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--1

Aleksai's cabin met every expectation of fortune and good taste and any whom passed through its doors as guests or lovers were treated to its rustic wood, hide rugs and plentiful hunting trophies. Guests in the latter case received a night of fantastic sex amidst panoramic windows with an unobstructed view of the sprawling woods, snow-capped mountains and starry sky when the sun did die down.

That night Aleksai had no guests but he never felt alone. From the warmth of his seemingly endless bedroom, he gazed from his windows. His keen eyes watched birds scatter and converge. He caught the distant rustling of trees. Afflicted with heterochromia, one of his eyes was yellow and the other was pink. Such exotic and unusual colors blended well with his tall, athletic body which was dressed in a fetching coat of black and silvery white. Purple filled in his front side and lent accents to his face, mane and tail, and in the dark the naked flesh of his penis and tongue exhibited alluring bioluminescence. In spite of his noisy colors, Aleksai loved the thrill of a hunt. Each trophy on his walls and every rug on his floors was a proud beast he had felled for himself. A crossbow was his weapon of choice. Some would have cared to invalidate his kills with such a weapon, but his dissenters were uncommon.

The sergal watched until night fell, his tufted tail swaying in a feline manner all the while. This was his more restless routine in solitude. When the darkness outside was too total even for his skilled eyes, he left his bedroom and descended to the ground floor and then into his cellar. With a flick of a switch the lights came on to reveal only a solid vault door at the end of a short tiled path. Merely where I keep my wine and irreplaceable valuables, he charmingly told many a wandering guest while never relenting to gentle requests to peer inside. Aleksai worked the combination lock with a practiced quintet of twists. Only then did the heavy door slowly and silently yawn open.

Fluorescent lights tiredly flickered on and hummed overhead. Skulls far too refined and narrow to have belonged to beasts bore gruesome shadows in their eyeless sockets. Like lost souls, they peered at Aleksai whom felt the icy glares and savored them. Dozens of them adorned his walls save one which was a shelf loaded with caskets of wine. His minor chateau wasn't what he desired, however, for each night he admired his forbidden collection. Sometimes he kissed the smooth, preserved bone as a little girl kisses her cherished dolly. Other times he was far more crude and masturbated in the crossfire of their gazes, sometimes rubbing a skull on his groin, cumming onto its eyeless face and licking his sticky mess off of it. Tonight Aleksai was hot and hard, but he wanted the thrill of the hunt and a warm body to fuck.

With the air of a connoisseur, he perused the skulls and stroked their snouts. Some were long and clearly of canine origin with others shorter and obviously feline. One he lingered on was a hyena with its massive bone-crushing teeth forever preserved. One of its canines was broken off at the tip and it was an imperfection Aleksai tolerated only because the hyena had been such a wonderful hunt. The sergal already had his next playmate in mind, a slim young thing of red fox and raccoon blood. The boy was a son of one of Aleksai's greatest hunting rivals, though to his knowledge that old raccoon kept his hunts limited to four-legged beasts. Despite Aleksai's decision being a pragmatic one, he did appreciate the coincidental effect it would have on his rival.

He had gone over the boy's routine carefully, and that night was a fateful one. He looked up at the antique clock ticking and tocking away above his wine display. Its hands read ten past eight. The boy was just off work and Aleksai's grunts were closing in.

--2

Desmond stepped out into the chill air, locked the door and put it at his back. Out front, the venue was colorful and inviting. Its delivery and staff entry in the back alley was dull and claustrophobic, lit only by a tired, yellowing fixture over the door. Under the young man's arm was a maroon apron which was folded lovingly and spotlessly clean. It was the top layer of his uniform for a job as a chef's apprentice. He wore average street clothes otherwise though he looked proper and handsome in his khakis and button-down tee.

For months it had been Desmond's duty to arrive early and leave late. He had risen up from scrubbing floors to cleaning ovens to checking the restaurant's raw ingredients for any sign of rot and he did his work with pride. At the lead chef's side, he learned well and found himself being groomed to take over. To a gay young man with a touch for the culinary arts, it was an enviable position.

