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Sandra Callaway, a public radio journalist, runs headlong into the limits of "freedom of the press" in a confrontation with a policeman stoat.

What has gotten into Rob? Here are some more tags you don't see often, and also probably the only story on the site that uses both the phrase "weathered old TASCAM" and "come on, slut, you know what to do." Just some smut for your Friday afternoon! Enjoy your weekend!

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

" The exclusive ," by Rob Baird (A Pledge Drive Canto, with "Evening edition" and "Matching Donations")

He told himself that his nerves burned because of the coffee. That was it. Not because of the protests. The thrown bottles. The shouting. Not because there he was, Sergeant Daniel Hayes, thin blue line against the rabble. Recent escalations had made the line a little more multicam than blue, but...

Well, the principle was the same.

Hayes shuffled uncomfortably. The kevlar was a little much. The mask, even more so. And the M4 he'd been trained with only two weeks before... well...

Really, the stoat looked less like a policeman, and more like someone live-action-roleplaying riot control. And they'd made him put charcoal on his face. He looked rather sinister.

Fortunately Sergeant Ortiz would be coming to relieve him. How long was that? He checked his watch, tilting his head at the glowing tritium dial. Twenty-seven minutes, exactly. Until then, nothing to do but keep the civilians back and ignore the wailing of sirens from behind the cordon across Washington Avenue.

A shadow appeared at the edges of his vision. Moving too purposefully to be a wild animal -- no, it was definitely a person. Hayes tightened his grip on the carbine, and straightened up. "Stay back," he ordered sharply.

It stepped into the pale gleam of the streetlight, and Hayes gritted his teeth.

A short white wolf faced him, with shoulder-length silver hair drawn back and cinched into a ponytail. Worn jeans. Vest over an unbranded olive t-shirt. Digital recorder sticking out of one of the pockets. He knew the type. Yep. Knew it even before she raised her paw to adjust her glasses, strode up to him, and said: "I'd like to get through."

"Sorry, citizen," he told her. "Street's closed. The Chief will have a press conference in the morning and you can have your questions answered --"

The wolf slipped her paw into her vest, and fished out a plastic card. "I'm Sandra Callaway. I'm a reporter for KCNS-FM, the local NPR affiliate." She said it like it was part of her last name. "I'm filing a story on the rioting in Oak Valley. This is a question of --"

Did I ask? "Lady. I'm sorry to keep you from selling more tote bags, but the street's closed. Turn around, and get out."

"Question," she repeated herself more clearly, or at least with more volume. "Of freedom of the press. Now, I'm entitled to report on these riots. I'm just asking you to let me through so I can do my job."

Hayes grunted. What was it, something in the granola? Did she not see the barricade? "Press conference. Tomorrow. Walk away."

"But --"

"Get the fuck out of here!" The ululating scream of a police siren from a few blocks over lent an dark urgency to his order. "Now! Scram!"

Sandra Callaway, reporter-for-KCNS-FM-the-local-NPR-affiliate, set her jaw and put both her paws on her hips. The effect was diminished by the fact that she only came up to his chest, but Sandra had a she-wolf's manner about her and she bared her teeth. "This is a free country. I'm entitled to --"

Entitled? He cracked his knuckles audibly beneath the gloves. "Shut your mouth, bitch, and leave before something happens."

"Like what? You know, I want to see your badge. Sergeant... Daniel Hayes, 0256..." As she read off the numbers, she produced a small point-and-shoot digital camera from her vest, holding it up to his chest.

"What's that?"

"--32," she finished. "Do you think your supervisors are going to want to hear what you called me?"

They always had to be difficult. "Alright," he sighed testily, and held out his paw. "That's enough, then. Hand it over..."

"What? No."

She was moving to slip it back into her vest and he grasped her wrist firmly, eliciting a shocked gasp from the wolf. "Wasn't asking. Give it here." She hesitated, and the stoat gave her a rough shake. "Now."

"But..."

Enough of this. She hadn't bothered to slip the wrist strap on, which made it easy for him to grab the camera in his gloved paw. The plastic bent as he tore it from her. "There. That's a good citizen."

