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“Welcome to the rape!”

Matriarch Norma Scock walked around the flat stone of the altar, gesturing to the crowd. She wore a uniform of leather and blood, the straps just barely covering the green heave of her breasts. In one hand, she carried a nanite-sword, curved and gruesome—in the other, she gripped the base of her cock, its head as thick and blunt as the woman herself.

Iaini Jogoo thrashed at his restraints. A dozen fires burned across the coliseum.

“Since the days of dickless dawn,” Scock shouted, “the Gryeens have brought penetration! When our world—the great Grafrica—lost our males, the goddess Krom granted us her power!” She thrusted into her hand, grinning wild. “None escaped invasion! The weak drowned in cum! With spit on our shafts, and blood on our balls, we seeded society!”

There was a roar of Gryeens. Hundreds of voices, thousands of fists. As the Matriarch continued to pace, Jogoo squirmed upon the altar, trying to escape. Nothing worked. His wrists and ankles were spread to each corner of the flat stone slab, and the metal chains refused to break.

He was trapped. Naked. Exposed.

“When the pussies of our world could no longer satisfy,” Scock continued, “we thrusted into the stars! We split open the systems, made a womb of every world! And when the life of distant planets promised us males, we took them as our own, for the goddess Krom still throbs within us all!”

The air thundered. Chanting echoed upon the walls of stone, the dusty archways and the columns painted with blood.

“Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe-nis!”

Below, on the dusty-red floor of the arena, Captain Cynthia Havilick was thrown onto her back. Her fur was streaked with blood, and her Star Penetration uniform was torn into shreds, leaving her a ruined figure of blue, white, and red. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, bruised and limping.

She gazed up through the noise and flames, searching the raised platform where the sacrificial rape was to commence.

Jogoo twisted against the stone slab, trying to look over the edge. For a brief moment, he met the amber eyes of his love. Man and wolf gazed in longing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

A green paw gripped his skull, pushing him flat against the altar. When Jogoo looked up, he saw the blood-red expanse of Grafrica’s skies (to be added in post), and the towering figure of a Gryeen henchwoman, grinning down at his naked form. Her paw shifted to his throat. With a thrust of her hips, a green cock loomed above his head, swallowing half his vision. The alien licked her chops.

“Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe-nis! Pe—”

Scock silenced the crowd, turning to face Jogoo.

“Now,” Scock said, staring into his eyes, “we have captured a human! The most prized species of the Star Penetration! Upon his furless skin, we shall paint our dominion! Through his cries and anguish, we shall pay tribute to Krom! She gave us dicks, and to dicks our enemies shall go!”

Jogoo tried to gasp through the paw on his throat. Above, the crowd began to chant.

“Rape! Rape! Rape! Rape! Rape! Rape!”

Scock sauntered across the platform, her green cock bobbing between her legs. After a moment, she reached the edge, gazing down at the tattered figure of Captain Havilick. Red dust curled through the breeze.

“Cynthia,” the Matriarch said. “I always knew it would end this way.”

Havilick limped forward. “Scock. Please. You don’t have to—”

“The time for talk is over! Now, you must face—the Balls of Oblivion!”

Around the arena, metal gates began to rise. There were dark tunnels on all sides of Havilick, and, through the din of the crowd, noises echoed from beneath the earth. Growling, snarling. Hideous laughter.

“Scock!” Havilick cried, trying to limp again. She put too much weight on her bad paw and fell to the red-dirt floor, creating a cloud of dust. “Don’t do this!”

“It is already done,” Scock replied, turning away.

The snarling grew louder. Shadows leered from the depths.

“Please!” Havilick rose to her feet. “Take me instead!”

The Matriarch paused. “What?”

“Put me on the altar! I will take your dicks!”

Norma Scock began to growl. “You call me a woman-fucker? Here, in our rape-apolis?”

“What does that matter?”

“I am a woman! That’s gay!”

“Scock!” Havilick cried. “You have a dick!”

“It’s a feminine dick, you ignorant slut!” She waved a hand, dismissive. “Bah! I will not argue with cockless aliens! Your words are as doomed as your Penetration!”

Faces appeared in the harsh red glare of Grafrica’s sun. Starving beasts, sneering warriors (to be added in post). A horde of enemies circled the stone walls of the arena, glimmering eyes locked onto the lone figure of Cynthia Havilick. The arctic wolf stood alone on the flat, open grounds. Bloodied and bruised. Defenseless.

The jeers of the crowd began to rain, like the strokes of an axe.

“Please!” Havilick leaned against a stone column, shouting as loud as she could. “I beg you! Don’t fuck my love! I. . . .” She hissed, forcing herself to speak. “I’ll give you my captain’s mark! The codes to High Furred Command!”

“No, Cynthia!” Jogoo shouted. “Don’t sacrifice the fleet!”

The Gryeen henchwoman covered his mouth in her paw. When she stepped forward, her balls pressed against his eyes, completely engulfing his vision.

“I’ll do it,” Havilick said, gazing up at the Matriarch. “Anything you want. Just. . . .” She breathed. “Not him. Please.”

Scock watched the arctic wolf from above, her body half-turned, her proud green cock casting a shadow upon the arena. After a moment, she snorted. “No.”