Down the steps Desmond went, onto cracked pavement of the alley floor and past the dumpster and its acrid smell. He had long since given up on shying away from the rotting stink. In the shadows which the door light didn't reach, one scummy and sleazy skunk lurked on Aleksai's payroll. His compatriot, a stout hare, was nearby at the mouth of the alley and feigning ignition troubles with their van.

He's a very sweet and polite boy, Aleksai had told his goons, and he'll definitely try to help if you look like you need it. I won't tolerate any more than bruises.

The skunk watched Desmond pass with sickly green eyes. Straight though he was, he could certainly see what Aleksai wanted the boy for, him being an ideal twink with long pretty hair and a vaguely feminine walk. Just briefly he felt a hint of morality and unease, the same pangs he felt every time he abducted for Aleksai. It passed, as it always did, when he heard a conversation strike up.

"Do you need to call a mechanic?" asked Desmond.

The skunk waited for the hare to speak. He said, "I don't think so... It's a problem with the starter, yeah? I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

Desmond chuckled uncomfortably "I don't have any mechanical ability, sorry. But, if you want, I can call a tow truck for you," and he reached into his pocket.

"That's all right, can't afford something like that," the rabbit said a bit too vehemently. He saw that the boy might soon spook and he cooled his tone. "Listen, kid, I'm sorry. Could you take a look at it for me, though? I just need you to tell me what you see, you got better eyes than I do."

The skunk crept silently up the alleyway, his body flattening against the wall. He and the hare had a brief and unnoticeable moment of eye contact over the boy's shoulder.

Desmond fixed the hare with a wary look. "I can check, I guess," he said tightly, "but then I should really get home, my folks are going to start wondering where I am."

"Won't take but a minute more, kid," the hare said. "I could even drop you off if you help us out."

"Who's us?" Desmond asked, his paw on the fender, his eyes more leery than ever.

The hare laughed sheepishly. "Just how I talk, kid, me and me's gotta get home, y'know?"

The foxcoon chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Well, I gotta decline the ride. It's not that I don't trust you, I just don't trust anybody too much."

"No worries, kid," the rabbit said as the boy turned back to the van. "Now, what you wanna look for..." he mused while Desmond leaned over. He reached over, smacked the prop rod away and hopped a step back when the hood clapped down against the fox's skull. Desmond went limp with a pathetic little grunt.

"About time," the skunk said, dashing out of the alley. While the hare lifted the hood back up, the skunk grabbed Desmond. But it wasn't so simple, and the twink screamed in confusion and lashed weakly. Going back to prison was the last thing on either goon's mind and so the hare quickly shoved his kerchief in the boy's screaming mouth. "How the fuck can he still be conscious? Thick-skulled little fuck."

Desmond was shaking off the blow and he started to fight the skunk more fervently. Although the skunk was a tall, tough criminal, Desmond had adrenaline in his veins. Thinking fast but acting like a brute, the hare grabbed the twink's snout and pounded a fist down on the top of his head with all his strength. Desmond's knees buckled and he went completely slack in the skunk's arms. The hare was quick to grab his feet and they tossed him into the back of the van like he was a roll of carpet. The skunk got in the back and set about tying up the fox as the hare made a casual getaway up to Aleksai's lodge.

Aside from red lights, they stopped only once when no cars were around. The skunk tossed the boy's phone into a storm drain and they were off again.

--3

Halfway to Aleksai's lodge, Desmond awoke and began to thrash. The skunk had bound his wrists and ankles with bailing wire and he quickly found that resisting it only garroted his tender skin. His mind raced with possibilities, none of them pleasant. Beyond his terror was the ambient pain of the wires and an impressive ache in his skull which wouldn't soon abate. He grappled with short-term memory and wondered what time it was. Thoughts of his parents occurred to him and he started to cry.

The skunk had since taken to the cab where he and the hare talked somberly. Neither cared to speak of what the boy's life had come to. They instead spoke of the money they were earning and how they might pay bills and feed their own children with it.

