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This is yet another work of furotic fiction by me David Bennett, aka Damion St. James. By now you should be used to knowing my usual warnings and notices about characters being all my own, and the story being unsuitable for some audiences. This story I also let you know is a spin off of Tales From Apartment 232, and contains references towards a plot revelation. If you don't want to find out a HUGE secret about Renee's past, don't read and wait for it to be revealed anyway in the upcumming installment 15.

This story contains M/M and M/B love, or for the naive, man on man and man on boy relationships. In other words, pedophilia. If this offends you, then don't read it. If you are under age, then don't read it...but ehh can I REALLY stop you?

If you have any comments, email me at [email protected] , or post on yiffstar's forum.

By the way, a special thanks goes Micah Fennec for making this story series possible, Bill "Kooshmeister" Heirs for his recent help, and for everyone who convinced me that life is worth living. This story has taken me almost a year to complete, but here it is, ensuring that Tales From Apartment 232 is the longest running furry seires on yiffstar. Possibly in the whole fandom.

So here are the names of all those I want to thank.

Arran Middleton "Z-Jam-C" My husband to be

Kitsune25 Aka Michah Fennec

Graeme

Kiroki

Dwight Walker and his husband David #2 my current roomates.

Mike "NachT" Losik

Bill "Mein bunny" Heirs

and everyone else that was kind to me in the last year. This was the hardest year it's ever been for me, and I thank you all.

* * *

"The Jack of Hearts"

The telephone rang. It was sudden, loud, and annoying. It was enough to snap Agent Ritch Arran back to reality, breaking his daydream. Ritch blinked his good eye, and grabbed the multi-line phone to his right. He lifted the receiver and placed it to his ear, and pressed the button with the flashing light next to it.

"Drug and Alcohol division, Agent Ritch Arran speaking."

There was silence in the other end of the line, before a familiar and friendly voice spoke. "Ritch, your obsessive daydreaming again..."

Ritch smiled maliciously into the receiver, and turned in his leather high-backed working chair towards his left and looked at the cubicle across the way. A black panther breed of male was sitting in his own cubicle, reclined backwards in his own executives chair, a telephone in his right ear. The panther was wearing a white dress shirt with a pink tie, and matching white slacks. The panther left his feet bare, not everyone wore shoes anymore, and he was one of them. His hair was short, non existence except for the short fuz it was on the top of his cranium. His eyes were a piercing yellow, but were still beautiful. He was well built, from his years of working out, and bodybuilding in college.

Ritch raised his eyes, staring right into the panther's, and said "You're a dick." as politely and sweetly as most people say thank you after a sincere compliment.

The panther smiled back, flashing fangs as he hung up his receiver. Ritch followed suit, coming fully back to reality. Ritch gave his long fox tail a few swishes, as the panther stood and walked over to Ritch's cubicle. To the panther's immediate left was a plaque on the cubicle wall that read "Agent Ritch Arran: Head of D&A". The inside of Ritch's cubicle was decorated with four filing cabinets that were 70 years old, stacks upon stack of paperwork, posters showing your stereotypical meth labs, a drug toxicology diagram, thick books on hydroponics, a chart with pictures of the local drug lords and their real and business families, two desktop PC's, a lap top, and a telephone that was partially covered by an open file.

All that wasn't what caught the panther's eye, it was all the pictures of a different male red fox that struck the panther. It did every time he looked in on Ritch. There were pictures of the fox posing in a women's bathing suit, posing nude, and even dressed in a karate uniform of sorts. All sorts of pictures were posted on the wall behind Ritch's computers and to Ritch's right. A softcore adult video clip of the fox and a white mink played on the second computer. As the panther stepped inside he looked at the inside left, and saw a timeline of newspaper articles, apparently about the same fox featured around the cubicle.

The first article was from over 24 years before; an article about a woman who attempted to drown her baby in a restaurant bathroom. From a once over, she was fined, and jailed, then institutionalized. The next article pinned underneath the first was the adoption notice of the child. Then years later, around 13 years later there was a criminal record with "absolved" stamped on it. Next to it was a newspaper clipping with a story of a group of teenagers engaging in satanic worship and juvenile homosexual fornications. The record originally charged and R. Kubric with delinquency, underage sexual activity, sodomy, and satanic worship (at that time satanic worship was still illegal in his county). Then like flies, the charges were dropped one by one. R. Kubric was let off with a warning not to perform sexual rites until he was of consenting age.

The next clipping was from a San Fransisco newspaper, and had another picture of the fox R. Kubric, this time when he had to be in high school. Now his long hair had grown in, and was unruly worn down to his shoulders. He was pictured next to a pachyderm, and both were holding trophies of large size, and wearing medals. The elephant was wearing a title belt. The article gave a brief mention of a Renee K. winning the kickboxing competition for his age division, and coming in second place for the all around martial arts competition.

The next newspaper article the panther scanned over spoke of Renee Kubric, now Renee Morningstar, becoming the owner of the Camellia Dojo in Los Angles. The old master there had passed away and in his will had left the Dojo to the young Morningstar. The story also told that after he competed in the world's kickboxing competition to be held close to the date of the newspaper, he would re-open the Dojo and teach people of different sexual preferences how to defend themselves.

The article next to that was a very simple thing. It was an article stating that some long dead bodies were found in a house on tumbler street that Morningstar used to own. Next to that dated a little bit later, was an advertisement for a roommate that the panther guessed Renee took out.

The next article was a front page article, and the panther knew this one himself. The article blazed "Gay couple steal show at New Years Rooftop Bash". The article spoke about a large concert held on the rooftops of the tallest buildings in Los Angles, funded by a resident billionaire. They concerts were apparently a celebration as well for the wedding proposal of one N. Simonson towards Renee. The article talked about how contrevercial many people thought it was, and how several parties wanted to support and protest it.

The next article was from the day after the concert article. It was an article announcing a picture deal between Renee Morningstar and Universal Studios to act in a main stream gay themed movie. It didn't give much more details than that Renee still planned to box, and work his other jobs.

The panther moved forward, and scanned the next article. This article spoke of Renee Morningstar getting hit by a car while crossing the street in front of his apartment tower. Not much more than that.

The next articles had pictures as well. It was of Renee's wedding in a church in San Fransisco. Though there were pictures that looked as if Paperitzi took them of Renee and a rat that was probably Simonsen entering and leaving the church of Satan with a large group of men.

The very last article was only from 4 months before. A story run of the landlord of The Churchill Estates verbally harassed Renee Morningstar, now Renee Morningstar-Simonsen, and his son Cyric Morningstar. It also said he raped a roommate of Morningstar's named Asher and left him crippled. Later he shot a local Adult film and mainstream film star Ishanka Tani, leaving him in critical condition before finally taking his own life. It said the apartments were left in the possession of a pair of Ferret twins.

The panther licked his lips, and saw Ritch had turned off the softcore movie, and had instead changed it to a clip from Morningstar's movie. There was no audio, so their lips moved, but no sound came out. The panther didn't need the audio to know what Morningstar's voice sounded like. His voice was manly with a hint of feminism, a higher toned voice, but still a voice that wouldn't imply his sexuality on that alone.

The panther looked at Ritch, who seemed to be staring back and forth from him and the pictures on the wall, as if trying to give him equal attention, and still stare at the "altar"dedicated towards this Morningstar person. The panther wagged his tail in a long sweeping motion before he put his hands in his pockets. He felt his pocketknife, his keys, a large handful of change for the coffee machine and the snack machine, and his parking stub.

"Obsess much?" He asked casually towards Ritch, his voice deep and thick with a southern accent. Ritch snapped his attention totally towards the panther, and shrugged. The Panther looked at Ritch's clothes. He was wearing a black business shirt, black slacks, with a white tie emblazed with roses on it. Ritch was also in the barefoot habit. Ritch's business coat was hanging on his coat hanger behind him in the right corner of the cubicle. Ritch also had no right eye, and wore a black leather eye patch over the spot where his eye used to be. He had a glass eye, but lost it years ago, so he stuck a white marble in there that was about the same size of an eyeball, and donned the eyepatch. Ritch had Grey streaks in his black hair, but still looked good for his age. He kept himself in very decent shape. Though it was hard for the Panther to really tell how well with all the black. He could see the bushy tail of Ritch wagging behind him, with the odd little black tip on the end of it. It was odd, but he dismissed it.

Ritch chuckled and looked towards the panther, and folded his hands and rested his muzzle on top of the clasped fingers. There was a series of rings on his fingers. On his right hand was his College Ring - White gold with a red jewel, the Navy Academy ring - gold with a blue gem, and the FBI academy ring - White with a black onyx. On his left hand was a pair of rings. One gold plain band on his middle finger, and on the ring finger a gold band with 6 jewels formed into a rainbow pattern with red on the bottom and purple on the top. "Does it show that much?" Ritch answered in a tired sounding voice. It didn't mean he was tired, but he had one of those lightly chalky voices that hinted years of shouting.