“What?” Havilick limped forward. “Why?”

“I don’t care about your codes, or your fleet.”

“This is the entire Star Penetration!”

“This is personal, Cynthia!” Norma Scock faced her prisoner, looming high above. “You’ve killed my henchwomen! You’ve destroyed my ships!” She gestured with her sword. “What you offer is not good enough. I don’t need access codes when I can pillage! I don’t need to plunder your worlds when there are billions at my grasp!” The Matriarch sneered. “I want to take from you the one thing that cannot be replaced.”

Havilick looked on in horror. “No. . . .”

“Goodbye, Cynthia,” Scock said, turning away. “I hope you live long enough to hear him scream.”

“Scoooooooooooooooooooooock!”

The Matriarch returned to the altar. Below, the beasts and warriors began to rush, bristling with teeth and sword (to be added in post). Havilick swallowed her tears, raised her claws, and snarled at every challenge.

Jogoo thrashed. Metal chains, a cold slab of stone. The Gryeen henchwoman kept her paw firmly on his mouth—when he tried to bite her pads, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face. There was a blur in his vision, the iron taste of blood. When the daze receded, the Gryeen had rested her cock atop him, like a conquering flag. Green balls on his nose, a blunt head kissing the tip of his collarbone. All the way down his throat.

Oh, God.

His legs were yanked apart. Scock lowered her snout into the valley of his ass, her tongue lolling. With a small cackle, she began to lick, anointing him burning hot saliva. Jogoo fought down a gasp. The Matriarch took great pleasure in preparing him—lashing, bathing, daring a poke inside.

Fuck, dude.

Shit.

He had been given an enema. Both cocks were lubed. This wouldn’t—

A paw settled on his chest. The henchwoman pulled her hips back, making sure to drag the head of her cock up his neck, across his throat, and over the bone-hard crest of his jaw. When she stopped, he felt his lips kissing the blunted head.

Above, Austin gave him a savage grin. It was fake. He could see it in her eyes.

You don’t have to sit there and take it.

A fuzzy stomach met the bottom of his thighs. Norma Scock pressed herself against him, slapping the length of her cock against his crotch. Slowly, with a conquering sneer, she pushed her appendage down, carving a path through his saliva-painted skin. When she found her target, he couldn’t stop the gasp.

The cock on his ass was cold. The cock on his lips was just as plastic as the shackles on his arms.

I’m sure if we all came at her at once. . . .

Veronica looked at him across the length of his body. Green, spiked, and bloodied. She was a good actress. He could only sense her hesitation through the grip on his ankles. When she shifted, there was a sharp pressure on his—

He needed the money. A paycheck. Utilities, gas. Food.

He needed it. It wasn’t a matter of debate. He needed more money.

Always more. A never-ending pit.

He needed—

Oh, God.

Austin entered his mouth. Veronica opened his ass.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“The holy communion!” Veronica shouted. “Through dick and blood, may we earn—”

“CUT!”

Michael spat the cock out of his mouth. He thrashed against Veronica’s waist, pulling the shackles on his feet, not stopping until the hyena slithered out of his ass.

“Cut! Cut!” He pounded the painted foam of the altar. “No! Fuck no!”

Across the braziers of the coliseum, where the red-dirt of the soundstage ended, and the forest of cameras began, Tammy jumped out of her director’s chair, strutting through wires, tripods, and key grips.

“What’s the problem, Manly?” the raccoon asked.

“I’m not doing it,” Michael said, trying to sit up as best he could. Plastic chain cut into his wrists. “I’m not taking any dicks. Not today, not ever.”

She struggled onto the stage, coating the belly of her Battlestud Galacticum shirt in red dust. “We’ve talked about this. Jogoo’s arc has to have—”

“No,” Michael said. “We didn’t talk about it. You talked at me about your stupid fucking futa aliens. No one wants this, and I’m not doing it.”

“No one wants?” Tammy opened her palms, as if she expected the crew to leap to her defense. They watched in silence. “What do you mean, no one wants—”

“I don’t want it,” Austin said. “If he’s out, I am, too.”

“Ashley, come on.”

“My name is Austin!”

“I’m on strike, as well,” Veronica said. “A thespian has principles, and Norma Scock will not rape without consent.”

“Are you serious?”

“Count me in,” Kaylee said, squaring up to the raccoon. She was covered in red dust, tattered clothes, and streaks of red corn syrup. “Call it the solidarity of dicks.”

“You’re not even fucking anyone!”

“Doesn’t matter.” She glanced at Michael, nodded, and glared down at the raccoon. “We’re done. If he says no, then I do, too.”

Tammy tried to laugh. She pivoted around, gazing at the faces of her actors and the motionless forms of her crew. No one said a word. She sniffed and swallowed, working the slow drip of cocaine down her throat.

“Guys,” she said. “You signed a contract.”

Both hyena and wolf folded their arms. Michael tried to look dignified while naked and chained to a slab.

“Look,” she said, a note of worry in her voice, “what’s the problem, huh? We can talk about this. Clearly, you know, I should’ve addressed your concerns beforehand, but, hey, I’m here now, and I’m listening. Rapt attention. How can I get you through the scene?”

