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Welcome to Dogwood By Gwydion78

Anonymous Commission

Although. We regret. Unfortunately. Due to.

Terry had learned to recognize the words, crumple the rejection letters before making it past the first paragraph. A degree in public justice had garnered him some interest, and at the law enforcement fair at college he'd visited nearly every booth that was looking to hire. Plenty of smiling faces, upbeat pitches, attractive benefits packages, and all they needed was a high score on a state entrance exam, or 1 year of practical experience.

Considering his good (but not fantastic) grades, he'd figured it was a lock, and went out the night before the exam with his friends. Raised on procedural TV shows from Scooby Doo all the way to the rampant gallows-humor puns of CSI, with many mystery shows in between. The culprit was always easy to pick out, the motive always just beyond what everyone expected but so obvious at the big reveal, the method there if you were really looking, and Terry always was. His parents had called him "their little gumshoe" up until high school when he'd specifically requested them to stop such talk lest he be mortified for his parents to every meet his friends. College had been a relative breeze, with study habits generally adhered to in order to maintain that B average. He even prided himself as a good test-taker.

So it wasn't a surprise that during the exam he was more interested in coming up with snappy and catchy one-liners than paying real attention to the exam itself. He left feeling confident that he'd passed, and when the scores came four weeks later, he'd been correct in his assumption.

However, a 71 on the state entrance exam wasn't going to impress anyone. His hopes that the departments that were so excited to meet him at the job fair would only care that his passed were soon dashed with that first letter that started with "We regret..." He could always take the exam again in six months to a year, whenever they scheduled another one, but his friends from college were already moving on, posting news about job offers on Facebook, updating life statuses that only served to remind him how far behind he was.

So, it was at this low point, on a Saturday night, just after a rainstorm had started, in fact, while Terry was sitting alone in his basement apartment with a beer in his hand and wondering if he should just give up and watch porn for the rest of the night that the phone rang, the caller ID showing a downstate area code and "Mayor's Office" as the name. Intrigued, he picked up the phone and answered, "Hello?"

"Is this Terry Graft? I hope this is the right number, I've been trying to reach him for the last four days." The voice was upbeat, hopeful, sounding a bit older, male.

"Uh, yeah, this is Terry. Who's this?" He sat up in his chair, set aside the bottle of beer and smoothed his hair back out of reflex even though he knew the person on the other end of the line couldn't see.

"Oh, good. This is Kevin Smalls, Mayor of Dogwood, you sent us a letter of inquiry about open positions in our Sheriff's office?"

Did he? The name Dogwood wasn't that familiar, but the more he thought about it, the more he remembered sending a simple letter of interest with his resume to a place called Dogwood and having a little chuckle at the name. He honestly didn't expect to hear anything back. It sounded like a small town, maybe he'd sent out the letter like applying to a safety school? It didn't make any sense, but he couldn't shake that image of putting the stamp on the letter, the memory sticking out because it had been from an old series from the post office featuring classic cartoon characters, Scooby Doo being the one he'd chosen for that.

"I think I did, yeah. Were you still looking?" At this point he was willing to listen to any offer if it meant not having to go back to his parents' house.

"Actually, Mr. Graft, the election period for the Sheriff's office just passed and-"

"Oh." Another unfortunately, although, we regret. "Well, thanks at least for getting a hold of me to tell me personally. Mostly I've just been getting letters and-"

"Oh no, no, no. You misunderstand, Mr. Graft. We were unable to elect a sheriff because no one opted to run, so according to the town charter I'm empowered to appoint one for a one year period until the next elections, and I'm hoping that if you haven't been snapped up yet you'd consider taking the position."

"Wait, you're offering me a job?" His heart caught in his throat, he had to admit. After the month he'd had it seemed too good to be true.

"Well, it's not permanent. If you decided to stay on you'd have to run for re-election, of course, and an appointee's salary isn't as high as the elected. You'd be starting at only..."

When Terry heard the number his jaw dropped. It wasn't a ridiculous salary, but it was about five percent higher than the starting pay at one of the upper tier departments he'd applied to, not to mention it'd give him the year's experience necessary to forgo the exam and just transfer to another department. Sure, he'd be a year behind in a sense, but he'd at least be on his way to a detective's shield and solving big cases and getting showered in accolades.

"So I guess I should come down for an interview, right?" He tried not to sound too eager, but he was already mentally packing up his apartment and figuring out a route on his smartphone and fighting off jumping up and down with glee.

"Normally yes, but I need someone to start tomorrow, I've got something big down here that I need a sheriff on the job for. I figure if it doesn't work out, we shake hands, no hard feelings, and I just appoint someone else. Can you be down here in eighteen hours?"

Hell, he could have the rest of his stuff mailed down. He checked his phone, which had already plotted out a route, and grabbed his keys. "I'm leaving right now."

***

Packing had consisted of just throwing clothes in a suitcase still littered with baggage tags from Spring Break. Most of his clothes were simple slacks and button down shirts, though he assumed there would be a uniform for him down there, but he had to wonder how they'd know his size, even though he considered himself on the skinny side, and slightly above average height at five nine and feet that were wide enough that he usually had to buy his shoes used off the internet in order to obtain them without the highway robbery that was "special ordering". He'd arrive with a five o'clock shadow, but considering the Mayor had told him the matter was urgent enough for him to drive all the way down there in the middle of the night, he figured they overlook a day of scruffiness, though he hoped he'd be allowed a shower.

Given the five hour drive, he had plenty of time to wonder about what this matter was. A murder? No, they wouldn't get some rookie for that, they'd call the state troopers or something. Bank robbery? No, that'd be FBI. Kidnapping? Probably the same. Maybe some outside threat they didn't know how to handle? He was already imagining investigations, interrogating townsfolk and catching people in lies, getting warrants from the local judge and busting open the seedy underbelly of Dogwood.

Granted, there wasn't much to know about Dogwood. At the gas stations he'd stopped at for coffee and snacks to keep him going, not many people could say they'd heard much about Dogwood, save the fact that it was downstate and it was a small town. The rain had cleared up, thankfully, making the drive more pleasant as he got closer to the town, and his first indicator of why no one seemed to know much about it was soon revealed to him by his GPS.

"At the intersection in one hundred yards, turn right."

The right turn was onto a dirt road. Dogwood was apparently not paved. Still, the road seemed solid enough, unaffected by the rain, and as opposed to the farmland he was expecting, instead it was a large grove of trees, dogwoods of course, though given that was July, the flowers were past their first blooming, and closed up for the night much like the rest of the town.

Given the dirt road, he'd been expecting tractors parked here and there, the town being little more than a few buildings at an intersection when he spied the road sign reading "Welcome to Dogwood: A Nice Place to Visit, a Great Place to Live", along with plenty of signs underneath notifying visitors that there was a an auto club, a local Lion's Club, and that the town had been a national runner-up at a floral fair in the 1950s. Instead, he passed plantation-style homes that had been kept up in appearance, most of them dark given the late hour, all of them with hand-carved mailboxes with smaller plastic boxes expressly for the local paper, apparently called "The Dogwood Dispatch", and it was a mile before he reached the town proper, the roads still hard packed earth, but the businesses at the town center appearing well-kept, not a chain store in sight amongst the hardware store, corner grocery, drug store, and bakery/café, along with other little hole-in-the-wall mom and pop kind of places. It was certainly charming in a fashion, but already Terry was calculating in his head how far he'd have to drive when he had a hankering for some orange chicken.

The only building with a light on had a beat-up pickup truck parked in front, a wooden sign hanging from a post in front of it that read "DOGWOOD INN", the vacancy sign a wooden slat that had been slid in the bottom and likely hadn't been removed in years. He parked the car and got out, yawning heavily as he grabbed his suitcase out of the trunk and walked into the small foyer, which had a small desk with an aged ledger and a quartet of cubby holes on the wall, three of them possessing keys. No one was downstairs, but after ringing the bell a few times, a woman in her fifties emerged into the hallway, appearing tired, graying blonde hair in curlers, dressed in a faded cotton nightgown with a floral print, yawning as she stretched.

"Billy, you lose your key again? I swear, this happens every month and-" She made eye contact and chuckled nervously. "A customer! Oh, I'm so sorry, I just wasn't expecting anyone this late. You lost, son?" Her voice was kindly a bit of a country twinge, like a favorite aunt.

"Oh no, just been driving all night to get here. The Mayor called me and I got in so late I was hoping to get a shower and a little sleep before I met with him."

"Oh! Are you the new sheriff?" She smiled beamingly. "Well don't you worry about nothin', son, you just come on in and I'll point you at a room and a bed you can fall into." She patted her chest. "I'm Mrs. Towner, I run the inn here. We can take care of check-in the morning. Don't be takin' this the wrong way but you look a sight, son." She escorted him up the stairs after picking up a key, still talking. "Been runnin' the inn now for about fifteen years now, my daddy ran it before, came back after my husband passed, rest his soul. You from upstate? You sound like an upper. Sorry, just what we call you folk down here, you all seem to up 'n at 'em, gotta go go go, don't mean no disrespect..." She just kept talking, Terry unable to get a word in edgewise until she opened the door to reveal a pretty simple room with a full size brass bed, night table, the wallpaper old, the carpet clean, but having seen its share of traffic. The bathroom had a cast iron tub with a newer shower hookup, sink with brass fixtures, a window that looked out on the main intersection of the town.

"Now I'll just get out of your way, I'm sorry, did you get a chance to tell me your name, son?" She laughed softly. "You gotta be firm with me, I swear people couldn't break into a conversation with me if they had two Cokes and a bulldozer."

"Um, okay. Well, I'm Terry. Terry Graft."

"Well that's just a lovely name for such a handsome young man." She put the key in his hand. "I'll let you get to your business, I know you got a big day ahead of you. I'll send up some fresh linens while you're out."

And with that she left, politely closing the door behind her. He put the suitcase on the bed, the springs squeaking, but the bed still seeming sturdy enough to sleep on. The shower took two long, naked minutes to warm up, and the water pressure wasn't as high as he was used to, but he managed to wash off the long car drive and shave soon afterward to look somewhat professional, which was enhanced when he laid out fresh clothes and made the decision to climb onto the bed for a quick catnap.

"Mr. Graft?" He became aware someone was knocking at the door. "You up, Mr. Graft?"

"Mrrhmngh?" He wasn't much of a morning person, especially when he was only running on... Terry checked his smartphone. Four hours? He rolled out of bed, double-checking that he was decent before opening the door to find Mrs. Towner standing there, holding a tray with a coffee mug and a small platter of donuts. "Thought you might be hungry, so I brewed a fresh pot and picked up a few things from the bakery."

He took the coffee gratefully, but waved off the donuts. "Never been into those, but thanks for the offer. I saw the bakery on my way in, just across the street, right?"