The Panther made a face that said the answer was obvious and that Ritch already knew the answer. "Ritch, if the rest of my agents on homicide spent half as much time as you have following and researching this Fox as you have, I'd have every scum in Southern California hooked up to lethal injectors."

The Fox Smirked. He remembered when he was on Homicide. He put just about the same effort into profiling someone. He remembered well. He was often accused of being a Mountie because he always seemed to get his man. Things were different then, and that was Miami.

"Yeah, But then we'd be sent to where I already am - D&A." Ritch sighed in a lovelorn, reminiscent way. He kicked back and put his bare Fox foot paws on his cubicle desk. Next to his foot was a picture taken decades before. It was of himself and the same panther. They were under an archway, holding a bouquet of roses. It seemed so long ago. Ritch felt he had done it all: Dated, married, had a kid, divorced, became committed, then married again.

"That's true, but remember you got sent to D&A for obsessing over people."

Ritch nodded and grumbled. "Casey..."

The Panther pointed to his left ring finger. He wore a matching ring to Ritch's, with the rainbow jewels. "Casey was the reason you got demoted remember? You obsessed, then you stalked. You put yourself at risk, and you had me worried sick"

Ritch scoffed. "Yeah, Casey was the first person to profile ME. We had one another's number. Sadly Casey knew I was a slower draw than him." he said, turning his damaged side away from his husband.

"And he shot you in the head. You were in a coma for a year and lost your eye. Ultimately it cost your sight in one eye, a year of time, cost you your marriage to Carla, earned you a reassignment, and landed us here."

Somehow Ritch was hurt only by those last words. "What do you mean by saying 'landed us here'? You didn't have to come with me, you loved Miami."

The panther shook his head. "Do you think I would really abandon my best friend? Did you really think I'd let you go off to a new city alone? You were ready to kill Carla, and I didn't want to be the agent who had to cover up for you. Besides, you're closer to your son now."

Ritch grumbled and did not look at his husband. "He doesn't even know I exist."

The panther sighed, getting a slight headache. "We've been over this. Make a phone call, send a letter - or hell a greeting card. Let him know his daddy loves him."

Ritch turned and frowned. "I doubt a male in his mid 20's would call anyone daddy outside the master/slave community. Chances are the best I could hope for is a 'what the hell?', and that's if he hasn't thought of me negatively all these years."

"We've been over this as well.. You could have reclaimed him once you found him."

"True but do you think he would have came with me? Maybe he was happy with those people."

The panther turned around and went over the adoption papers. "Sure, right-wing extremist catholic conservatives. I'm sure he had a jolly holiday."

That was enough for Ritch. "You think we can change the subject? This isn't an easy thing for me to discuss."

The panther turned around and folded his arms. "How did your visit with Carla go?"

The Fox shrugged and moved his computer mouse around. "Same as last year. Her screaming at me that I ruined her life, that I'm the reason she's in State Mental still, that I knocked her up in the first place, that I should have ducked when I saw that stupid gun...that kind of stuff."

"Well, the attempted murder doesn't help her mental status either."

"No it does not. However the doctors don't want me asking or delving into that murder, so that's out of the discussion."

"Well it might set her off again."

Ritch looked at him incredulously, "Set HER off?"

The panther rolled his eyes. "Okay...but she was the one that tried to murder him."

Ritch nodded. "Yeah, she wanted an abortion all the way through the pregnancy, more so towards the end than at the beginning. Of course when she asked me, I said no. You know how dangerous abortions were back then, besides, I wanted the baby. I wanted to try the daddy thing."

"That went over like a lead balloon."

"Forgive me if it sounds insensitive or pig-headded, but I think - and thought - that pregnancy should be the husband's choice since he's the one with the 'ammo'."

"The problem with that logic Ritch, is that a man needs a woman to make a baby. A woman doesn't need a man to make a baby. That's where the idea that we men have a choice in our baby's futures falls through. Yes it is our sperm that makes the babies, but they don't need to get it from the source. They can get it from banks, doctors, or even buy it from street vendors. Anyway, you're shooting blanks now - why worry?"

Ritch turned his head to the side and groaned, giving his tail a few angry swishes rather than his normal cat like alluring swishes that were his norm. "Yes that, that was nice of Carla to have me sterilized while I was in my coma."

The panther could see that once again the topic was going sour, and just making Ritch feel worse. "Okay, well try to feel good that you're off soon."

The fox nodded and unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt. On his left wrist was his aviator's/ diver's watch. The large chronometer had a slide-rule built in, timers, and so many hands he felt he was waisting money just looking at it. Ritch did a lot of flying and scuba dives. It was how he would unwind while on his vacation time.

"Hey hun, have you thought any more on my proposal for tonight?"

The panther shook his head and sighed a very deep sigh. "Yes, and the answer is still no to your proposal. I've told you, I'm not having sex with you. I just am not interested in sex anymore."

"But," Ritch began, lowering his voice to avoid making a scene. He wanted to shout, but a federal office building was hardly the place to be having an argument over marital sex. "But we haven't had sex in a long time. Isn't that what good couples do"

The panther held up one finger and leaned in close, moving his handsome face near to his spouse's. "First of all we are a good couple. Second, sex is not required in any aspect of this or any marriage."

"Yeah perhaps, but isn't that the reason people get married in the first place?"

The panther shrugged, and stayed in close. "That's not why I married you. I married you because I love you and your company - not your sex or having sex."

"I thought you liked it..." Ritch whined, which deep down he felt was childish but it was something he normally did in his relationships when he was loosing.

"Obviously I didn't like it enough. We haven't done anything sexual outside the occasional hand job in the shower in 6 years, 11 months, 30 days, 11 hours, 57 minutes and 33 seconds."

Ritch leaned back too far in his chair, and fell out of it. The panther made a surprised face, and picked his spouse off the floor, and set him back in his chair, nudging it back towards the cubicle wall so he couldn't topple back this time. Ritch shook himself off for a moment before he looked up and said. "You mean that in 3 minutes it will have been 7 years since we last made love?"

"That's correct."

Ritch tried to think on that. "And you kept track of this?"

The panther nodded. "Implicitly. I try to avoid sex period, so I've kept track of how long I've managed to avoid having sex with you. Not that it's been easy."

Ritch got the sensation he needed to remove a rusty sword from his heart. "That...that's cold hun...that's almost obsessive..."

"You have your obsession over Renee Morningstar, and I have my obsession over our dry spell. To each our own obsession."

"But...why won't you make love with me any more?"

The panther stood and scanned the other cubicles on the floor. The digital clocks hanging from the ceiling said it was near 1500, so most of the D&A side of the floor was gone by now. The panther dragged his chair over and sat down, leaning in close. "Ritch, has anyone ever told you you have a very large and very long penis?"

Ritch stared blankly. "You, Carla, and the few guys I fooled around with back in navy academy - why?"

"Well your penis is very big. To many that's good, and it is a good thing, but to some like me it's scary and painful."

Ritch tilted his head. "You never told me it hurt, even when I knotted you."

The panther twitched for a moment, and squirmed in his seat, remembering the sensation. "Pain diversion and pain tolerance was part of my training Ritch. Just because I could minimize the pain, that doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

Ritch's eye looked about, as if trying to find a suggestion. "Well how about you top me?"

The panther shook his head once more. "My penis goes no where. I top no one, not even you."

"Okay, well how about just oral then?"

The panther chuckled softly. "No."

"But oral isn't topping or bottoming."

"Yes perhaps, but I don't like the taste of penis or semen, and I don't like how many germs are involved."

"But I could blow you..."

"Eww. Do you know how many germs are inside your mouth?"

"No. But I could use mouthwash first."

"Not going to happen Ritch. Then you'd be putting cemichals on my body."

"Jesus! Then why do you even share a hand job with me?"

"The shower is a clean, sanitary, sterile, and soapy place. That and no semen gets on me."

"Y-you're joking right?"

"I never joke Ritch. I don't like germs or chemicals."

"Well hun what about my needs? I'm...very frustrated right now."

The panther pointed a slightly annoyed finger at Ritch. "I got you a membership to the local bathhouse. Now isn't that enough?"

Ritch whimpered, starting to whine again. "But I want to sleep with the man I married..."

"The chances of that happening are the same as Portland, Oregon winning another sports championship."

Ritch chuckled in his head. "I see, so never I guess."

The panther nodded. "That's about right. Now are you going to work out in the gym tonight?"

Ritch picked up a pencil in a cup on his desk that was full of standardized test ready, sharpened #2 pencils. He picked one up and then dropped it back in. It made an innocent clink when it hit bottom. He repeated this a few more times, not willing to accept defeat, yet he knew the ship of failure had long sailed years ago. "Yes but you're avoiding the subject."

"Of course I'm avoiding the subject because there is nothing to discuss Ritch."

"But-"

"No butts!" The panther interrupted. "Just remember to come back home okay? Tomorrow is our movie day."