“Take out the dicks,” Michael said. “That’s it. I don’t mind the rape. That’s my specialty. But when I do get raped, it’s with vaginas, not dicks.”

“As God intended,” Veronica said.

“Here, here,” Austin said.

Tammy chose her words. “I’ve told you. We need the dicks. This is a challenging narrative! We’re pushing the audience into introspection, the same way the Gryeens push themselves into others. You know, these aren’t dicks—they’re a deconstructive symbol of the matriarchy. It’s a commentary on gender roles and cultural zeitgeists, the same way that Citizen Kane examined—”

“Tammy.”

The producer of the film, a male shark, walked up to the edge of the soundstage. He had a sharp, gray hide, a face full of teeth, and a cellphone still open in his hand, as if he’d just finished a call.

“No more strap-ons,” he said.

The raccoon whirled around, ears flattening to her skull.

“That’s direct from Kendrick. He’s not happy.”

Tammy flinched. Her bushy tail swiped red dust into the air.

Michael recognized the name. Liam Kendrick, one of the vice executives at Smash Queen Productions. He didn’t remember exactly who the man was—he only knew the name from a quick Google search before the shoot—but he did know that Smash Queen Productions was producing The Three Hotties Problem, and, if an executive was making calls, then serious changes were about to be made.

“He signed off on this!” Tammy said, nearly shouting. Despite standing in an alien arena, she was fidgeting like she had been backed into a corner. “He can’t back out now!”

“We got test audience feedback,” the shark replied. “They think this whole strap-on thing is gay.”

“It’s not gay! They’re women!”

“That’s what they said, and that’s what I’m telling you. Take ‘em out.”

“Test audiences?” Tammy kicked up a cloud of red dust. Kaylee slapped it away, coughing. “Fuck test audiences! They wouldn’t know good cinema if it fucked them in the ass!”

“Tammy,” the shark said, losing his patience. “Take out the dicks. If you don’t do it, we’ll find someone who will.”

He walked back into the maze of film equipment, already typing on his phone for another call. Like minnows, the crew parted in his wake, letting him vanish into the shadows.

Tammy stood alone in the middle of the soundstage. After a moment, she gazed around at the actors, as if seeing them in a completely different light.

She took a breath. When she exhaled, the sigh was very quiet.

“Alright,” she said. “Everyone, take an hour. Maybe more. I gotta . . . rewrite. Something. Everything.” She brushed the dust from her T-shirt, looking down at herself. “Fuck me. Thought I was making something.”

She began to waddle off the stage. The stage lights casted her body in a dim, red glow.

“Uh, ma’am?” Kaylee said, taking a step forward. “Can I. . . .”

Tammy paused, watching the taller wolf with a blank expression.

“Um.” Kaylee fidgeted, as if she immediately regretted speaking. “Well, so—I mean, later, uh . . . could you. . . .”

The arctic wolf glanced around the coliseum. When she made eye contact with Michael, her fidgeting became a full-body flinch. “N-nothing! Nothing, uh—no. Thanks. Nevermind.”

“That’s not nothing,” Tammy said. “Say it.”

“No, it is. Um. Nothing. Yeah.”

“I don’t need you to bumfuck me with another complaint, girl—if you want something, spit it out.”

Kaylee didn’t answer. She avoided eye contact with everyone, both on-stage and off. After a moment, Tammy grunted, climbed down the stage, and headed back to her chair. The crew scattered around her.

Kaylee remained in the Gryeen coliseum, standing alone. She was rubbing insistently at her nose, as if there was an itch she could not scratch.

---

“The holy communion!” Matriarch Connie Lingus shouted. “Through pussy and blood, may we earn Krom’s blessing!”

She plummeted down on his cock, taking him to the hilt in a blur of weight and speed. As Jogoo gasped from the impact, the Gryeen henchwoman leaned above his head. He barely managed to catch his breath before a mountain of green fur dragged her pussy across his face, smearing him with the dripping folds of her sex.

Michael felt right at home. Jogoo, however, was being raped, and had to play the part.

He thrashed on the stone altar, yanking against the chains. For a moment, Connie Lingus stayed planted on his waist, savoring the feeling of his cock jumping and flexing inside her—then, she rose all the way to his head, giving his shaft a cool kiss of air before crashing down again, trying to pin him in place. Every blow seemed to crack the stone.

Meanwhile, the henchwoman was fucking his face with a slow, ruthless rhythm. She went light on the downstroke, leaving him with more fur than pussy, before coming back heavy on the upswing, making sure that his nose carved a river through her lips. His face burned—body heat, friction, lack of air. When he tried to yell, she clamped her thighs around his skull, sucking the vibrations with a shameless greed.

Above, the Gryeen spectators roared their approval. Below, Captain Cynthia Havilick fought for her life.

She was surrounded by beasts. Snarling, braying at the heels. Behind them, a band of alien warriors spread around the arena. Swords and hammers, shields and sandals.

Havilick was alone. She had no weapons, other than her teeth, her claws, and a savage roar from her chest. When her enemies came, she dashed to meet them.

In reality, Kaylee was completely alone on the stage. Her opponents were nothing more than special effects to be added in post—for now, she was only punching the air, diving away when nothing came and pretending to bite the throat of a beast that didn’t exist. It was no more real than the imitation columns at her side, or the red corn syrup on her fur.