"It'd be busy any other day but today 'round now. Who don't like donuts, though? Don't let Wex hear you talkin' like that?"

"Wes?"

"Wex. He's the baker, took over the shop from his daddy. You should go say hi, pretty sure he knows everyone. Plus the mayor would probably appreciate a dozen if you're on your way to see him." She stopped, and playfully slapped his shoulder. "There you go, gettin' me talkin' again. I'll let you have your coffee and get on with your day. I'll leave the check-in papers with the linens."

Terry soon got dressed afterward, changing out of his sweats and into his slacks and button-down shirt, keeping the tie a little loose for comfort, ran his fingers through his brown hair to smooth it out, put the room key in his pocket, locked up, and headed outside.

Dogwood certainly looked different in the daylight, a few people out walking, giving him a neighborly nod, some outside on the porches of the shops and what houses were in the town center. There didn't seem to be any apartment buildings in sight, but the bakery was right across the street, and the doors were open, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting out into the street. Shrugging, figuring he might as well follow Mrs. Towner's advice, he entered the shop, finding a single man behind the counter running loaves through a slicer. "Be with you in a minute."

He appeared to be in his mid to late thirties, wore a thin white t-shirt and sweats along with an apron, likely due to the heat from the ovens. He had a stocky build, muscle visible on his arms despite the relative roundness of his torso. His black hair was cut short, a brush cut he'd likely gotten a couple weeks ago, his face adorned with a groomed beard covered with a white paper hair guard that made his appearance a little humorous, causing Terry to snerk when he looked up.

"Somethin' funny?" He tied off loaves into plastic bags and set them aside, then stepped to the counter with folded arms. Terry tapped his own chin, causing him to furrow his brow until he grumbled, taking the white guard off. "Looks stupid, yeah, but would you rather have my beard in your donuts?" He leaned against the counter. "You new 'round here?"

"Yeah, uh, do you have bagels here?" He scanned the display case, mostly seeing donuts, and examples of cakes and pies."

"Well, gee, mister, I ain' never heard of them before. They's them donuts that's too chewy that you big cityfolk like, huh?" He rolled his eyes.

"*Excuse* me?"

"You uppers all come down here an' see a dirt road an' think we're all hicks who'd cry witchcraft if you pulled out your iPhone. 'Do you have bagels *here*.' You think I'm stupid?"

"Listen, I'm just here to pick up a bagel and maybe a dozen donuts for the mayor. I don't want to start any trouble."

"Why would you be gettin'... donuts for..." He hung his head downwards, cast his eyes away. "Sheee-it! Tell me you ain't the new sheriff."

"Not yet, officially." The baker's face turned red in response to that. "But please." Terry leaned against the counter himself. "Tell me what you really think."

"Get photographed and called 'quaint' fifteen times a year and see how that affects your attitude, or told that getting a G.E.D. isn't that hard, or that community colleges are reasonably priced." He extended a hand over the counter. "Wexler Brines, by the way."

He took the hand and shook it. "Terry Graft. So you got those bagels or what?"

Wex chuckled softly. "Didn't do a batch today, actually. But I know what Kevin likes, I'll get those donuts boxed up for ya. You sure you don't want a couple for you?"

Remembering what Mrs. Towner said earlier, he shook his head. "I'll take one of those muffins, I guess."

The baker put three in a paper bag for him, and put them on top of the donut box. "Mayor's office is up the road a ways, good thing you're here, we never thought he'd move into the mansion."

"Where was he before?"

"Sheriff's Office. Comes with a living space. After no one ran in the election, we thought he'd be there forever, seeing as he was the sheriff before he became mayor. You got some shoes to fill, hope you know." He handed the box and bag to Terry. "On me. Sorry about what I said."

"No big deal. Thanks for the donuts. Guess this means you'll be making bagels from now on, huh?"

"Looks like. Probably see you later today. Have a good one."

With that, the baker went back to his work, and Terry shrugged off the "see you later" comment, because unless he was also a deputy, he doubted he'd be needed at a crime scene unless this was the kind of town where the police needed crueler delivery while canvassing the neighborhood. He went over to his car, stowed the donuts and muffins, and drove "up the road a ways", having no idea how far that was supposed to be until a sign reading "DOGWOOD MAYOR'S OFFICE" came into view in front of a Tudor-style home that made it look out of place from the rest of the town, but looked as aged as the rest. What had been odd was the lack of traffic on the drive, most people out walking.

He parked in the driveway, seeing a woman in her twenties working on the flowerbeds in front of the home, who nodded genially to him, bobbing her head along to some music coming from a radio that was next to her. Before he reached the front door, it opened to reveal a man in his forties who appeared to be about three hundred and fifty pounds, dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans and sneakers. He was balding, red hair in a horseshoe around his skull with a couple gray streaks, his face full, but cheerful, his tone gregarious as he called out, "Mr. Graft! I heard you got in last night. Glad to hear you got a little rest. Wouldn't want you tuckered out for the day's events. Gonna have a whole pack of folk depending on you to do your job today." He advanced to Terry and practically grabbed his hand with an almost crushing grip to shake it, and then peeked at his car. "Now that looks like a box of Wex's donuts, you bring that for me, or you already a fan of 'em too?"

"Nah, he gave 'em to me free. So uh, what's the case that you had to get me down here so fast?"

"Hold on, hold on, son." He put his hands up a couple seconds. "First we gotta get you sworn in, get your uniform, badge, get you started on the paperwork so you can carry your revolver, we gotta do all this right, otherwise I'm talkin' town and sheriff business with someone who ain't livin' in town and ain't the sheriff. You see what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah, I get that. So should we get to it?"

"'Course we can. You grab them donuts and meet me across the street." He then laughed softly, and patted his belly. "Well, chances are you'll beat me over there, so be kind enough to not tap your foot at the door, you hear?"

He wasn't lying, as the heavier man did need some extra time, but didn't require a cane or a Rascal or anything like that. He had a leisurely air to his walk, taking the time to take in the bright and sunny morning. Terry half-expected him to literally stop and smell the flowers, but he arrived at the house across the street, which was a squat affair, half of it brick, the rest looking like a normal home, but definitely added on after the original construction. Kevin opened the door with his keys to a small office with a well-worn wooden desk, and a small jail cell with a cot inside.

"This get a lot of traffic?" Terry motioned to the cell, and Kevin shook his head.

"Aside from someone having a few too many at the town barbecue and gettin' a little rowdy? Maybe one or two a year. We're pretty quiet, but today you're going to be busy." He went to a cupboard against the back wall and took out a faded tan sheriff's uniform, and held it up. "Now here's your, er..." He glanced at the uniform, then Terry. "Right, this is my old uniform."

It appeared to be for a man a little taller than him, and about a hundred and fifty pounds heavier. Kevin put it away and dug around toward the back, pulling out a uniform still in a dry-cleaning bag that appeared to be from the Seventies. "This should fit ya. Sort gave in to middle age spread while on the job here, but I started out right about where you are." He traded the uniform for the box of donuts and starting eating a glazed one. "And no smart-alecky remarks. You're still talkin' to the Mayor."

Terry fought off a smirk and took the uniform, changing into it in the bathroom nearby. When he came out, the Mayor was on his third donut, but was still able to run Terry through the oath to uphold the law and the duties outlined in the town's charter. The uniform was a little baggy, but there was probably a place around where he could have it taken in.

"So what's with all the urgency? We can talk about it now, right?"

"Sure can, son." Kevin put down the box of donuts, now half gone, and handed him the gold sheriff's badge. "You'll be working at an event today, biggest of the year. Founder's Day Dogwood Festival."

Terry took the badge, nodding. "I'm guessing you're expecting something big to happen there if you needed me down here so quickly. So what's going on, someone running drugs or selling contraband and you need me to suss them out?"

Kevin just laughed for a good fifteen seconds, leaving Terry feeling awkward until the mayor finally caught his breath, wiping a tear from his eye. "Oh, that was a good one, son. It's just a townwide barbecue and picnic! Ain't no smugglin' goin' on here, but the sheriff's the impartial judge for the baking contests and them ladies can get pretty competitive, and I won't even get into how bad Wex can get about his pies. You know that boy keeps his recipes in a safe?" He took a moment to catch his breath. "I figure you can help out in the town square with folks getting' set up and what not, get your face out there, introduce yourself."

"Hold on, hold on. I'm here to judge a *pie baking contest*? That's what you had me drive here all *night* for?" Maybe he came across rather crossly, but finding out that the seedy underbelly of Dogwood was likely about whose pies were actually from a mix was immensely disappointing.

Kevin arched a brow. "Well, 'course it is. I told you about this last night on the phone, remember?"

Well, no, he most certainly... did... Wait a second. Terry replayed the evening in his mind, remembering Kevin saying something like, "I need someone to start tomorrow, there's a pie baking contest that I need a sheriff on the job for. Better bring your appetite if you want the job." And he'd said, "Sounds fun. God knows I'll be hungry after a drive that long." He even remembered holding the latest self-addressed stamped envelope from his latest rejection in his hand, the cancelled Scooby Doo stamp on it and thinking the whimsical postage might've hurt his chances.

"Right... Sorry. Didn't get much sleep, I guess. Listen uh, I don't know if this is really what I'm looking for, but I promised I'd do this for you, so I'll handle the festival and everything, and maybe you could find something better suited. Y'see, I'm trying to get in with a detective program, so I'd probably have to be in an area with, you know, crime?" He frowned. "Listen, I don't mean to insult you, and I'm grateful for the offer, but I don't think this will be the right track for me."

Kevin sighed, sagging. "Well son, I'm sorry to hear that. But you go on and enjoy the festival anyway, I'll make sure you're compensated for your time. Maybe you could stay on until I line up a replacement? I know we ain't all that bustlin' here, but folk feel safer knowin' the sheriff's on duty."

"Yeah, of course. I wouldn't want to leave you high and dry. I'm really sorry, again." He extended a hand, and the mayor clapped him on the shoulder.

"S'alright, son. Dogwood ain't for everyone, I hear that. Maybe you'll change your mind, don't know. In the meantime, you enjoy the day and I'll go bang the phones when I get the time."

Kevin left afterward with a definite sag in his step, Terry knowing that look, but not wanting to stay out of guilt. Still, he promised to handle things until a replacement arrived, so he headed down to the town square where tables were being brought out to block the main intersection, the traffic in town so negligible they could afford to turn the center of Dogwood into one big block party. Everyone greeted him with a wave and a smile, so he kept his plans to leave on the down low and helped to move tables, steady ladders, as well as guard tables full of baked goods from meddlers, dogs, and sneaky children, and apparently even himself, as his hand was slapped away from an aromatic platter of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, made by Mrs. Towner.