Ritch thought about that. He was angry at his husband at that moment, and he really didn't feel like spending his day off watching TV with him. He wanted to be having wild passionate 12 hour sex sessions like they had done once upon a time. Once years back they couldn't keep their bodies apart, now Ritch was lucky to get a piece of hand out of his reluctant feline life partner. Regardless of the lack of carnal fornications, movie day was still special. It was at a movie theater that they first met. It was a crowded movie theater in Florida years before. They never noticed at first, but they eventually noticed they always shared the same two seats. They were just a couple of kids, and had a good time, and became good friends. Soon they were hanging out after school, then going to the same high school, then went into the service together, FBI, and finally marriage.

"What movie are we watching tomorrow?"

The panther smiled evilly and said, "I pulled some strings for some favors I did a while back. I have the 'as is' Morningstar Universal studios flick."

Ritch who was still pencil dropping, snapped the pencil in half and looked at his spouse. "No - you're shitting me! That movie just came out!"

The panther just scooted back a little bit and nodded.

"You're serious? You honestly have it?"

"My informant for the McNairy case of 89 owed me a favor in exchange for the nifty new life we gave him. He got himself a job at Universal as an editor. So he took a reel and made a DVD real quick before anyone noticed the reel was gone. I did it because I know you have your reasons for obsessing over Morningstar, but I wanted to let you know that despite the lack of cocks going in one another, I still love you more than anyone on any world."

Ritch almost pounced his husband. Instead he aggressively pulled him close by his tie and brought the pair into a deep and affectionate kiss. The panther made a startled noise, but then closed his eyes, and groaned very softly in his deep and baritone groan into Ritch's mouth.

Ritch broke the kiss when he was satisfied. His husband would never fail to find new ways to anger and please him. Ritch pulled back and kept a hand on his husband's tie like it was a leash....mmrr...pleasant flashbacks of kinkier days.

The panther, not missing a beat, slipped a Listerine strip onto his tongue, from his pocket, and said. "Tomorrow at 1500 love. Don't be late."

Ritch smiled and said. "I'll be there."

* * *

Ritch's arms ached and burned. He was going a little farther than his normal limit on the weights today. Sweat dripped down his brow, his headband only helping to sponge up the body coolant slightly. The temperature despite the room's ventilation system was a bit stifling. His tank top which was normally navy blue was soaked black with sweat. The yellow FBI letters on the front of his shirt were not a blackish dark yellow. His spandex shorts which were a matching blue enblazed with with a yellow FBI across the thighs at the bottom of the knees, were also black with sweat, and clinging tight.

"Good - good Ritch, but I think that's more than enough reps for today."

Ritch growled feraly, and did another rep. "Not on your life (-groan-) 30 more!"

Unger, Ritch's Roo personal trainer, was a monster of a body builder. He had trained Ritch to get the body he wanted - witch despite it's lack of bulk had some of the best muscle tone in the state of California. Unger was proud of how Ritch had developed. He knew Ritch didn't have it in him to become huge, nor did he want to, but with only 5% body fat, Ritch was a beauty.

Unger reached out a hand, and politely stopped the bench pressing. Ritch groaned, and flexed his hands inside their fingerless gloves. He wanted to keep going. He had so much pent up energy, he had to find some kind of outlet to release it. "I said I wanted to do 30 more."

The Roo leaned down over Ritch's face and shook it, eclipsing the light above him. "You're lean and mean as it is Ritch. 100 plus reps at 175 pounds is a very decent days work I must say."

Ritch sat up and took an offered towel from a passing towel boy. The towel was warm and dry, but really helped make him feel drier. "You do 150 reps at 225 pounds Unger." Ritch said, wagging his fox tail.

Unger laughed, as if he had just heard a hilarious joke. "Have you taken a look at my pythons lately Ritch? I have a different body to maintain. Now you don't worry about my workout my government agent fox. You need to slow down and eat some Big Mac's or something, lots of fries."

Ritch shrugged. "I already eat a lot as it is. It's like, no matter how fattening or carb saturated my food is, I can't put on any weight."

Unger nodded a little bit. "But remember, you have a totally different metabolism because of your regime, as well as you're a fox. Lets not forget your age too."

Ritch snickered, wiping his face with his towel. He felt much cooler now. "Thanks, I mean really - I like knowing I'm 20 years older than my personal trainer."

"Always glad to be of service, it's what you pay me for." Unger said as he started to massage Ritch's shoulder's. His hands were awkwardly soothing. It hurt, and felt good at the same time. He sighed and rested back into it, letting the large hands mold him like putty.

Unger wasn't gay, but willingly took on the project of the already toned Ritch. 5 years ago, Unger knew he'd get some various flavors in his clients, but Ritch was his favorite. Ritch always - strike that - Ritch most of the time stuck to his workout plan, and always showed up unless he was too sick to move or broken. Ritch had shown the best results, and had earned the pair of them several medals and trophies to prove it. Unger didn't mind some slight physical contact, perhaps a flirting grope, but wouldn't cross the line of his solid heterosexuality. He was comfortable, as in he'd wear the other team's jersey or might sit on their bench, but he wouldn't bat for them. Ritch was the first guy he'd ever let touch his groin or butt, and Ritch was the first guy he'd ever touched. It was just a playful grabass game, or accidental slips. Most commonly and most prudently, the time that the contact happened as when the pair were greasing one another up for a muscle competition. They had to touch then, but Unger was very pleased Ritch never made anything of it, which is why he was willing to continue being Ritch's friend and personal trainer, and workout partner.

Unger then let the hands rest for a moment on Ritch's shoulders as he looked at Ritch's left arm. 5 new rose tattoos had appeared on a vine of roses that crept up his arm, across his torso (front and back) across his groin and buttocks, and down his right leg. Unger was amazed at how the roses had "grown" in the last 5 years he had known Ritch. It was some of the most elegant body art he had ever come across.

"These new?" Unger asked. Ritch picked up his water bottle and took a swig of his Gatorade. It tasted like lime flavored urine, but it would keep him hydrated. He finally nodded, taking in the sights of the gym around him. He watched a pair of pit bulls boxing in the boxing ring, a grey wolf and a zebra wrestling on some mats, a jaguar and an impala running on treadmills, and the amazon herself Dawn the dragoness. Dawn was one of those women the term "Brickhouse" most exemplified. Unger would bend her over in a heartbeat, if he didn't already know that she'd rip his tail out at the root.

"Yeah these are all new. I captured 5 last month, and got the roses done up a week ago."

Unger sighed in admiration and moved the back of Ritch's tank top to get a better look. "They're all different sizes and colors..."

Ritch snickered. "That's simple. If it's a small one then it's a small time criminal. If it's medium or large, then its a big time crook or a crime boss, and the enormous one that takes up most of my back is a serial murderer. The reds are for murderers, the yellow are for druggies, pink for sexual predators, and white for terrorism."

Unger whistled and stood, taking a drink of water form his bottle. "Ever worry someone is going to get you?"

Ritch laughed to himself and flexed his muscled arms. "That's why I work out. After loosing my eye, I don't want to loose anything else."

Unger said in a tone as if to suggest a change in subject, "Well we have a body building experiment next week. Pick out a good thong cause it'll be a big crowd. I'm competing in the heavyweight division as always. You're going in the light-heavyweight division."

Ritch nodded and tightened his gloves. He then stood and looked longingly towards the showers, feeling dirty. "Sure, do you have a color preference?"

Unger thought on it and looked Ritch over. He lifted Ritch's tank top and saw the 8 pac of abs, well pronounced hip bones and pelvic lines, toned pectorals, and to top it off those beautiful rose tattoos. "Navy blue looks good on you. Nothing to contrast your fur too much. Oh and think real small on that thong. I can see you got a nice package, but I want you to wear something that covers the bits, but leaves nothing to the imagination as well."

Ritch rolled his eye. "Oh stop it Unger, we haven't even started dating yet and you're already picking out my underwear? How cute."

Unger dropped the shirt and backed off as if scalded. "Whoa, I wasn't going there."

Ritch chuckled a bit more, and then patted Unger's back. "It's okay, I'm just flirting. Anyway I'm going to go shower and then get some Big Mac's/"

Unger started walking away and said over his shoulders. "With extra sauce!"

"I'll get some extra sauce alright." Ritch said under his breath in a sneaky and jesting way.

* * *

The shower relaxed Ritch so much he didn't want to leave. He stood in nothing but his jock strap, being soaked by those wonderful jets of water. The water was at just the right temperature, and soaked his gorgeous body to the bone. Even homophobes complimented him on his bodywork. He normally wore his patch into the shower, but he wanted to soak his face. He had his leather patch lying with his clothes. Ritch had a white marble in the socket to fill the hole, wore the patch for effect and for his own comfort. In the showers he was able to feel far less embarrassment, mainly due to the fact he felt "naked" without his patch. He knew he would feel just like the others in the showers. He wasn't afraid of nudity, but kept his jock strap on to prevent any unwanted erections.

It was getting late, and he was the only one in the showers. He was loving working the shampoo into his fur, lathering himself. If not anything, this was sexually arousing to him. He could never figure it out, but ever since he was 7 years old, he always got very horny from soaping himself. It made showering with the boys in the academy very awkward. He reclined and felt his crotch. His sheath was fully swollen, and his shaft was fighting the fabric of the jockstrap. He was tempted to just give in and get naked, but then he'd be inclined to masturbate.