Still, she was selling it. Her claws tore through the air, and clouds of red dust rose with every slam of her feet, leaving the arena a deadly blur of motion. She definitely had years of stage combat experience. Even with Austin crushing his head between her thighs, Michael could hear Kaylee’s sounds of exertion, and her desperate, angry snarls. It sounded real to him.

“The pussy engulfs all!” the Matriarch shouted, grinding against his crotch. “We take lives for plunder, and we take dicks for pleasure! Soon, our pussies will swallow the stars!” Connie Lingus circled his pelvis once more, dragging out every inch of contact. “Rrrrraaaaahhhhh! Take it, humie!”

She rose and fell, adopting a faster rhythm. Every crash left him tender, and every departure left him trembling, reeling with bruises and aching with pleasure. When she settled on his pelvis again, there was no relief—instead, she began to flex her walls around him, tightening down, rolling and throbbing.

“Let him moan!” the Matriarch commanded.

The henchwoman dragged her pussy back, slow and careful. Instead of freeing his face, she stopped with the hood of her sex dangling off his nose. His mouth was freed, sticky and numb.

“Moan for me, human!”

Jogoo grit his teeth. When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to speak, the Matriarch bucked herself against him, sending a wave of ecstasy screaming up his spine. It took all his effort not to thrust against her. The Matriarch redoubled her attack—rolling, squeezing, bouncing. When she bucked again, Jogoo lost control, letting out a moan that had been wrung from the depths of his soul.

It wasn’t fake. Out of all the YEEN’D girls, Veronica always managed to milk him the best.

Down below, Captain Havilick was in the middle of gutting a warrior with her claws (to be added in post). When she heard the moan, it struck her like a hammer, leaving her distracted and unbalanced. Another gladiator took advantage, tackling her to the floor. The air filled with violence and rage.

“More energy, Kaylee!” Tammy shouted. “Put your back into it!”

There was a howl, strained and tired. When Jogoo tried to free his face from his sopping wet prison, the Gryeen squeezed her thighs together, dragging him down into her depths. His entire world became friction, moisture, and pressure. All he could do was tug at his chains and scream into a canyon of rosy flesh.

Honestly, he found this position a little boring. There was nothing for him to do. Veronica was riding cowgirl, completely in control, and Austin was perfectly capable of rubbing an orgasm from his face, tongue or not. His only input was trying to time his breaths on her backswing. With the chains on his wrists, he couldn’t even grab her hips.

“Kaylee!” Tammy shouted again, a little closer. “Come on! Faster!”

The sounds of fighting were dying down. Even with furry thighs brushing his ears, and the fleshy claps on his pelvis, he could hear the growls getting weaker. He couldn’t see what was happening down below—he had to keep his eyes shut, lest they get smeared with grool and bits of washed-off paint—but, from the little he could notice, things were—

“Cut! Cut!”

Veronica paused, hilting him to the base. Austin leaned her hand on Michael’s chest and pushed herself off him, dragging a spiderweb of sticky strands. He took a breath of fresh air and gazed off the platform.

Kaylee was on her hands and knees. Ears flat, panting hard. Red dust curled into clouds, leaving her a solitary island of white and blue.

“What’s the hold up?” Tammy yelled, walking to the edge of the stage. “Why are you ruining my shot?”

She didn’t answer. Her panting was almost frantic.

Tammy stared at the wolf for a long moment. Eventually, she sighed. “You alright? Need a breather?”

Kaylee spoke. It was too quiet for Michael to hear.

Tammy raised a brow. “Really? You?”

Kaylee said something again. Michael pulled against his restraints, trying to hear.

“Oh, yeah,” Tammy said, snorting. “‘Just a little’. Sure. Super cheap, this stuff.”

“Please.” Kaylee spoke louder, fighting through the panting. “I just. . . .” She whined. “I can’t. I fucking can’t. Please.”

“Kaylee!” Michael shouted.

The wolf didn’t turn to face him. She kept staring at the raccoon, growing hungry by the second.

Tammy glanced up at the platform, then back at her actor. Her expression softened. “Shit. That bad?”

Kaylee whined again. It echoed across the studio. Off-stage, dozens of crew watched beneath the stage lights, animal eyes reflecting the gloom.

With her fingers, Tammy tapped a rhythm into the stage, considering things. “Alright. As a fix. That’s it.”

Kaylee nodded vigorously.

“I keep the stash over by the catering—”

The wolf sprinted off the stage, becoming a blur through the tangle of film equipment—rushing around lights, dancing over wires, only visible by the white mane of her fur. She already knew the exact location of her prize.

“Kaylee!” Michael shouted.

The wolf disappeared. Tammy glanced at Michael, shook her head, and returned to her director’s chair. Around the studio, crewmembers shuffled on their feet, trying to pass the awkward seconds.

Michael pulled on his restraints. Like all the times before, they held him fast. Veronica remained seated on his dick, and Austin only barely moved her pussy away from his face.

“What’s up?” Veronica asked.

Austin straightened her back, trying to see higher. “Is she. . . .?”

Michael growled in frustration.