Soon the van pulled up to Aleksai's secluded lodge which dumb luck had little chance of taking strangers to. The goons wasted no time. They went around back and flung open the doors and from there the hare dragged weeping Desmond by the forearms up to the edge. He and the skunk lifted the boy up with little regard for his comfort, closed the doors with a couple of kicks and toted the twink up the steps and into the foyer.

Aleksai waited in his robe with bated breath. The sight of the boy so prone made him grin toothily, a sight the goons shied away from.

"Where do you want him?" the skunk asked.

"The floor is fine," said the sergal. "Leave. Now."

Although startled and looking dejected, the hare started to leave. The skunk spoke up, "Now hold it! We're getting sick of doing this shit for you! I know what the fuck you're gonna do with this kid and it ain't fuckin' right!" Down at their feet, Desmond whimpered around the rag and curled inward. "Now we want our money and then some, or maybe the cops are gonna be out here real soon."

Aleksai's smile faltered but there was malicious energy in his mismatched eyes. He stepped closer to the duo and put a foot heavily down upon Desmond's flank. "Yes, I'm sure the police will be happy to hear from a pair of ex-cons who trade young men for large amounts of cash. Let's see who will go away longer - you two chucklefucks, or me with my fuck-you money and an army of lawyers." He watched the skunk's mangy face sour while his paws balled up into menacing fists. The hare only watched with fear and indignity. "And suppose you did find the balls to turn me in... Well, what a lovely little boy you have at home."

"You're scum," the skunk hissed.

"And you're a two-bit goon, so I'm sure you'd know scum. You'll get your money and I'll be finding new, more obedient thugs to carry out my wishes." He straightened out and pushed his foot further into Desmond's flank. The boy could only groan. "Out with you."

Once his former goons did leave, Aleksai leaned down to appraise the boy. It was only ten o'clock which was nearly bedtime for Aleksai with a hunt first thing in the morning. Bearing the malicious smile that comes easily to sergals, he pulled the rag out of the boy's mouth and tossed it aside.

"Oh god, please don't hurt me," Desmond immediately bawled. Aleksai cupped his snout and then patted his head whereupon he savored the gentle, ladylike lines of the boy's face.

"Shh, you're safe tonight. Tomorrow we're going to play," Aleksai said calmly. "Do you want to know what we'll be playing?" Desmond stared plaintively and Aleksai grinned like a demon. "Think of it like a game of hide and seek. I'm going to put you out in the big, mean forest outside and I'm going to seek you. And you, little Desmond," he crooned, "naked, scared little Desmond, you're going to hide for as long as you can. You'll know when the game's over."

"I'm scared," Desmond whined. "Whatever you want, please..."

"That's kind of you, I plan to get exactly what I want out of you, however," Aleksai sneered. "Just relax. You'll be immortal." He let his words hang in the air like a foul smell as he reached into the pocket of his robe and produced a compact syringe full of a clear liquid. With a gentle touch he parted the fur on Desmond's neck and sank the tiny needle into a thick, throbbing artery. The moment he pushed down, the carefully-measured anesthetics in the syringe rushed to the boy's brain and spread throughout his body otherwise. Desmond was unconscious in less than a minute.

--4

Desmond sprawled and shuddered. He felt dewy grass underneath his naked body and wet, felled leaves shuffled like paper with reluctant crunches. The foxcoon recalled a dozy early-morning hunt his father had taken him on. Father had implored him to try it, just once, before he left to pursue his culinary dreams. The other distinct memory that came to the boy was that of his first hangover. A great, pulsing headache beat between his ears and kept him reluctant to fully awaken but the fleeting memory of Aleksai's grinning face and the unbelievable reality of his abduction spurred him. Tomorrow we're going to play he heard crisply in his head. "Oh, I don't want to play," Desmond bleated as he got up onto his knees. He opened his eyes against the mottled sunlight through the canopy of trees. His breath made steam but his lush fur kept him warm. Everywhere he looked was a dense sea of trees and he lamented an utter lack of survival skills.