Just as he was starting to rinse off he felt the naked furry sheath of another male press against his buttocks, as a pair of arms wrapped around him. The tiger stripes were familiar. He didn't panic nor did he attack. He remembered his training to assess the situation first.

He felt the male harden, and began to press the emerging feline shaft against his tailhole. "Roman? Is that you?"

He felt the tiger nod, and start to insert himself. Ritch gasped, and before he could scream in any way (pleasure or otherwise), the tiger wrapped his hand around his muzzle and clamped it shut. He blinked his eye rapidly, and moaned in a confused pleasure, as his rectum was filled with tiger cock. He knew this might seem odd to someone passing by, but most people abstained from the showers late at night anyway. The tiger withdrew and started humping.

"Do you have what I want senior federalie?" The tiger asked, continuing to hump the fox. Ritch knew roman well. The only reason Roman wasn't a stain right then was that Roman was an important informant for the FBI; reporting gang activity and other things in exchange for having the feds look the other way on his own crimes. There was that, and Ritch loved the cock in his butt. It was how most of their deals went down. An exchange of information and bodily fluids. Sure it sounds slutty, but it is how the pair have worked for years. Strictly business, strictly sex.

Ritch nodded his head. The tiger growled and happily filled Ritch with semen. Who ever said that Roman took long or the sex was fulfilling? Roman released his hand and slid a laminated card into the front of Ritch's jock strap.

"There you go senior, sperm and what you asked for. Now, where does the cocaine come in?"

Ritch's 3 priorities in his life was his husband, Renee Morningstar, and reuniting with his son. His job was further down the list but it was in the 10. Supplying roman with drugs was just a fair exchange. He never sold it, he just used it himself.

"Los Angeles, a truck with food bound for Queen of Angels Hospital will stop there. Between the hours if 6pm and 7pm it will be parked there. Tomorrow. Display black flag." Ritch said. "$5,000 worth of the stuff, all yours, along with...well...you know."

Roman laughed and gave Ritch's ass a second round. This time he only lasted 10 minutes. Oddly this helped Ritch loose his erection. Since he was in no way in love with Roman, it made him easy to calm down.

Roman pulled out and was gone in a hurry. Doubtlessly Roman would need to get his transportation and his troops together , and be ready to fight for his prize if needs be. There was the L.A. FBI office, and the D&A head their may have had the same lead. Oh well the exchange had gone down, he was not responsible for Roman's safety.

He walked to his locker leaving Roman's "charitable" sperm donation in his bank. He pulled the card out of his jock strap and set it down. As he slipped out of the jock strap and into his string bikini high-hipped underwear, loose jeans that left the straps of the underwear visible, and a short black T shirt that stopped above the navel. He felt a teenager, but that is "the look" no?"

The straps of his bikini bottom were yellowish white against his orange fur. Once dressed Ritch threw on his leather jacket and eye patch and put his gun in it's shoulder harness. Only then did he look at the card.

It was a tarot card, or so he thought. An advertisement with a tarot card's design on it. There was a sword pointing upwards with olive wreaths around the sword. The card read:

"The Ace of Swords Nightclub

Enjoy a nice and peaceful club

Pleasant Women

Explore your inner child."

The rest was the address, phone number, and other information. "Explore your inner child" was highlighted. He looked at the bottom of the card and there was a note in Spanish. Ritch translated it to himself.

"Federalie,

I know what you like. This club is perfect

for your needs. I owe you big for the last

meth lab you let me raid. I talked to some

ex-cons, and this is the place for your

special needs. You of all people know it's

a secret. Leave your gun and federal ID in

your glove box. They will search you. If

you're as good as I think, you'll figure out

how to get in. Just remember, 11 is your

lucky number."

Ritch held his hand over his heart. His deepest fantasy was coming true. He had to contain himself, one thing at a time. Getting out of the locker room was a good start.

* * *

Ritch arrived in the Red Light district of San Diego rather quickly. As Roman had instructed, he put his gun and his ID in the glove compartment and even stopped to change his government plates to fake California plates. Ritch was going to take no chances. He saw pimps, drug dealers, and hookers. If he was on duty he could have a field day with arrests.

Ritch pulled up in front of the club. The Ace of Swords club had it's neon sign pointing down, which Ritch found odd. He left his jacket and the card in his jeep and got out, the concrete was cool against his tired feet. He could not believe what he was about to do.

He walked across the street and up to the door of the club. A male coon was taking admission at the door.

"9 dollar cover charge tonight." The coon said in a bored voice.

Ritch handed him a 10 and told him to keep the change. Ritch stepped inside and was surprised. The card had dual meanings apparently. Traditionally the ace of swords in a tarot deck meant perversions, orgies, homosexuality, deviations. The club inside was actually modest, clean, and heterosexual. The card had said "pleasant women", but most of the women were still clothed. They were dancing, but in costumes. Nothing made sense. How was he going to...

He made a frustrated sigh and sat at the bar. A haughty, and darkly beautiful female collie was working the bar. Her eyes took him in as if he seemed out of place to her. Ritch really started to feel out of place with his bikini quasi visible and his ripped arms in his short sleeves, and the tight jeans he was wearing. Or perhaps the rings on his fingers were going to be a problem.

"Wow, you're hot." She said as she poured him a glass of water.

Ritch chuckled as he mounted the bar stool in front of her and shrugged. "There was a time when I thought so, and a compliment like that earned you a night in my bed."

The collie snickered and finished pouring the water, and moved a bottle of cold Budweiser in front of him. "And what does that get me now?"

Ritch Grinned and chuckled nervously. "A big tip."

She shrugged. "Cash is always night. I love you - your look. I love your tats, your charm, and everything else. Why haven't I see you in here before?"

Ritch decided some truth was in order. "I'm married and I work a lot. Between trying to make things worse with my spouse and getting my work done it doesn't leave any time for social graces."

She made a face that could have meant something or nothing as she tended another customer who needed a refill. "Well that's allowed. We get a lot of married men in here."

Ritch sipped his water, and then on the sour Budweiser and realized perhaps he should have done it in the opposite order. "I'm different."

The woman just kept on smiling at him, possibly undressing him with her mind. Ritch if he got another couple beers in him would probably undress for her for real if all she wanted was a cheep thrill like that. The register at the opposite end of the counter rang. A rather attractive male white mink was working the bar. It reminded him of Renee Morningstar's on film sex partner. What was his name? It always eluded him. The female clearing her throat brought him back to reality.

"Yes? Sorry."

"I said, what's your poison?"

Ritch looked at the beer he had, and tried to not look unsatisfied. "Well is the bud free?"

She nodded. "You get free water and one free complimentary bud to start."

Ritch could not help himself and gave her a sly look. "Is that why you complimented me by saying I was hot? Complimentary beer?"

The collie looked at him funny for a few beats as she tried to digest what he had just said. When the joke finally sunk in and got her, she smiled. "No, I just think you're sexy and wouldn't mind bumping into you in the alleyway after work." She said.

Ritch was a little taken aback at her manner, but perhaps things had changed since he was her age. Perhaps it was appropriate to just come right out and say you want to flat screw someone. In his day if a woman said that to a man she was a whore or a filthy slut, if a man said that to a woman he was considered a player and applauded by his fellow men. If a man said that to another man they normally got the shit kicked out of them by anyone nearby, and if a woman said it to another women, normally every man within listening distance wanted a piece of the action. Things now a days were much different yes.

Thinking as for a drink, he said. "I'll take a Mike's Lemon Lime."

She raised her ears a little in surprise, but produced the bottle of clear liquid. "$3.75 plus tax.", and Ritch nodded softly and slid her a 5 before taking his two drinks and beginning to walk around.

Ritch balanced the two drinks, by sipping on the particularly unpleasant Budweiser and chasing it with the Mike's. It truly was not the best flavor combination, but it worked. Females all over the club were hitting on him, asking if he was one of the dancers from a local gay bar and such. He went along with a half truth, not answering weather or not he was a dancer or not, but telling him he was a professional bodybuilder.

It was when a table full of collage girls were taking turns lifting his shirt and putting 5 dollar bills in his underwear when he saw it. Over one blond mouse's head he saw a sign on the wall that read "Tarot Readings Done Here". He politely told the girls they could see more of him at the upcoming bodybuilder's show, and gave them each a little kiss as he set his beers down and bolted towards the door with the sign on it. He knocked, and why he expected an answer was beyond him. He opened the door and there was a hallway with a door at the end of it, and an open room with no door to his right.

Looking into the room, he saw that it was occupied by a lioness. The lioness was heavyset in Hatian garb. Incense...he noticed it. The odor of the incense was thick. He was sure was implications of voodoo in this room, but that was not his worry. His worried over weather or not his sex drive would get him into trouble.

"Come stranger, what is your deepest fantasy?"