"Not 'til judgin' starts, Sheriff. These need a little to set anyway. Anyone bring you some water, son? You look a little parched, plus you gotta wash your mouth out between plates and eat an apple slice to clean out that palate. I ain't lettin' Shirley Brown's ginger snaps taint your tongue against my chocolate chips. I swear that woman spikes 'em with a shot of rum but she claim it all burns off in the oven but the rules *say*-"

"Mrs. Towner? I would love some water, if you're offering."

She grinned. "I went off again, didn't I? I'll be right back, Sheriff. You make sure Wex don't bring nothin' to this table. He remembers the agreement." She rolled her eyes as she walked off.

"I won five years in a row, so I had to promise to stay out of the baking contest. Too bad for you, my apple pies are a life-changing experience." Wex smirked, and held up a bag. "Plain. Didn't know how high-falutin' an upper you were."

Terry took the bag, peeking inside to find several bagels, still warm. "Thanks, you didn't have to bake these for me. Doesn't feel right to take them."

Wex smiled, showing teeth. "Well, that'll be three dollars. Feel better about it now?"

Terry grumbled, fishing out his wallet before remembering he hadn't moved it over to his new pants. "Listen, uh, my cash is at the Sheriff's Office, could I get you back or could we work something out?"

"You could just *take* them, like I previously offered. Not like it's a bribe, I don't have anything in the competition and nothing against any of the fine amateurs out here." That comment drew a glare from an elderly woman setting out a tray of ginger snaps, Wex wincing slightly. "Though I appreciate their charity work!"

The baker went away a bit red-faced, and soon after Terry found himself surrounded by middle-aged and older women wanting to know if he had any dessert favorites, if he had any special someone, since all of them seemed to have daughters, granddaughters, or nieces that would just be perfect for him. After that it was gossip, prodding about his family, background, but all in the politest and most cordial manner to make any refusal a sign of rudeness on his part. In the back of his mind, he found amusement at the idea of hardened criminals being interrogated by these ladies and getting a closure rate over ninety percent in his first year.

Unfortunately, he didn't regard himself as much of a foodie, so he had no idea how much work might've gone into the complexities of the flavors during the baking competition for the ladies, or the barbecue contest for the men, but there was always someone there with an apple slice or a bit of sorbet to cleanse his palate and move him onto the next station. Thankfully the contests were somewhat blind, and there weren't any sore losers, but by the end of the day he was pretty sure he was about to be sick from all the food and sweets he'd eaten that day. It was starting to be pretty obvious how Kevin ended up over three hundred pounds if this was what the cuisine was like here, but the thought of ending up wearing the extra large uniform put Terry off enough that he remained committed to leaving once a replacement was found.

The end of the festival involved moving all the tables back to their original places while some old country-western was played, and then most of the town gathered in the square for dancing. Terry stayed on the sidelines despite the best efforts of the local ladies, including Mrs. Redmond, the baking contest winner (a plate of chocolate crinkles that had blown his mind), who introduced her daughter, a lovely young woman that had just graduated high school, which put her as too young for him.

Wex came over a minute later, apparently fleeing another bevy of matchmaking matrons. "Y'know, tellin' 'em you'd prefer a love that dare not speak its name don't even work on them." He leaned against one of the streelights, and sighed. "Don't worry, don't want you thinkin' I'm makin' a pass or somethin'."

Terry shrugged. "Didn't want to say anything."

"Hey, plenty of bakers out there who like a nice set of..." He quieted down as a couple walked by, and tipped an imaginary hat. "Evenin' Pastor."

Terry shook his head once the couple had walked by, having given a pair of nods to Wex. "Nah, wasn't saying that because of your job. Just seems that in a place like this if you're still a bachelor at your age, well..."

"Then I'm a bigger fan of sausage than Ned the butcher?" He shrugged again. "I get out every now and then, meet people, if you get my drift. I could probably find someone if I left but..." He motioned to the couples slow dancing to an old ballad. "But you wouldn't find that out there. We're out here, stars all over, fireworks later, nary a raincloud in sight, whole town's here, and it's just, just home, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Well, it's nice you found a home. Just isn't for me, really. I'm just here as an interim until the mayor finds someone to replace me. This wasn't really what I was looking for. I actually want the hustle and bustle of city life. So don't take this the wrong way, but the second Mayor Smalls has someone on the way I'm out of here as quick as humanly possible."

Wex started to say something, but stopped himself, shrugged again, and walked off into the night. The night wound down quickly afterward, the townsfolk letting him know they could handle the cleanup, as he'd been on his feet all day, a fact that he was literally sorely aware of. Given that there was a living space at the Sheriff's Office, he went to the inn and got his stuff, and carried it to there. It was primarily a bedroom with a small kitchen and bathroom with a shower, the shower's size making him curious how Kevin might've used it once he'd grown out. The bed was sturdy though, comfortable yet firm, and despite being certain he'd be leaving as soon as he could, he fell asleep quickly, his only regret being that he felt weird about not having jerked off in five days, but he'd already gotten in bed, and definitely felt weird about stroking it in a bed that would be someone else's in a few days.

His dreams were vaguely sexual as a result, mostly remembering the time he'd discovered masturbation on a too-hot day where he'd been lying around in his bedroom naked and scratched an itch down near his balls and realized it felt kinda nice when his hand brushed against his erect-for-some-reason penis. A couple minutes later he was fumbling his way through his first easy grip-and-pump, surprised when his dick started swelling at the base, his veiny member thick and red and leaking constantly, little "wurf!" sounds emerging from him every few seconds when he hit a sensitive spot, his brown tail wagging furiously at his enjoyment of this secret new thing while his too-big paws tried to grip his puppy-maker, since that's what he'd heard the other boys at school refer to them as, the other dogs at least. His dad had mentioned the size of his hands and feet would mean he'd be a big boy, but he hadn't had his growth spurt yet to get big and tall like his daddy, a Great Dane just like him. It was odd he was thinking about his dad as well as his friends from school instead of girls when he was doing this, but he didn't care. He'd made a new discovery, and he was the happiest puppy in the world.

"God damn, I need to jerk it." He slid his hand to his morning wood as he woke up, his blunt claws flicking his balls up and down as he pulled down his sheath, already feeling his knot swollen with blood and arousal. He lifted the covers to just look at himself, having grown into a Great Dane indeed. Well over six feet and built broad and solid, he'd sprung out of his puppy fat in high school and went from gangly to studly, putting on muscle with relative ease and finding himself chased by the football coach to be the team quarterback.

He started pumping, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth as he slipped his other paw down to drag his fingers and claws over the fat swell at the base. "Oh fuck, I love my knot." His arm flexed as he squeezed it tightly, eliciting a pleasured rrowl that he felt no shame for. It's not like anyone would bother the Sheriff this early, he'd learned that in his first month on the job, and stroking out a couple loads seemed a nice way to celebrate his "re-election" as Sheriff, seeing as no one wanted to run against him. For a couple seconds, though, everything seemed a little... off.

As sexy as he found himself, there was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind that maybe something was wrong. His paws, strongly gripping his bitch-pounding pud, well, the fur and claws looked a little weird, that was for sure. Same with the fur everywhere else honestly. And as awesome as it was to have an eleven inch rocket between his legs, the shape of it, well, was it supposed to be pointed like that? Or that *red*? The muscles looked weird as well, even if there were already memories surfacing of a lot of time spent in the gym at college. Wasn't he supposed to be, well... Damn, what was the word? It felt so funky and stumbly in his mind. He-yoo-mun? What the fuck was that anyway? He was a Great Dane, a *big* Great Dane, a point he punctuated by squeezing his...

His...

"Aw shit... Aw fuckin' shit, my knot." He stroked harder, faster, bucking on the bed, thankful it could take all the gyrating due to the size of its previous owner. "Aw fuck, it's so tight. Aw shit, yeah, yeah!" He squeezed in places he had distinct memories of experimenting with, his hips thrusting at an imaginary hole, Terry still just vain enough to be able to get off on nothing more than himself. His motions had pushed off the sheets, letting him gaze down at his pole, slobbering at the sight of it. He immediately let go of his shaft, still giving his knot a vise-grip as he stuffed a pillow in his mouth, churning out a howl as boisterous as his orgasm, his puppy-maker spewing thick off-white streams of his dogwine all over his chest and the pillow, stinking up the room with the smell of rutting musky dog. Any concern about the "weirdness" was washed away in the torrent of spooge that left him panting on the bed, occasionally giggling in the afterglow. With a grin, he gently petted his abating cock, murmuring, "Good boy."

He wanted to just fall back to sleep, truthfully, but seconds later his ears practically stood straight as his alarm clock went off. "Shit, why'd I set it so damned loud?" He grumbled, as personal days weren't part of the job description, and set to cleaning up the room, as you couldn't really let the bedroom of a public servant smell like the aftermath of a locker room orgy. He stripped the bed, sprayed some pretty powerful air freshener, dropped the dirty sheets in the laundry, and took a shower to get ready for the day. It was a big day, after all, the Founder's Day Festival.

"Yeesh." He got dressed, looking in the mirror while brushing his teeth. "Feels like we just did this yesterday." He spat and rinsed, and then put on his tie, his uniform having to be let out for his broadness, and taken in since he wasn't as big as Mayor Smalls, and he'd learned his lesson about making jokes about the former Sheriff being a boar.

"Graft, you up?" Speak of the devil.

"Yeah, just puttin' on the shield." He'd dropped his G's over the last year, the accent sinking in, but he was still chided about being an "upper" from time to time, though never by the guys, given he could kick anyone's ass. He affixed his badge and headed out, finding Kevin holding a box of donuts from Wex's. Like every morning, he offered, and Terry waved it off. "Really oughta cut down yourself, Kev." He poked the boar's prodigious middle, his finger slapped away.

"I ain't Sheriff no more, no more reason to watch my figure. You gonna be okay with all the food you'll have to eat today? God knows we don't want you straining your belt." He winked at the Dane, to which Terry rolled his eyes.

"Any concerns I should know about, Mr. Mayor?"

"Well, Wex is a mite miffed that he can't compete this year."

"He won last year and four years before that, Kev. We gotta give the other ladies a chance. Besides, I didn't make the rule, he got outvoted." Terry stretched. "Anything else? You took my advice about the microbrewing?"

"Yep, moved it past nine o'clock. No drunk kids and it starts after the dance so no trouble there. Still, regarding Wex, you might want to drop by and make nice?"

"Why? I'm not the one begging free donuts." He winked at the boar in return and headed out, leaving the Mayor grumbling in his wake. There wasn't much at the bakery that he liked, save getting some coffee in the morning. The rest was carbs and fat and he had little use for any of that. Wex on the other hand was anti-diet, so reduced fat anything was taboo in the bakery.

"Coffee. Black. No cream, no sugar, no taste. Small. To-go cup." Wex shook his head as Terry came in. "You know you're killin' me, Terry." The big bull was hardly suffering, as he did good business, but there was an issue.