Barely a minute later, Kaylee became visible in the gloom, returning to the stage. She looked at no one, and people did not look at her until she passed. She sniffed and swallowed, keeping one hand clamped to her arm. When she wiped her nose on her sleeve, it left a small stain.

“I’ve been there, girl,” Tammy said. “It’s alright.”

The wolf did not answer. She climbed onto the soundstage and returned to her starting mark, staring a hole in the red dirt floor.

“Again,” Tammy said. “From the top. Three, two, one. . . .”

The clapperboard was hit. The grips raised their mikes. Kaylee sprang into action, leaping and rolling, moving with a renewed sense of energy.

When her face caught the light, Michael saw tears in her eyes.

---

“Th-that’s impossible!”

Matriarch Connie Lingus, clan leader of the Gryeens, the scourge of every world in the Star Penetration, stared down at the coliseum, almost forgetting the cock inside her.

Below, the dusty arena had been painted with blood. Every beast and woman sent into the arena was lying defeated on the floor (to be added in post), and, judging by their wounds, most had gone down in a flurry of teeth and claw. Wild, savage strength.

Captain Cynthia Havilick stood alone, the red glow of the Grafrican sun shining down upon her. She ignored the roar of the crowd. Her white fur was buried beneath a matting of dirt and blood, and her shadow speared across the foes she had slain, aimed directly at the Matriarch.

“LLLLIIIIIIIIINNGGUUUUUUUUUSSSS!”

Jogoo felt the shock travel through Lingus’ body—the thighs on his hips, the tail on his legs, the slobbering walls on his cock. After a moment, the Matriarch growled, trying to regain her composure. “Always a thorn in my pussy, aren’t you, Cynthia?”

“I’ll do more than that!” Havilick roared. “I’ll destroy your pussy!”

“I bet you would!”

“I’ll tear your pussy apart!”

“That sounds like you, Cynthia!”

“I’ll eat it for breakfast!”

“Ha! Gay!”

“Get down here, you bitch!”

The Matriarch growled once more. Instead of leaping off Jogoo’s cock, she pointed a finger at the henchwoman fucking his face. “You!”

The Gryeen spread her thighs in surprise, giving Jogoo a chance to breathe. “Me?”

“Kill her!” the Matriarch yelled.

The green woman looked at her clan leader, then the face of the human between her thighs, who was covered from nose to ear in her fluids. There was a forest of clumped, sticky fur. “But I haven’t cum yet!”

The Matriarch bucked her hips forward, earning a mewling cry from Jogoo. “You finish her! I’ll finish him!”

“I’m not fucking a woman!”

“You will be gay, or you will be dead!”

The Gryeen bared her teeth, pushed herself off Jogoo, and grabbed a glaive lying conveniently to the side, the long wooden shaft ending in a wicked blade. As the henchwoman raced for the end of the platform, Connie Lingus leaned above Jogoo, settling her heavy paws against his chest.

“You’re mine,” the Matriarch said, curling her green muzzle.

The Gryeen henchwoman landed in the arena. As dust rose around her, she twirled her glaive, staring at the arctic wolf across the field. In response, Havilick grabbed two of the scimitars lying amongst the bodies. When she raised them to her opponent, they still dripped with blood.

The crowd roared. The contestants charged.

Meanwhile, the Matriarch began to fuck Jogoo again. There was no longer any ritual to her movements, no sense of ceremony or composure—instead, she impaled herself at a frantic pace, each strike of flesh aimed for maximum effect. When she rose, her entire body tensed for the plunge. When she fell, she cratered against his pelvis, as heavy as the stone beneath them, his cock spearing so deep inside her that Jogoo was almost surprised it did not come out of her mouth.

Lingus loomed above him, watching his every reaction. Her claws began to dig into his skin.

“Moan for me, bitch.”

Jogoo clenched his jaw, his cum-covered face locked in defiance. In response, Lingus bucked her hips particularly hard, striking him with all her weight. Pain flared, ecstasy spiked. When Jogoo’s vision returned, the Matriarch was still towering above him, growing ever more furious.

“I’ll ruin you, human! You’ll want nothing but green pussy!”

“My dick belongs to wolves!”

The Matriarch snarled. Her claws raked across his chest, mixing sweat with blood. Jogoo thrashed against his chains.

Down below, Havilick and her opponent were circling each other. Testing, probing. Suddenly, the Gryeen swung her glaive in a wide arc, aiming for the waist. Havilick dodged, slashed. Green fur poured with blood. When the henchwoman charged, attempting to bash the wolf with her shoulder, Havilick rolled to safety, managing a quick stab to the thigh.

Above, the Matriarch continued to pound. She had completely eclipsed the Grafrican sky above, leaning so much of herself against him that all Jogoo could feel was paw pads, green fur and throbbing, needful pain.

Veronica was giving him the most believable rape of his career. With everything going on, Michael almost forgot the ache in his back. She wasn’t hurting him too much—she knew how to pull her hips, and her claws were tipped with red dye packs—but, for the cameras, it must’ve looked as brutal as it felt.

“Scream for her!” Connie Lingus shouted, leaning down until their faces were inches apart.

In response, Jogoo spat in her face. The Matriarch cocked her head, let out a blood curdling roar, and clamped her jaws against his shoulder, sinking down and through.

