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I hope you cringe as much reading this mutt of a chapter as I did writing it. While there are definite hot spots, it sort of inspires the feeling of waking up next to a dead whore. You have no idea how it happened or how you got there, but you still feel dirty about it regardless. Despite the bizarre trip sequence, I can assure you no drugs inspired this chapter. Just cheap booze. And Taunting HappyFunBall(tm).

Selected Lyrics from Mamma Told Me (Not to Come) by Three Dog Night are copyright Dunhill Records, used without permission.

The FLIR Conspiracy

Chapter IV - Three Dog Night

2007 by Eldyran

Klein paced in the cramp confines of a self imposed prison, but it didn't seem to help ease whatever it was that plagued the wolf. Shirtless, he wandered back and forth over the same well beaten path in his sparse two room efficiency. He glared over the few items adorning his living room: a cot, a crate filled with homemade pipe bombs, a fold out card table, a single metal chair, and what seemed to be a mountain of old firearms magazines piled up high against one wall.

He knelt and rummaged through the wooden crate one more time, trying to figure out what happened to his M9. The wolf's hard musculature tightened in obsessive panic as the search grew desperate. The service pistol was all that Klein had left from the Gulf War now, the last grim memento from a stint of misplaced patriotism. Regardless the how or why Klein had misplaced the piece, his Mafioso boss, one 'Fast' Eddie Coccotti, was not interested in excuses.

An enforcer without a piece was as effective as a knife without a blade.

Klein thought for a moment, one of his black lupine ears perking, and suddenly wondered why his boss hadn't checked up on him. Mr. Eddie had dropped him off at the Mariano pill house to keep an old pal in line, but the black wolf couldn't remember what had ultimately come of it. The stern wolf was pretty sure he had dealt with Sleazy Pete's roughing up of Mr. Eddie's girls, but why hadn't his boss called him about it? And why was a shifty Hungarian coyote breaking into his apartment on an almost nightly basis?

Klein growled and pushed the crate back underneath his cot, wondering of the loss of his M9 might be somehow related to the two.

In frustration the short black wolf gave a low howl and tore down a stack of magazines, scattering the mildew caked pages about the hardwood floor. The reading material fluttered a bit as they settled, concealing splotches of dried blood soaked into the scuffed floor. Klein marched over the the only window in his apartment and with a shaky paw, peeked through the blinds outside.

His agitation only grew as he wondered if he should go out tonight, find a bit of bloodsport, and peel the hot flesh from a screeching feline's bones. With the next 'Fang Gang' tournament in two nights, Klein found it hard to suppress such homicidal, sexual needs. Thats when he noticed the tremor in his wolven paw, and started to hyperventilate. He tried to blame it on Gulf War Syndrome, but certain parts of him knew better.

He couldn't go out without knowing where is service piece was. He couldn't go out without running into the shotgun toting Irish landlord. He couldn't go out and leave his sanctuary unprotected from the ransacking trickster coyote.

With a cry of psychotic anguish, the wolf ran to the sink in the adjoining bathroom and splashed some stagnant water on his face and muzzle. He panted into the shattered medicine cabinet mirror, seeing a multitude of gray furred, devious coyotes grin back at him through the spiderweb of silver and glass. Thats when Klein noticed the medicine cabinet was slightly ajar.

Curious, he opened it, knowing that he kept nothing in there. Instead, he found a partially used toilet freshener disk. Klein reached out with an tremulous paw and clutched it, wondering where the plastic harness used to keep it from floating about in the toilet's cistern was. When he brought it closer to examine it, his keep nostrils picked up the faint scent of gun oil. For once, his little obsession about cleaning his gun on a constant basis had done the wolf some concrete good.

Who ever had taken his piece had also handled this little blue disk.

Klein turned around to the toilet and flipped off the heavy porcelain lid, which shattered on the linoleum floor with a heavy crash. Slipping a paw into the scummy dark water, he felt around in the cistern until he found the plastic harness. For a moment, the black wolf hesitated, not sure if he wanted to know what present the gray coyote had left for him.