"Give it back. That's my personal property. I'm a reporter, remember? We have a thing called the First Amendment, Sergeant Hayes. Congress shall make no --"

Daniel Hayes, who had been through social studies before, rolled his eyes and threw the camera to the ground as hard as he could. The cheap Japanese frame shattered and splintered, and what remained gave way easily beneath a stomp of his powerful, booted foot. "You see a congress anywhere? Jesus. Make everything so fuckin' difficult..."

"But..."

He stomped the camera's carcass again, and felt the glass of a lens shatter. "Now run on home like a good girl."

Sandra flattened her ears angrily, and showed off sharp teeth -- never mind that his were sharper still. "This is going in my story. I'm going to make sure everyone knows what you just did."

That was the problem with reporters. They assumed a keyboard and a publisher gave them some kind of actual power. Daniel Hayes grumbled. "Alright, enough of this."

"Enough of what?"

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her other wrist and spun the wolf roughly so that her back was to him. "I'm putting you under arrest."

"For what?"

What the hell did the bitch think? Against her uncooperativeness he worked her forward and up against the wall of the nearest building, the back alley of an abandoned convenience store out of the streetlamp's sight, so that he could pin her while he fished out the handcuffs. "You know what. Pissing me off."

"That's not an arrestable offense!"

"It is now. Now calm down." The wolf did not seem to be in the mood for that, however. She struggled, and he shoved her back against the stone, forcing the air from her lungs. "You're just going to make this harder on yourself."

"Lemme go," she grunted, squirming against the lack of leverage occasioned by their position. She pushed against the wall, and the movement forced her short, stocky body against him. Even through his uniform he could feel how warm she was. And...

He nudged his mask up and over his muzzle, growling against the curve of her ear as it flicked and splayed. Apex predators were so cute when they thought nobody could possibly challenge them. "Stop resisting," he told her.

Something in the tone of that growl brought her struggles to a halt. Her ears flattened further. "But..." He kept both of her wrists bunched up in one paw, and felt over her vest with the other. "What are you doing?"

"Checking for weapons."

Their bodies were very, very close now; his chest was up against the curve of the she-wolf's spine, and nothing she wore did much to trap the heat of her body. Sandra stiffened: his paw had come to her chest. "Hey -- what? Stop that."

Dan groped her, enjoying the way she squirmed in his grasp. Pretty good tits, he grinned to himself. He paid a bit more attention to her other breast, fondling it between his gloved fingers. "You know, you're not that bad, for public radio..."

From the way she jerked and tried to push him off her Sandra seemed to have gathered that the situation had suddenly changed. Her breath caught. "I'm spoken for. Sorry," she muttered. Trying to play it off.

He grunted, and slid his other arm around to the front of her waist, tugging her back and into him as he ground his hips forward, hard -- keeping her wrists pinned at her waist. "Yeah? Some skinny-jeans-wearing fuck at the co-op, right?" She made for a good pawful, and he squeezed her again roughly. "That ain't a boyfriend, that's just a pet you trained to ride a fixie."

"Stop," she whispered. The stoat's fingers found the zipper of her photographer's vest, tugging it down sharply. Beneath the vest, her t-shirt did little to shield her from the police officer's frisking as he pawed at her roughly, feeling her tense and squirm at the touch of his strong fingers. "Hey, c'mon."

He paused, paw grasping her right breast, his claws digging through the cotton t-shirt to the bleached white of her plush fur below. "What?"

"If you're going to arrest me..."

"I'm not gonna arrest you," he said, and nipped her ear in sharp teeth. "Got somethin' better now." He pushed his hips into hers again to let the wolf feel the heat firming up between his legs. Nice, taut rump -- he wondered for a moment what crunchy pastime had toned it. Bouldering, maybe. She had the figure. Nice and strong, just... well. Not strong enough.

She tried to escape again, and her squirming brought a grunt of pleasure from him that she saw fit to ignore. But he knew that she could feel him, because when he gave a sharp thrust of his hips she gasped, and her ears laid back. "You can't do this," the wolf whimpered.

"Stop me," he mocked her, as his fingers slipped the catch of her jeans and undid the thin leather belt that held them up. "No, go on, I mean it. I love it when they squirm..."

Sandra whimpered her protest, and shoved her jeans down roughly in response. Underneath, the fur of the white wolf's shapely thighs was soft to the touch. She took good care of herself. Dan was, he decided with a nip to her ear, going to have fun undoing that. She bucked, trying to throw him off, and the stoat chuckled darkly.