"Wex, you gotta wear something under the apron. Put on a shirt, at least." The bovid wore pants, an apron, and nothing else. He had muscular arms to carry all the heavy bags of flour and sugar and the like, but the rest of him was rather rotund, the apron riding on the swell of his black furred belly. His beard was well groomed, but still, Terry swore he'd find a chin hair in his coffee every now and there. A big brand-style tattoo was on his beefy bicep in the shape of a "GRADE AAA BEEF" stamp of approval.

"What? Can't even see my nips, Ter. Am I makin' you uncomfortable?" He snickered, and did a frankly disturbing imitation of a Southern belle. "Why I declare, Sheriff, are you gettin' all bothered at little ol' me?"

"Maybe I would if you had a little mystery instead of..." He pointed at the tattoo. "*That*."

He glanced at it, and smirked. "Well, first guy I was ever with said I was triple-A beef. Then he bet me a hundred bucks I wouldn't get it inked."

Terry remembered when Wex first made a pass at him at the last Founder's Day, his first day on the job, and he'd turned him down politely. Being an "upper", he didn't mind as much that the big bull was gay, nor did most of the town, but they preferred to act as if it wasn't there. "And how much did the tatt cost?"

Wex shrugged. "Three hundred, but it was the principle. Can't even tempt you with a bagel? I think I've finally got it down. Could probably do one of them all-grain abominations that you wouldn't even bother putting any cream cheese on."

Terry shook his head. "Won't even mention how many carbs that would be, Wex. Besides, uh... Can you keep a secret?"

Wex leaned across the counter, pressing his lips together, holding his breath a few seconds, and then exhaled, ready. "Go for it."

"Today's one year. I put in to a few precincts upstate, ones with detective tracks. I got an offer."

"So, what you're tryin' to say is... you're leavin'." The bull crossed his arms. "Shee-it, Ter, ain't you smart enough to see a good thing when you got it?"

"Hey, it's real nice here, don't get me wrong but, it's *Dogwood*, Wex, don't you have any dreams about gettin' out?"

"Nah, but I guess it's different if you grew up here." He came around the counter. "But I understand wantin' to chase a dream, and you ain't shut up about bein' a detective."

"Even solved the case of the missin' kitten." He rolled his eyes. Mrs. Cray had brought him frozen lasagnas for a month after solving the "mystery" of just opening a can of tuna fish and waiting for the little cat to come scurrying out of a bush twenty yards away.

"Hey, that meant the world to some folk, shows you ain't puttin' on airs 'bout your job, and you do it 'cause it needs doin'. One of the things I like 'bout ya, Ter." The bull then hugged him tight, the Dane able to appreciate the strength of the embrace, but the kiss that followed threw him off more than a little. It didn't last long, but Wex let him go and scratched himself behind a horn. "Sorry, uh... Just if you're leavin', probably never get another chance to do that and uh... Y'know."

"Dammit, Wex. That's exactly why you don't do it." He backed away a step. "Who knows where I'll end up, and you ain't gonna leave here. I stay here, I know I'll be missin' out on somethin' big. Plus I'll probably end up like Kev, like..." He pantomimed having a giant belly. "Would be nice if we had some time to... I don't know..."

"See if you like guys?" He pointed nonchalantly at Terry's groin, and even though the slacks had been cut generously in front, it was still patently obvious that the Great Dane was greatly aroused. "Don't take a big city detective to solve that case, Ter."

Terry looked around, dropped his voice to a whisper. "I do like guys, Wex. Hell, I've known since puberty, I just keep it on the down low. I mean, maybe if we'd met earlier, or if I wasn't leaving, we could see where it'd go but..."

Wex shrugged. "So no, uh..." He did a mimed thrust. "Got it. Well... I get it. I wouldn't wanna be no one's one-night, that's for damned sure. At least I got that kiss." He took a deep breath and went behind the counter, almost hiding a wipe of his eyes. "You better get goin', make this a Founder's Day to remember."

"Wex, I..." He grit his teeth and muttered "I'm sorry" before leaving. He hated leaving it like this, but he wasn't going to waste away in some Podunk town, no matter how nice the people were and, well, how much he might have been attracted to the bull despite his girth. It had grown into a nice routine, stopping by the bakery in the morning to get his coffee, chatting with him, fending off the occasional playfully flirtatious comment, but it had just been something to pass the time. This was his dream, and he wanted to solve real cases, real crimes, this job was just a means of getting there. Nothing more.

But for the day, he was the Sheriff, and that meant fulfilling his duties, no matter how trivial, even if that meant writing out parking tickets.

The car had been parked in front of the Dogwood Inn for a day with no one coming to check on it, and the Dogwood Inn hadn't had any out of town guests since, well, him last year. He had a good memory for cars as well, and no one had bought anything like this one recently. Was it abandoned? Well, the sign in front of the Inn plainly read that non-guests would be ticketed, so he wrote the ticket up, sticking it under the windshield. Must've been a pretty short person driving it, given that he himself would have to move the seat back about a foot just to fit in there. The car looked vaguely familiar, the kind of car he might've thought about driving if he didn't clearly remember driving an SUV into town on his first day and it becoming a running gag around town that he could never remember where he parked it.

"Sheriff Graft!" A pantheress with graying streaks in her hair padded over to him quickly, her whiskers twitching in annoyance. Terry put on his most genial smile.

"Mrs. Brown. What can I do for you this fine day?"

"I'm just makin' sure that the competitors are following the rules and I believe that some of the entries might be..." She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. "Enhanced."

"Oh, don't you listen to her, Terry!" Mrs. Towner shook her head dismissively, the old mare snorting in reply. "She's just tryin' to sew up the contest now that Wex can't bake in it no more. Everyone know she got more rum in them pies than pie!"

The cat glared back at the horse, hissing softly at her, Terry getting between them. "Now now, ladies. I'm sure Mrs. Brown is aware that *children* will be testing the pies this year, so she obviously wouldn't want a bunch of drunk kids running around the festival causin' all sorts of mischief." He glanced at the cat. "Right?"

"Of... of course!" The panther sputtered. "I just... need to double check that my pies are being handled properly." And with that, she moved toward the table with the entries, snatched up a blueberry pie, and rushed off toward her house, Mrs. Towner fighting off giggles the whole way.

"Well, that puts my pecan in the running. How you doin', Terry?" She patted his shoulder, one of the few people in town that didn't have to reach upward to do so. "I heard you're leavin'."

"Already? I only just told..." He grumbled. "One thing I won't miss about small town living."

"Now now, don't you get all bothered about it. You know Wex is gonna take it hard, given that you two are..." She took a second. "Friendly."

"So you know he's..."

"Oh, son, everyone know, we just don't say nothin' 'cause it ain't our business, and he runs the shop just fine and he's just as sweet as can be. Lord, it's all the bridge club can talk about is whether you two are gonna wise up." She touched his face. "That boy got feelings for you, Terry, has from the moment you took the job here. Just promise you won't up and leave like he's your paperboy, give him a good goodbye."

He didn't know how to respond, so he simply nodded, wanting to just get the day going. Letting the kids judge the baking contests had been a good idea, as the portions were smaller so more "judges" could sample, and given it was the festival, the parents were okay with letting the kids indulge a little. It also kept his figure relatively trim, or at least his stomach empty enough to handle the barbecue contest, as too many of the sauces were laced with whiskey, bourbon, and who knew what else to intensify the flavor. The only disputes to settle were the inevitable "barbecue sauce philosophy" arguments that would eventually grow loud enough for him to step in. However, by the time things wound down and the dance started, he was stuffed to the gills from ribs, brisket, and hot wings.

Since the dance didn't require much supervision, Terry returned to the bakery where the lights were still on in the back, but the front door was closed. He rapped on the door several times until the bull finally came out front to open it. "You still leavin'?"

"Yeah, but-" He stuck his foot in the door as Wex tried to close it. "But I wanted to talk to you, I feel bad about how I left it."

The bull snorted a soft sigh, and took his hand off the door, going back behind the counter toward the office space in the back. Terry followed, the room average but cramped for two males of their relative size, the walls pocked with various order sheets, schedules. An apple pie was on the desk, looking freshly cut with one plate and fork. "Was just about to eat this. Go ahead and talk."

"That the famous pie that got you removed from competition?" He sat down across from the bull. "I remember you saying it was a life-changing experience."

"You want a slice? I can grab another plate."

Terry waved it off. "I'm so full of barbecue right now you could roll me back upstate." But Wex had already speared a bite of the pie, and reached across the table with it, aiming the laden fork at his mouth. "Wex, I said mmmph..."

He chewed it, let it slide over his tongue, the tastes intense, complex, soothing, warm, just... good. It was a few seconds before he realized he'd closed his eyes. When he opened them, Wex was standing next to him, holding the plate. "Good?"

He nodded slowly.

"Want another bite?"

Terry nodded again, the bull gently pushing another forkful between his lips, dragging the metal tines free ever so slowly, laying the food on his tongue with the utmost care. The Dane's eyes drifted closed again as he reveled in it, a pleasured growl emerging from his throat even as his stomach protested it was already at capacity. Before he could speak, Wex fed him another bite, the slice of pie slowly vanishing as the bull knelt by him.

"You want more, Terry?"

The Dane nodded. "A lot more."

The bull trembled nervously. "Terry, I want to give you a lot more. Everything more. I want you to feel every part of it, but..." He looked down, snorting. "But you're leaving. And even if I do this proper, give us a night we won't forget 'til our dying day, I don't wanna do it."

Terry leaned toward him. "Why not?" The bull fed him another bite while he considered his answer.

"Because I don't want tonight, Terry. I want last night. I want tonight, I want tomorrow night. When I wake up tomorrow, I want my arm to be asleep because your head's on it, because even though my gut's a bit big, it'll fit so nice against your back. Tomorrow morning I wanna kiss you and feed you breakfast and know that tomorrow night you'll climb into my bed and we'll do it all again the day after and the day after that. If it's tonight, just tonight..." He fed him the last chunk of the slice. "Then all I got to do was fuck you."

"You could come with me, Wex." He nuzzled the bull gently, the sensation warming his heart. "You're an amazing baker, you'd find work in a heartbeat, probably get famous."

"I don't care about that, Ter." Wex pulled away. "I don't know why it's so important to you either. I like it here. Folks like me here, they like my work, and if I'm the best kept secret in the state, well, so be it. You're a good sheriff, Terry. People like you, trust you. You going to tell me the past year didn't mean anything to you?"

"Of course it did, but I can't just... Please try to understand. You're saying you want to stay because that's who you are. Well, I gotta leave because that's who I am, Wex. That's what I want, to crack a big case, see my name in the paper. Maybe it's shallow as hell to you but it means something to me." He held Wex's head in his paws. "So if it can't work between us, well, that's a tragedy. But if I'm going to regret not having chosen you..." He kissed the bull deeply, tasting apple and sugar and so many other delectable tastes on Wex's tongue, feeling thick arms embracing him soon afterward, their tongues wrestling in each other's mouths for almost a minute before Terry finally pulled away enough to say, "I wanna know what I missed out on."