The last time they had talked outside the Mariano pill house, the Hungarian said: You know, its not nice planting booby traps in someone else's apartment, Richard. You might hurt someone. His breath frozen in his lungs, the wolf closed his eyes and yanked his paw out of the scum lined tank, wondering if he would blow himself to bits. When nothing happened, Klein opened his eyes, and stared down at the dripping plastic bag filled with a hundred or so blue and purples tabs.

Not sure what was going on, Klein stepped back into the main room and sat down at the card table, tailing drops along the way. He opened the baggie and sniffed inside. The tale tell scent of anhydrous ammonia waifed up into his nostrils, and while faint, it was enough to turn the wolf's nose away and almost gag. Whatever the gel coated pills contained, they had been cut with some form of methamphetamine. He sat the baggie down on the card table and stared at it.

He hated the drug scene, but at the same time it kept him off the streets, where the El Gatos Pride gang might drop his dismembered corpse down a sewer grate somewhere. Why the gray coyote would steal his pistol and plant a stash in his apartment didn't make a whole lot of sense, unless the Hungarian was setting him up for a fall or something. But why plant the drugs?

His floor had enough blood soaked in it to entertain the ghouls down at the Baltimore precinct for weeks. Possession at this point would be the least of his worries. And thats why he had initially planted explosive charges on his door if he ever went out; a little present for the boys in blue should they ever try to search his apartment for a certain little cock sucking fox corpse stuffed deep into his closet. The sudden spasm in his right paw shook the entire card table, and Klein attempted to steady it, with little success.

He grabbed it with his other paw, looked desperately at the baggie before him. His flesh crawled; his nerves burned. This physical sensation wasn't like the mental addictions he had came back from the service with. No, this was something eating him from the outside in. Klein continued to stare at the partially open baggie, the dark wells of his irises constricting into pinpricks of despair. The strict military training that reinforced his will started to crack, crumble.

His own fragmented mind whispered to him; just two. Two blue and purple tabs would take the phantom pain away.

Klein's paw fumbled inside the baggie and drew out five. Three slipped out of his jittery paw before reaching his muzzle, bouncing and rolling away on the blood soaked hardwood underneath his metal fold out chair. Fortuitous since the wolf would have OD'd otherwise. He swallowed them without water, without aid. Like a real wolf. He didn't even gag, unlike the first time Klein swallowed a thick load. With Klein's suckling muzzle forced down on his sheath, the other wolf told him he had been saving it since Basic.

Just for him.

The impassive black wolf just sat there, staring at the wall covered in lewd fox pin-ups. A couple of minutes passed, and a few of the fem, slender foxes started to dance for him, their red and white bushy tails weaving behind them. Klein just blinked, although the outline their sheaths made against their tight shorts was kind of nice. He rubbed the hardness hidden in the crotch of his BDU's and found a spot of wetness there. The wolf wasn't even aware of his arousal until he gave the length a good stroke through the material and a squirt of pre shot shot out.

Time started to drag. A few minutes, a couple hours, Klein couldn't tell. Sensations on his hind feet made him look down to five or more sets of black furred male fox paws that had emerged from a standing pool of dark blood underneath him. The vulpine paws caressed his bare ankles, enticing him like crimson sirens. Klein grinned, and stroked himself through his pants some more. He glanced up at the other pin ups on the wall, the ones of various females modeling off hosiery from tasteful lingerie catalogs.

Ms. Nakali smiled her sulfurous smile back at him, running her raven black jackal paws over the gentle curves of her bust and hips. Klein watched the semi-naked feminine body pitch and sway, her heathen gypsy dance fanning the hidden fires of his own gender-envious inadequacies. Klein wanted to be inside of her again. Curl up inside her.

Become her ....

Klein heard the faintest sound coming from the lock at his door, and with labored effort, turned his glazed eyes over to it. With an unceremonious click an intruder bypassed the the pathetic security mechanism, and the door with no apartment number swung open. Without announcement, preamble, the gray coyote let himself in, a small metallic box tucked under one arm, his other paw holding a half empty bottle of Morgan. Who ever he was, Mr. X seemed to be in a rush, but paused long enough to flash a wicked grin to Klein.