Puncture.

Tearing.

Fear.

Slamming, heaving, pounding.

Jogoo screamed into the sky.

Down below, Havilick turned to the sound of her love. It almost cost her head. The Gryeen swung her glaive, aiming high, and the wolf just barely managed a parry. One of her scimitars flew into the air, earing a roar from the crowd. The henchwoman pressed her attack.

Havilick snarled, unleashing a flurry of slashes. The Gryeen took several glancing blows. When she tried to block one of Havilick’s chops with the haft of her glaive, the wood split in half, and Havilick cut her deep across the belly. Havilick pressed the kill.

Above, the Matriarch was too busy concentrating on her task. With her teeth stained red, she straightened toward the sky, one paw kneading her breast, the other keeping a sharp grip on her prize. She was approaching her orgasm at a dead, sprinting pace, and Jogoo was not far behind.

She smashed and bucked, rolling and smearing, taking everything she wanted. Jogoo could only grip his chains. His nerves were screaming, and his mind was on fire.

Movement below. A flash of white fur, the glint of a blade.

“Krom!” the Matriarch shouted, muzzle open to the blood-red sky. “Take my cum in worship!”

She slammed, hard and fast. Over and over.

“Krom! Hear me!”

Rising speed, quivering might.

“Kroooooooooom!”

Matriarch Connie Lingus slammed down on Jogoo one last time, screaming her pleasure for all to hear. She drenched Jogoo in cum, Jogoo shot her full of his own, and, just as their orgasms reached their peak, Captain Cynthia Havilick threw a glaive into Lingus’ chest.

Her moan collapsed. The sheer impact of the blow sent her reeling, and, when she looked down at the haft sticking from her flesh, she lost all her strength, spilling over the side of the altar. Jogoo’s cock slid from her pussy like a well-used knife.

Havilick managed to climb onto the platform. She limped across the stone, moving through the stunned silence of the crowd. When she arrived on the other side of the altar, she saw her old rival lying on the floor, cum weeping from her pussy, her hand grasping the weapon that killed her.

“Am I . . . fucked?” the alien leader asked, dazed.

Havilick stomped on her belly, grabbed the glaive by the haft, and ripped it out of Lingus. “Your pussy cums only blood, Matriarch.”

“That’s . . . that’s. . . .” Lingus took one last breath. “That’s gaaaaayyyyyyyyyy.”

Her head lolled to the side, dramatically.

Havilick threw the bloody glaive to the floor. Finally, she fell to her knees, the pain of her wounds taking the last dregs of her strength.

“Cynthia?”

Jogoo raised his head above the altar. His hair was disheveled, his shoulder was ringed with blood, and his face was smeared with the cum of an alien.

The wolf struggled to her feet, gripping the altar for support. Eventually, she managed to rise above Jogoo, staring down at the chained and naked body of her love.

“I’m sorry,” Jogoo said, a tear rolling down his face. “She was too much. I couldn’t stop it. Your pussy is the only one I should ever—”

Havilick kissed him.

Her snout met his lips, and her tongue entered his mouth, and when she cradled his head in her paws, he melted into it all, surrendering to her hunger, feeling her ravage every part of him that she could find. There was a sense of release on every battering of tongues, a want in their breaths that went deeper than sex. Every touch was a moment desperately stolen.

She tasted like all the things they had never said, and the people they wished they could be.

Around them, fires burned across the coliseum. There was a crowd of hundreds, roaring their displeasure, and there came the sound of dozens of guards, rushing in from all sides. The Gryeen Matriarch was dead. There would be retribution.

Havilick pulled back, still cradling his head in her paws. With her thumb, she wiped a streak of grool from his furless cheek, smiling.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “Forever.”

Jogoo returned the smile, weakly grasping her arm through the chains. His eyes were wet with tears. “Forever.”

They kissed again. When the dozens of guard began to climb onto the platform, they were still joining lips. And, when the enemy closed in, bearing guns and swords, they were still locked together, flowing as one.

They were still kissing, at the end.

“Cut!”

There was no final stand. Instead of an army of Gryeens, there was only Austin bearing down on them with a cheap, plastic rifle. The roar of the crowd was an audio cue played on speakers, using stock B-roll. The great sky of Grafrica was a red-painted ceiling. All of it was fake. To be added in post, if the budget lasted that long.

But Kaylee was still kissing him. She held his face in her paws, pressing herself so deeply against him that it was getting hard to breathe. Michael tried to give her a signal, weakly mouthing the fur of her snout. She didn’t stop.

“That’s a wrap!” Tammy shouted, strutting and clapping. “End shoot! We are done!”

The other crewmen began to applaud. Austin used her prop gun to stretch her back. Veronica sat up from her pool of red corn syrup, yanking the prop glaive from her side and wincing at the bruise.

Kaylee was still kissing him. Her tongue circled his throat, long and teasing, while her nose pressed into his upper lip, drinking every scent. With his back pressed against the painted foam of the altar, and his limbs chained with plastic, he could do nothing but whine from his chest, trying to squirm. She responded by gripping him harder.

