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Imagine a world without oxygen.

No... A _universe_without oxygen... and then imagine a rundown vessel chugging along through the vastness of space looking for its next supply of air for its crew. You can pretty much guess how that goes...

It's total carnage out here.

We were a pirate ship, the Crimson Arrow, and presently set on a course for the nearest planet that supported life. But we were stuck, trapped in the never ending expanse of space; do you know how big that is? I mean, do you _really_know? Space is big. Huge, even. It's absolutely impossible to fathom how massive it is. The only way I could sum it up into words was that just imagine yourself dropped in the middle of an ocean with only a flimsy float to cling onto. It was that much of a terrifying thought. But still, we powered on...

My name is Lieutenant Korda Bough, and frankly I'm a little pissed off.

I help command the rag tag group of bandits we call a crew, and it's a little wearing. Most have all originated form the homeland Earth, but a few we've picked up along the way. But we all need oxygen. That's my job right now. I'm the mining supervisor. It's my lovely job to go down with the drill and make sure nothing goes wrong with the oxygen extraction process. You see, that's what we do. We have to scour wrecked ships or asteroid fields that offer pockets of gas. Then we purify it down, filter out the crap we don't want or need and then pump it straight into our systems. Our filter was damaged beyond repair and a replacement was nowhere to be found it would seem. We'd travelled light-years and not a single air purifier.

Right now I was standing beside the grinding drill, suffering its intolerable quakes and loud groans as it bore its way through the many layers of ice and rock until it reached its goal. The suit was clunky and cumbersome, and stuffed up my fur in all the wrong ways. Being a border collie had its down sides. Intelligent, athletic, spry, and devilishly handsome with our luscious fur - even if I did say so myself - but it was the sin of that fur that now caused me my discomfort. I huffed out a breath, sighing to myself as I leant against an errant rock that jutted out between the folds of rock. I watched as the sparks flipped and slid out between the invisible draughts of space. They were mesmerising, offering the only entertainment in the dull atmosphere down here. That's why I was pissed off. I was stuck with monitoring the damn pathetic drill again. It was a rickety thing, churning and barking like a dog well past its day. My head was already a cacophonous mess of migraines and headaches, and I could feel my brain cracking along its frayed nerves. Life was stressful, simply by its own nature alone, but stuck out on a stranded ship with two dozen or so men who were all cooped up like hectic chickens in a tiny run was impossible to contend with. I'm sure my blood pressure must've been through the roof; the captain remained aloof as ever to the goings on. He had bigger problems to contend with, such as rationing, supplies, repairs and surveying for the next oxygen deposit worth mining. It was my duty to tackle the morale, and with a load of men with no other thrill than their own paws, a well-used dirty magazine and infrequent spare time then things were heady...

Relations had begun to develop, and wherever relations were followed the issue of drama between the crew. Then it became my job to be the therapist, the listener, the couples' councillor... I hated being the go-between and having to patch up the leaking wrecks of anybody's between the covers encounters. The most ironic and funniest thing about it all though was that if you hang around with the depths of disparaging crevice between love and casual flings you find yourself taking a dip in yourself. But let's just say I'd taken a dip, slipped, and now I was neck-deep in shit. Thick, rank shit.

"Come in, Bough," A voice snapped in my ear, the sound sharp and digitalised, "How's the weather down there?"

"Delightful..." I drawled, kicking a rock scattering across the plain. It bounced once, twice, and then three times, gaining height until it began to drift upwards and away into the nothingness. "You reached the pocket yet?"

"Negative. Two yards more." The voice cut off in a sharp fizzle, sounding that I was once more alone to my thoughts.

"Just say 'no', you dumbass..." I growled to myself, under my breath so that my secrets remained between me and the lonely expanse of rocks. That voice belonged to the man who now held my life in his paws. Cabin Boy Grandall Harvard, though 'boy' was used very loosely; he was a behemoth of a man. Built like a brick house and with the strength of ten men all in one body, he outweighed and surpassed most if not all aboard. But, as one might expect, he relied upon his brawn rather than his brains, and whilst I'm not going to call him stupid, he just wasn't quite the brightest spark. He was sweet, sickly to an extent, but his heart was always in the right place from even attempting a vegetarian diet and by hugging random people when they seemed down. He was an impressive ram, with horns that curled and gleamed whenever I saw him tower over me, silhouetted against the light and with a dark glint in his eye as he'd power back those muscular hips of his only to then...