"I love it when they squirm," he repeated, in a snickering growl. He tore the glove off his right paw to make it easier to maneuver, feeling for her cotton panties. Pausing. "What's this now..."

"C'mon, let me go... lemme -- ah!"

He'd shoved his fingers beneath the fabric, curling them against the warm lips of her pussy. "Christ, you're fuckin' dripping," he drawled, trailing a pair of digits over the slick, sloppy-wet flesh. "If I didn't know better..." He squeezed her mound in his paw and the she-wolf whined. "Give it up, slut," Dan laughed. "You fuckin' need this. Nobody gets that wet thinking about coverin' some dumbass riots..."

"Please don't," she faltered, but her stance had weakened and when he groped her again her knees buckled a little bit. "I'm a reporter..."

"Yeah?" Dan could feel his cock already rock hard, straining against his improbably camoed fatigues. He undid them, feeling the heavy fabric puddle around his ankles, and pushed his hips up against the wolf's so she could feel the heat of his shaft throb between those shapely cheeks. "Then let's give you an exclusive."

Feeling his cock put a renewed sense of struggle into the wolf. She almost succeeded in putting him off balance, and with a growl he slammed her up against the brick of the convenience store. A startled cry, and she thrashed against him as he roughly tore her panties free and his cock slipped up along the inside of her thighs.

For a second, Sandra froze. The stoat grinned behind her, knowing what she was feeling -- none of his kind were particularly poorly endowed and Dan himself had a remarkable specimen, thick and hard and always ready to do what needed to be done. Like showing this little reporter bitch where her first amendment rights ended...

For example, that freedom of speech. He could tell she was getting ready to scream for help. That wouldn't do; he clamped his drenched paw over her sharp, white muzzle just as she sucked the breath in for it, filling her muzzle with the scent of her own slick juices. The same juices drooling over the tip of his cock as he guided himself to her wet slit, pushing up so that she started to open up around him.

As soon as he felt himself slip into position the stoat straightened and rammed himself into the diminutive wolf in a sharp thrust that didn't even get half of his massive length up and into her. Sandra jerked -- and then she did cry out, the sound muffled into useless silence by his paw gripping her muzzle.

Dan thought the effect was a little muted. It would've been more convincing were she not so fucking wet, squelching lewdly around the thick, throbbing length of stoat cock half-buried in her cunt. With a grunt he pulled back from her, hammering in again to force a few more inches into the wolf. And then again. And again.

Until he had her up to the wall, and she was stretched on her tiptoes trying to keep him from splitting her. The policeman's strong foot pushed her legs apart and he thrust again, but there was nowhere further to go. He bit down on the wolf's ear. "Gonna scream if I let your muzzle go, bitch?" She shook her head.

He started to relax his hold, and shifted his hips, wriggling them back and forth as he slowly pulled from her tight, burning hot pussy. But as soon as he'd let go, he felt that sharp intake of breath swelling her chest as she readied herself to cry out, and with a growl he squeezed her muzzle back closed -- then bucked hard, slamming his cock back in to the hilt and driving the breath from her again as she screamed into his paw.

"You don't learn, do you?"

This time, if she answered, he ignored it. Rocking his hips, he started to fuck her in deep, strong thrusts. He almost couldn't believe that all of him fit, she was so fucking tight -- clenching and clasping reflexively with those silky walls pulsing hot and molten around his over-generous endowment.

Why the fuck hadn't he done this before? Now Dan was thinking about all the speeding drivers he'd simply written tickets for; the stop-and-frisks he'd let stop at the frisking. As his violent thrusts thrashed the little white wolf between the dirty brick of the alleyway and his needy, flexing hips he grunted and cursed his lack of initiative.

A little shudder -- he wouldn't have noticed except that Sandra was pushing her rear down and into his crotch. His muzzle nudged her flattened ear. "You like that, don't you? This is what you came here for, ain't it? Fuckin' -- reporting," he grunted, stuffing his cock to the hilt again, feeling his tip nudging up against the deepest wall of her sodden, well-used pussy. Held there. "My ass. You came here to get that tight little cunt of yours stuffed. Didn't you?"

She shook her head.