"I see you took my advice ..." the Hungarian said, looking at the door frame and lack of set charges. Klein simply stared at him, a small amount of drool forming at the corners of his slack muzzle lips. The coyote smiled, his obscenely white fangs twinkling in the sickly yellow light Klein's only light bulb provided. The yote's ratty black trench seemed to crawl across his greasy gray fur like a living oil slick.

"I hope you don't mind that I stopped over with a friend. I think you two should finally meet face to face." Mr. X waved in someone behind him in standing just inside the hallway, and it took a sinister snarl from the already rushed coyote to prompt his skittish mystery guest to step inside. Klein's right eye fluttered a bit as the hesitant white wolf stepped inside, carrying some trashed 70's portable radio. It took a moment for the short black wolf to realize that he instead looked at a tall, fat grub of an albino coyote, his anxious pink eyes flickering around Klein's now messy apartment.

If Mr. X's presence inspired apprehension, Grub there provoked an irrefutable sense of pity. It was clear the yote didn't care much about himself; rolls of fat and flabby muscle hung off his thick bones like sacks of wet flour. Klein could taste the albino's palatable stench from across the room, the white coyote's scent a gag inducting mixture of rancid sweat and dead fur. Mr. X closed the door behind the taller yote and wasted no time in moving Klein's cot to sit across from the placid ex-marine.

"So Richard ... how's tricks?" One of Klein's black ears flickered, almost at the same time the Grub shot his achromatic host an odd look, maybe wondering who Mr. X was addressing. "Come now. Don't tell me you don't remember Kelvin? You two practically grew up together!" Mr. X smiled again, his shark teeth huge in Klein's ever shifting, fish eyed perception. The smaller coyote turned to his chum and motioned him to find a seat.

Not having much option, Kelvin dumped out the crate of home made pipe bombs and flipped it over as an impromptu seat, scooting up to join the other two canids at the small card table. Through a cotton filled skull, Klein's mind tried to come to grips with why the crudely made nitroglycerin hadn't already gone off from the rough handling and blow them all back to Hell.

Maybe this little visit wasn't real. Maybe he was hallucinating it all.

Mr. X snapped his paw tips in front of the wandering gaze of the black wolf, too impatient to babysit. After regaining Klein's spotty attention, the gray coyote sat the small metal box on the card table, and soon afterwards, the half empty bottle of rum. Grub likewise set his radio down and just sat there like a good little bitch; whatever Mr. X had done to him had been Ace.

Without saying anything Mr. X flipped on the radio for some background noise. The trailing end of 'Stuck in the Middle with You' crackled out, and in perfect deadpan the DJ for K-Billy's Super Sounds of the 70's announced the next track.

"Well now ... what a nice spot we've gotten ourselves into now, huh Richard?" Mr. X screwed off the cap to the rum and took a deep swig before passing it over to Grub, who just folded his ears and looked down at the floor pathetically. The gray yote growled at him, and with some hesitation, the white yote tipped up the bottle to his pink muzzle lips. The portly Adam's apple of his throat bobbed up in down in short swallows before the white coyote set the rum back down on the card table.

_Want some whiskey in your water

Sugar in your tea?_

"I think we'll have ourselves a friendly game of poker. Hows that? Just us three?" Mr. X unlatched the small metal box on the card table, and ran his prestigious paw tips over the lines of multicolored poker chips. "And we'll talk about how best to deal with the black gypsy rat that's been staking out the cougar." Klein just shrugged at the two, not quite sure what the trickster was even talking about.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about racist piece of Kraut shit!" the Hungarian snarled out, his larcenous paws pulling out the deck and shuffling them with practiced grace. "She's been playing us since she started working the cougar's hustle months ago." A dribble fell from the corner of Klein's muzzle lips, and he just stared at the gray coyote, who punctuated his next statement with total sincerity.

