Jack of Spades
Juan curled his long tongue in a deft loop, scraping the last pink remains of the blood and cum-stained coconut meat from the stripped out husk. With the last morsel exhausted, the bearcat abandoned the husk to the undergrowth of the developing forest that opened up from the beach. Another step carried the binturong from the near blinding light and warmth of the white sand beach into a cooler semitropical forest dappled with sunlight.
His strong paws tugged at his suit, discarding the top and jacket - both were slightly splattered with blood and useless for infiltrating. He paused, ripping the lower half of his suit pants, and in a few moments his new disguise was complete. In just a few more steps his gait had changed completely, his shoulders slumped forward slightly, and his expression slackened into something slightly vacant. The cool and cruel predator replaced by a thick-bodied beach bum, just wandering through the forest.
His steps seemed without purpose, but his rolling eyes espied trails, and his lolling tongue tasted lingering pot in the air. His nose drank of male-scents and musk, beer and cheap shooters. With a soft sigh, the binturong let his meandering feet stagger a bit more left here, straight there, until he could slide around a tree with a feigned sloppy motion one might expect from a drunk. The ripped-off 'shorts' and sweat-slicked fur just completed the picture he intended to project.
Juan let his eyes roam over the glade, examining the evidence of the raging party. The empty kegs, the scattered red cups, bits of rolling paper and even a filthy bong. Bits of discarded clothes as well, half a surfboard, the remains of a bonfire, and best of all a leftover fratboy! Juan let his wandering feet take him cautiously into the trampled down grass, closer to the smouldering firepit and his sleeping target. A bear, to be precise, and a moment of studying the male's face revealed him to be an innocent - not one of Juan's selected targets. Still.
The deck of cards was in Juan's paws with a sound softer than the stoned ursine's slumbers. A handsome bear, a footballer if his jersey could be believed. A linebacker, his massive chest and arms threatening to split his jersey, if his round bearish muscle-gut didn't do it first. Somewhere the bear had lost his shorts, and now only a dusty and extremely overstuffed jockstrap concealed his young and virile nuts. Juan could believe that the paper-thin cotton revealed the tracing of veins across each orange-sized ball, and even the potent smell of pot could not conceal the rich earthy musk of the fratboy.
Juan slavered, his fingers deftly shuffling as the deck got shuffled and a card was drawn. What was the name of that casino where he found this pack? Where he had crawled to, out of the Mexican hellhole that the cartels had put him in? The place that took him in, half-dead, nude, with a muzzleful of pesos? An artificial womb of slot machines and cheap tequila that could revitalize and rebirth the most jaded. He turned the card over.
It was a force of will that strangled the high pitched cry that warbled into Juan's throat. His arm-thick tail writhed, twisting itself into powerful knots as the binturong shook with fury. In his paw, one of the two Jokers mocked him. The faded blue and gold of the jackal's harlequin coat was as sharp as the cackle writ on his smudged muzzle. Like the capering fool, the fratbear pranced on the edge of a cliff, a single draw away from danger. The male slumbered, never knowing how close he had come to falling victim, to losing all those sweaty nights of masculine virility that awaited a long life.
Juan put his deck away, choked with bitterness. Lady Luck can be quite the classy dame, but sometime she's just a bitch like any other. His muzzle set in a frown, the bearcat searched the discarded clothing with practiced speed. A spot of cash, a university ID card, some joints, and best of all a Scorpico pocket folder. He slipped his haul into a slightly used pair of red board shorts and completed his new fratboy outfit with an open tropical shirt. Poised to leave, a sudden rustling sound caused Juan to freeze.
"Kyle? Kyle brah, where are you at man? Its Brad dude..." The voice came from the low underbrush, the volume inconsistent. "Guys? Ahh shit, got fuckin' tree marks all over. Any beer left?" The speaker emerged, hesitantly. Like his speech, the fratboy was still well influenced by copious amounts of beer and pot. It took him three tries to get into the clearing, but the sight was well worth the wait. Clad only in a pair of sheer red swimming briefs, the whole of his virile young frame was on display. Unlike the sleeping bear, the doberman's body was cut to the extreme with an absolute minimum of fat. Just enough to round out his hips and put a perky set of asscheeks under his bobbed tail in fact. The subtle softness accented the sleek musculature, from the firm and pert pecs capped with purplish nips all the way down to his cobblestone abdomen.