“That was fantastic!” Tammy leaned against the raised edge of the soundstage, grinning wide. “I felt it! Movie magic! The Three Hotties Problem, coming to a theater near you!” She pounded the stage with a fist. “Captain Havilick agrees!”

At the mention of her character, Kaylee flinched. She pulled back with a wet pop, her canine tongue slithering from his lips and dangling from her open maw. She panted in his face. Her breath was very hot.

She was crying.

Michael had been given menthol tear sticks to force his eyes to water. Jogoo was the damsel in distress, overcome with emotion, while Captain Havilick was his strong, noble savior. He was supposed to shed a tear. Not her.

And, yet, Kaylee was crying. Her amber eyes were bloodshot. When she looked at him, the tears crawled into her fur.

“You two having fun up there?” Tammy shouted.

Kaylee closed her eyes, sniffed something down, and pushed herself away.

“Kaylee,” Michael said.

She walked around the edge of the altar, wiping her nose.

“Kaylee!”

She walked past Austin and leaped off the platform, kicking up a cloud of red dust as she landed. With a growing speed, she made her way off the soundstage, head down and tail tucked.

“High five!” Tammy yelled, raising a brown-furred paw.

Kaylee walked past her, barely bracing for the small jump off the stage. She made a beeline for the catering table. The exact same path she’d gone before.

“Hey, girl, you can ask if you want more!”

The arctic wolf disappeared into the gloom of the studio, saying nothing.

“Let me out,” Michael said, yanking on his chains again. “Fucking—get me out of here!”

Austin and Veronica came over to his side, working at the shackles. Seconds were wasted. By the time they got his arms free, he had already bolted upright, snapping the ones at his legs. He didn’t even bother unlocking the manacles themselves before he was racing off the altar, following the path that his co-star had gone. Plastic chains whipped against his naked body.

Tammy whistled as he passed, openly gawking.

He made his way through a tangle of wires, tripods, and light reflectors. None of the crewman did a thing to stop him. As he went, he found their hesitation more and more infuriating. They had no idea what was happening. More likely, they didn’t care.

Also, he might’ve accidentally wiped some blood and cum on a camera lens. He didn’t stop to check.

Kaylee was not at the catering table. There was an orchard of fruit salad, a bakery of scones, a cornucopia of coffee and juice, and, also, a massive white pile of powder sitting off to the side, the table set with thin gift cards and rolled dollar bills, like forks and knives. The continental experience—remember to serve yourself.

One of the producers of the film—the male shark he had seen earlier—was leaning against a wall nearby, his face still glued to his phone. If he was surprised to see a naked human sprinting in his direction, it didn’t show in his sharp, angled face.

“Wolf,” Michael said, panting. “Kaylee.”

The shark flicked his head toward the studio entrance. Through a sea of crew and equipment, he caught a flash of white fur, heading out into the orange-lit glow of night. She turned east. The parking lot.

“Thanks!” Michael shouted, already starting to run.

“Major Manly, was it?”

Michael turned to face the shark, giving him the bare minimum attention while jogging backward. “Sorry, gotta go!”

“When you’re free,” the shark said, his eyes perfectly black, “I’d like to talk.”

“Sure, right!”

He ran for the entrance. By now, most of the crew were aware that something was going wrong. Faces stared from the edges of tungsten lights, the secondary cameras and the corners of fake stone props. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Austin and Veronica making their way across the soundstage. They might’ve been shouting for him.

He exited the studio. The night air was a warm, smothering blanket. Down the studio lot, across a narrow street and a dozen faceless buildings, he saw Kaylee hurrying toward a field of cars, clutching her arms to her chest. Above, the stars were drowned in orange light.

“Kaylee!”

He ran for her. She heard his voice, stopped, tried to move, and stopped again. When he caught up to her, she was trying to stare off into the distance, at a distant highway carving through scrubs and rock. She refused to look at him.

“Hey,” he said, panting.

“Hey,” she replied.

He was out of breath, and hadn’t actually thought of anything to say. “Uh . . . you alright?”

She raised her chin, looking up at the sky.

“What’s . . . wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was nearly cracking. “Nothing?” She wiped her nose with the bone of her palm, digging deep and fast. “Everything?”

Michael walked around to her side, trying to catch her gaze. “Look—uh—you know—”

“Mike, don’t—”

She paused, blinking down at him through the tears.

Michael was standing naked in the middle of a parking lot. He had claw marks on his chest, broken manacles on his limbs, Austin’s cum on his face, and a mixture of yeen and human cum on his groin. Everything was sticky and rapidly drying.

“You should see the other guy,” he said.

Kaylee shook her head. She scratched her nose, rubbed her arm, shifted weight on her feet. She seemed incapable of standing still.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked. “Fuck it, no, sorry. It’s not that bad, is what I mean.”

“It’s bad,” Kaylee said, trembling. “It’s really bad.”

“It’s a slip-up.” He gestured to the studios behind them. “I mean, it’s the Sahara desert of powder in there. Dunes for days.”

She sniffed several times, grimacing. There was an attempt to swallow.

“Just . . . you know . . . don’t kick yourself. Right? Blame Tammy. Blame the fact that they just have a mountain sitting out in the—”

“I’m tired, Mike,” Kaylee said.