The bull cleared his desk with one swing of his arm soon afterward, pushing the dog down on the heavy wooden surface, both of them fumbling to get their pants off as they kissed with every chance they had. The bull lifted the Dane's legs up onto his shoulders, pushing a hooved finger under the canine's tail, Terry sucking air through his teeth at the influx of stimulation, not really having experimenting much with his ass outside of sitting on a plug once and not seeing the big deal. Still, he suspected it'd be nothing compared to the main event, and the expression certainly wasn't "hung like a Great Dane".

"You realize I'm gonna have to wreck this ass, Ter. Make sure nobody makes you howl like I'm gonna make ya." He was already pressing the tip of his bovine erection at the exposed tailhole. "'Course you'll have to take care of that funky dick of yours. Don't know nothin' about them bulgy things you doggies got."

"They're... RRRRRRRrrrrRFFF!" He bared his teeth as Wex was already penetrating him. "It's a knot. All you gotta do is squeeze it good when you're ready to cum, that's all. Jesus, you're big." Another inch was pushed in, making him gasp.

"Now just 'cause I'm filling your furry ass with bullcock don't mean you can take our Lord's name in vain." The bull trembled again as he pushed in further. "Aw sheee-it! You are too damned tight. Ain't you taken it under yer tail before?"

"You're my first, Wex." He panted loudly, trying adjust, relax his body. "Well, first back there. What are you pushing in there, a Buick?"

"USDA Grade AAA Beef." He winked at the Dane, and both of them broke into laughter, the bull needing to keep steady lest all the hysterics cause him to lose all of his inward progress. "Terry?"

"Yeah Wex?" He wriggled his rump, trying to get more of the stiff organ inside him. He had no idea that being fucked felt like *this*. He'd always though it was painful and not pleasurable at all for the guy on bottom. How wrong he was...

"Just lie to me, tell me you'll stay here, otherwise I won't ever wanna cum in this ass and end it."

Terry took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm not leaving. Now ram me good." He winked at the bull, expecting another laughing fit, but the bovine took his request to heart, a few yips and yowls escaping him as the prime cut of bullmeat worked its way until him, until he felt a stretching sensation in his thighs, his legs pushed back by the bull's gut and groin reaching their destination. They remained like that for over a minute, not talking, just enjoying the heat and tightness and fullness, not wanting to break the spell, fighting off instincts that told them to thrust, fill, and be filled.

It was subtle at first, Wex shifting the weight between his legs, causing him to pull out a couple of inches, which he quickly corrected by hilting himself again, but the damage was already done, the Dane making a low lusty growl as his prostate was bumped, the bullcock rubbed just enough by the motion to trigger the gut need to repeat the motion just one more time. And then another time. And another. And another.

There wasn't any grunting, no loud shots of passion, both from not wanting the sound to carry, and partially because it might break the spell, the only sounds the soft squelching noises of a thick phallus pumping in a canine ass. Wex took Terry's hand, squeezing it, and only spoke when the gesture was returned. "Ter, I don't wanna cum in you. I don't wanna be done."

The Dane took hold of his own cock, stroking it slowly, demonstrating the better places to rub and squeeze on his knot as he looked up at the bull. "That mean you're close?"

"Too damned close. I ain't been with a guy in four years, and I don't tug myself much." The thrusting grew in intensity, the sound of his thick thighs slapping the furry rear reaching his ears. "Aw sheee-it! Why'd yer ass have to feel this damned good..."

"Wex, take it easy, I'm still stuffed full of barbecue, remember? Not to mention all the beers at the tasting. And the..." He grimaced.

"What's wrong, Ter?" He couldn't stop his pumping at that ass, even though he still showed concern, his need had been awakened from its slumber. "Terry, I'm gonna cum. Aw fuck, I'm gonna cum. Aw, sheeee-it!!!"

The bull's nuts practically jumped as his climax hit him hard, an ecstatic lowing emerging from his throat as his backed up balls finally gave up their bounty, a flood of thick semen gushing into the Dane, causing the dog's stomach to grumble loudly as it was overstuffed from both ends now. Terry felt like he might be sick, which would likely ruin the night for them, but his mouth burst open regardless, and then, "BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"

He *belched*, while the bull was cumming in his ass, and what was more embarrassing was that the pummeling of his prostate and sudden oral exhaust of gas had caused him to reflexively grip his knot, telling his brain that he'd tied whatever phantom hole he'd been humping, his cock erupting with doggy spunk that painted his Sheriff's shirt, badge, neck, and face as he belched for almost ten seconds. When it ended he felt relieved, but also ridiculous and embarrassed. But they laughed, they laughed until long after their cocks were spent, through long passionate kisses, and cuddled together in a corner of the office, both knowing that the morning would mean leaving that room and everything still inside it.

"We could've been doin' that every night for the past year, Ter." He was against the wall, a couple bags of flour to lean against, the Great Dane in his lap, in his arms. They'd shed their clothes a few minutes ago, both of them fiercely erect, but just enjoying each other for the moment. "And I could tell you knew I liked peckers and ass when you first came in bitchin' about yer bagels."

"I wasn't bitchin', I just wanted to know if you had them. Not every bakery makes 'em, you know. And yeah, I knew, or at least suspected, but..." He leaned against the bull fully. "Shit, Wex, don't do this, alright? You know I gotta go, and no matter how good you were, I can't stay."

"I know. Looks like it'll be me and my hand for the next couple years." He nibbled at the dog's ear, eliciting an "mmmph" from him. "You went and woke the beast, now I'll be tuggin' like I'm back in high school." He chuckled shortly. "Horns grew in, and well, horny was an understatement for me. Damn, I was goin' at myself four or five times a day. Gym teacher at the high school we got bussed to, he was a big ol' cougar, played some tailback at some college, went to pot. I shot many a load lookin' at his yearbook picture." He kissed Terry's forehead. "What about you? What guy got your teenage motor runnin'?"

"No one in particular. I hit puberty, all my puppy fat dropped off, knot started swelling, I mostly got off on jerking off, really. Wasn't any one guy in particular. You don't know just how good it feels to tie, it's like your whole body cums, like you've achieved the only thing you were put on this earth to do, ain't nothin' like it. If I tried for more than twice a day I'd probably have killed myself. Not to mention how hard I had to work to mask the smell. My musk glands used to get real worked up." Terry felt thick fingers wrapping around the base of his dick, squeezing it gently.

"This is all it takes, really? Just grip yer knot and you'll go wild?" The bull teasingly throbbed his grip around the swelling bulge. "You gonna give yourself a fresh coat of whitewash, Ter?"

The Dane whimpered. "Wex?"

The other hand moved down to gently stroke the exposed length. "Yeah, puppy?"

"You keep that up I won't last too long."

"I don't want you to last long. Want to make my big strong puppy to cum allllll over himself. You gonna belch again when you do it?" He grinned, keeping up his assault on the dog's genitals. "And when you finish, I'm gonna get you hard again, and make you cum again, and keep doin' it 'til you pass out, stuffed fulla food and happy as hell."

To Terry's credit, he did manage to last two more times before he finally drifted off, head in Wex's lap, dreaming of the big bull and what might have been.

The dreams surfaced out of the darkness of sleep quickly, Terry his younger self, just starting high school and already being scouted by the football coach, a fat old cougar who really had a thing for watching all of his practice drills personally. He took snaps from the center, a bull whose scent made him feel funny in his jockstrap. The dream moved to the showers, where the dog and the bull washed off all the sweat, sneaking peeks at each other's nude bodies, then at an old barn, up in the loft, where they kissed for the first time, and shortly after gingerly masturbated together, until face to face, they stroked each other off. The dream then moved to senior year, where they snuck a couple six-packs of beer from their parents and drank them out in the barn, first stroking each other like usual, and then Terry straddled Wex's waist, feeling a cock inside him for the first time, and due to all the beer, belching when they both came, and the pair laughing hysterically. The dream showed it becoming routine, the two of them meeting in the barn through their twenties, drinking a bunch of beers, fucking, and always knowing the night was over when the Dane belched while cumming.

Of course, it had an effect on him, that much beer spelling the end of his cut abs and granted him an admirable beergut, though he tried to keep his strength showing in his arms and legs. Wex hadn't minded his filling out, as he'd filled out plenty as well, and it meant a couple times a week, in the late hours of the night, they'd still sneak out to the barn, kill a 12-pack, and do like they always did.

It was in the barn that Terry woke up, a big meaty hand gently stroking his belly, his ass a mite sore as Wex had been particularly inspired the previous night. His clothes were over on a hay bale, but the two of them were on an old mattress they'd dragged up back in high school that they were both certain had been used by other teenagers in the years since. He burped softly as he stirred, stretched, felt the bull hug him tightly, and then shared a tender morning kiss.

"Mornin' puppy." He was only a year old than Terry, but the pet name had stuck after Wex first went down on him, and he whined like a pup when he came in his lover's mouth. Thankfully, he never addressed him as such when other people were around, it stayed their private name, though he could hardly call Wex "calf" given the size of him.

"Mornin' Wex." He kissed him again, the light of dawn eking through the gaps in the wallboards. "We should probably get goin'. Founder's Day Festival's today."

"Yeah, I gotta open the shop." He stroked the Dane's beergut, giving it a healthy squeeze before rubbing lower.

"Mind not doing that? You know I'm conscious of that thing."

The bull wriggled his prodigious tummy into the dog's back. "You got a problem with pudge, puppy?"

"Well, it looks good on *you*. I just look ridiculous with this thing." He grabbed his meaty midsection and shook the hard-packed bulge with disdain. "I should trim back on the beer. Urrrrrp! Excuse me."

"I just think it's funny that you excuse yourself for that now, but last night when you ripped one big enough to be heard three hundred yards away you were damned proud." He kissed the dog again. "I sure was."

"I was prouder of the cum, Wex. You made me shoot so damned hard last night. Made me feel like my pecker was fireworks on the Fourth." He returned the kiss, feeling his balls surge, his glands going into production to ready another go, but he managed to pull himself away. "C'mon, we both gotta get outta here 'fore someone comes in here and finds the Sheriff with his bits hangin' out."

Terry managed to tear himself away, scooping up his clothes, knowing a clean uniform was back at the office. He rubbed his rump after stretching again, the bull bumping his belly against his beergut with a grin before pulling on his pants. "We still on for tonight? Somethin' I wanna talk to you about, puppy."

"Before or after the fireworks?"

"Depends how you take the talk."

The dog grumbled. "Can't you just tell me now, Wex? I ain't into suspense, at least not with us." He strained to buckle his belt, wheezing from the effort. "Shee-it. Gotta get these let out again." He shot the bull a dirty look.