The low-slung briefs were scandalous enough, barely capable of being street-legal in most cases, but this doberman made them obscene. Brad's sheath was nothing too special, but each of his obnoxiously over-swollen nuts stretched the thin material out so far! The distorted briefs could not even cling to the teenage fratboy's groin or thighs, exposing those scandalous puppy-makers from the top and sides to the view and the pleasant tropical breezes.
The doggy scratched himself, running his blunt claws along the top of his sculpted thigh, joggling his fingertips against the underside of his dual eggs. "Everyfur's gone. Did they find some girls?" Brad stumbled deeper into the clearing, and Juan helpfully stepped forward to catch the red-eyed fratboy as the pup tripped over his own paws. "Thanks brah. Aren't you Tom from Zeta Tau?" The doberman leaned heavily into the burly bearcat's grip, his thick-lidded eyes fluttering and tongue lolling out.
Sneakily, Juan let a paw slip to his pocket, turning the deck toward his eyes. A card slid out slightly, just enough for the Queen of Diamonds to make herself known. With wicked smile, Juan let the deck fall back into his pocket, and drew instead one of the fat joints. "Ya got me, bro." He let his voice come out playful, immature, a match for Brad's fratboy lilt. "No beer. Try this." The doberman put up no resistance as the joint was snuggled between his lips and lit, adding a deeper haze to the already well blazed dog.
"There ya go pup. Snort that sweet green, turn ya all limp and horny." Poisoned by beer, partying, and lots of weed, the doberman could not detect the menace. He struggled to put paws against the burly bearcat, to set his footpaws firm and horse around. Stumbling and clumsy, the giggling pup was gently rocked around, ground against the older male, and none-too gently fondled. Juan's strong fingers tweaked the kid's nips, tickled into that flat navel before questing lower and into the stretched out briefs. His broad, powerful paw stroked across the pup's stubby sheath, skinning it back to expose the pink spire of the weed-fueled hardon. He let the turgid rod against his wrist, weighing those obnoxiously fat dog-nuts in his palm.
"Ah shit, dude don't be faggy....." The doberman almost dropped his joint as his sleek body was explored so intimately, fingers curling into John's thick chestfur. Brad took another long drag on the thick joint, letting smoke blow from his slender nose like a dragon. "...fuck but I am mega-horny. Not a bitch on this island...." With a hiss, Brad rolled up onto his tiptoes, unbalanced and falling deeper into the binturong's embrace. A blunt and powerful claw had wriggled its way to the root of those huge nuts, and snuggled against the tender bundle of nerves therein to send powerful sensation racing up the young pup's body.
"Ain't faggy, two dude fuckin'. As long as balls don't touch of course." Juan let the rolling doberman slump closer, letting his nose explore the sleek youth's neck. The binturong sucked powerfully on the throbbing artery along the side, his lips taking the racing pulse of the teenager as his lips tasted the narcotic infused sweat that wet Brad's fur. The youth, the virility, the power, Juan found it in the scent and taste, but perhaps most importantly in the weight of those tennis ball sized orbs that sloshed in his palm. "Just nat'ral, get drunk an' stoned. Lemme show you how its done. Just relax for ole' Tom."
The lithe doberman's paws glided across the soft soil, barely touching as Juan swung him around. Every part of his body seemed limp and heavy, except for his throbbing hard dogcock that tented his tiny briefs. Like flying, wreathed in smoke and the dizzing sensation of weightlessness. A moss-padded log acted as the perfect platform to cradle and elevate that shapely doggy-ass, while his head and shoulders rested lower, on the soft ground. Brad giggled at the ease he could tilt his head back and look at the world upside down. Somehow he had kept his joint, and he drew another deep pull from it. "Alright Tommy Tom. But I'm not gonna watch you fag out. I never messed around in, uh, high school." The freshman giggles again, his toes and fingers curling, gripping at the air and soft dirt.
