment of a son's boyfriend's clothes into what appeared to be a potholder. Scorched from years of use, and matted with grime, the little trinket sat mockingly on the countertop, near the elderly raccoon's half-bound form. Just a foot or so away from the toaster Tomek gave him as a gift. The toaster he was hell-bent on taking home.

"You really want me to cook you, Dad?" Tomek said at last, coughing softly to try and straighten out his wavering voice.

"I ain't getting any younger, big bad predator," the old man growled. Even if they had somewhat come to some lukewarm amends over the years, and the aging raccoon at least kept his filthy fantasies to himself, Tomek's father certainly had no reason to hide his thoughts now. Even if it was the dementia talking, Tomek knew it was dredging up something sinister and sick in the old man. "You don't remember fucking clocking me out cause you were trying so hard not to have a bite, boy?"

Tomek could feel the emotions flooding back. The realization hit like a ton of bricks; his own low-key abuse, both emotional and even physical, had simmered under the surface for so long. He might have hoped that his father had really changed. Except, Tomek knew he had not.. "I can't eat the people I care about," was all Tomek could say, his tongue slowly lapping out to wick away the drool he felt dribbling down the edge of his muzzle. For a brief moment, his mind flitted back to all the times he wrangled with his hunger. Particularly with DJ. The luau. Swine flu. The time he baited and switched his own son with Parker. But his mind inevitably turned to the promise he made. The promise he reminded Walker of in that dingy one-bedroom when they finally made amends. "Never again..." he growled, slowly stepping towards the elderly raccoon.

"Pathetic," Pa snarled, his grey-tipped whiskers bobbing as he watched his son approach his half-bound form. Caught as he was, the old man was in no position to fight back. But he did not feel the need to, his actions stayed as he watched his boy slowly pick up a length of rope off the center island. "What are you doing?" he asked, catching a glimpse of fire in Tomek's eyes as he glanced over the bountiful, if slightly tough, elderly prey meat resting on the countertop.

"You were always so fucking pigheaded," Tomek snorted, the fatherly racoon pushing his gut between his father's claw-tipped feet. Reaching up to grip his dad's wrists, Tomek yanked on the old man's arm to reposition it. With their muzzles mere inches apart, he could see the half-gasp his father made, perhaps out of pain from the purpled bruising spreading on his sensitive flesh. Or perhaps it was from apprehension that his boy might finally have the balls to do it. "You always got what you wanted. And after Mom died you stopped listening!"

Forcing the helpless old man's arms behind his head, Tomek quickly wrapped the cord tight about his father's wrists, the slip knots digging deep into each of his forearms. With both limbs resting feebly behind his head, as if the old man were relaxing casually on his bed of vegetables, Tomek quickly finished the tie by looping it around his Pa's throat. Secured with a triple-tied knot, Tomek seemed quite pleased with the results. Especially once he noticed his dad couldn't figure out how to break free from the restraints.

All that was left was the oven. A mere few feet away, just to the left of the sink, sat the heavy, electric predator-grade oven; its foreboding, grease-stained white-enamel door closed tight, blocking any view of the inky-grey interior. They had fought over it in the past. After Mom passed away, Tomek had to wrangle with his father's choices to refurbish the house. Particularly his desires to not just re-roof the house and remodel the old office into a downstairs master bedroom. He was dead set on reworking kitchen, and it's modest cooking equipment, to the thoughts he always fantasized about. At least nobody asked questions when Tomek finally acquiesced, rolling those purchases into the new home loan. And at least those dreams were of relatively modern equipment, considering he expected to sell the house when it was time for Dad to go off to a nursing home.

Pondering how to use the surly boomer's personal death chamber, Tomek fiddled with the buttons until he saw the characteristic orange glow emanate from the bottom of the stove. Four thick heating elements, coursing with electricity, led a back and forth trail of radiance across the bottom of the stove. Without saying a word, Tomek watched with bated breath as the words "PREHEAT" flashed across the cheap LCD screen. Satisfied with its progress, the fatherly raccoon slowly opened the oven door, allowing a wash of warmth to flood out over him before wafting out into the kitchen beyond. "What are you doing?" the old man asked again, this time with far more candor to his voice as he stared, wide-eyed at his son. Twisting about on the roasting pan, the elderly raccoon gasped as he felt the ligature around his neck tighten, forcing him to settle back on both shoulders to regain his breath.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Pa?" Tomek asked at last, his expression flattened as he calmly walked back towards the countertop. Placing a paw on his father's thigh, Tomek growled as he caught sight of the raccoon's shaft starting to stir. "Weren't you excited to become my meal?" Tomek's father swallowed as he watched his boy step back, making a stop at the fridge to find a suspiciously pre-prepared bowl of stuffing inside, the cling wrap still dewy from being put away warm. Tossing it up onto the countertop, Tomek took a moment to wordlessly dig about in the kitchen drawers, removing a few long knives and setting them next to the stuffing before finally finding that old straight razor his Pa kept stowed away for just such an occasion.