"Hey, puppy, I ain't jammin' yer piehole open and pourin' down all that beer." He stroked Terry's middle. "'Sides, you know I don't mind you fillin' out. Looks good on ya, gets my motor runnin', 'specially when you rip a good belch." He took a breath. "And I... kinda want ya to..." Wex took a few more seconds, before finally finishing. "Uh... you and me could maybe, take the next step, y'know?"

The dog blinked. "You mean... you finally wanna take it?" Now his pants were doubly tight. "You've always been nervous 'bout my knot and all. It's kind of a big deal, Wex. I mean, that's tyin'. For real."

"Uh, yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. Definitely. I'm ready to sit on ya, if you want." The bull chuckled and looked away a moment, getting his t-shirt and pulling it on, the fabric clinging to the roundness of his midsection, the neckhole tattered from too many catches on his horns. "'Cause I'm done messin' around, Ter. I wanna be closer to you. All the way."

"Now I know why you wanted to wait to tell me. I'm gonna be useless all day, Wex, probably gonna have to rub a couple out during my breaks thanks to you. Where you wanna do it?" He chewed his lip to fighting off panting with desire. "No, no, don't tell me yet. Shee-it, my knot's already poundin' in my ears."

Terry grinned slightly, and kissed the bull again before giving him a playful wink. "Guess I'll see you tonight then." He made a show of adjusting his crotch before he left the barn, having to make his way across the field to where he'd left his SUV parked. The drive back to the office was largely spent trying to keep his mind off the day's coming events, but he was lucky if he could keep himself distracted more than a minute, his mind too focused on the image of Wex's fleshy rump and imagining the lowing sound that would come out of the bull when he sank onto almost a foot of doggy dick.

As a result, he needed to rub one out in the shower before getting ready for Founder's Day, not to mention the long pissing session from all the beer he'd downed last night, as usual having his private chuckle at the old joke about how you don't buy beer, you rent it. The emptied bladder made getting his pants on a mite easier, but they were still rather tight, the pressure making him burp which relieved the tightness a tiny bit more, enough that he felt he could face the day.

"You gettin' in late, Terry?" Kevin was crossing the street from the mayor's house, the boar wheezing, his belly hanging over his waist to the point where the pig could probably stroll around nude without anyone seeing his pecker. The Dane smiled, nodding in reply.

"Yeah, had a few things to take care of. Always on duty, you know how it is." He avoided eye contact, checking to make sure he had everything he needed for the festival. "You need anything this morning?"

"Well, there was a call came in last night, over from the Kellingsworth place?"

Terry leaned into the SUV to hide a wince. "That right?"

"Yeah, seems they heard a prowler over in the old barn, called to have you check it out but... You weren't answering your phone." The boar chuckled, patting the dog on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I told them I'd send you over there to make sure it was all clear. They even saw your car over there, so they were relieved. Wouldn't surprise me in the least if they buy you somethin' from Wex's as a thank you, seein' as you like his goods and all." The wink that punctuated that sentence is what gave him pause.

"Well, uh, yeah, he's got good coffee," he offered meekly.

"Graft, it's kind of an open secret about you two. You can't do what you two been doin' since high school and think ain't nobody know. I ain't sayin' everyone knows, but Wex don't hide it as well as you do. Not like I got a problem with it. Both of y'all do your jobs and don't bother nobody, and you're both adults. Hell, not havin' a problem with it is the whole reason I get free donuts every mornin'." He patted his large gut. "So I guess you're partially responsible for this, Graft."

"Well, it's nice to hear that, but uh... Mind if we keep it in the dark a while longer? Some folk 'round here ain't as open-minded. I don't want someone lettin' a prowler skulk 'round their property 'cause they don't want the tail-flickin' Sheriff within a hundred feet of 'em."

Kevin squeezed his shoulder. "Terry, ain't no one callin' you a tail-flicker. Whole bunch of people known 'bout you for years, and we've still voted you back into this job time and time again. You do good work, folk like havin' you 'round and feel safer knowin' you're a phone call away. Just uh, maybe don't turn off yer cell when you're out at the barn? God forbid somethin' *does* happen, don't want you catchin' hell 'cause it happened on your watch."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Thanks, Mr. Mayor." He extended his hand, which the boar shook.

"Told you after your second reelection to call me Kev. Now you get goin' down to the festival. I'll be along, just gotta find my speech." He patted his pockets, and then looked back at his house, grumbling as he started the walk back.

"You need a ride, Mr. Mayor?"

"Smartass."

If anything, the conversation had a least shaken the Dane's focus on that evening. The drive down to the town square was uneventful, like most days. It had been a pretty slow year, actually, only two calls per month on average, and mostly just "prowlers" that were loose pets that needed guiding or a ride back to their homes. Outside of someone getting a little drunk during the high school football season, it was a pretty cushy job, which probably hadn't helped in halting the slow spreading of his middle.

There was a car parked in front of the Dogwood Inn that he didn't recognize, though he had to admit it he'd seen it somewhere before. Cursory inspection showed some stuff in the backseat, but nothing that looked illegal. What did get his attention was the parking ticket stuck under the windshield wiper. "Probably where I recognize you from." The inspection and registration stickers were up to date, but if the car was parked in front of the Inn, and it had a ticket, Mrs. Towner would've told the owner if they were a guest, and considering the parking space was for guests only, well...

He got on his phone and called the local tow service to have them haul the car down to county impound. If anything, it cleared up a bit more space more the festival, which he got to work in helping to set up like had had every year since high school. One thing went through his mind, though, as the ladies of Dogwood brought out their pies and desserts for the annual baking competition: it now made more sense why Wex had been asked not to compete, at least not since Terry had become Sheriff. After all, he'd had Wex's pie before, and despite the fact that he'd assert repeatedly that it didn't taste amazing because he'd be fed it while his ass was fed a heaping helping of bullcock, if it was an open secret about him and Wex, he could understand that the competitive wives and mothers of Dogwood (which was most of them when it came to the Founder's Day Ribbon) might hold to him showing some favoritism.

Still, since he'd mostly only drank beer the night before and hadn't had time to pick up some bagels from Wex that morning, he had built up an appetite by the time the festival got into full swing. He'd loved it every year, people just out, walking, talking, catching up. Fruit and craft stands were set up that were always a little pricy compared to the big box store ten miles away, but he knew the people growing the fruits and vegetables and knitting the washcloths and blankets and always set aside extra cash to bid on the quilt that the church group would put up for auction every year. It'd make for conversation starters when someone would invite him into their house to complain about something that was really just gossip, or when he had to mediate a dispute between lifelong neighbors. Founder's Day was just a day that underlined why he was glad he grew up here.

There had always been the temptation to go upper, attend an expensive college and go into law enforcement in one of the bigger cities or the capital, but in the city, he couldn't walk through town and know everyone, how they were doing, what their concerns were. He felt prepared if something terrible ever happened, but the sort of people who'd be capable of such things usually left the area after high school. It made for a quiet life, that was for sure, and every now and then he wanted to answer a call that was more than just settling which side of a property line a dogwood tree grew on (which was more a job for the county judge), but Wex had been a good enough reason to stay.

He had, well, *feelings*, that much was obvious, but he wasn't as fully committed to being a tail-flicker as the bull was. The whole damned town knew Wex liked guys, and he didn't mind in the slightest. What would that be like, Terry thought, to just not care what people thought of him? He was as eager as any tail-flicker he read about on the Internet when he was alone with Wex, but what would it be like, at the end of the festival, to take him out for a dance right there, in front of everyone, blissfully oblivious of the stares he was sure it'd attract?

As a result of his deep thoughts, he was rather thankful to judge the baking competition as it got his mind off everything for a few hours. Wex was conspicuously absent, usually sharing the judging duties now that he wasn't allowed to compete, but Terry wasn't worried. He had confidence in his palate, and Wex was probably finding a place for the two of them to spend some time together afterward, maybe a place to watch the fireworks where they could just go into the following activity with assured privacy.

"Terry!" A hooved hand was waved in front of his face, Mrs. Towner breaking him from his reverie. "Either them are the best lemon bar you've ever had, or you're a million miles away, son."

He blinked, remember his place, and took another bite of the bar, trying to taste it slowly, letting it first settle on his tongue before chewing it and re-coating his taste buds, then checking the aftertaste, like Wex had taught him to do. There was a definite tartness, as was expected, though a tickle of sweetness in the aftertaste that he did enjoy, but he had to ask, "What happened to the chocolate chips? They were really good last year."

"Lord, I've been makin' them for years now, never once took a ribbon with 'em, I figured it was time for a change. If people spit 'em out, that's their business, but I ain't takin' a ribbon just expectin' the cookies to get better every year." She appeared hopeful. "You like 'em though?"

"Well..."

Her face took a serious cast. "Just say they're better than Shirley Brown's."

"She did know that the ginger crop this year wasn't going to be that good, right?" He finished the lemon bar. "And you know I can't say one way or the other until the results are announced." He winked at the horse, and she nodded knowingly with a satisfied smirk.

"Well, you know Miss Crandall is pulling out all the stops, since she's going to that cooking school in the fall."

"Yes, yes she is, bless that little girl's heart. Usin' her momma's recipe for Madeleines. I know I ain't got a shot, I just wanted to beat Shirley, but I'm prayin' she wins." Her attention drifted to another table across the street. "Hold on a moment, Sheriff, I think Mrs. Davis is puttin' out box-mix." She looked at the Dane with softer eyes. "Act like you don't notice, Terry, for my sake. She had a rough year and she's only now gettin' back on her feet. I gotta let the other ladies know and ward off the vultures."

She left soon afterward, leaving Terry to move onto the next platter, following Mrs. Towner's advice and giving Mrs. Davis's cupcakes an appreciative nod. The following platters were all excellent, but he did his best to hide his enthusiasm so no one would get the wrong idea. Still, between all the cookies and brownies and pastries and the sorbet to cleanse his palate, he was already feeling pretty full when he finally got to taste the young woman's Madeleines, the citrus zest subtle, enhancing without overpowering, definitely on par with Wex's baking, though he'd never mention that out loud. He left his recommendations with Kevin, who was running the event, and also unofficial judge, and left for the Sheriff's office to sleep off the drowsiness from all the sweets he'd packed his stomach with, given that he still had to deal with the barbecue contest in three hours time (as most of the entrants demanded extra time to slow-cook or marinate everything).

He'd managed to doze for about ten minutes when he felt a gentle pressure on his overstuffed stomach, followed by a careful rub and massage that he had to admit felt kind of nice. He looked up to find Wex slowly kneading his belly, and opened his mouth to thank him, but unfortunately a loud belch thundered out of him as a result of the gas in his stomach being helped out the front door. "Ooof. Uh, excuse me."