Basically, Grandall came to me a while ago after he'd gotten into an argument with the chef. He was questioning his worth to the crew, and saw himself only as a mule that lifted and broke things whenever he was asked. He was a machine, not a person in his own eyes. But one thing had led to another, and I never take advantage of my 'patients', and soon I found Grandall leaning over me, making me pant and moan as though I was the Cabin Boy myself back in the day when I had to serve the Captain. As things went along, and our nights became steamy and packed with liaisons even I care not to admit openly, they became bumpy. Just as I suspected, we were on two different pages. Him in his sweet mind believed we were special. I on the other hand saw this as a mutual way of releasing pent up need. We'd clashed, argued, and were now stuck at the point where he resented me bitterly and I had to deal with his shit.

God damn my job. Damn it and its stupid shit.

"You should be penetrating the barrier soon." I snickered aloud, about to make the quip to Grandall but he shut me down before I had the chance, "Shut the fuck up Bough and do your job."

Then the line cut again. I sighed, rolling my eyes to the rocks so that they knew my irritation. I'm not an arsehole. I know that much. If I was such a dick, I wouldn't care so much about having pissed off and hurt the poor ram, but I just wasn't looking for any kind of commitment. Fuck, Grandall wasn't even gay, but without a woman on board and he was short of options - what's to say if I started something with him that the instant we met up with another vessel he abandons me and goes for another woman? What then? I just couldn't take the risk to get hurt all over again after my last lover.

I braced the drill to slow its drilling once it reached the pocket, and placed the heat buffer around the puncture the drill had made into the asteroid's surface. It would stop the sparks from igniting the oxygen and causing probably the worst case scenario to unfold. The drill line would rupture, leaving me stranded on the asteroid - that is, if the explosion doesn't kill me. It will at least send debris scattering, probably shattering the floating heap into shards that gradually broke up into tinier and tinier pieces until it was just dust. I'd be flung hundreds of yards away, possibly miles were I to be rendered unconscious by the blast and unable to rectify my stability. Then I'd have a matter of hours left of the oxygen supply I carried strapped to my back - assuming it doesn't get damaged - until the ship could find me. That would be assuming if they bothered to look for me, or even manage to find me. They'd most likely hightail it out of here and avoid the giant asteroid fragments in fear of damaging the ship. I'd be left for dead.

Man over board.

It would only take a few seconds for the drill to breach into the pocket, and I knelt down, swaying slightly in the reduced gravity. I fastened the clamps to the ground and to the drill shaft. It was upon doing the last clamp though that my mouth went dry. I could feel my heartbeat swell up in my ears and threaten to climb the walls of my throat and dash for freedom. I suddenly became aware of how cold it was. Not just chilly, but sub-zero cold. Cold as a witch's tit...

There was a crack.

A fucking _crack_right in the buffer.

Hastily, and as fast as I could, I stumbled to my footpaws, swivelling round and making a mad scramble for the console a little away from where the drill was situated. It was like a jumbled moonwalk, propelling myself forwards as best I could with the backpack's thrusters, arm outstretched to hit the shut off button. I was inches away, my fingers nearly scraping along the plastic before the whole universe blew up in my face.