"Wh- Wait you're..." the old man huffed, swallowing softly as he watched Tomek flick open the blade, bringing it down on the old man's cream belly fur to test its sharpness. The blade's age showed as it scratched along his father's bare skin; it was sharp enough to remove a full swipe of fur, though dull enough that it opened a few ruddy fissures along its path. "A- Ahhh..." Pa snorted as he looked down at his gut, wordless and dumbfounded as he watched his boy position the blade for another pass. "You're not really going to-

"Sorry," Tomek huffed, his eyes flitting upwards to stare his father in the eyes. "I don't speak meat." Silently, a stony gaze fixed upon his face, Tomek worked to remove the his father's fur from his body, using warm, wet dish rag to carefully swipe away any strays that might fall off into the pan. Any question of Tomek's seriousness faded from the old man's mind when his son placed the blade against his cheek, his lack of care obvious when he offered a simple, "Close your eyes, meat," only after swiping away the greying fur on his jawline. Once his front was shorn, to include the elderly raccoon's face, Tomek turned his Pa over, careful not to tighten the ligature on his neck as he repeated the process. It was slow and painstaking for Tomek. The process was a far cry from how he preferred to prepare his meals, more akin to giving someone a sponge bath. But soon, he was sure that every inch of wiry raccoon fur, from the edge of his sensitive feet, all the way to the top of his head, was removed.

Without his fur to hide his blush, Pa seemed almost embarrassed, looking far more akin to a hairless rat than a prize pig. Yet, turned over on his belly, the old man could not do anything about his predicament. Drizzling fresh olive oil out of a decorative decanter, Tomek hummed to himself as he used his free paw to massage the fragrant oil into his old man's body. Working his way down, after having commented that the oil's going to make his face crisp and curl until it was practically unrecognizable, Tomek reached his father's nicely marbled rump. An exploratory prod to the old man's ass revealed he could easily slip two fingers inside, managing to get a third past the ring before he slowly pulled back out. Your future nurse, Tomek mused in his own mind, should be thankful you've got good muscle back here.

"A- Ahhhh, oh fuck..." the old man sputtered, the ligature on his neck tightening as he began to squirm. It was a very natural reaction as Tomek expertly slipped three chunky pawtips into his Pa's supple hole, spreading it wide before using his thumb to force a palmful of warm stuffing inside. Two, three more loads slipped inside, with less and less resistance, followed by the embarrassing sensation of a thick and solid girth pushing through his ring to tamp down the mix. Tomek was cautious not to play his hand too quickly, the hefty raccoon sly about lowering his pants and slowly stroking himself up to hardness. But he made no illusions about how he was going to stuff his old man, groaning softly with each hard pump as he tamped down the last few handfuls of stuffing before resuming his methodical, perhaps even cold, approach to the evening's meal.

Slowly but surely, Tomek worked to plow into his father's ass, grunting and groaning with fervor as he took his Pa on his terms. The process was laborious, but soon it became clear that his struggling roast-to-be was filling up. The middle-aged raccoon swelled with each slow push inside of his father, the gut-wrenching pant letting hime know just how uncomfortable his Pa had become. But no matter what sound his old man made, Tomek would not let up, his paw slowly working to push the warm stuffing inside, before tamping it down slowly with his shaft.

"You know why I'm doing this, right?" Tomek grunted, balls deep in his Pa's rump as he spoke. "This isn't for you."

The comment brought a hint of confusion to the old man's eyes, "What do you mean?" he rasped, cocking his head back as far as the rope would allow.

"I don't owe you anything, Pa," Tomek explained, wrist-deep in his dad's hole. "You hurt me." Carefully withdrawing his fist from his roast's ass, Tomek allowed a genuine smile to cross his face for the first time all night. Saddling his hips up against the gaping, broken hole, the fatherly raccoon huffed as he allowed his balls to slap forward against his roast. Pulling back out to the tip, Tomek built up a gentle rhythm, his shaft throbbing as he edged himself closer and closer. "You don't own me," he snorted through his muzzle as a hot load of cum topped off the supple bread stuffing that filled out his old man's ass.