"Sounds like you're enjoying the festival." The bull kept up the attention, not making any comment when another burp or belch made its way out of the Dane. "Overdo it?"

"Well, I didn't have my usual judging partner. Where've you been, Wex?" He grunted softly, wriggling his legs as the attention had reawakened his libido.

"Thinkin' about some things, that's all. We'll talk about it tonight. Nothing bad, don't worry." He hmmphed, looking down at the growing bulge in Terry's slacks. "That from those treats, or from me?"

"You, of course." He pulled the bull down and leaned up to kiss him gently. "You smell pretty good."

The bull returned the kiss and let his free hand join in the massage, though it drifted down to the canine's groin, making him grit his teeth in arousal, not wanting anyone outside to hear. Wex grinned, gifting the crotch-tent a squeeze. "Puppy all worked up?"

Terry nodded softly.

"He want me to make him feel good?"

Again, Terry nodded quickly, and closed his eyes in bliss as he felt his fly being pulled down, his dick being led through the slit in his boxers, exposed to the humid air and then the familiar fingers of his lover, which started a slow and steady pumping of his erection. A happy puppy-whine slipped out of him, he couldn't help it, and Wex patted his belly before returning to rubbing it in slow circles. "Good boy. Puppy likes belly rubs, don't he?"

Playfully, Terry shook his leg to accentuate the point, making them both laugh even as he was casually jerked off in his Sheriff's uniform. "I should take off my shirt, don't want it getting' all cummy, it's my last clean one and... Uhnnnnn... Aw, shee-it, Wex..." The problem had been solved, apparently as his cock was securely being slurped and sucked by the bull's hungry mouth. "Been a while since you... Oh Wex... Unf... Since you did this."

His hips were already pumping as Wex stopped long enough to pull him down the bed, letting his legs dangle off so he could knead his bellyfat while bobbing his head at the Dane's crotch. Terry placed his hands on the bull's horns, not gripping, just guiding the pace, but he didn't see himself lasting much longer given the eagerness and enthusiasm of his lover. His knot was already fully swollen, popping noisily in and out of Wex's mouth, his mind fixating on the fact that Wex had more than one stomach and he wanted to fill all of them to near-bursting.

When he tumbled over the edge of climax, it was an intense mind-clearing experience, especially as the bull tried to literally suck every drop of dogcum out of his body, the pleasure too intense to be capable of anything more than a couple short, high-pitched whines and whimpers as he pumped and pumped his load into his lover's greedy mouth. The Dane collapsed back onto the bed, luckily letting go of the bull's horns as he did, giggling from hypersensitivity in the afterglow even as the bull licked his groin clean, toweled off the slobber, and got him properly dressed again, the only evidence of his afternoon delight being the sweat stains from the exertion and the comically dopey panting the Dane was currently exhibiting.

After he caught his breath, he blearily looked at the clock, seeing over an hour still left before he was expected back, unless the phone rang, which it never did. "You want me to pay you back, Wex?"

"I pumped that rump plenty at the barn, puppy, I'm just makin' sure you don't pop the second you cram that knot under my tail." He made a show of licking his lips clean. "Besides, haven't tasted ya in a while. Don't overdo it at the barbecue, I'm makin' somethin' for us tonight and I don't want you wavin' it off 'cause that dog-gut of yours couldn't say no to another plate of ribs."

"Who's going to check 'em if I don't? Kevin? You really want *him* to have to eat *ribs*? Besides, it's not my fault some of us dogs don't have that 'I'm full, stop eating' switch in our brains." He wriggled back into his previous position on the bed. "Anyway, I gotta sleep off the itis, Wex, otherwise I'm useless for the rest of the festival. Where are we meeting afterward? I'm guessing not the barn, since you and I were called in as prowlers last night."

Wex rubbed his face, sitting in an easy chair near the bed. "Shit. We got busted, huh?" He didn't sound as worried about it as his words implied. "Was bound to happen eventually, I guess, you and I have been runnin' around for a few years."

"Actually, Kev covered for me. And they saw my car so they assumed I was checking it out, I guess. We're still in the clear."

"Oh. Well, that's pretty good, I guess." He leaned back in the chair, which creaked from his weight but still held, as it had likely held the mayor when he worked the job before. "Still in the clear."

"Wex, did you want us to get caught?"

"Caught's sayin' what we was doin' was wrong in some way, Ter. Well, we were kinda trespassin', but still, what we was doin'..." He leaned forward and rubbed the dog's leg. "Never felt we were breakin' the law, puppy."

"You know what I mean, like, folks findin' out that we're..." He remembered what Kevin had told him, but still, the idea of being an "open secret" didn't appeal to him. "I don't know what I wanna do, Wex. I know you don't care if people know but..." He couldn't find the words. "How do I put this without coming off like an asshole?"

"I don't think you're gonna find it, puppy. You're scared, ain't ya? That why you never told your folks? Just tell me how ya feel, Ter." He squeezed the Dane's ankle, reassuringly.

"I uh, well, you know how I feel about ya, Wex. Y'know, the..." He pointed at his heart nonchalantly. "God, it feels lame to say it out loud, but you get the meanin', right?"

"You tryin' to say you love me, Terry?"

Terry nodded once, blushing.

"Well, don't worry, I feel the same way. If you were just a horny ol' dog lookin' for someone to pet his pecker and suck down some beers you would've moved on from me a while ago. I ain't gonna make you say any shit out loud, I know how ya feel, and I know what ya are."

"A tail-flicker?"

The bull snorted, rolling his eyes. "A sexy dog with a great ass that can appreciate a guy's poke and the taste of his spunk." He got up with some effort and kissed Terry again. "So none of that talk from idiots, you hear? Get the rest of you cleaned up, you got a lot of barbecue to eat and I gotta bake a few treats for my puppy." He nuzzled the Dane gently. "See you tonight, yeah?"

Terry chuckled. "Already got me hard again, ya triple-A side of beef."

He rolled his eyes again. "Never lettin' me live down that damned tattoo, are ya? It's your fault you got me that damned drunk." He left with some grumbling, but gave him a view of the USDA shield on his bicep before he left.

Feeling only half-spent, Terry took a cold shower to take care of matters of cleanliness as well as desire, and to let the veritable hosing-down of Febreze on his uniform dry off and get rid of the horny dog smell. Once satisfied, he put his uniform back on and took a longer route back to the town square to let the outside air blow away the heady scent of the deodorizer and take in the aroma of barbecue.

Twenty entrants, as usual, going with ribs, pulled pork, brisket, chickens, sausages, most of the pig products tasted by Terry for obvious reasons while Kevin loaded up with the others. Given that his stomach was still working through all the pastries and cookies from earlier, he was at the end a bit thankful that his body didn't tell him to stop eating, as good barbecue was one of his weaknesses and he left an admirable pile of picked clean rib bones in his wake by the time he ended his tour of the entries, covering his mouth to muffle the burps that kept rising. Once he was done, and felt close to waddling, he handed off his notes to Kevin so he could sit down, panting both from the heat and the food bloat, his shirt stretched in front, a small gap visible between the buttons from his distended tummy. Burping didn't help much as it was more all the food he'd eaten than gas.

He didn't stay for the awards, as they were presented by the mayor anyway and he'd rather spend the evening with Wex. The Dane went down to the bakery, seeing the lights on, the bull chuckling when he came in, pointed at his belly. "Now didn't I tell you not to overdo it? Look at that gut, you look fit to burst. Things a dog'll do for a bellyrub, I swear..." He came around from behind the counter holding a large picnic basket and beckoned Terry to follow him. "I'd better drive, you look ready to lapse into a food coma."

Wex drove a truck, devoid of bumper stickers or adornment save the signs of normal wear and tear, and he helped the Dane into the passenger seat, giving his belly a couple pats, which drew a big belch from the dog followed by a quick excusal from Terry. They drove a couple miles, near the town limits, a field of dogwoods with a small clearing large enough for Wex to park the truck, the dog groaning from the limited off-road jaunt jostling him about. He gratefully accepted the help from the truck's cab, and stumbled into the center of the clearing where Wex took a blanket from the basket and laid it on the grass, the open side of the clearing pointing back toward town. "Should have a decent view of the fireworks out here." He reached forward to unbutton Terry's shirt, the Dane letting him, breathing a sigh of relief as some of the constriction was relieved.

"So uh... you want to do it out here?"

"What, I'm gonna call the Sheriff on myself? Ain't a lot of land, but it's here, it's mine, and selling the flowers makes getting through the lean months a bit easier. Now take off them pants, Terry, I've been wantin' to do this out there for a while." The bull pulled off his shirt, his black fur caught by the moonlight, his gut hanging over his waist, which he bumped against the dog's tummy. "Wish you'd think about lettin' go a bit, bigger the get the hotter you get, Ter."

The Dane ran his paws over the bared bullgut, rubbing it slow and easy, his lover crooning at the contact while he returned the gesture, the two of them simply massaging each other's stomachs for nearly five minutes, silent, before they kissed, secure in their privacy to open their passion, the dog whimpering into the lock between their muzzle and snout. "I wanna fuck you, Wex. I wanna fuck you right now."

"Then lie down, puppy, and get them pants off, so I can get you good and slick for my hole."

Terry didn't need any more encouragement, almost comically hopping around trying to get his pants and boxers off, kicking off his shoes, shrugging off his shirt until only a wifebeater was on underneath, which he left on as he got down on the blanket, his cock twitching in the night air, dribbling precum freely. The bull gave him an easy stroke. "Shee-it, Terry, your knot's already full. Look at it." He gave the ball of flesh a squeeze, the Dane covering his mouth to muffle a blissful howl. The bull lowered his mouth to the organ, slurping at it with his tongue, making it drip with his bovine drool before getting himself into position, his tail flicking about behind him as he chewed his lower lip, sticking his tongue out slightly in concentration as he aimed the organ as his waiting tailhole.

"Alright, puppy, here we go." He held the cock gently, mostly to keep it aimed as he lowered himself with some strain, his gut drooping onto the Dane's overstuffed belly while the dogdick entered him, the bull muttering, "Okay... okay... okay..." as he sank inch by inch. Terry in the meantime moaned, practically going limp as his pecker was gripped by his lover's finally devirginized hole (since his fingers and tongue didn't properly count).

When the bull's ass finally rested comfortably on his hips, the dog panted softly, both from the weight on him and from the enjoyment of the act. Wex reached over to the picnic basket and took out a pink box, opening it and producing a donut, which he pushed into the Dane's mouth. "Every donut you eat, puppy, I move on your pecker a little."

Terry looked up at Wex, feeling a bit cross. "Really? You know I don't like donuts and I gotta eat 'em to mmmph!" The donut was pushed in, and he chewed it, swallowing the first half and then the next as the bull began rocking himself on the Great Dane's meat, the stimulation putting a big dopey grin on the dog's face. "Aw shee-it, Wex, don't stop..."