With a growl, he gave her another few thrusts to correct her mistake. She was trembling, quivering -- he could tell she was trying not to react to him. Not to let her body give in. "Don't fight it," Dan purred to her, pumping his hips smoothly. The stoat's sharp claws teased the fur above her slit. Every time he hammered into her he could feel his thick girth bulge the she-wolf's toned belly. "Nothing wrong with being a whore. You gonna be a nice, quiet bitch if I let you talk?"

Silence. Good enough.

He released her muzzle and she whined against the rough stone of the back wall. "Good," he groaned to her, and let himself slip back into the steady, deep rhythm as he worked his throbbing meat into her, the wolf's slick juices gushing back around him as he pounded her. "Good -- fuckin' -- whore."

She whimpered, and had he not been so certain she wanted to be crammed full of the stoat's prick he might've paused. Or at least slowed down.

Or not. "What was that?"

Sandra had whimpered again. "Reporter," she corrected him.

No. The bitch was a slow learner. "Jesus fuckin' --" he growled and thrust hard, letting her sit with his cock wedged deep for a moment to think about what she'd done. Pinned between his heaving, hot body and the wall -- good place for her. He felt over her vest until he found what he was looking for. "Report, then."

"What?"

"I fuckin' gotta do everything?" He tugged the recorder free -- weathered old TASCAM DR-1; nicked, scratched screen. He pushed it into her paw. "Report. Go on."

"What? To who?"

No. Whom_, public radio bitch. To_ whom. "I 'unno. Is it pledge season? File a little story for all the Listeners Like You." Dan shifted his angle so that he could sink a quarter-inch deeper into her or so, biting back his rising peak with a grunt. "Tell 'em what you're doing."

No doubt mindful of what had happened to the camera, Sandra paused with her finger on the button. "Well, I..."

"No," he growled warningly, his breath hissing into her ear between needle sharp teeth. "'I'm Sandra Calla... han... with KNS-what -- mmf, whatever -- fuckin' -- reporting live here an' -- goddamnit I'm not the fuckin' comms major. Do it nice an' I'll even let you file it..."

Her ears back, blinking at the digital recorder, she thumbed the button. "I'm S-Sandy Callaway, KCNS, reporting from Oak Valley where I'm..."

She'd trailed off. "Being railed by a cop," he grunted his laughter into the pinned predator's ear. "There you go. Do a little story for your boyfriend. Tell him what you're doin'. What you're gettin' from the City's Finest."

Her ears pinned into her silvery hair. "I didn't -- want --"

"Yeah. I'm sure he'll believe you," Dan grinned, and accented it with another deep thrust. "Start talking."

"Paul, I'm --" Sandra fought to catch her breath as the stoat hilted himself and his paw found her clit, fingering it in those strong, work-calloused digits. "I'm at Washington and Fourth right now being... bein'fuckedbyacop," she breathed the last words all in a rush, like it was an effort to get them out. But with it said... "Being rutted up against the wall of a gas station convenience store by a --" she gasped and shut her eyes tightly as he toyed with her. "A city cop..."

"An' ya like, it don'tcha? Go on," Dan urged, grunting with the effort of fucking her. Maybe her boyfriend was a wolf, too. Weird things with their funny-shaped dicks -- 'cept she'd been built to take a knot, and that made it easier for the white-furred bitch to take the stoat's cock, too. Tradeoffs. Shuddering to a halt he paused to pant into her ear. "Go on, tell him. 'I pretended to fight a bit but I secretly craved a real man's cock reaming my filthy little snatch.' No shame in that."

She winced, biting back something that a second shallow jerk of his hips revealed as a muffled moan. Dan grinned and began to widen his strokes again, working himself in sharp bucks as her pulsing, fluttering pussy clasped wetly, needily about him. "He's so fucking big, Paul," she whispered into the recorder. "God, he's so much bigger than you..."

The stoat groaned at that, loud enough for the recorder to pick it up, and leaned into her back, fighting the urgency building in his loins as he fucked the quivering wolfgirl. She was starting to get into it, no longer fighting, humping her hips back and into his. "'So much bigger' and what, whore?" he prodded.

"No," she whimpered. Like: no don't make me say it, except that with his massive length spreading her, forcing her legs wide as he plunged up into her what was the point of denying it to him? She switched the recorder back on. "It's so fucking good," she sobbed into the battered microphones. "Paul he's so fucking good. Paul," she mewled into the recorder. "He's gonna make me cum..."