Quivering through the afterglow, Tomek took his time to rock his hips backward, allowing his shaft to soften just enough before he pulled out of the gaping hole. By now it was clear that Tomek was not going to be the ravenous, hunger-drunk predator his father had expected. Cold and clinical, certainly. But Tomek was also surprisingly gentle for someone poised to take revenge on his blood relation. Carefully flipping his father over, the fatherly raccoon mulled over the dish, taking a moment to wipe off the flecks of bread crumbs and herbs stuck to his shaft.

"You're just doing this to fuck with me?" Pa asked, his words bringing a frown to Tomek's salt and pepper muzzle. Picking a conspicuously placed apple off the countertop, he casually fed two fingers into his roast's mouth, prying apart the old man's jaws before popping it back behind his teeth.

"I told you, I don't speak meat," Tomek replied coolly. Grabbing up the bottle of of olive oil off the countertop, the fatherly raccoon sighed as he worked the slick fluid over his dad's chest and belly, before giving his hands a wipe on the elderly raccoon's cheeks. "But if you must know, no." Gripping both sides of the heavy roasting pan, Tomek hefted the oversized dish up and onto the oven rack in one fluid movement. Giving it a hard push, he watched his father's head bob from the force as he was slid straight into the oven. "I'm doing this because I can. I could have walked away. But I wouldn't get closure if I didn't, would I?"

That word, closure. He knew Pa understood exactly what he meant, even as the old man winced from the heat that assaulted him from every angle. Tomek needed to release himself. And what better way to do it than to slam the oven door closed. As the growing wash of heat flooded out of the open oven door, Pa shuddered at the realization he didn't get what he asked for, but what he deserved. That long fantasy he yearned for was poised to become a frustrating, unsatisfied end.

Twisting and jerking in his bonds, the old man cracked open his eyes as he stared out the oven window, catching the soft smirk plastered across Tomek's face. The welling, roiling heat forced him to close his eyes once more, his squirms beginning to tighten up the ligature around his neck "Mnnn! Nnnngh-Gllk!" As the makeshift noose tightened about his neck, Pa's eyes shot open again, staring wordlessly into Tomek's smug face as he realized something was off.

Focusing hard to calm his squirming muscles, Pa eased the pressure off his neck once again, his nostrils flaring as he blinked through the heat that pummeled his face. It just seemed wrong. It was nothing like the porn he'd watched or dirty magazines he'd flipped through over the many long years of his life. The heat always forced them to close their eyes. As much as it was uncomfortable, the heat was not nearly that oppressive. The heat always scalded the throat. This just felt like he'd fallen asleep in the mid-day summer sun. Despite his lack of facial fur, and inability to speak, Tomek watched the elderly raccoon furrow his brow in confusion.

"I don't owe you anything from my life just because you got some twisted fantasy in your head about what I am or should be," Tomek's muffled voice called from outside the oven, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he spoke. The words came with far more force, his rich, middle-aged voice carrying the weight of so many years trying to come to terms with what happened in his childhood. "I hoped I had gotten it through to you when I reached out to help you in your old age."

"Mmmmpfh!" Shifting himself on the roasting pan, Tomek's father accidentally tightened the noose about his neck once again. "Mmmm-mnnnnpfh!" Jerking his head left and right, the old man quivered as he tried to shake loose the cinched knot.

"You always were such a lightweight." Tomek sighed, reaching up to tap out a few buttons on the oven's controls. "I've roasted predator/prey switches whose looks could kill well past their death. And you? Mister 'I come from a long line of prey' can't stop squirming at 110 degrees."

Stepping away from the oven window, Tomek sighed as he finally collected what he came for, unplugging the toaster from the wall, and also snatching up the little piece of Devin he left behind so many years ago. But as he walked towards the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, the darkness of nighttime enveloped Tomek's front half in a cold shadow, the fatherly raccoon paused, as if something came to mind. "You remember when we talked about you getting out and meeting new people, Pa?"

"Mnnn..." The question seemed to come from left field, prompting the old man to cock his head to the side, sweat beading off his oil-slick face as he tried to figure out what his son was trying to say.

"I want you to be happy, Pa," Tomek continued, his paw gently fondling the pot holder as he carefully picked his words. "When mom passed, I wanted you to get out there and meet people so you wouldn't lose your sanity. I don't care if you want to hook up with some young buck, have him pretend he's your son when he chows down on you." A soft sigh escaped Tomek's muzzle as he added, "But you couldn't get over it. You had to act the tough guy. Try to bully me like you did when I was a kid." Stepping off into the darkness, Tomek left his father with one final parting gift. "I set the ramp-up timer for 24 hours. I hope you took my advice and started dating, if you want to be found before the oven hits 350. Or you can strangle yourself for all I care. Either way, I'll call the home care folks to check on you in a few days."