But he did, and the bull was too heavy to make any thrusting on his part worthwhile. Defeated, he opened his mouth for the next donut, the motion starting again as he ate, followed by another heavily frosted affair, then a cream-filled, then a Long John. By the time the tenth donut was in his mouth, a chocolate glaze with sprinkles, he was only vaguely aware of his eagerness for the next. When the dozen was polished off, the bull was struggling with the Dane's insistent knot trying to power its way in.

"Was that all of 'em, Wex?" He was a bit confused, truthfully, because half of him was relieved that they could just get to the fucking, while the other half honestly wanted to know if there was any more. Part of him wondering what it would be like to just... eat what he felt like eating, the same part of him that didn't give a damn if folks in town had a problem with him being with Wex.

"You want some more, puppy? I can tell yer about to tie. It gonna hurt?"

"A little at first, yeah, 'cause I'm pluggin' ya up. It just means I can't pull out for maybe half an hour after I cum, that's all, and uh... Sure, I'll take some more, I'm still hungry." The scary thing was that he meant it, despite all the food packing his belly, he kind of wanted more in it, despite that he'd be dealing with food bloat for the next couple days. "You better give me whatever treat you was plannin' on, 'cause one I pop in there I'm gonna howl, Wex, that's for damned sure."

Terry was going to say more, and had a particularly nice comment about his volume, virility, and prowess all ready to go, but found his mouth being filled with cheesecake instead that had a fudge ribbon baked into it, the Dane thankful he didn't have the usual sensitivities canines had in regards to chocolate. He ate, swallowed, took everything that was pushed into his mouth even as his stomach started to groan, any pain and discomfort offset by the sudden influx of ecstasy as he felt the anal ring of his lover now tightly clutching the base of his penis. "Aw fuck... fuck... Fuck, I'm tied. Aw God, Wex, I'm tied. Aw shee-it! Aw, I love you so fucking much, Wex, fuck! I'm... Aw shee-it! I'm gonna... Gonna..."

The belch that thundered out of the Great Dane echoed across the field as his cock geysered inside the bull, his balls pulling tight against his body as he unloaded yet again that day under the ministrations of his lover. The bull in the meantime, trembled, feeling the gush of warmth in his backside, his meaty fingers gripping his nipples tightly as he thrust his own dick between the two furry bellies, managing to climax as well halfway through Terry's orgasm. As if on cue, the festival's fireworks display started in the background to give an appropriate, albeit perhaps over-the-top punctuation to their lovemaking.

Their mutual climax died down soon after, both of them chuckling through the afterglow, the bull soon reminded what being tied meant when he tried to pull off, wincing as the engorged flesh stayed firmly lodged inside. "Can't believe I waited on doin' that, Ter. Ain't so bad now that it's in there and..." He lowed softly. "Just... good. So uh... You wanna move in?"

"Wait, what?" He found himself unable to sit up, still pinned by the bull and his lodged knot. "Aw, now I see why you wanted to sit on my dick, so I couldn't get out of the... URRRRP! Talk."

"Ter, I wanna wake up with ya in the mornin', and not in a damned barn, would that be so bad? I wanna cook for ya, and feed ya, and just love on my puppy whenever I get the chance." He patted the dog's softened pecs, the taut skin of his belly. "I got plenty of room in the house, it's just me, just don't make no sense that we've been together since high school and we ain't sharin' an actual bed."

"Wex, I just... Everyone'll know if I move in. You ready for that? Everyone in town knowin' yer a tail-flicker?"

"They already suspect if not outright know, Terry, and you ain't so subtle either. Not like you're tryin' to hide all yer starin' at my ass and my gut whenever you come in in the mornin'. People notice, they talk, and it's a small town. I just don't see the point in hidin' it. So what if the Sheriff's gay? See I said it. You're gay, I'm gay, I love ya and I want ya livin' under the same roof as me."

"Couldn't we just move or somethin'? Go upstate where they don't give a shit where you park yer pecker? I could find work and you could..." He sighed, his head hurting a moment. "I feel like we've had this fight before."

"It ain't no fight, Ter!" The bull grumbled, looking off. "Only one fightin' is *you* 'cause yer too damned scared of folk gettin' pissed over you bein' with me, you gotta get over that shit 'cause this is a dealbreaker for me, Terry. I don't wanna wake up in ten years on a shitty mattress in a barn kissin' you goodbye so I can play at us just bein' buddies all day. Is that what you want? Huh?"

"No." He looked down. "No, I don't wanna lose you, Wex. I'm scared, yeah, but I'm more scared of wakin' up in ten years and not findin' you beside me." He hefted the bull's belly, stroking it assuringly. "I love ya, big bull, so..." He sighed. "So yeah, if you'll stand by me, I'll move my stuff over." He snerked to lighten the mood, patting his own middle. "Damn, I'm gonna get *fat* livin' with you, Wex."

"No matter how big you get, Ter, you'll always be my puppy."

The next ten years passed like a dream. There were whispers at first, then outright comments about the dog and the bull, but after the first six months, Terry was able to just let it all roll off his back, knowing that at the end of the day, he'd clock out, and head home to Wex for a big dinner and a night of testing their boxspring's longevity once again. Meals and passionate nights passed in a blur along with days in the quiet town with minor conflicts, donuts in the morning that grew into a dozen he'd eat before lunch, every few months either bringing his uniform to be let out or moving to a bigger size as Wex's loving feedings added on pound after pound to his frame.

His unease at his growth faded after the second year, once his gut was big enough to be obvious and no amount of sucking in would diminish his obvious obesity, which gave way to him belching openly, now seeing the verbal exhaust as the compliment to the cook it was meant to be. His uniform would need weekly cleaning, getting more food stains now during the week, but no one seemed to mind as his professionalism was never once called into question, always mediating and handling disputes with the same keen judgment he'd brought to the job in the beginning and had only honed over the years.

The Founder's Day Festival came and went, Wex no longer caring that he couldn't compete, given that he'd always feed the judge a prize-winning selection before the fireworks, Terry and Wex always returning to the clearing to watch them while consummating their love all throughout the night. In the fifth year, they exchanged rings, "tying the knot" both figuratively and literally.

Ten years after that night Terry decided to stop being afraid, he woke up in the arms of the bull, his massive belly being kneaded by the bovine. He groaned in delight, years of foreplay belly-rubs getting him in the mood. The bull's middle was pressed warmly into his back, the pair having given up on blankets years ago as their blubber kept them warm even in the winter months. "You lookin' to gimme a poke, big bull?" His headfur had picked up some gray streaks, as had Wexler's, but he still felt far from old.

"Ain't the festival today, puppy?" He still wriggled his hips against the cushy ass of the Dane. He yawned, nibbling on Terry's ear. "You got a lot to put in the tank today."

The dog's belly growled at that, Terry hefting his gut slightly, and oofing as he exerted to get himself out of the bed, the springs creaking and squeaking loudly from the shifting of the weight. He planted his feet on the hardwood floor, which groaned at the sudden pressure, and reached around to scratch his ass, his tail wagging as he did so.

"Mmmmm, I'll never get tired of looking at that, puppy. Gimme a little turn?" The bull reached his hand under his gut, groping himself as Terry slowly turned in a circle, humming a parody of some big bang tune. He tipped the scales at four hundred ten pounds now, Wex having joked he should aim for four fifty, but it appeared he'd likely end up there by the time he retired. He was fatter than the mayor now, his belly hanging low over his waist, covering his groin, his legs thick with muscle to carry it all, and his ass was like two big pillows of flab. His navel had deepened, and often had a musky smell to it, either from his sweat, or Wex occasionally humping his belly folds. The dog gave himself a jiggle, the fat needing more then three seconds to finally settle, and he pushed out a loud belch when he faced the bull again.

"Puppy, you ain't even ate yet, how're you belchin' this early? You sneakin' in the middle of the night?"

He grinned. "Just so full of love for my big bull sometimes it just pops out. My gut's... BRAAAAAAAAAP! Sayin' it loves ya, Wex." He ran his hand over the bull's belly, Wex still stroking himself under his fat. "Shee-it, bull, you gonna cum? You smell like yer about to shoot one off."

"Gonna be fifteen years, puppy, and I can still beat off to yer body. So damned... uhn... sexy and... Shee-it, I just wanna stuff ya 'til yer shootin' and belchin' and... UHNNNN!" He practically giggled as he convulsed the bull pumping a fresh load of bull semen, enhancing the already rank smell of canine and bovine musk. He leaned forward and buried his face in Terry's gut, lowing into it, making the dog shudder. "Damn, we're gonna fuck a lot tonight, ain't we..."

"Long as you load up the picnic basket, hus-bull." He smirked, and then kissed his love long and deep before getting to putting on his uniform, which he needed a little assistance in given his size and having some difficulty in buckling up his pants and belt. It was a clean shirt, probably the last, and the slacks were only lightly stained around the ankles, his shoes slip-ons since he hadn't seen his own feet in three years and his cock in five. He pushed out another belch, patting his gut with pride as he went into the kitchen to start feeding from what Wex jokingly called "the trough", or the platter of fried cakes, donuts, bagels, danish and other breakfast pastries to get his body going. Wex came out soon after to have coffee, the bull still nude and not having fattened up like the Dane, still around the same size as before. Boxes were stacked along the walls of the kitchen plenty visible in the living room.

"So... you gonna miss it, Sheriff Graft?"

"Well, I'll still go." He swallowed a hunk of raspberry Danish. "I'll have to. I'll actually get to announce the winners every year now. How about you? You okay with the move?"

"I'll be with you. To think you were nervous ten years ago. No one even ran against you, puppy, everyone wanted you in." He kissed Terry again. "Mayor Graft. *Mayor* Graft. That's gonna take some gettin' used to. This mean suckin' you off counts as community service now?"

Terry leaned against the counter. "Damn it, Wex. Stop gettin' me all riled and randy. I'm gettin' sworn in at noon, bunch of speeches and sayin' farewells to Kevin, then I gotta find a replacement. For me. Ain't nobody ran for it! Come noon Dogwood ain't got a Sheriff, bull."

"Well, you check the mail? You got a letter from upstate yesterday." Wex handed him the envelope, which had a stamp with a cartoon raccoon on it, and Terry opened it quickly.

"Huh. He's applyin' for positions in law enforcement. Decent grades, just needs some experience. Hell, we're gonna need someone fast, could always try him out for a week, see if it works out, but I gotta have a Sheriff for the festival today, and someone to uh..." He waggled his brows. "Keep the town safe while I poll my favorite constituent."

"Damn, Ter, yer just a fat walkin' dick, ain't ya?" When Terry belched in response, the bull grinned. "Love you too, puppy."

The Dane picked up the phone, dialing the number. "Mornin'. This is Terry Graft, Mayor of Dogwood, you sent us a letter of inquiry about open positions in our Sheriff's office?"