All it took was a single spark, I later found out. A single spark, so minute and infinitesimal in the grand scheme of life, had fluttered and swooped its way into that tiny crack and through the broken clamp; it travelled down, down, deeper and down until it nestled along the seam, just as the drill bored its way into the bountiful pocket of gas that would surely have provided the crew with countless of breaths. But that spark grew bigger, unfolded into a magnitude of rupturing flames and that licked and crawled backwards, retreating from its burning furnace deep in the asteroid and out into the expanse of space. You see in films that explosions in space are just like they are loud and violent, just like they are in an atmosphere, but it was quite the opposite to me. The explosion was deathly silent, and all I felt was the searing heat radiate against my back as I was thrown past the console, catapulted over and over, smashed on all sides by the fracturing rocks as I careened through the field. My visor filled up the glow of orange and red, intense colours that forced me to squint my eyes. I felt sick, spinning and turning in all directions until I was sure I was going to hurl into my helmet. It went on for endless moments, incomprehensible to me as I was sure I blacked out intermittently in the state of nausea I had, but soon I roused myself enough to equalise my fallout. I steadied, still drifting with the uninterrupted force from the explosion, but I was at the very least stable.

I wiped my visor with a charred glove, still airtight as I praised whichever deity had pitied me today, and looked about for the ship. Surrounded all around me were the drifting remains of what had been the asteroid and its accompanying sisters, now crashing into one another slowly as they found their new places in the field of dead rocks; for a moment I panicked, believing I would be left here alone to die. My grave would be in this field, buried into nothingness and remembered just as such. A simple name on a ship's log, spoken but rarely heard - my first thought would be that Grandall should be pleased. He no longer had to deal with my shit.

It seemed I was to be granted a second miracle by this kindly god. As the rocks cleared, and as I wiped down myself some more, I caught sight of the ship, an elegant beast that commanded an array of all the ruthless gear the crew could get their grubby paws on and plunder. It looked to be otherwise unscathed by the blister of an explosion, but it seemed I had been thrown quite a distance away. It was nothing more than a model to me, easily encompassed by my paws. Think of a toy ship in a bathtub as a cub, and imagine how small it was within your grip, how you wondered that this replica mimicked something so large. It was the same feeling now, and I swallowed a nervous gulp as I thought about how far away I was. Would they know to look for me? Or would they just assume I was consumed by the blast?

"Bough...?"

I could have leapt for joy, shrieking in happiness into my helmet as the voice came through, a bitter but welcome reminder to my reality.

"YES!" I yelled, voice elated, "Yes! Grandall, I'm alive!"

"Bo-... Bough, where ar-... Repeat, wh-... are you?" Shit, I was slipping out of range. Or maybe my communicator was damaged, or maybe there's had taken a beating in the explosion... Who knew?

"No! Please, I'm over... I'm just about a click or two away from the ship. Scan for me! Please!"

"Remain cal-... we'll course... -rect to..."

I could nothing now but wait. The tiny fuel cell I carried in my pack must best be saved to keep my oxygen pumping. I daren't do anything to threaten that. The ship would just swing around, pick me up in a shuttle or something, and then we'd be on our merry way... Easy as one, two, three...

I saw the ship ignite its engines and make an about turn. I wasn't sure what they were doing, but they seemed to be weaving erratically, first going up then twisting down at an alarming diagonal. The ship drifted to a standstill after much unyielding manoeuvring, and the panic began to ebb its way back. Something was wrong. That was what my instincts told me, they told me that something was throwing a spanner in the works, and I was about to hear the worst like the ship's computer was damaged, or the navigation array is offline. I steeled myself as the voice snapped into life in my headset,

"The debris fro-... -teroid field is too den-... break through. We'd dama-... hull if we ju-... our way towar-... and prob-... hit a rock that wo-... -o your way... end up crush-g you. We're findi-... -ther way around, so just sit... and we'll pick... up."

Then Grandall's voice left me again. I watched, soured by the news, as the ship lifted itself upwards with a bright burst of its engines as it extracted itself from the field. In my head I envisioned them simply flying their way around and stop somewhere just near me. It wasn't the best case scenario, but it was far better than what it could have been. I was still alive, relatively unharmed save for a potential concussion and a wounded pride; but the suit was still airtight, I had all my limbs, my oxygen was in tip top shape... All I had to do was wait...

That is, if I ever had an easy day.