Up on his feet, Desmond started to walk and the headache gradually cleared. The gravity of his situation was slowly occurring to him yet he still found himself fairly calm, which he thought could be denial. Rather bashfully he attended to his early-morning need to piss with his front to a tall tree as he obsessively looked all around throughout. It didn't occur to him that to see somebody besides Aleksai or his goons would be to his great fortune.

The fox guessed from the sun in the sky that it was some unholy hour like 6 or 7 AM. Desmond was a late riser who liked the night shift and so he found the morning sun offensive like a vampire might. He trudged through the underbrush with discomfort and annoyance as his prettyboy feet, groomed to be admired and held by a lover, frequently tingled with pain as he crushed twigs and found stray pebbles. Of all things, his nudity was perhaps the least of his worries given what a confident thing he was but as the hours wore on toward noon with his steady and seemingly straight wandering turning fruitless, he became damnably aware of his vulnerability

It was the suspense most of all which was making Desmond fidget at the ambiance of the forest. He avoided the densest patches where the sun had little penetration and he gave hollow trunks a wide berth. His wandering took him to a hill which he found himself ascending in quadrupedal locomotion where he used his prissy paws to dig into the jutting roots like handles. Beetles scurried from the exposed roots and crawled over his paw; Desmond whined and swatted them away before he started to scurry more quickly and carelessly. "Fuck this, fuck this!" he screamed and whined.

As Desmond crested the hill and returned to a bipedal stance, he expected his higher ground to help him see a way out but instead he spied denser trees. They loomed like skyscrapers and their canopies blotted out the high noon sun. Desmond could only guess at what was hiding in them, but in light of the creepy-crawlies, he might have welcomed even Aleksai. "Shit, fuck this, fuck this," Desmond quaked as he skirted the great expanse of tight and interwoven trees, speaking his words like a mantra. "Ohh, fuck this, I want to go home," he whined. "I just want to go home."

Along his path the boy stepped into a swatch of crunchy leaves like any other but the crucial difference was beneath. He heard the trap a split-second before it struck which simply wasn't enough reaction time for even the jumpiest prey. In the blink of an eye the mantrap's spring-loaded twin arms swung up, their ends tipped with repurposed bricks. With spectacular force they crashed into both sides of Desmond's ankle, shattered the bones inside and locked into place. The shock made Desmond squeal but the screaming, radiating pain saw him cut through the still air like a banshee with a sustained cry. He wailed and screamed as he fell to the forest floor, upending the trap and grinding his broken bone. Nothing in his entire life had prepared him for so much pain but the mercy of shock didn't set in yet. All he could do was lie as still as possible as he screamed into the ground. Hot tears streamed from his eyes and the terrific pain grew in exponents. Then, like mercy, shock finally started to settle in. Desmond didn't know what it was but he welcomed its cold embrace.

Aleksai emerged from the forest in camouflage from head to toe. He nudged the boy with a bare foot and noted his unconscious twitch. Desmond had wandered further than he had expected but Aleksai was always prepared, for once a boy had come close to escaping and he had to be put down in a messy, brutal way as to ruin the prize that was the skull. Never again, Aleksai told himself, would he underestimate his prey.

The sergal knelt and opened the trap. It had performed beautifully and Desmond's foot was nearly backwards. The boy could hobble if he were subjected to enough terror and stress but he wouldn't be escaping. "Why you little tease," Aleksai sniggered, reaching into his breast pocket for another syringe, "depriving me the pleasure of hobbling you? You're gonna pay for that one." Unceremoniously he jammed the needle into Desmond's neck and pushed the plunger down. Unlike the carefully-measured anesthetic from the night before, this injection was a cocktail of stimulants and synthetic adrenaline to bring the boy around like an explosion in his brain.

Desmond stirred in seconds and started to writhe and coo uneasily like a hungry infant. Aleksai tucked the syringe back into his pocket and opened up his fly. He was dressed in forest camo fatigues with a crossbow strapped to his back. His noisy fur was painted over to match his camo and so his hard, cyan penis made for immediate contrast when he fished it out.

"Ooh, oh god," Desmond shuddered. To test his leg he shifted it but he immediately hissed at the abject pain and settled against the leaves. "Fuck, what am I gonna do?" he gasped, unaware that Aleksai lurked just outside of his line of sight.