--

"Alright, let's go ahead and get'er plugged in!" Despite the long, and admittedly stressful, drive home, Tomek was in overly chipper spirits as he plowed through the door to his comfortable suburban home. Only after having announced his plans to replace his favorite toaster aloud, did the thick-gutted raccoon realize his full volume call-out might have caused some issue with his young ones. Diverting his path from the kitchen, with the toaster still slung under the crook of his arm, the middle-aged father carefully nudged open his boys' door to make sure he hadn't accidentally woken anyone, considering the sun had just barely peeked over the horizon a little after 5:30 AM.

Tomek's eyes softened as he counted each member of the household, cozy and nestled in their beds. The three little kittens lay nuzzled up close in their crib, one managing a mighty yawn before kneading back into the blankets. A smile crept upon his face as his attention turned to the broad queen-sized bed. The long, slinky tail of his youngest had managed to curl out from under the covers, splayed up and over the sheets in an attempt to keep cool despite the mounting summer heat. Of course, Walker didn't look the most comfortable where he lay; the sweet little Siamese cat was utterly cramped up against the side of the bed, squeezed to the very edge by his lover's sprawling body. Even dominant while asleep, Toby lay on his back with his mouth open, four fangs glistening in the dim hallway light. At least he wasn't snoring like a buzz saw.

"Sleep tight, kiddos," Tomek sighed to himself, his soft smile fading as he noticed his oldest's picture up on a top shelf. DJ's warm smile still shone down, even if it glistened from behind the shimmer of the picture frame's glass. "I miss you boy..." he whispered softly, gingerly stepping into the room. "I love you, DJ." Feeling the warmth well up in his heart, Tomek turned his attention down to the little kittens, the fatherly raccoon's smile returned as he kissed each on the forehead. Ready to beat a hasty retreat, Tomek halted in his tracks as Devin Junior, the runt of the litter, looked like he was about to fuss. Lowering his muzzle close, Tomek gave a soft hush to the little one, before whispering to all three of Walker and Toby's kittens. "You'll grow up faster than I realize. The world is a scary place where you can thrive and make mistakes... and you'll learn how to live with those choices. I'll help you how I can, but your lives are each your own, and I am excited to be your Grandpop."

"Awwww, Mister T, that's so sweet!" a squeaky, slightly haggard voice caught Tomek's attention from just down the hall. Clinching the doorknob, the middle-aged raccoon hastened to shut the bedroom door before turning his full gaze towards the kitchen. The little coffee-stained mouse from earlier was peeking out from around the corner. Somehow, he had gotten ahold of a set of mouse-sized rubber gloves. Or perhaps he had just figured out how to make a pair out of whatever was lying around. His paws dripping with soapy suds, the little rodent seemed to breathe a sigh of relief; all of Tomek's bluster and predatory bravado meant nothing when the big lug was kissing kittens and giving promises for a happy future. Though as Tomek took a few steps towards the loud-mouthed mouse, he could see a few baggy, splotchy circles under his tenant-turned-slave's eyes. He wasn't complacent. He was clearly exhausted. "You really mean that, bruh?"

"Did you..." Tomek paused, cocking his head to his side as he cradled his prized toaster like a football. "Did you stay up all night?"

"Yeah..." the little mouse fidgeted in place as he tried not to drip soapy dishwater on the carpet. "Toby said if the kitchen isn't clean by sun-up, he'll make me into mouse'n'eggs for breakfast."

"Heh, sounds like Toby." Tomek sighed as he stepped into the kitchen past the sleep-deprived mouse "I dunno, he can be all talk sometimes. You know how cats are. I'm sure his blood lust's been satisfied after that, er, massacre."

"I dunno, bruh," the little mouse shuddered. "You should'a seen the mouseburger he made out of Paul when he didn't get the bathroom done. I- I don't want to take any chances... unless... maybe you could... keep him from eating me?"

"Well..." Tomek smiled as he swept aside some of the charring and ash that littered the countertop, triumphantly placing his brand new toaster in its rightful place. "I'll tell Toby not to hassle you over the toaster." For a brief moment, the little mouse wondered if he had found a savior. A very brief moment. Without hesitating, Tomek began to open the kitchen cabinets, paws two-fistedly grabbing out every piece of unique and arcane cooking equipment he could find. "But it looks like you missed a few spots! There's the griddle, the flat-iron, the strawberry slicer, the banana slicer, the banana-strawberry smoothie maker, the edges-only brownie pans, the mandolin slicer, the breakfast sandwich machine, and of course..." A heavy thunk sent the little mouse bouncing off the ground as he watched a massive non-stick behemoth thud upon the countertop. "The quesadilla maker."