Juan let out a deep, throaty chuckly as he arranged the fratty freshman into a perfect position, shucking the tiny red briefs off. Freed from their clingy prison the young dogparts bounced merrily before gravity took hold. Brad's pink stubby dogdick came to rest against his taught belly, spilling a trickle of precum into the boy's flat navel. Those nuts, obnoxiously large and low-hanging first threatened to fall down between those toned thighs before Juan came them a slight nudge. Under their own weight they rolled forward, their size and loose sack allowing them to almost fully cover the dog's prick. The bearcat admired them, the sweet smell of the musk they released as they bounced, the sound of the thumping heart sending blood through them. "Don't worry brah, our nuts ain't gonna touch."
Though he slavered for those beautiful balls, Juan could not ignore the shapely ass splayed at the perfect height. He took hold of Brad's ankles, setting the pups foot-paws firmly on his own broad shoulders for support. The smell of puppy-feet and fresh soil was a refreshing scent in the midst of the fuck-musk both males released, sweeter even than the popcorn butter-smell that sprang forth when Juan dropped his board-shorts to press his throbbing erection between those pert pup-cheeks. The binturong's hefty cock was impressive, especially situated on such a burly frame or snuggled against a slender puppy.
"Shit though kid, your cock is fuckin' spraying. You sure you ain't gay?" Juan teased the stoned puppy, muzzle grinning as he pressed the fat tip against the pink puppy hole. He didn't give time for the teenaged pledge to respond before pressing his oversized cock into the undersized virgin tailhole with naught but his dripping juices as lube. The bolt of pain/pleasure that slammed up Brad's spine was caught and filtered by the drugs in his system, allowing only the erotic sensation of turning into a bitch soak into his brain. "Aww yeah, you're a slut for cock, huh pup?"
Brad could only gibber unintelligibly as Juan began to rough-fuck that young ass with techniques honed in third world brothels and interrogation rooms. The grizzled binturong worked his thick cock like a knife, carving a hot and bruised boyhole out of the doberman's tail. Mauling the tender boyish prostate, ramming it until the gland suffered burst vessels that puffed it up tender and well-fed with pooling blood. Helpless against the onslaught, the doberman's body pitched like a boat in rough seas, yet his pinkish pupcock remained hard as a railroad spike! His knot had even inflated to its full size!
Seeing the pup bouncing and jolting around, Juan did the polite thing. He took hold of those massive nuts before they could flop right off! As he gave them a mild squeeze, they gave off a deep, rich musk. He tugged on them, partly by accident as his powerful hips were jackhammering into that tiny tight asshole and thus bouncing Brad forcefully! The feeling of those heavy orbs cradled in his paw made the binturong slam all the harder, sinking his cock fully in to the root on every drive. The sensation was almost distracting enough to prevent his prehensile tail from slipping the Skorpico up to within the reach of his paws.
Almost. Juan was nearing his peak when the cool steel of the knife nudged his paw, and with his teeth tightly gritted he shifted his hold. It wasn't easy to free a paw, trying to keep control of those huge nuts and the bouncing body his cock impaled and taking hold of a knife. He managed it though, as he was an old pro. A flick of the wrist brought the blade out, and a tug of his huge forearm stretched both of Brad's massive nuts to the very limit of the loose sac. Though the thin skin, the marbled contours and texture of the spongy huge-puppy nuts were cast in mouth-watering relief. The cords and veins that fed them bulged like ropes at the root, making for an impossible to miss target.
Juan growled, his entire body shivering as he struggled to keep his paws steady with his entire frame poised to explode. The cool edge of the steel pocketknife kissed along the edge of the velveteen puppy pouch, then pressed lightly in preparation for the cut. Brad screamed, pounding the dirt with his fists as the torturous power-fuck finally overwhelmed him completely, his nut-draining orgasm all but beaten out of him by the cruel binturong. The taut, sleek muscles all lept to action, drawing tight and rocking the doberman's frame. This included his newly opened tailhole, the silky tunnel clenching tight on Juan's intimidating fucktool and milking out a more mature and controlled orgasm.