The sergal announced his presence when he straddled the boy quickly and rammed his hard, relatively dry cock into the boy's ass. The squeal he provoked was deafening due both to the savage anal rape and the way the boy jerked his gimped leg. Like a buck in rut, Aleksai went at the twink with everything he had. Ruthless thrusts reamed the boy out and ripped the delicate flesh of his pucker. Coagulating blood was a poor lubricant and it served only to dull the incandescent glow of Aleksai's penis. Over and over he ramrodded his thick, pointed cock into the squealing boy and he relished the feral indignity of the boy's cries. There was little reason left in such a drugged-up and pain-addled brain and Aleksai had seen such behavior come about many times. Invariably, his prey regressed to four-legged instincts when faced with such horrible pain and when the fear of death.

Scream for me! Aleksai wanted to hiss as he felt his hurried orgasm coming up fast. But he kept his vow of silence, a personal choice to never dignify his prey with words during rape. Despite a distinct lack of lubrication his grinding cock still made a nasty, wet suckle with every buck. Aleksai himself could feel the rawness of the penetration like a sandpaper scrape on his own penis but he rather liked the rough sex. It pleased him to know that Desmond's asshole was unspeakably bloody and sore and that the boy's final hours would be spent hobbling and shitting blood.

When Aleksai came, he shuddered and groaned. It was the closest Desmond would come to hearing him speak. As he shot his wad he hilted his member so as to cum deep into the boy's bowels. Pleasure was the basis for Aleksai's actions but as Desmond wandered, that sticky, salty mess would leak back down and drizzle over his ripped walls for a lasting burn. It occurred to Aleksai that he knew perhaps too well how to cause suffering and despair. He pondered becoming a snuff director but those thoughts were pushed to the wayside when he yanked his drooling cock out and stood over the still, sobbing boy.

The sergal wiped the congealing blood off of his penis with Desmond's tail and zipped up again. It was almost time to turn his prey loose for a little while but one more atrocity was in order. Aleksai unsheathed his hunting knife and kicked the boy over onto his back. His shifting leg alone made Desmond arch his back and screech but the sight of the glistening, curved knife brought about reverent silence. With a sneer, Aleksai knelt again and grabbed one of Desmond's ears. They were perky, cute, curiously plum-hued and a matched pair no longer - Aleksai lopped one off amidst a breaking scream from Desmond. Then like laying roses on a casket, Aleksai put the severed ear on Desmond's heaving chest and disappeared into the forest.

Desmond lay screaming and sobbing for many minutes more before gradually giving over to only the latter cries. When he made the tough decision to move he grabbed absently at his severed ear, daring not to look at it or acknowledge how sickening the severed cartilage felt in his paw. It took great willpower to get to his feet which he proved not to have. In the ensuing loss of dignity he crawled and dragged his broken leg until he found a heavy felled branch which he was fairly sure wouldn't snap. As he gripped it and wrangled it into the ground like a javelin, he lost track of his ear and dropped it somewhere in the underbrush.

Gelling blood drizzled down the side and back of Desmond's head and stained his pretty hair to turn it into some bloody tapestry. Yet more blood and Aleksai's virile semen gelled down the crack of his ass and along his taint like the sickest form of menstruation. Desmond used the branch like a crutch and he was much too distracted to notice when it dug into his armpit and opened softly bleeding cuts and scrapes. Every time his foot dragged against the ground he forget his other pains, even his ear, and he made his way to what he hoped might be the edge of the woods with determination which only adrenaline and shock could provide.

--5

Desmond's slow and broken hobbling went on for hours. Exhaustion from pain made his limbs heavy but fear kept his eyes open and his body moving. Excruciating though it was, the pain in his ankle relegated itself only to throbs and the foxcoon had mostly sorted out how to walk with his improvised crutch. By then splinters had been driven far into his armpit but he kept leaning into the crutch for fear of the agony which putting his foot down would subject him to.