Whichever god that was looking over me decided to look away for a brief few seconds as the worst unfolded. No good things come without their price, and this must've been it. A rock, about the size of a regular man, was twirling its way with silent grace towards me. I only noticed it because each time it began to spin on its axis it blotted out the light from the nearby star. With the flashing light, I turned my head to see it charging at me. I fumbled for the controls to my thrusters, the gloves brittle and ugly unable to hit the button in just the right way to move me out of its path. The rock, cold and uncaring, spun into me and slammed me with the force of what felt like a big rig. In space, there is no way to brace yourself, no way to ready against the blow of the impact, so I shot off like a ragdoll, winded and broken off further into the dark. I tumbled and slammed into rock after rock, scraping dangerously along the sharpened edges as I clung for the controls. I had to steady myself once more, slow my fall and try to find some balance. But something cracked, and I heard the sound of a tiny snip inside my suit. Something had broken, and on screen inside my visor suddenly all these warning lights lit up like the fourth of July. My eyes darted from reading to reading, try to learn what had happened. But the processing chip in the suit did the work for me. It brought up the single thing I needed to know - and the one thing I didn't want to happen.

'Oxygen Tank Punctured'.

I watched as the percentage of air I had left started to deplete. From what I had before, around an eighty-four per cent mark dropped within the next few seconds to seventy-eight. I could have cried, gasping now and trying to make my breaths as short and fleeting as possible. With the elegance of a drunken baboon, I clawed my way towards the back of my suit, trying to see if I could plug the hole with my paw. But the angles were all wrong, and I essentially just twisted myself and pushed myself into an exhausted pant that sucked up a good two per cent of my oxygen.

"Grandall! Somebody! Help, mayday, mayday; I've got a puncture in my oxygen tank. I require immediate assistance, somebody for the love of god please help me!"

My voice shouted into emptiness.

Oxygen levels, seventy-one per cent.

You never truly appreciate what you have until you're facing death right in your fucking face. I mean, I know it sounds cheesy and by god I just loathe myself for even considering it, but suddenly I just felt so overwhelmingly empty and afraid. I was cold, alone, about to die and all for what? A lungful of air? A new life? I'd grown up an orphan stowing away on ships from port to port until I became old enough to do something useful - though my only utility for several years was offering myself up to the pleasures of older men. I had never labelled myself as good. Such labels were immaterial when your business was to take what you wanted from the grasps of others. But I had never seemed to call myself bad either, and I know I've done some pretty shitty things in my lifetime, but nothing that wasn't expected of me, and nothing someone else wouldn't have done in the same situation. If I died, did I deserve a dark and grim afterlife, or was I entitled to something more bearably entertaining?

Sixty-five per cent.

"Hello?" I called out tentatively hoping for a response I knew in my gut would not come. The sound bounced in my helmet, but went no further. My mind flitted briefly to the age old question of if a tree fell in a forest but no one was around to hear it, does it make a sound. In the same respect, do I make a sound, or am I just going to be the figment of reality's imaginings, a faded shadow. Would I be smudged off the face of existence and my soul lost? Of course, I had to assume I had one...

The view of the star came into focus, and I squinted for a moment whilst I adjusted to its brightness. It was a vivid red, clearly nearing the end of its life, and I thought it oddly quaint that I too would share its fate. In an odd manner, I would die like it would. Alone, burning up what little of me remained until I had exhumed all that was available. I would then cease to be. All that would be left is a singular piece of physical evidence that attributed to my existence. A pitiful amount of fur, flesh and bones that accounted for my body; much like the star, who left behind a lump of dark space debris, I would leave behind a rotting corpse that would be left to the folds of space. Even then I would not last. I would eventually drift near enough to some foreign star, sucked into its gravity and incinerated into atoms and shot out in starlight, then nothing more...

Fifty-two per cent; the puncture had widened.

What was life then, if nothing more than a fancy passing? A chance encounter, where it just so happened that all the perfect conditions had been met to found the building blocks to creation; atoms upon atoms smash together in certain ways, turned into molecules. Molecules then bond with molecules, building greater and greater. Rocks cling to another in the force of gravity, forming planets, set into orbital rings around a beacon of fire and flame. Even then, life could only form itself on a singular planet, called Earth, and flourish there. Species grew, lived, and then died, constantly battling against the inevitability of death. My life, if not all lives, relied upon the key pivotal moments of all ancestors before. Were it not for these conditions, standing upon one another like a ladder with many rungs, it would be impossible to reach the point at which I existed, as to which I lived and breathed. Here I was, thanks to pure chance. What then, is life, if I would waste it with petty things like casual sex and bitterness?