That was not a surprise; she was writhing back against the stoat now, her muscular thighs quivering into weakness. Dan held her up with both paws, using the wall to brace her as he fucked her in rough, brutal strokes that filled every inch of her messy cunt -- maybe a bit more, the angle was getting him deeper now as he pounded her mercilessly and she started to twitch and jerk and yelp every time their bodies clashed.

The dull claw of her thumb trembled on the worn red recording button and even when she'd stabbed it down it took her a few seconds to speak -- muzzle open and gasping, her eyes squeezed shut behind her glasses, her shoulders rolling to push her rump into the strong male taking her in those fierce strokes and -- "I'm cumming," she groaned into the recorder. "Oh shit, Paul, I'm cumming on his big, fat cock and it's so good, fuck he's so much better than you, Jesus it's so good don't stop don't stop don't -- ah!"

With a wail the she-wolf snapped forward, and her claws dug in to the creaking plastic of the recorder. Dan had a moment to wonder if that was, in fact, where it had gotten all its scratches from. Then her wail built louder and he had to clamp his paw back over her to silence the shuddering wolf bitch, using his free hand to hold her hips in place as she bucked over his shaft, riding it in the throes of her peak, stroking its thick, throbbing girth through the lips of her pussy as she spasmed and contracted around him.

The stoat was not far behind. She'd gone so nicely pliable, the predator in his arms, and he intended to pound a full load of his cream deep into that juicy cunt of hers except that with her gibbering incoherently that was tough for her... radio voice. He had to ride it out, feeling his balls drawing up tight -- aching. Waiting.

She sagged forward and he nudged her ear. "Liked that?" His shallow thrust was met by a sharper, involuntary buck as a spasm rocked through her. "I'm gonna cum in you now..." he growled to her, as he began to rut her again.

"Wait. No --"

"What?" he laughed harshly. "You don't let Paul do that? Damn. 'Cause I'm gonna fill you up, Sandra. No," he warned, feeling her stiffen and start to struggle for the first time in a good few minutes. "Don't fight it. Come on, slut, you know what to do."

"No -- just don't --"

He shifted to free up a paw, and placed it over hers, pinning the recorder in her grasp against the brick wall. Flattening his whole body to hers so he could feel every inch of his body behind and inside her. His thrusts quickening -- growing urgent. Sharper. Getting ready to claim her. His sharp teeth bit the rim of her ear. "Talk..."

"He's fucking me so hard now," she gasped into her recorder. "He's getting ready to cum..." Her hips squirmed, and he used a fierce buck to shove her into the brick wall, to banish any futile thoughts of escape. To remind her where her place was. To... "Paul I feel so dirty but I -- I don't care -- I'm gonna let him. I need it so bad -- oh god he's close now I can feel it, he's gonna fill me up, don't hold back, do it, cum in me --"

Somewhere the target of the reporting had gotten lost, but he was beyond caring. One brutal thrust tore her finger from the digital recorder so it missed his guttural snarl as he sank into her and seized up in pleasure, his tip pushed flush against her cervix so that the first hot gush of his cum spurted right up inside her. Dan bit down on her ear, her neck, her shoulders, nipping at her as his back arched and he thrust again, and again, pushing past that tight ring to sink into her womb, claiming her utterly.

Her paw clenched, dragging the recorder down the brick wall and adding a few new scratches. His finger shook with need as he pressed it over hers to turn the thing back on and she moaned like a bitch in heat into the sensitive condensers. Broken. Wailing. "Oh, yes! Just like that -- fuck it into me!"

"You're recording," he gasped, reminding her, as another surging flood of cum spurted into her.

"He's cumming now, Paul," Sandra shuddered and rocked her hips back to meet the stoat's thrusts. "He's getting it so deep... jesus, there's so much... god, Paul, he's so fucking good, why can't you fucking do this? Why can't --" she gasped the question into the wall just as he saw her fingers bunch up again, and a strained look on her face. "Oh fuck I think I'm gonna cum again I'm gonna -- I -- keep going, pound me," she begged.

The recorder was still running. "What about your boyfriend?" Dan grunted to her, turning his muzzle so the mics would pick up the question.