Orange rays of the sunset peeked through the trees and made Desmond's wobbling shadow tall and slender. In the blur of the pain, Desmond began talking to himself, not with profanity-riddled cries of desperation but odd and disjointed conversations. He wondered what work would be like tomorrow and what his parents were having for dinner. That he was excluded from these activities was out of his mind. He was curiously zen about his situation. All of his weird, fidgeting calmness was a fabrication of the shock and pain, however, and he was actually very distressed. Suppressing his terror and suffering was the only way to possibly press on.

Aleksai ever stalked and kept Desmond in his crosshairs. The boy was wandering dangerously close to the edge of the woods now. Though he doubted if Desmond could make it down the steep hill down the valley to the road while remaining conscious, if not alive, the mild traffic had a chance of noticing him. The foxcoon hobbled onward toward the border to which Aleksai disdainfully frowned and started to squeeze the trigger. He was aiming for the boy's upper back with intent to ideally sever or at least ruin the spinal cord. Punching a hole through a kidney and maybe a lung would have worked too, but the sergal eased off of his trigger with a smile when Desmond had a change of heart. With some difficulty the foxcoon passed through tall, sturdy trees which were aligned like goal posts. There lay another trap of Aleksai's and as the boy disappeared from view, the sergal nevertheless continued to peer through his scope while listening with keen ears. As he hoped and expected, he heard a snap and the horrified squeal, music to his sadistic ears. Aleksai slung the bow around his back and bounded to his prey.

Desmond's second pratfall wasn't as violent as the first for this one was a snare. When it was tripped, ideally the boy's ankle would have been noosed up and his body dragged up a tree with a counterweight but there was a distinct change in the script. Desmond had unwittingly set the trap off with his crutch which Aleksai saw dangling uselessly above. Down at his feet and writhing in pain and fear was his gimped prey.

"Oh my god," Desmond gasped to Aleksai. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot.

"God?" Aleksai maliciously giggled. "There's none of that here, only me."

The foxcoon put his head in the leaves and moaned helplessly. Soon he started to drag himself away which Aleksai watched with a curious smile. Before the boy got very far, he put a heavy foot down in the middle of his back and ground down threateningly upon his spine. It was only a means to halt the twink and soon he let up only to issue a command. "Get on your all-fours."

Desmond did so while his body quavered in fear and pain. In posturing himself he kept his broken leg noticeably still, moving the rest of his body around it to shift the broken bone as little as possible. "I don't want to die like this," he groaned as tears spattered onto the crisp leaves below.

"Does anyone?" Aleksai mused as he rolled up a sleeve and slipped off his glove. He knelt behind and to the side of the twink and smiled devilishly. "You're precious. You'll live forever with me.

From this horrifying reassurance to outright sexual abuse, Aleksai reached for Desmond's ass and pulled the cheeks apart. The pucker between them was ripped, raw and agape. The fur surrounding it which had once been white, vibrant and fluffy was matted with congealed blood and semen. Without a care in the world Aleksai rammed two dry fingers into the twink's ass but he found himself annoyed when the boy only hissed and grabbed fistfuls of earth.

The sergal gripped the base of Desmond's tail for leverage. Ruthless pumps of his fingers further stretched the ruined walls and reduced Desmond to whimpers and huffs. A dirty smile was upending Aleksai's frown and his long, tufted tail swayed in primal delight. Blood soon caked his fingers as he worked. Most was jellied but some was vibrant and fresh as the recent wounds were irrigated.

"Please stop, please," Desmond helplessly moaned in a voice that warbled between pitches. When he wasn't begging for mercy he was sobbing and sucking snot. His single ear was folded back against his head; the raw stump of the other stung in pain to add to, rather than distract from his overall agony.

As he worked on Desmond's asshole with his increasingly rough fingering, Aleksai grew hard in his pants but he left his cock where it was. He added a third finger to his work to spread the boy open even further still but he spent considerably less time with three fingers than he did with two. The logical procession would have been to add his last digit, his thumb, for his paws had only four digits each, but the sergal craved blood and squealing. Wearing his toothiest grin, he clenched his bloody paw into a fist and lightly punched the sore, former pucker.