Forty-three per cent.

I was going to die. I would drown in the midst of my own stale expulsion, my lungs shrivelling up into nothing until I was nothing but a lifeless body. I accepted that. But what I didn't accept was that I had made my life into a mockery of my luck. All the things I had to be thankful for, and I had been strung up by having a hunk of a man, no... a beauty of a man in both body and mind fall for me, and only to then turn it away for the whim of sexual fancy. Did I deserve to die for that? Would I be let loose into Hell for simply upsetting a lover, or would I go to Hell for only getting fucked by him.

Oh god... I just wanted to hear his voice...

Thirty-six... Thirty-five... Thirty-four...

I looked at the star again. Its beauty was at least a small comfort. I would not die in the dark, and though I still persisted with the icy chill that ran through my veins I found that the suit was warm. My breath, the carbon dioxide fresh from my lungs, was now beginning to circulate with what was left lingering of the air. I found myself haggard for breath, panting desperately as the air thinned. The visor was fogging up with the heat. Such little things that I found myself misting up over... I would never taste water against my lips again, or feel the softness of bread between my fingers. My voice would never laugh again at some dirty joke told by a crew member, my mind shall never entertain itself with a good book. But most of all, I would never feel the hold of Grandall against me, he'd never get to brush those warm lips against mine, traipsing down to my neck, suckling along the nape and making me moan into realms of bliss I'd never felt before in my life...

Nineteen per cent.

Perhaps I had acted too harshly?

Sixteen per cent.

Why did I let him go so easily? Why was I such a fucking idiot again?!

Twelve per cent.

I was crying now, blubbering like the cub I had been twenty years ago. Oh god Grandall please...

Six per cent. Five per cent. Please, god, no... Grandall, please... Three per cent. Two. One.

Zero.

Lights lit up, warning and flashing and blaring at me, telling me I was going to die. The alerts were all meaningless though, and sought to do nothing but mock me in the final moments. I wept openly as I began to choke. My lungs began to soak in the air it had just blown out, the carbon dioxide threading its way back into my system. I felt woozy, like the universe was shifting and phasing out of existence. I couldn't stop myself as I spluttered out my few remaining breaths in a frightened fit to stay alive. One last thing... please...

"Grandall, I love you..." I gagged, retching on the poison air, "It's too late..." I sucked in what I could, all that was left that I could muster, "...and you can't hear me, but I'm sorry and I love you..."

Then I slipped from my life.

---

I could just be a dick and end the story there. It'd make a nice tale to recount someday, but sadly times have changed, and so have I. But it didn't end there... It went further.

You might be thinking that in true cliché style Grandall swept to my aid just in the nick of time, resuscitating me and bringing back into the land of the living with my coughing and latching onto him, but it was quite the opposite. It actually took them a further twelve minutes and seventeen seconds to find and successfully retrieve my body. I'd gone into a coma, with severe carbon monoxide poisoning that almost killed me, and clinically I was classed as 'deceased'. Goodness knows what they did, and I can't imagine it'd be anything short of having come off the black market. Grandall, as the rest of the crew had, heard every word I'd said. My earpiece had been damaged in the collision, so whilst they listened to me die, I remained oblivious to their presence. According to the Captain, Grandall had been screaming and crying just as much as I had done down the microphone as though the sheer force of his voice would magically repair my systems. It left me dumbfounded how involved he had become with the whole ordeal, but what surprised me most was that for days on end in the infirmary, he didn't visit me once. I eventually began to think that the ram wanted nothing to do with me now after I'd made such a fool out of him.