Ritch looked at the large breasted lioness, and blinked his good eye. He was entranced by the almost grandmotherly aura she threw off. He put his hands out at his sides. Good, show her you're unarmed. "I wonder if you could help me with my fantasy." He said in a voice that, while neutral, hinted at some eagerness.

The woman chuckled, and sipped on some tea. "Of course, but you have to come in first."

Ritch disliked religious stuff. Voodoo...he had heard some horror stories from some New Orleans agents. They were sorted stories of agents investigating crimes committed by voodoo practitioners, and the arresting agents would always be struck down with inexplicable illness or even death. For instance, there was an agent Spears in New Orleans whom had arrested an entire clutch of Voodoo priests, and a month later he was diagnosed with 4 different types of sexually transmitted diseases - yet Spears was a devout Christian and was unmarried, and didn't even masturbate, so his condition yielded some concern.

But, perhaps part stubbornness and part bravado, he walked in and sat in the cushy seat she offered. She stared at Ritch as if she knew him. It was slightly unnerving to Ritch, to have this woman stare at him as if they'd met before. Oh sure, Ritch was a regular at the Shrunken Head country club and when he wasn't busy playing golf and discussing the finer points of voodoo doll making, he was having lunch with this lioness. Right... unnerving was an understatement of how he was feeling, though he stuck to his training and only moved when she moved, and talked when she talked. It was important to let her lead the "dance".

The woman had been doing a tarot card reading, or she had just started one. Tarot cards were sprawled out in front of her in all sorts of different arrangements. Ritch knew a little about them, however didn't know the intricacies of the art. It was like a basketball player that could say he could shoot a basket and dribble a ball, but he couldn't tell you how the game is supposed to be played. Ritch knew that each card had it's own individual meaning, and when they're paired or lined up with other groups of cards it means different things. For example, The lovers and The Seven of cups usually means pregnancy. Or the Tower by itself was great peril and turmoil.

"I think this is the card you wanted sir?" She said without looking at what she was doing as she flipped a card out of a handful of cards she was holding in her hands -which until just then Ritch wasn't aware she was holding. Ritch looked to the card, and saw the Ace of Swords, and the blade was pointing towards the woman which made the blade point up in his prospective.

"How do I know their not all the same card? I find it convenient you happen to pull that card out at random."

The woman cooed as if a lustful coo of a dove. "Well you'll just have to trust me then."

Ritch opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. All he could do was sigh as he pondered. Could the woman just have memorized the location of the card and had it ready to draw at her leisure? But then again her eyes had never left his, and she drew from the middle of the deck. Weird...

"Well regardless of how you found the card, that's the card I want."

The woman licked her lips as if she tasted blood. She now seemed more like a shark toying with it's victim than a Lioness. Or did lionesses fuck with their food before they ripped it's throat out as well?

"Tell me your deepest desire."

Ritch opened his mouth to speak once more, but this time his mind beat him to the punch. His mind screamed "You're so know it all, shouldn't you know this already?", but instead when he finally did speak he could only say, "I want to explore my inner child."

The woman laughed as if something was amusing, and said "It's more fun to hear it from your mouth." Before she handed him the card. Ritch nearly fell backwards in his chair, but caught himself well before his inertia would have carried him back to the floor. When he sat up straight, his mind raced with a thousand questions all at once. He looked to the woman who had closed her eyes, and looked slightly annoyed. "Not so loud, and not so fast..." She said. "I'm only one woman..."

Ritch didn't know any mind clearing exercises, so he just, stared. He tried not to think but his mind was asking questions, and yet, he felt they were being answered right after he thought them. "How are you doing this?" He'd think, and then he'd instantly think "Easily...". Then he'd think "How are you in my head?" and then he'd think "It's easy when you open yourself up like an unprotected case file."

It was too much at once, but before he could protest or even stand up to leave, all questions in his mind were answered, and it was silent. The woman resumed her cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smile and asked. "How young is your inner child?"

Ritch answered without any forethought. "11."

She smiled brightly and said "Welcome to the REAL Ace of Swords club: home of some of the best youth-based entertainment money can buy. I am Opal, the mother here. How long do you plan on staying?"

Opal, so that was her name. Somehow he knew that even before she spoke it. In that brief moment his mind was racing, he thought he had known her name to be Opal, but it was just a fleeting thing. Now it was undoubted. He exhaled, and smiled. He was in. He was glad that now he finally had an outlet for his age-play desires. He asked, "Is noon tomorrow acceptable?"

Opal blinked her eyes in such a way as to convey approval. "You understand the sensitive nature of this club and the going's-on here are entirely secret. The entertainers here are fully aware, consenting, and are under no duress. You may in no way abuse my entertainers, or I will abuse you. You may not reveal the identities of the patrons to anyone."

Ritch gulped and nodded slowly. "I understand. I can even keep the law out of your hair."

Opal raised a black claw, but not in a real threatening manner, almost as if to say that it was there and it was sharp - look at me! I'm a sharp claw that could ginsew you in no time! "You're police?"

He shook his head, "No, I'm a little above them."

The voodoo lady Opal picked up a severed talon that was small and cruel looking, and absently stroked it. The claw oddly enough stroked back. Ritch knew better than to ask, and knew far better than to assume. "I like you, but please don't make me angry..." She warned.

"I wont."

"Then go to the door down the hallway. I'll buzz you in, and the gentlemen inside the door will take you to you to the lockers. From there you will go upstairs. Underwear is allowed but nudity is encouraged. The rules are the same as any sex club. No means no, and respect the entertainers. No rough stuff, and keep all kinky sex behind the red doors."

Ritch nodded again, and gave her a thumbs up. He'd been to bathhouses, and he knew the way to behave. He knew that if he wasn't good or to forceful or even rude his time there would be cut short. He stood and turned and exited, heading down the hallway. He heard the electronic buzz of the lock being disengaged, and he pushed gently upon the door as it opened.

* * *

He was greeted by two masked guards. The guards were polite, but not what you would call friendly. They were all about doing their job. He was searched more thoroughly than if he was a prisoner. He was stripped, poked, prodded, and examined. He was given his underwear back, and was sent upstairs until he found his room.

For a man whom only hours before was having casual sex with a tiger, he felt more awkward than he ever had felt before in his life. It was only two years before that what he was about to do was still illegal in the united states. Now he was about to embark on one of the oldest taboos in society.

When he reached his room, he opened the door and saw the small room was already occupied. He thought about looking for another room, but the man against the far wall said, "In or out...this is your room."

Ritch adjusted his skimpy underwear, and stepped inside. The door he noticed locked behind you once you entered. It was probably made to keep trouble makers out...or in. The room was lined with one long black leather L shaped couch that wrapped around the wall to his left and went all the way to the far back wall. The far wall had a yellow door with an imposing Doberman guarding it. He was the first unmasked person he'd seen Since he had entered this section of the club. The Doberman wore loose leather pants, black boots commonly referred to as "shit kickers", a black sleeveless shirt of some material that was so sheer that he could make out more than just muscle lines, and a pair of small black sunglasses.

"Nice..." The Doberman said.

"Excuse me?" Ritch began before he looked around the room and then looked down at himself and last back up at the guard once more. "Oh me?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you've got the best bod I've ever seen come through here."

Ritch felt like a school girl and snickered. He then struck what he called the "Golfer flex" with both of his fists in front of his crotch, one hand clasping the other wrist, hip turned sideways, and then flexed the appropriate muscles.

"This? It's all muscle and no bulk. You're a tank compared to me." Ritch said, turning around to let the canine see all of him before resuming a normal standing posture that was more comfortable to him.

The Doberman shook his head and said, "Surgery, and drugs. It's all show. Don't get me wrong, I can still throw down, but you've got the real guns here."

Ritch then let out a breath that he was unaware he was holding and walked his way to the couch. He had expected the couch to be smelly, sticky, or otherwise dirty but as he sat down he was pleasantly surprised. The couch was new, firm, and very comfortable. Perhaps the club made more money than he thought.

"So are you a bouncer of sorts?" Ritch asked the Doberman casually.

He nodded and shuffled his weight a little, he'd probably been standing a while. "I'm A guard and bouncer. When people come in here and do their thing, I watch to make sure they stay in line. The people that work here enjoy what they do, and don't want to stop. Many of them have been abused in the past, and we don't want to see any more of that."

Ritch narrowed his eye. "How old ARE you?"

The Doberman said "20 years old." with seemingly no inhibitions.

Ritch looked him over and said. "You used to perform, back in the illegal days didn't you?"

The canine nodded, and made an impressed face. "Interesting, it took the last guy who figured me out over five times in his bed before he realized I was an ex-kid. How did you know?"

Ritch just got the sense that the man was so gung-ho over his job, perhaps it suggested former or even current "slavery". Ritch told him so. The Doberman went quiet, and averted his gaze for a while, and they didn't speak for a few moments.

"I didn't mean to insult..." Ritch said.

The guard raised his eyes and shook his head. "Its none of your worry. I was what I was, and I am what I am. You ready?"

"I suppose. I have never done this before actually."