He stood to her side, gazing up at her face. White fur, black sky, halos of orange. Behind them, Austin and Veronica stood at a distance, watching with hesitation.

“Seventh time,” she said. “That’s the seventh time I’ve fucked up. Weeks and weeks and weeks and—”

“Hey, don’t—”

“When you’re down,” she continued, “it’s a fucking pit. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I spend hours crying in bed because, for the fucking life of me, I can’t even sit up. Everything hurts. The heat makes me sick, and I throw up in a bucket because I can’t crawl to the toilet.” She began to claw at her face, whining. “I just. . . .”

Michael felt a cool breeze on his face. It kissed the hair and cum.

“It’s more.” She looked down at him, begging for understanding. “You know? More. Again. I fucked up again, and now I gotta through it again, and I’m tired, and it’s never gonna stop, because I’m FUCKING STUPID!”

Her yell echoed down the studio lot. In the distance, a highway crawled through the night.

“Kaylee,” Michael said, slowly. “You’re high.”

She shook her head, fidgeting, staring up at the sky.

“You’re just feeling a lot cause you took some speed. Uppers. Whatever. And—and if you just chill out for a moment, let it wear off, you can calm down, and we can talk—”

“No,” she said, quietly. “I just—no. Please. No.”

She tried to walk forward, deeper into the parking lot. Michael stepped into her path. She leaned to each side, stopping and starting, searching for a path. When she saw he wasn’t going to budge, she lowered her gaze to the ground.

“This is it,” she said. “I’m done.”

“Done?”

She sniveled. “There’s a resort about an hour away. It’s cheap. No spas, scented towels, whatever.” She swallowed, getting some of the drip in her throat. “I’m gonna go there, right now, and I’m gonna check myself in. I’m gonna tell them I can’t trust myself, and I need an emergency hold. Something bad will happen, if I don’t.”

“Kaylee.”

“And . . . I don’t know. I’ll stay there. When I’m clean, I’ll take a flight home. I’ll do something else with my life. Anything. It doesn’t matter.”

“Kaylee,” Michael said, louder.

She wiped her eyes. The fur was wet and clumped.

“I think. . . .”

He stopped. The words wouldn’t come. For a moment, he thought about how little he knew her. They had only met a week ago. Outside of their scenes, they hadn’t really spoken until today. He had given her a hug, and they had shared some pain, but so what? Had that fixed anything? If he was in her shoes, would he turn his life around for a stranger?

What was she to him? A friend? Someone in need? Some star-crossed lover, like the characters they had been playing?

Standing there, naked, Michael looked at Kaylee, and he realized that nothing he could say would matter. There was so much he didn’t know, so many battles he hadn’t seen. At this point, he might just make things worse.

A distance yawned between them.

“Mike,” she said. “You met me at a very bad time in my life.”

He opened his mouth. He almost reached for her. In the end, he stood still, trying to say something.

“I used to make home videos.” She smiled, briefly. “I had little costumes, and sets colored with crayon, and I’d just copy all my favorite movies. You can hear my mom giggling behind the camera.” She looked away. “I watched one the other day. It made me cry.”

There was asphalt at his feet. Around him—packed buildings, empty cars. Spindly plants, beaten flat by the sun.

“Please,” Kaylee said. “I . . . don’t want a reason to stay.”

Michael closed his mouth. Slowly, he nodded.

She went around him. For a while, he watched the industrial lights of the studio lot, not looking back. When he heard the sound of an engine, and saw headlights slicing across the asphalt, he turned his head, and he saw a single car rushing for the parking lot exit. He didn’t recognize the model. Beforehand, he couldn’t have picked it out from the crowd.

The car left the studio lot. It raced down an access road, barely stopping at a sign. There was a yellow blinker, a red flare of brake lights, and then it pulled a sharp left turn onto the highway, entering in a screech of tires. Before long, it was just another light among many, going deeper into the night.

Michael stood for a while. He felt numb. Bruised and sticky.

“Hey.”

Austin walked over to his side, trying to follow his gaze. He could feel Veronica hovering at his back.

“Is she alright?” Austin asked.

“Not really,” Michael replied.

“Did you get her number?”

“Nope.”

“Email? Nothing?”

He shook his head.

Austin glanced at him, then back at the highway, nodding slowly. “Well . . . shit.”

“Yeah,” Michael said.

A breeze drifted through. It smelled faintly of sage.

“Tammy’s asking for you,” Veronica said.

“That’s nice.”

“She said, quote, ‘he can shoot me full of movie magic.’”

“She can fuck a boom mike, far as I care.”

“Well,” Austin said, “the producer wants a piece, too. He was making some calls. They don’t do that for nothing.”

“Can we just go? Please?”

She gestured at his naked body. “Don’t wanna grab your clothes first?”

Michael finally found the strength to sigh. “I just—I want to go. I want to be somewhere else.”

There was a silence.

“Just come back inside,” Veronica said, softening her voice. “Get your clothes.”

“Want to get some food on the way back?” Austin asked, gesturing. “Stop at a place?”

“. . . I can’t afford it.”

“We got you, Mike. No worries.”

He looked at her, almost said something, and stopped himself. The only thing that came out was a sigh.

They walked back toward the studio. Behind them, there was the faint sound of a highway, distant and lonely.