But then he came one day, out of the blue, with a box of smuggled sweets he'd swiped from the chef's secret stash. He gave them to me awkwardly, treating the box as though it were a children's sketchy drawing of a house that resembled something more like an anthill. I thanked him as pleasantly as I could, though my voice was still raspy and my body recovering from the incident, and we shared the most awkward and tense silence I'd ever encountered in my life. He broke it, of course, in the gentlest way he could,

"I heard what you said," He stammered, "When you were... you know."

"Dying?" I filled in for him, raising an eyebrow as I tossed a gummy bear into my open maw. He shifted uncomfortably on his hooves, the fingers of his paws pressing and nudging against one another in wrought agonising pain that ran deeper than a wound might.

"Yes..." He said quietly, nodding his head. He looked so cute when he was struggling to get his words right, "Did you... did you really mean what you said? Or was it just the deliriousness?"

"Honestly... Probably yeah, I meant it."

"Probably?" His face fell. Damn him for picking up the details. I sighed out of exhaustion, tired of having to run rings around this ship as I avoided all the shit that happens. I guess it was time just to bite the bullet and face my own demons head on.

"Look, Grandall..." I spoke softly, shifting into a better sitting up position so that I faced him. His eyes were the warmest brown, like heated caramel that dribbled in that delightful way... "You haven't been the first guy I've slept with, you must've figured that out, and not every guy I sleep with I end up in a relationship with too..." His face fell darker, but before he had a chance to turn around and walk away, I reached out to catch his wrist, "But the last time I did I got hurt badly... He was cruel, Grandall, and I just gave up trying to feel then. I know you can't rely on me being practically on my deathbed each time you want me to speak openly and honestly with you, but this is the best I've got... I do love you, and I'm not sure what to make of it yet... But it's there..." There was quiet for a long time as he simply stared at me, an impassable gaze that watched me with a keen interest, as though calculating each word I'd spoken.

"Baby steps then?" He said just as quietly as before, with a soothing touch added to his otherwise husky voice. It brought a small smile to my face, for him to concede and begin anew. His forgiveness was what I needed most, and now I had a second chance to prove not just him but myself wrong.

"Baby steps," I responded resolutely, giving him a broad grin and wagging my tail against the padded infirmary bed. He glanced to the door, checking to see if anybody was around before he close the gap between us and pressed his lips against mine. My mind cast back to the void of space, and I almost started crying again as I revelled in his kiss, tasting it and returning it with passion, taking as much from it as I could to log into my mind. He lingered upon my tongue, and I breathed in a deep sigh as he broke off, whipping back to hospital covers to reveal my nude form underneath. His paw cupped my crotch, groping at my groin as he began to kiss and savour my neck. I moaned, out of my depth once more as he took him back to that realm we knew so well together.

It was a rushed and hasty fuddle with his buckle, letting his pants drop to the floor before he kicked them away. He wore nothing underneath, another dirty little detail that made me love him more. He yanked off the grubby looking top he wore and revealed the washboard abs beneath. His chest bulged with the power he'd honed over the years, and he was just as I recalled him to be. A large behemoth; a beast by all means but with the heart and brain of a child sometimes on his worst days - he leant over me, straddling me easily on the infirmary bed. His groin levelled directly with mine, and he bent down at just the right angle to carry on sucking my face. It had grown heated now; our kisses were no longer reserved and quiet. Each one came with its muted groan and slurp as our tongues battled in one another's mouths. He was winning, slowly, and began to overpower me. His thick scent surrounded me; his air was all that I needed. I became drunk. The pheromones, the pent up need... It was too much. He pulled himself back as he broke off, one of his giant paws stroking down his body with its pad before curling his fingers around the bludgeon he called a cock. It wasn't the longest on the ship - a donkey had him beaten to that title - but he was the widest. His own paw could barely reach around its entire girth, and it was a familiar patron to my backdoor. Already his own neighbour, my dick, was stood ready and waiting, drooling in the heat of musk. My knot was swollen and bloated, begging to be caressed and fondled with rough fingers. Grandall was too happy to oblige; he took our cocks within his paws, pressing them together so that my smaller size ran along the underside of his shaft. He ground himself against me, making humping motions with his hips as I sat and writhed in the sensation of slick flesh sliding across impressive meat. It was fitting almost, that the ram would have an appropriate tool credit to his name.