"From. Day. One." Mr. X laughed when Kelvin looked over at him sheepishly. "See? Even jew boy here knows what the fuck I'm yammering about. Isn't that right, Kelvin? Why else would the cougar ask you to keep tabs on her, unless she was after the head of the operation up here on Cherry Hill herself?" Mr. X panted a bit, worked up. He calmed himself by dealing out five cards everyone at the table, but from the bottom of the deck instead of the top. He let the chips stay in the felt lining of their container.

_What's all these crazy questions they askin' me

This is the craziest party there could ever be_

"Five card draw boys." The gray coyote took another swig of rum before examining his own cards. Kelvin looked over the five cards laid face down in front of him and whined.

"But I don't know how to play." Kelvin whimpered out. Mr. X smacked the back of the albino's skull with a sharp whack, making his pink eyes water. Klein almost laughed out loud.

"Shut the fuck up and tell me how many cards you are going to keep, fuck face. The rules are simple. Even lummox over here knows them." One of Klein's eyebrows raised at the mention of the familiar insult. Mr. X just smiled back at the black wolf. "Oh yes. Did I mention Snowball over here thinks you belong in a museum next to the Neanderthals?" He jerked his out stuck thumb claw toward the sniffling yote next to him.

Klein snorted and laid a heavy paw down on his cards, pulling them up close to his muzzle before squinting at them. He could barely make them out let alone formulate a strategy. For a odd moment, Klein forgot that two semi-strangers had just made themselves at home in his apartment, his sanctuary. The black wolf looked over the brim of his fanned cards to the two coyotes looking back at him, and thought he heard a phantasmal, demented painter cackled with glee at the surreal poker game.

Blood started to run down the walls of Klein's apartment, the wood melting, warping at non-euclidean angles.

"Well Richard," Mr. X said, smiling with a muzzle full of bloody shark teeth, "How many cards?" Kelvin looked at Klein, and Klein looked back at Kelvin, either side of the coin wondering what chance to take. Klein peered at his hand: an Ace of Spades, a King of Diamonds, the Five of Hearts, the Three of Diamonds, and the Six of Clubs.

"Three ..." Klein said, his gut filling with queasy vertigo as his apartment tilted slightly to the right " ... I'll take three cards." The wolf wasn't sure what type of game Mr. X was trying to play on him, but he figured he'd go along with it for now and discarded.

"So wolf. What made you do her?" Mr. X interjected. Klein just looked at the dealer, growling softly. He continued on, regardless. "Was it because you were jealous?"

"Fuck off!" Klein growled low in warning. The gray coyote just grinned right back.

"Or was it because you liked to keep closet case here guessing?" Klein and Kelvin looked at each other puzzled at what the Hungarian meant. A sheen of sweat started to break across Grub's brow now under the intense stare of the wolf.

"And you? How many cards?" The gray coyote turned with a smug grin to his white guest.

"Thr ... three?" Snowball whimpered out, not sure what to do. Mr. X discarded only only one card and dealt out the second hand. The gray coyote grinned wider after looking at his new card.

"Well me fellow droogs, what have you got?"

The Hungarian turned to Klein, who just narrowed his brow and laid down his five cards. Aside from the Ace and King, which he had kept from the first draw, the second draw had not improved his hand. The Five of Diamonds, the Ten of Spades, and the Seven of Clubs equaled a whole lot of nothing. Kelvin, not even sure what the rules were, laid down his own hand, equal in disappointment. Mr. X licked his lips and laid out his lackluster hand also, but he came out ahead with a pair of pocket deuces.

"Well well well boys, looks like my ducks beat your garbage. I win the pot." Mr. X raked in the cards before either canid could say anything. Klein rubbed at his furry chin, his entire skin crawling now. Something didn't seem right, but his sluggish, easy going mind made it hard to put two and two together.

"Wait a minute there, Bohunk, you didn't distribute any chips." Klein lightly scratched at his bare chest with his wolven claws, his beady, distrustful eyes beaming at the Hungarian. They were almost worse than Gypsies.