The Doberman folded his arms in front of him and huffed. "Well you know what you're doing, I think you wont have that much trouble.

Ritch let out another breath, closed his eyes and nodded. He was semi erect in his skimpy yellowish underwear. He had remembered how someone once told him that how hard you were when you were in these kind of places spoke volumes. If you went in already hard and out of your sheath it makes it seem that you're too easily stimulated and easily aroused. If you were soft then the partner or performer might feel you are unattracted to them, or that they are failing in their job. The most accepted state seemed to be semi-erect, or hard but not out of the sheath yet.

"Alright, lets get this show started."

The Doberman said, "Any costumes or props you prefer?"

Ritch had about 5 fantasies run through his head in one haphazard moment. Images flooded his psyche, and he wondered if Opal didn't have anything to do with it. They were all so kinky and erotic, but he shook his head. "No lets just start."

The Doberman knocked on the door next to him and said, "You're on star."

A soft voice from behind the door said, "What's my cue?"

"A tattooed red fox that is actually hot. You'll enjoy him I think."

There came an interested noise from behind the door. "Another fox eh? I rarely get the foxes."

The door opened, and for only a fleeting and almost intractable amount of time Ritch thought it was a female he was looking at. The hips, the ribs, but mostly the face were all feminine. There was expensive makeup on the boy's face, it accomplished the mission of making the fox boy he saw appear even more feminine than he already did. The medium length hair he wore was dyed pink in the bangs. The bangs were long over his eyes, however the left side was twice as long as the right. The boy leaned against the door as if it was a lamp post, or a stripper's pole. He had his navel pierced, a gold barbell by the looks of it. He wore a see through robe that was black and was bespeckled with numerous shiny and sparkling stars. He wore a garment on his lower body that he could not classify. The front of the garment was too big for a thong, but too small for a bikini brief. The straps weren't wide enough for a men's garment, but held his package too well to be panties. His guess was on a private designer. The manties (he decided to call them), were black and semi-see through like the robe, and had the same star patterns on it. He could not see the boy's back, but he guessed it'd be revealing yet modest.

The boy was beautiful, and the male was 11 years old.

Ritch licked his lips, he was at ground zero. The point of no return. He wanted to say things, romantic things. He wanted to compliment the boy and tell him that he was beyond beautiful, but all he could muster was "Damn..."

The kid snickered. "No sweetie, I'm a whore, but if you want a damn the Hoover Dam is that way." He said, gesturing randomly over his shoulder.

Ritch couldn't register the joke for a moment, but when he did, he managed a smile. "Cute."

The boy grinned and twirled as if on display. His tail was decorated with glitter, and he was right about the back of the underwear being revealing yet modest. He smiled broadly and said with some satisfaction "A year ago I may have been 'cute', now I'm just cum-tastic."

Oooo...and he was a smartass too, it was just what Ritch had wanted.

"True, you are a young Adonis."

The boy pressed his decorated fingernail to his lipstick covered lips and thought, then shrugged. "I was going more for Narcissus or Eros."

Ritch grinned a bit wider. An educated boy, how wonderful!

Ritch opened his arms in invitation, and the boy seemed more than glad to sit in his lap. The boy tossed his nifty mini-robe aside and started to massage Ritch's shoulders in a sensual and yet erotic way. The boy let his crotch press against his, the firmness test he was sure of it. The boy, like him, was semi erect. It meant he was relaxed enough to continue with the sex, but also hard enough that he was enjoying himself.

"Why them?" Ritch asked.

The boy continued to grind their intimate spots together as he let out a satisfied groan. "Well Eros gets laid more than Adonis, and Narcissus was just plain hot."

Ritch laid his hands on the baby fine fur of the boy's back. Only child foxes his age had fur this soft. They gradually shed it and trade it in for a slightly more coarse adult fur that grows in later with puberty.

The boy closed his eyes, and seemed to be enjoying the feeling. Ritch waited to speak as he brought a hands up the boy's back, and hugged him to his well muscled chest. The boy began to grind himself harder against him, before Ritch let out a whisper and said "Shh...just let me hold you like this for a moment."

"Okay...but I've never had anyone ask me for that before." The boy said, just a little confused. "But a good cuddle is always good."

Ritch held him close and smelled his hair. It smelled of various perfumes and hair products, but deep down he smelled the natural aroma of a young male destined to be an adult. The smell was pure, not fabricated like the perfumes. It was a small he'd longed to smell.

Ritch then let himself daydream; dreaming of a time that never was or never will be. He imagined a rainy night, perhaps thunderstorms in Ft. Lauderdale, and holding his son. His son would say something like he was scared, or he was glad to have his big brave daddy there. He imagined hugging him on his birthday, or Christmas, or just as a sign of love. He had missed out on everything, every moment of his son's live, and it was his own fault. He had never held his son as a baby, nor as a boy. He let out a long sigh, and wiped a tear from his eye, not wanting to ruin his arousal.

"You okay?" The boy asked.

Ritch grinned and gave the side of the boy's neck a long and langurious lick. The boy sighed a relieved sigh and did the sane to the other side of Ritch's neck. It was similar to watching two cats cleaning one another. His tongue was small,warm, and soft compared to his larger tongue. He could hear the boy breathing deep through his nose, taking in the act and trying hard to get his air.

Ritch inched his way closer, and closer, until tongues finally met. Many say they've licked tongues before, but as they clasped hands, interlocking fingers, they truly were licking tongues. Ritch started first, letting the boy run his length along his, then would return the favor. Ritch sat forward and turned his head sideways and began to affectionately devour the boy's muzzle, starting to exert some of the dominance that he rarely was able to display.

He looked at the boy through his good eye, and thought of so many lusty things. He broke the hand hold and wrapped his arms around him, and held the boy still.

When the seemingly eternal kiss was broken, he allowed the boy to catch his breath before they went further. His hands went up the back and onto the rear if the boy's head, holding themselves there as if in assurance.

"Lets see if you can out suck an old cocksucker." Ritch said with a grin.

The boy tisked, and blinked his painted eyelids and nodded. "Sounds like a plan alright."

Ritch laid his hands at his side as the boy let his body go lax, and slid down Ritch's form like some kind of amusement park ride. His knees hit the ground softly, putting himself in just the ideal position for fellatio. While Ritch got the impression that the boy had done that before, he did however get the impression his slip and slide maneuver was a rare treat. The youth gave the fabric of Ritch's between of the legs a dive, and brought his teeth to bite the loose fabric there. Ritch opened his legs then closed them to assure the kid could do what he guessed he was about to do.

Pulling underwear down with your teeth, no matter how easy it seems in porno or on paper, was nothing like actually trying it. The underwear came down a bit, but only as far as his buttocks and tail would allow. So he lifted his lower body, and the bikini came down to his knees. The kid crawled back forward, letting his muzzle drag across the newly exposed crotch. Ritch shrugged out of his underwear, and let out a small noise of happiness. He knew what was about to happen yet he couldn't deny that he wanted it so bad.

"So, what's the order of the day?" The child adulterer whispered. Ritch thought it over and decided it was best to let the boy have at it himself.

"Why don't you just enjoy yourself?" He said, taking grasp of the shaft of his penis in his right hand. The boy smiled at the sight of the hard, and exposed, and very erect vulpine phallus. It truly was a sight to behold, not overly long or fat, or odd in any way, merely it was all around what a penis should look like for his species. Ritch was proud of it.

"Hmm, so I get to do what i want eh?" The boy said, wrapping his right hand around the upper half of Ritch's penis. Instantly just from the pressure of his youthful fingers around the meat Ritch felt immense pleasure. Not so much pleasure to justify a premature orgasm, but enough to make Ritch twitch in his chest and nearly growl out his words of encouragement.

The boy stroked him for a little while, realistically it was a long time but sex-time wise it wasn't that long. The child was getting a feel for Ritch's shape, and learning which spots were more sensitive than others. It was a hard job, but Ritch new better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Ritch watched the hand palm and squeeze the shaft of his phallus, hardly believing it, even then. The boy held his lead his hand towards the upper half of the penis and would squeeze and relay his fingers, almost squeezing the length like a squeeze-tube bottle. Ritch watched a bead of precum drip out of the slit on his cockhead's "indentation". He let out a noise to convey good feelings.

"This is just my hand, you haven't felt anything yet."

Ritch opened his muzzle to comment, before the world around him went spinning.

The light around his field of vision bent, and he felt as if he was falling. The room began to elongate, sound slowed and swam to him. When the room had gone, various streams of light flowed, as if he had slipped into the slipstream of time and space itself. He spoke, yet his sentence seemed to have already been spoken and was coming back to him as an echo. The colors then spliced into a long wavy tunnel, black all around and there was only the light of the tunnel to guide him. The tunnel was so black, so dark he almost didn't want to head towards it, but since he wasn't necessarily moving he didn't have much choice.