"Fuck my boyfriend," the helpless wolf bitch groaned, and her paws bunched up as she shoved her rear back in a frenzy of need, squirming against the stoat's hips. "Fuck him. Fuck him oh Christ yes right there right fucking there oh god ohgodoh --"

Sandra's recorder had fallen to the ground, although the sturdy construction saved it. But she'd turned the gain down on the mics, no doubt, so they'd missed her desperate begging -- fortunately there was no way to miss her keening wail, which lasted for nearly a second before Dan had the presence of mind to shut the girl up, closing his paw back over her muzzle to let her scream out her orgasm as she bucked like a wild thing on him, riding his cock as her frantic squirming sent gushes of seed spilling down her white thighs to smear her well-worn blue jeans.

A few seconds passed while he let her ride out her huffing, trembling climax before she collapsed forward, just barely catching herself on the wall. He did her the favor of pulling out, a flood of his cum spilling from her spread folds, and watched as the wolf lowered one of her paws to feel over her lips wonderingly. "Good... lord..."

Dan bent over, and picked up the recorder along with his fatigues. "See? Wasn't so hard, was it? Finish up." He held it out for her.

Still dazed, she took a moment to reply. "For... KCNS-FM, public radio Cannon Shoals I'm Sandy... Callaway and I've just... learned what being fucked is like..." She had to try the button twice before she hit it squarely and the recorder stopped.

"Ought to get the listeners interested."

Sandra flicked her ears, and looked forlornly down at her jeans, which were scuffed and soaking with the mess they'd made. "Jesus, Danny, you're an asshole."

"Like you didn't want it," he scoffed. "Shit, you been staring at me ever since you and Paul moved into the complex. You think I ain't noticed?"

Her little ears splayed, and the wolf made the effort to bend down and hook her finger into her jeans, wincing as she tugged them back up. "'Noticed' like everyone on the bus is going to notice I reek of weasel?"

"You're the one who came up here causing trouble. Guess you NPR types don't consider all things after all, huh?"

She stretched one leg after the other to work the kinks out, and buttoned her jeans. "Paul just said you might want some company. And I figured I might as well get a story out of it. Gimme that recorder back."

The stoat turned it over in his paws, and felt along the edge for the memory card slot. He deftly popped the card free, palmed it, and handed the device over. "Here."

"Card too."

Dan shook his head. "Nah, I got other plans for that. Goes somewhere else."

The wolf blinked at him. "Where? Hey -- no, don't look at me like that. Where? Paul?"

He grinned.

Her ears splayed out to the sides. "Danny. C'mon. C'mon!" She reached for his paw, and he batted it away roughly.

"Why not? You seemed pretty enthusiastic about reporting it to him at the time. Maybe he can take some lessons." Paul was a rangy wolf who worked for a nonprofit downtown.

She set her jaw, staring downwards, kicking the ground with her foot. "Any way I can get that from you?"

"What?" he snickered, and shoved her side mockingly. "You didn't get enough from me? I'm sure Paul will be happy to see what you're getting up to in your off hours..."

Sandra growled. "Man, Danny. You are an asshole."

He grinned, showing off his teeth and adjusting his mask to pull it back down. "'Protect and serve,' sweetie. Definitely wasn't any protection but at least I served -- one out of two ain't bad. Right?" He took her by the shoulder, and forced her from the alley back onto the sidewalk along Washington Street.

The wolf grumbled. "You get off soon?"

"I get off in..." He checked his watch. Hadn't been a bad way to spend the time. "Five minutes."

"Gimme a ride?"

Dan shrugged. "Maybe."

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"Sure. Ride." He raised his voice, and pushed her theatrically. "Get over to the fucking car, bitch. I'll be there in five minutes."

Rolling her shoulders at the shove, she glared at him with appropriate fire, and then stumbled off in the way he'd pointed. Five minutes. Well, at least Sergeant Ortiz was never late. And at least he knew what Paul had done with the camera he'd borrowed six months before.

The click of movement caught his attention, and he turned to find someone staring at him. Young otter. Press card. Camera in their right paw.

"How much of that did you see?" Dan asked, gruffly.

"E-enough..."

The stoat stalked towards her, and lifted up the card pinned to her chest. "This a real newspaper?"

"I-i-it's an... online paper. Big circulation. What you just did there..."

Dan rolled his eyes. Held out his paw. "Alright," he sighed, for the second time that night. "That's enough, then. Hand it over."

Fucking press. They always had to be difficult.