"We aren't playing for nickels or chips, Boxhead," Mr. X beamed back, "I want your pants."

Klein blinked, taken off guard.

"Thats right there Panzerwuff, I want to see what is straining to get out of uniform." The gray coyote licked his black muzzle lips, a sort of lewd gleam filling the dark, endless recesses of his eyes. "Now. Be so kind."

Klein stared at the two coyotes staring back at him, and realized his erection hadn't gone down in the slightest, despite his inebriated state of affairs. He shrugged and unbuttoned his fly, his fumbling, unresponsive furry digits making it hard. Grub and Bohunk watched on, as if entertained, or more. With much effort, the black wolf pushed the desert camo pants down past his hips. The erect wolf cock spilling out of his black furred sheath bobbed slightly as the lupine bent over to pull his hind feet clear of the leggings.

The red, glistening flesh seemed to captivate Grub, his pink eyes following the bead of pre slide from Klein's piss slit as it fell to the floor. At least for Klein, a fox's muzzle emerged out of the blood lake to snatch the salty-sweet drop of nectar from the air with a flick of its vulpine tongue. Satisfied, the gray coyote turned to his rapt submissive, who was still fixated on the veiny wolf meat throbbing before him.

"Well there, Kelvin. Pony up. Off with your shirt." Mr. X said, rubbing the white coyote's back. It was enough to break the siren's spell, and Kelvin looked in horror to Mr. X.

"N ... no ..." He whimpered out, wrapping his chubby arms around his fat chest. Thick tears filled his pink eyes, eyes filled with shame and unbearable embarrassment. Instead of growling and further physical abuse, Mr. X just smiled again, petting the other coyote's ears, which were laid back across his huge skull.

"Well Kelvin. No one can make you. But you lost. And its worse to be a loser who can't pony up than a loser who has balls to take one for the team." One of Klein's black ears perked up at the same line the other wolf had used on him after Basic. This was all too surreal. Mr. X stroked the white coyote's white ears with a gray, soothing paw. "So ... if you don't want to take your shirt off ... why don't you get on your knees and suck on Richard's dick instead?"

Kelvin and Klein both shot a shocked stare to the Hungarian, not sure if they had heard it right. Kelvin sort of withdrew into himself, but Klein growled a low warning to the gray coyote.

"Easy there Bosch ... he lost fair and square. And its not like he'd really object to it ..." Klein tilted his head, curious to what the coyote meant. "Yeah. Don't you know what we have here?" Mr. X said, stroking the shy submissive sitting next to him. "We have ourselves a bone a fide straight boy!" For some reason the walls around Klein straightened, his once muddled existence snapping into over sharp-focus.

Don't turn on the lights, 'cause I don't want to see.

He looked at the cringing, scared white coyote and gave a knowing grin. To test the waters the wolf wrapped a paw around his thick wolf cock and pumped, another bead of pre welling up around the slit in his tapered tip. The white yote almost sniffed, his eyes braving another curious peek to the huge lupine dick getting handled only a meter away. Klein spread his black thighs a bit, and Kelvin actually leaned in closer.

Mr. X's grin was unmistakable. He leaned over to the other coyote.

"Why don't you go and have a closer look?" When Kelvin shot him a unsure look, Mr. X just stroked his big white ears reassuringly. "Why not? Its just us boys. And I know already. And its not like Richard hasn't had a coyote or two look at his junk up close before. Isn't that right Richard?" Klein nodded, the sensory pandemonium that had ran rampant in him solidifying now into a single concerted agenda:

To get this hesitant Grub of a coyote to gobble his knob and suck the juice from his balls.

Klein's bushy tail swished a bit behind him, brushing the hardwood floor. The pool of blood underneath him had disappeared, perhaps the wolf had just imagined that portion of this mind bending trip. For a torturous moment he watched the supposedly straight coyote mull over his own hesitation, his own repressed sexual curiosity. Klein's heart skipped a beat when Kelvin got up, slow at first, then plopped down on his knees like the good broken yote the wolf first took him for. The wolf's nostrils flared, snatching up the scent of anxiety from the kneeling coyote panting softly before him.