I felt every bump and grind with heightened sensitivity, my paws clawing along the tree trunks of his thighs. The sinewy muscle stretched and taut beneath the short fur, twitching to the digging of my paws - he was a powerhouse. He was more than just a machine. He was a formidable being, capable of many things. Yet here he was, gently thrusting himself against a male far smaller than himself with a touch that rivalled the fleeting glance of a butterfly. A gentle giant, even, should I have to label him. He kept up this frotting for quite some time, getting both our lengths slippery with each other's deposits. I was very much on the edge. After our recent tiff I hadn't had the chance to relieve myself quite as often as I should. Neither had he, it seemed, as he was eager for me to pull my legs back. When I wasn't quick enough to do so, he pushed my inner thighs apart with his mighty paws and then lifted my ass upwards. I remained cushioned by the pillow beneath my head, but I was now propped up against those massive thighs. I could sense each tiny movement as he wadded up a load of spit in his mouth before he let it dribble down onto the head of his cock and my hole. With a tender finger he circled my rim, pushing in with remarkable ease. Though, even as much as I was used to his size, he was surprised at my tightness. I rolled my eyes; what did he expect? Prolonged lack of liaisons meant I'd have slowly gone back to a ghost of my original tightness. To him I would probably feel like a virgin, except I wouldn't split in two or bleed. He slipped in a second finger, and used them like scissors, stretching me in all directions. For him, this would be enough by his standards, and once he decided I was ready he roughly pulled the sticky fingers from my rear.

I braced myself, ready for my second impact of the day; Grandall lined up his hips, taking a firm grip of his member and wiggling the head to find the hole in my cleft. Once when they were kissing - the very tip pressing against that warm ring - did he begin to push. Slowly at first before my grunts and winces descended into howling moans, then he made haste with his pace. Within seconds I felt those huge round orbs nestled just against the small of my back, rolling and jiggling against the base of my tail. His arms curled under my armpits and over my shoulder blades, lifting me up and towards him. I was forced to sit onto his lap, the cock impaling into me deeper. Panting like an exhausted wreck that I was, I wriggled and groaned against his body, held there by his immense strength. I couldn't find my breath; his thick cock head was jarring heavily against my prostate, and I leaked at a constant rate across my lap. My crotch was smothered in gooey pre. But Grandall didn't care. He began to buck his hips, gently at first, until he could become rough enough with me once I was loosened up. He might not have been a machine, but his cock was like a piston. It would power in and out of my hole like a well lubricated engine, driving itself with a great force. He didn't let up, not once did he falter or slow down. He kept going, faster and faster, harder and harder, building me to a point where I was gasping and huffing, the wind being fucked right out of me. I might have suffocated in space, but he always left me breathless no matter what the situation. I could feel every smooth thick inch glide past my rim and deep into the confines of my gut, reworking me into a sleeve for his cock. His manhood drove deeper still, finding a new division to pummel and smash into submission. It would not take me long, and whilst he could hold himself off, I could not. My balls ached with the need of release, and my efforts to stave myself were futile. I panted out my warning, begging him for the final strokes,

"Gra... Grandall... Please!" His paws latched themselves onto my shoulders, fat fingers digging into my slender shoulders and slamming me down hard onto his crotch. He went from tip to base in a few daring fucks, making me squeal and wheeze from the intensity, before he unloaded deep inside me. We came in unison; I exploded across his chest and my own, plastering our fur with the gloop of canine seed. Meanwhile, in my gut, he painted my inner walls with washes of white. It came in torrents, gushing deeper and trickling inside me. I felt the warmth snake and turn as it settled into the folds of my insides, plugged in by the ram's member. Though I soon fell flaccid, he remained hard, and he laid back, dragging me with him so that our sticky chests pressed together in a disregard for cleanliness - he basked in the glow of sex whilst I brought my breath back to myself, and I looked upon his features with a fondness I should have had before.

He could leave me breathless any day. Just don't ever leave me alone, Grandall... Please.