Controlled enough that when Brad's nuts went to draw up close, Juan was ready. He pressed with the knife, synergizing with the orgasmic convulsions to produce a razor-clean draw. Addled with drugs and overwhelmed with orgasmic pleasure, the slutty puppy never even felt it. His pouch splitting, the cords severed in one fell press, and finally scooped out with a practiced turn of the thumb. The knife was dropped to the dirt, and other heavy orbs slid right out to follow the knife. They fell into a nest of curled tail, safely held as the binturong cooed and finished spunking the new doggy bitch. A turn of the fingers and the dangled remains of the dobie's sac was safely tied off, to prevent death by blood loss.
"God damn, feels better, huh brah?" Juan shuddered, his voice wavering in the after affects of a wonderfully powerful orgasm. Brad gurgled, his lean frame twitching in spasms as the bearcat slunk down to plant another hickey on the freshman's neck. One of those broad paws stroked down Brad's cobblestone abdomen, spreading the last load of spunk the pup would ever shoot, gently massaging it into the short fur. His other paw beckoned, and the long slinky tail deposited the sticky pair of dognuts into the palm. "Aww, you needed to relieve those heavy nuts kids. No worry though, balls didn't touch."
The bearcat smirked, and almost tenderly licked up the side of the dog's narrow muzzle as it lolled open. "Hungry now I bet, huh kiddo?" With a gurgling chuckle, Juan pushed both those spongy orbs into Brad's muzzle. The stoned, exhausted, and power-fucked pup put up a token bit of squirmy as the sperm and blood flavored meatballs glided across his tongue. A soft squeeze and a bad case of the munchies broke his resistance, however, and after a few powerful chews the freshman slurped down his own nuts. Panting, sighing, at last the doberman passed out.
Juan stood, stretched, and cleaned up a little bit before reclaiming his shorts and knife. He had to stop a moment, and admire his handiwork however. Another young, virile male turned into a useless bitch, with a well-fucked ass and no nuts. At least young Brad would be popular around the frathouse! The binturong got a good laugh at that as he walked across the glade, on the search for more victims.
On the way, his paws fell by the still sleeping bear. Juan's gait slowed, and his muzzle twisted up as he took another look at those big tempting bear balls. Licking his lips nervously, the bearcat pulled out the deck once more and drew a card. His fingers trembled as he turned it over, and shame washed over his muzzle. The Rule Card, showing the guidelines for poker. A reminder of where his loyalties should lie.
Juan hurried out of the glade, and away from the bear.
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Tex grunted in satisfaction as he popped his monster-sized cock out of the poor dockworker that he had caught. The Trojan condom stretched tightly over the squat lynx's cock surged, the reservoir tip ballooning out as nearly a pint of thick, studly cream filled it up. His paw stroked the length of his own dick, milking out the dregs of cum as calm as a farmer at the udder. No attention was paid to the tied up dockworker as he fell forward.
Normally falling forward while tied up isn't too dangerous. The island was mostly soft, pillowy soil, and generally one can roll a bit and hit with the shoulder. The uniformed mouse Tex had just raped was not so lucky however, as the lynx had brutalized him at the edge of a decorative slab beneath a tree. The ground there was further away, not to mention firm packed and jutting with hard tree roots.
The mouse never hit the ground. Rope from his own dock has been wound around his neck in a skillful noose, and it drew tight as his fell. The last scream the rodent would ever make was strangled midway as he dangled. A short dance, and the rodent finally went fully limp. Tex looked on, in satisfaction, before taking another long draw from a bottle of Kentucky.
For almost twenty minutes Tex drank and contemplated the dangling corpse before he finally took it down. The noose was rehung, and the corpse rolled into a storm drain along with the others. He didn't bother to count his victims, he just let a stream of recycled rye sprinkle them. Pissing and drinking at the same time just seems more efficient to him. When he finished, he tossed the empty bottle in onto the pile of corpses.