Kelvin's eyes locked on the other male's prick as Klein gave himself a few more gentle strokes, the palatable red flesh bulging on either side of his tightly clenched fist. The black wolf spread his legs even more, and let the inquisitive coyote get a good view of this furry sacs and sheath. Mr X watched on while discreetly unzipping the fly to his beat up blue jeans. He didn't want the zipper noise to startle the skittish coyote, and reached in with his paw to tease the pink spear of flesh slipping free of his own sheath.

"You like what you see, Kelvin?" the gray coyote asked. The white yote turned and looked at his blackmailer with wide eyes, not at all surprised to see him pull out his own slick dick. "Touch it. Aren't you curious to know what it feels like?"

Kelvin's ears flattened as he looked back to the towering wolf sitting in front of him. Surely he'd growl if he tried to reach out and touch that slick pole bobbing gently before him. The white yote barked softly when the black wolf reached out and stroked his ears with a reassuring paw. Those dark eyes seemed to invite him, and with shaking, outstretched paw tips, Kelvin reached out and grasped Klein's sheath.

The black wolf's head drew back in a pleasured, deep throated growl as the white yote's inquisitive touch explored him. Someone knocked hard at Klein's door, barely audible over the blare and crackle of the K-Billy station. From the other side, an infuriated goat shant cocked his shotgun, yelling over the racket.

"Turn down yar radio yo fucking dog! And I better see rent before I beat the shite outta ya!" If the threat stirred anything in the queer little party inside, it was hard to say. The three canids continued their sordid play without pause.

_The radio is blastin'

Someone's knocking at the door_

First the yote ran his paw up the root of the wolf's cock to feel the heat of the slick flesh. There, the yote played with the tip a bit till a gush of pre ran out and over his fingers. Kelvin's square nose flared at the runny liquid, now just centimeters away. Klein's other paw joined its brother at the back of Kelvin's head and drew him closer, watching the yote nearly lick his muzzle lips. The dumpy coyote's paws worked their way back down the root of the wolf's sheath.

Klein's eyes rolled back into their sockets as Kelvin rolled his sensitive balls around the pads of his right paw. The wolf's pucker tightened in erotic reflex, his bushy tail twitching a bit, unseen by either coyote. Kelvin's head turned back around to see Mr. X pump away at his own meat, the sight of two males' exposed cocks driving him in forward in unknown, reckless need.

Turning back around, Kelvin concentrated on the slight bulge forming just on the furry lip of Klein's sheath. Without realizing it, his other paw wrapped around it and squeezed, pulling up till his fist grasped the black wolf's tip, and then stroked back down. Klein shook his head as he hallucinated for a moment, thinking he saw Ms. Nakali passed out on the floor behind Mr. X.

_I'm lookin' at my girlfriend

She's passed out on the floor_

Klein shuddered from the surreal mind trip and gave a quiet howl of need, the sudden unexpected stroke sending a thick spurt of pre shooting over Kelvin's snout.

Mr. X and Klein both groaned out as they watched Kelvin's canid tongue lap out and snatch the tasty rope off his muzzle. The black wolf's already short patience ended then and there, and he gripped the white coyote's ears and thrust the square nose up against his rigid sex. Instead of trying to pull back, Kelvin sniffed deep at the musky flesh, moments before his pink canid tongue lapped out and around the bulbous knot filling his lust crazed existence.

Only a meter away, Mr. X pumped away at his own yote pole to the delicious voyeurism, watching the broken straight submissive get his very first taste of wolf cock. As his gray paw bore down on his own knot, claws grazing the swollen bulb in hard rhythm, steady spurts of pre shot all over himself. Klein could tell the mysterious orchestrator wanted Kelvin's virgin ass hardcore the way his mischievous dark eyes locked on to the kneeling coyote's flexing pink pucker. The black wolf had no idea why the gray coyote seemed to be holding himself back; the only way this little get together could get any hotter was if Mr. X knelt behind the little cock slave and popped his cherry while Klein gave the broken yote a wolven facial.