The waves began to pick up thickness, and occasionally an object would blur by his vision, It was then he noticed a small dot of light at the end of the tunnel. He reached out for it, and saw his arm, and the tattoos on his arms bloomed into real flowers. All over his body this happened. The flowers then withered and disintegrated. He was naked now, truly naked. The light in the horizon was getting brighter. He reached for it once more but now his arm was getting heavier. He fought the feeling, but it increased anyway. His arm was getting so heavy, it was becoming hard to hold his hand up. As the light was getting much brighter and just when he felt his arm was about to fall off, the light hit him and...

...He looked around, his arm was in the air alright and it really did burn. He was numb otherwise. He looked down, and saw the young boy, suckling his penis as if there was no tomorrow. Ritch realized just then how close he was...in fact he was just a few bobs away from orgasam.

"S...S...S-stop..." He whispered. For some reason his voice had gone hoarse.

The boy suckled the shaft, not letting up a bit, before he climbed up, and pressed his own boy penis against Ritch's.

Looking down Ritch realized they were both on the floor, and both were naked. Ritch tasted semen in his mouth...alot of it, but only the after taste. The boy's slightly smaller penis was semi hard against his, going towards limp. The penis was moist, and looked to still be oozing just a little bit of semen. Score.

"What happened?" He asked.

The child looked stunned. "You don't remember? Normally everyone remembers...regardless..."

Ritch shook his head. "Nah, it was like when I dropped acid as a kid...the hell was that?"

The kid pointed to his lipstick. "Its laced with LSD , the penis flesh absorbs it faster than any other part of the body."

Ritch somehow felt cheated. He wondered how good the boy really was at sucking cock, but was still proud of the boy's resourcefulness. "I'm still close to cumming, how about we finish this off eh?"

The boy smirked. "After that 69 we did? You sure?" The boy asked, then he shrugged, and crawled further placing his cock directly into Ritch's unprotesting mouth. "Where do you want your cum to go?

Ritch groaned loudly and wrapped his hands around the boy's buttocks. He sucked that boy as hard and fast as he could, wanting to restoke the fires of sex. Indeed he had swallowed the lad's load, and how. Ritch let his hands speak for him as he poked a finger around the boy's tailhole. Sucking feverishly.

"Anal action huh? How much you need? And how hard can you give it?" The boy said, a few drops of urine and precum dripping into his mouth from the rekindling. It made for a salty/tangy combo.

Ritch reluctantly took the youth's sex organ out of his mouth and spoke. "I can give it hard, and I don't need that much necessarely."

The boy cooed and stood, showing Ritch a glimpse of his cute behind. The boy looked at the Doberman and said "Lube!"

The Doberman pulled a tube of WET Platinum from his back pocket and tossed it to the boy. The boy after catching it, uncapped it, and squeezed a generous amount onto his hand and lubed his anal crevice. Ritch looked into the boys eyes and saw that he seemed to be enjoying himself, as if the lubricant would be enough to satisfy his needs. He then let out a soft noise which turned into a scream of delight and with a soft squishing sound Ritch could hear the sound of the boy pressing his finger into himself. He let out another noise of enjoyment, and then supplied some lube to Ritch's penis. It was a slick and slimy sensation that Ritch was more used to from his countless hours of masturbation over the last few years, and it still felt good.

The boy climbed over him and pressed Ritch's cockhead to his tail. He then suddnely lost balance and with a -Glurp- slipped onto Ritch so fast he was already resting on the knot. Ritch would not lie and say the boy was tight, for he easily took the length of his cock that quickly as if it was nothing, but it still wrapped around him tighter than most of what he'd been getting as of late.

"FUCK!! FUCK!" Ritch gasped, sweat starting to bead and stain his eye patch.

The child was wide eyed and open mouthed as if he had been shot. Ritch himself was in sensation overload, and who knew what the kid was feeling.

The Doberman moved over swiftly, concerned, and asked "Are you boys alright?" To which Ritch let out a long groan and nodded. The boy whispered a yes so small it could barely be heard.

They took a few additional moments to rest, before Ritch picked the boy up, and laid him down on the couch. He looked down at the youth, his lust building once more. He leaned in and locked lips with the boy, knowing full well what would happen.

The vision began but was different than before. The reason he didn't get high from kissing the last time was because it wasn't strong enough to effect him through the lips before, but now that he'd got head from the special lipstick he was almost guarentted.

The couch became a mound of sand, the room a sandy beach, the doberman became a palm tree. He kissed the boy as he drilled him, the child's grateful and thankful screams directed straight into his mouth. The youth's penis began to spray urine, so stimulated he couldn't contain himself. The warm wetness around him fueled the vision, helping Ritch to feel the warm "ocean" around him. Then as if a voice told him to, he let his own stream go, not having much to give, but he let the stream go anyway. Some backed up into the boy while the rest flooded the pair. It made the sex very interesting.

Ritch then flipped the boy, knowing the vision would last just a little while longer. He held onto the boy, and grunted lusty things like "That's my boy" and the such. He even knotted the boy and had filled him with cum before he realized it. As the vision ended, he saw the doberman on all fours next to them sucking on the boy, swallowing, some boy semen dripping down his face.

Ritch took a few seconds to gather himself yet again, and spoke. "Who said you could join?"

The bouncer pulled off , after a few more jets continued to spray his face. "You did."

And he was apt to believe it. He waited for his knot to shrink, and pulled out. The doberman showed Ritch to his room, where he slept soundly.

Mission Accomplished.

* * *

TALES FROM APARTMENT 232 - installment 15 Prolague, Epilogue of Jack of Hearts

* * *

Ritch Stood, spread eagled with two girls barely 18 greasing his naked body. He had his best black leather eyepatch on, and nothing else. It was hot in the room, and he was trying not to sweat, a great thing to concentrate on while trying to tune out Unger's normal "You have to win" speeches, as well as his husband's criticism.

"Guys, its a body-building competition, just a simple pose-down. Its going to take a lot more than high stakes and celebrity judges to phase me."

Ritch had a custom thong he was going to wear made up. It was orange on the hips, and the rest was white, to give the false impression of nudity, and surely would impress the judges. He did look nude when he wore it, it was only the absence of the outline of his sheath that gave any hint of a garment. Well that and the absence of fur. He loved the thong so much when he put it on he had several sets of normal swimming speedos, g-strings, string-bikinis, and bikini briefs made up in the same pattern. With the girls done below the waist he slipped his new thong on and took a look at himself in the locker room mirror. Seeing himself this way almost gave himself an erection. Ritch had thought about this, and had placed a cock ring around the top of his sheath to prevent his penis from emerging. Boners during pose-downs was a no-no.

Dressed casually, but far more conservatively than Ritch, was his panther husband. He wore just a simple pair of jeans and a gym T shirt.

"As much as I object to your choice of clothes, you have got this in the bag sweetheart. There is only 4 in the division this time. Win this and you're a shoe-in for Mr. San Diego again."

Ritch said nothing. The girls were greasing his chest and back. After his "tarot reading", it was damn near impossible for anything female to turn him on. As a matter of fact, the only erections he seemed to get afterward were from himself.

"Of course I do. Could do it blindfolded." He said, playfully covering his good eye with a hand and flexing a muscular arm.

At that moment, the door behind them all opened, and a dalmatian official walked in. The grease girls left immidately afterward to move on to the next room. The official looked harassed, and had the air about him that he didn't want to be there for whatever reason. "You're up." He said.

Ritch turned and faced the dalmatian as he was handed his number. 37. He clipped it onto his hip, and looked at the official. "Already? I thought I'd be going on later..."

The official shook his head. "None of the Featherweights showed up today, so all the light-heavyweights are going on first for their division. You're name came up first, so get your fanny out there."

Ritch nodded and kissed his panther mate, and turned as he walked out the door. "Its a cake walk, don't you worry."

Ritch was escorted through a long series of hallways, next to stark naked and covered in performance grease, until he came to the stage. Once there, he could see the people in the audience, and then the judges in the front row. He recognized a few people in the audience and a couple of the judges. Some of the people in the audience were from the office. Oh it came as no real surprise that they'd be there. Ritch was not afraid of his extracurricular activities being common knowledge. It made for great water-cooler gossip. When he had won Mr. San Diego the last time two years before, the poster of his winning pose was pinned up in the mens locker room...and the ladies restroom. Surely his body would be the subject of many a day's talks.

"Oh did you see what he wore?"

"You mean he actually wore something?"

"Oh yeah it was the skimpiest thing...and you should see him!"

That kind of stuff.

The stage belonged to an old high-school auditorium. This wasn't a "huge" competition but each medal, trophy, title belt, sash, ribbon, and victory was a step towards Mr. California, or even Mr. USA.

He would have loved to have the title of Mr. USA. Finally have one final accomplishment in his life before he settled down and retired, living off his pension. He already got hazard pay because of his eye and brain damage, and got paid better than most cause it was harder for him to work, so it would still be easy for him and his hubby to settle down and enjoy a life together. One more title belt, or one more sash should do it.

He moved through the curtain after a polite push from an official and moved towards the center of the stage, facing the audience now. There was a murmur, and a series of flashbulbs and various cat-calls. A few sexy whistles from men and women alike from the FBI contingent somewhere in the crowd. He gave the audience a smirk, not really able to flirt back. The judges called for silence, and the crowd died down.