They were easy for Tex to catch. The Texan lynx had always been a natural hunter, and the leftover workers and fratboys had been too easy. Hence all the liquor, and the noose tree. A bit of challenge, to lasso and rodeo them back for a traditional Texan hanging. It was just the thing to get his powerful cock ready for rape, and he still had two more boxes of condoms!
Tex trudged back up the hill to his noose tree, his fuzzy brain spinning gears as he tried to think about the next bit of prey to catch. He had seen a mule around, and did he have a noose that would support it? The nylon one for the mouse was too light, he'd need the heavy hemp one. Which was...where? He had taken it off that fatass deer he hung either had he not? He began to turn around to trudge back to his corpse pit.
Then he found the hemp noose, as its heavy weight cascaded onto his shoulders. Before his booze addled reflexes could raise his paws to it, the rope drew taut with a burning kiss along his neck. Tex gripped at it, his corded biceps bunching up just as he was yanked off his feet and into the dust. He coughed, horsley, and held fast as the rope was pulled sharply backwards. His heels kicked in the dirt, unable to find purchase, and all his upper body strength was tasked with holding the rope just slack enough to draw in grinding breaths. The angle of the powerful pulling changed as the shadow of Tex's very own hanging tree fell over him. The confused lynx found himself being pulled upwards by the noose until his toes barely touched the ground. By pulling as hard as he could on the thick rope with his tenuous grip and stretching his back as far as he could, Tex could breathe. Barely. Steeped in liquor, his muscles and lungs burning, the cat knew he wouldn't last long. If only his claws could dig deeper into the thick hemp rope!
"I hope you don't mind." A voice, thick like syrup and deep like a clogged drain drifted down to Tex. From the tree, a dark-furred figure in board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt descended, the end of the thick rope in paw. The stranger deftly tied it to a jutting bit of something sturdy, parking the lynx at the precipice of death. "I drew for you. The Jack of Spades. Have you ever noticed that the one-eyed jack has put his sword into his head, something sure to leave him dead?"
Tex had a strong neck, and was just a rough and tumble cat in general. He knew that he had maybe three minutes before even his bull-thick neck gave way. If he could saw through the rope before then, or even get a paw on this bear....cat....whatever, weirdo then maybe things could look up. "The suicide card, it is sometimes called." The stranger continued, cooly, as he approached the vulnerable lynx. His inky fur stank of buttered popcorn, and for a moment it made all the whiskey in Tex's stomach churn. "Wasteful, self indulgent." When the black-furred male got close enough, the hanging cat lashed out clumsily. The binturong battered aside the drunken blow with ease, and simply pulled on the thick rope. The sudden strain cinched the noose tight enough to cut off even the small whisper of air. Tex panicked.
His paws groped for the noose, his claws dug into the thick hemp, and somehow he managed to prize it looser. Enough to get a sliver of oxygen into his burning lungs, but less than he had been drawing before. The cost of the blow had been dear indeed. And while Tex had been fretting over his lungs, the black furred binturong had taken the opportunity to cup those sweet feline nuts.
The overworked and frankly overactive seed factories were hot, slick, and hard to fit easily into a single paw. Even having filled over a dozen condoms, they still churned, ready and standing by to produce more Essence du Rapist. They gave no protest when Juan drew them to the bottom of their soft pouch, and began to wrap the thin nylon cording around the root.
The loop of the nylon noose deftly cinched around the root of Tex's rodeo sized nutsack, yanking each of those fat nuts all the way down to the bottom of the shaft. The knot tightened, slamming painfully into the tender set of testes hard enough to make the big lynx wheeze as the last of his breath was slammed out. The tight hemp around his throat kept any of it from slipping back in.
A set of nooses suspended him, and Tex's own body weight worked around him. His tough neck, full of muscle and sinew and particularly bone held most of his weight well enough. His sac was naught but skin and a few cords, and it was already beginning to rip and strain at the very first hint of the bartender's weight. In a way, the cat was happy when darkness came to him. It was accompanied by a CRUNCH.
From a tree, two nooses hung. A lynx in one, a nutsack in the other.