Perhaps only in one of Sleazy Pete's side productions, but not now. Mr. X seemed to know something Klein did not.

Instead Klein contented himself with looking down at the white muzzle, now pushing, nuzzling the bobbing length. The black wolf didn't even have to drag the muzzle up before Kelvin willingly took his thick canid meat in his white paw and steadied it, a split second before devouring it with his partially open maw. With Kelvin's wet, hot muzzle slipping down over his tapered cock head, the black wolf almost blew his load right then and there, throwing his head back in a pleasured whine.

Kelvin descended father down on the wolf's prick until the back of his tongue found the source of the tantalizing nectar that he had licked off the top of his muzzle only moments before. His muzzle lips wrapped around the veiny flesh, feeling every contour of the wolf's cock. With slight hesitation, his head bobbed up and down, pink eyes closed in rapture. Kelvin suckled lightly as he peak of his bob, and was rewarded with a tasty gush from Klein's fleshy tip. Caught up in his own pleasure, the black wolf used the white yote's ears as leverage as he pulled the wet muzzle back down, enveloping his shaft like a tight hot glove.

With no previous experience, Klevin couldn't get his muzzle all the way around Klein's pulsing knot, but the black wolf was too caught up in his steadily building climax to care. Instead he was content with just driving the yote's skull up and down on his sex, aching his hips up into the bitch's clinched muzzle. The sight of watching the upper half of his cock piston in and out of a self proclaimed straight coyote's muzzle proved too much for the black wolf, who felt the familiar itch in his prostate, and gave into it.

Klein's insides clench and he threw back his head in a thunderous howl, moments before gagging Kelvin with a torrent of wolf cum.

Mr. X whined as he watched the kneeling coyote choke back the wolf's huge load, half of it overflowing and running down the sides of Kelvin's muzzle. With one last stroke the manipulative voyer yiped and blew his own wad, which landed on the back of his cum swallowing, broken submissive. Kelvin shut his eyes tight at the sensation of being filled and covered in molten male spunk, a free paw gripping the crotch of his pants. He tried hard not to blow his own load at what was going on around him.

_Mama told me not to come

Mama told me not to come_

If he didn't have an orgasm around other guys who were, he wasn't gay then, right?

_She said, that ain't the way to have fun, son

That ain't the way to have fun, son ..._

Exhausted, spent, Klein and Mr. X slumped deeper into their chairs. Kelvin uncurled from his kneeling position, head down. Despite his overt play of humiliation, he never stopped licking his muzzle lips and fur of the new found, tasty cream. In the lull following the erotic peak, Mr. X panted and narrowed his murderous eyes, outlining the trio's next moves.

"All right boys, now that we are all on the same page, its time to take care of business. First, we deal with Eggplant's hubris, and then, we deal with the Gypsy's forked tongue ..."

Only a few hours later, Mr. Eddie triumphantly strolled out of Victoria's Wine House, having changed his mind on a pivotal issue. Rather than wash down some late night Filoncino with a box of cheap liquor store wine, he decided to pick up a connoisseur brand instead. In the end the cougar decided to pick up a bottle of 1992 South Bass Merlot, which set him back eight dollars. He had also stashed a fifty cent Don Mateo sampler in his chest pocket, intending to smoke the cigar after his late night snack.

The mafiso boss would have the pleasure of consuming neither.

Upon getting into his Mercedes Benz S600 and turning the ignition, a pipe bomb wired up to his gas tank went off. The inside job required a tightly interwoven breadth of diverse skills: demolitions, subterfuge, and physical sciences. As the luxury sedan exploded in a thunderous fireball of jagged glass and scorched steel, Mr. Coccotti thought, At least I got a good wine.

~Fin: Part IV~

Yes, the decision to include references to Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and Thompson's Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas are shameless, but how can one give obligatory nods to themes of crime and drugs without these iconic works?