Looking at the judges again, he knew, or knew of 3 of the 5 judges sitting there. The first was Michael Webber, an elderly bodybuilder from the 40's. Michael was about Ritch's size and he was considered a hulk back in his day, and he knew what to look for in these competitions. The pair got along well, so Ritch thought tonight would be no acception. +1. Next to the elderly Badger was Angelita Carlos, and she was a bitch if there ever was one. The shiatsu female carried herself as if she didn't want to be anywhere but in her home under a bottle of good Gin. Chances are she wouldn't be much help. -1. The Otter male next to her was a legend in his own right, and a former Olympic Gold Medalist, Mark Spitz. Having never met the swimming god, Ritch couldn't place him as a negative or a positive, but surely the man would be able to tell whom was in good shape and who wasnt. He'd label Mark as a neutral. The other two were the more "press friendly" celebrity judges appointed to this competition. Singing sensation Shugah Pycket, and Blackball player Rowdy McDowell. He knew OF them, but didn't know them personally.

And somewhere as he his music started, and he began to pose, the name Rowdy McDowell jumped out in his mind. He'd read it somewhere very intimate to him. Only he could not bring himself to remember where he had come across his name. Rowdy was a white wolf, and more muscular than he could ever hope to be. His hair was down from it's trademark cornrows and was in braided dreadlocks. He looked tired, as if he hadn't got much sleep. A black armband was around his right arm with "Asher" written on it. He couldn't figure out youth now a days, it could have meant anything.

The music he had chosen was Depeshe Mode's "Dangerous". He began tp flex, his routine was so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. He worked his arms, back, abs, legs, deltoids, glutes, calves, and every inch of his body that he could. He stretched in a method similar to a martial artist's warm up, using his own limited yet extensive training. That was always impressive to his judges in the past. He turned to his side, to highlight his pectorals. Next he presented his back, and last he flexed hogan style. There was a decent amount of applause, and some camera flashes, more cat-calls and sexy whistles. He smiled and flexed one last time, blowing a kiss to the FBI agents waving from their spots. An official escorted him offstage, and went to the backstage area to wait for the judges' results. There his husband was waiting for him with a bottle of ice cold water. He accepted it, and hugged him, and turned his back towards the panel of judges, not wanting to look at them for fear of what they might say when it was time to announce the results.

"You did great. Did you hear the audience?" The panther said with a warm smile. Ritch, not so apt to agree, shrugged and drank his water. The panther tilted his head and looked worried. "What? You've been kind of funny for the last few days. What's wrong now?"

Ritch swallowed and shrugged once again, grabbing a courtesy towel handed to him by a random stage hand. "My heart wasn't in it."

The panther chuckled a bit in disbelief. "Your heart wasn't in it? I don't believe that for a second. You looked as good out there just then as you look practicing in our bedroom, and especially like the last time you won."

Ritch growled and stamped his foot. "That's just it. I was the same as always. Same routine, same poses, same music. The only thing that was different this time was that I was wearing a different thong. I really shouldn't have held myself back."

The panther arched a brow. "Hold yourself back, how exactly would one go about holding himself back in a pose-down?"

Ritch tried several times to get a sentence started, but couldn't explain it. He finally managed to say, "I could have gone for more difficult poses, and strained myself. I could have pushed the limits of my body and really given the audience a show."

The panther held his head and shook it. "Ritch you push yourself hard enough as it is. You're already starting to go gray because of it. It isn't so much as you need to entertain them, you only need to do what's necessary to win. You don't always have to be trying to outdo someone or yourself."

The fox raised his eyes and wagged his black tipped foxtail. "Oh? Thank you for reminding me I'm going gray. You're starting to get fat if I might say so." He said, turning away from his husband. "But you're right."

There was silence for the few moments that followed, before Ritch's husband spoke. "You think I'm fat?"

Ritch groaned. "No."

"But you said..."

"Yeah and you pointed out that I was greying. I dont think you're fat but you are getting slightly saggy round the middle. Now are we done playing 'point out your spouse's foibles'?"

"Yeah, sorry."

But Ritch did agree with his husband. He did push himself too hard in just about everything he did. This competition was no exception. He was always trying to stay on top, when he really wanted to let himself slide out and bottom out for a while. He wanted success, but he also secretly urned for failure, so only to strive harder. A destructive method of constructive building.

Ritch and his panther decided to wait their for the others to go on and perform. They also waited again for the judges' ruling. Like the song says, waiting is always the hardest part. This contest would decide who would go on to represent the county in the Mr. San Diego competition in a month. He could taste victory, but he didn't want to jinx it yet. Ritch sat in the back, just taking it all in.

When the time came, all the competitors from his division were called onto stage. He walked out, and took his spot, second from the right. The judges called for one final pose from the group. There was another applause, as he struck a more difficult pose, spreading his legs wider and throwing himself in an almost obscene angle. But it worked.

The judges announced their scores. The skunk on the end got a 76 out of 80. Not bad. The Greyhound next to him only got a 68, and even to Ritch the poor canine didn't deserve to be on stage. His score was a 78. His only real trouble would be from the jaguar next to him. He was far more defined for his division than Ritch was. But the feline didn't seem to carry himself well. That could cost points. There were a few more tense moments before his score was announced. 77.

Ritch's music played, and he received handshakes from the others as he took a moment to flex. He would go on to the next competition after all.

Ritch's husband came onto stage and gave him a hug, heedless of the fact he was still covered with enough grease to keep a car running smoothly for a month. "Congratulations!"

Ritch snickered. "Why are you congratulating me. You said it yourself I was a shoe-in."

The panther tilted his head to the side and kissed his cheek. "Never really doubted you, but I also worried at the same time."

Ritch hmfffed playfully and said "Shut up you know you love me."

The panter's face then fell. "Sweetheart there is something you have to know before it's too late."

Ritch was too euphoric to really notice. "What?"

"I was the one in charge of picking the judges."

The Fox raised a brow. "Did you rig this?" His face falling as well.

"No no! Butt I want to..."

"Want to what? Tell me you basically set me up for an easy win? Say it louder I don't think the Jaguar heard you."

The panther started to bite his lip and shook his head. "No no! I donated money, helped pay for a bill the guest presenter needed paid, and he offered to help fund this pose-down.

The fox looked a little less worried. "Oh...well...that's not AS bad. But tell me, who did you get to be the guest presenter?"

At that moment, the announcer came on stage, holding something resembling a smaller version of a pro-wrestler's title belt. It wasn't as big as the Mr. California and Mr. San Diego belt, but was a good chunk of gold. It read the name of the county, and declared the winner the Light Heavyweight bodybuilding champion for that year. There was a blank nameplate there, which would later bear his name. But Ritch's jaw dropped when he saw the man standing next to him.

He was taller in person than he had ever imagined. His long locks swept back into a braid gave his face a dignified look. He wore an oriental style turtle neck shirt without sleeves, and matching pants of black silk. Red roses, so similar to his own tattoos covered the garment. His feet were in simple sandals, and there was a gold ring on his left ring finger, as well as an inverted cross medallion around his neck. 3 gold earrings decorated his right ear, laving the left bare. He wore contact lenses in his eyes that made them look a pale grey, but he knew what his real eye color was anyway from years of pictures.

He was there, complete, whole, and in person. Right down to the black tip of his tail, and the markings on his face.

"Ladies and Gentleman, here to present the award for this year's award for the Light-Heavyweight Division, from Hollywood California the former US Heavyweight Kickboxing champion, Renee Morningstar."

Ritch was in such a stupor, that he didnt remember what happened next. It was his husband grabbing his tail that brought him from his funk. He was point blank to Renee, same height, roughly the same build, with Renee having better legs and thinner abs. Renee was actually talking to him. His voice soft and feminate.

"I said, Congratulations."

Ritch's lips quivered. The moment he had been waiting for. He had no way to explain what was happening. So, he started to cry. Not sob, but tears rolled down his functioning eye socket. He was handed the belt, and he hugged it to himself, but still stared at the man in front of him. A rat he knew in the back of his head the identity of joined Renee at his side, but Ritch could give a flying fuck.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" He asked, putting the microphone under the fox's lips. Ritch's mouth felt so dry he called for water. Like lightning he had it, and from whom he had no clue. But he drank it, and dried his tears on his towel. And said,

"There is something I've been wanting to say to you for years Renee."

The movie star/kickboxing fox smiled and said. "If you want to say you're my biggest fan, I hear that all the time." He said with a smile.

The panther moved beside him and said. "I think that's what he is trying to say, he's really obsessed really. I cant tell you how much."

There were quick words going back and forth, but Ritch held up a hand and said "No that's not it. I've been wanting to say this for as long as I can remember. Renee Morningstar, I'm....Im...."

"Speech impared?" shouted a random person from the audience. There was laughter before Ritch started to get frustrated and shook in steadily building anger.

"No...Renee Morningstar...I'm your father!"