Young Desmond squealed and cried for mercy. Aleksai heard the twink but it only deepened his arousal and steeled his resolve. He held onto Desmond's tail with painful, terrible strength and ground his knuckles inward. Desmond's bloody anus clenched and writhed as it unwillingly permitted Aleksai's fist to which a new set of weeping fissures emerged. The sergal sank his fist to the middle of his forearm. All the while, the most shrill and unimaginably sickening cries imaginable cut through the air.

What a nice arm-warmer you make, thought Aleksai with the sickest of grins. With his fist he plunged Desmond's asshole hard and deep and at an agonizingly slow pace. The plushness of Aleksai's fur did nothing to lessen the pain as it dragged along Desmond's savagely invaded colon. In a way it surprised Aleksai that a boy as pretty and as obviously vulpine as Desmond cried and screamed so much to such a large penetration. Similarly, he wondered if, under other circumstances, the boy would have been moaning instead.

Aleksai pushed his arm as far as he could which turned out to be no further than he had gone in his first shove. A shame for a fox to bottom out so quickly, thought the sergal as he extracted his blood-stained arm. Like a knot exiting, his fully clenched fist popped out and was a source of both relief and agony for the foxcoon whose moaning cries quavered and quaked. His pucker had been merely raped raw before but now was truly ruined. Reconstructive surgery and a life in adult diapers awaited the twink if he survived the ordeal.

Emitting a satisfied sigh, Aleksai pushed Desmond's ass cheeks sharply and dropped the boy into the leaves. He made a point of again cleaning up with Desmond's tail and the ongoing defilement of the fuzzy brush saw its fluff matted and stained. The sergal rolled down his sleeve, calmly slipped his glove back on, flipped his prey over and unsheathed the knife again.

A sneering Aleksai prodded the point of the field knife to Desmond's gut. "Two fingers or the other ear?"

Weeping and hopelessly confused, Desmond started to ask what Aleksai meant. The sergal jabbed him in the gut again and opened a bleeding prick. Desmond screamed.

"I'll cut off two fingers, or I'll cut off your other ear. If you don't pick I'll cut you open and let you hobble around with your entrails hanging out," Aleksai beamed. "Choose."

Desmond stammered and whined. Aleksai prodded again and Desmond felt the tip poking into his flesh. He panicked and screeched, "Fingers! Fingers!"

The sergal was nothing if not a creature of his word. So was he a decisive monster and he grabbed one of Desmond's wrists in his free paw. He decided upon the middle finger and he gripped it by the pad on the tip. Desmond was beginning to writhe, scream and beg but Aleksai ignored it as he notched the edge of the knife against the root of the finger for a dramatic slice. Sharp to a fault, the knife slashed with ease through the flesh and nicked the bone. More forcefully he wedged the knife in and yanked on the finger while Desmond's cacophonous screams rang in his ears. When the finger came loose, Aleksai relinquished the mutilated paw to inspect the severed digit. This appraisal was less ghoulish satisfaction and more to see how clean a cut he had managed through the bone. It turned out to be some of his finest work yet. As he grabbed the opposite paw to lop off another finger, Aleksai wondered if losing fingers would send Desmond back into shock.

"Don't, no! Please!" Desmond wailed with a scratched voice. He grappled for Aleksai's wrist with his wounded paw and he seemed to realize as if for the first time that a finger was actually missing. He stared slack-jawed at the blood-spurting wound and his pupils tellingly shrunk.

It was clear to a sadist like Aleksai that shock was overtaking Desmond again. He had just the thing for that, but first he took to the tod's ring finger. With quick, effective slashes, he ensured that if the boy survived he would never wear a wedding band. When his work was through, he carelessly tossed the digits off into the woods. They would be of no use to Desmond, after all. Then so very coolly, he wiped the bloody knife upon a rag from his breast pocket. While the boy began to quiver with an alarming, wheezy and admittedly cloying pant, Aleksai sheathed his knife and took a syringe from another pocket. As gently as pounding a nail, he slammed it right into an artery in the neck flowing to the brain and he jabbed the plunger to shotgun the stimulant cocktail into Desmond's blood.

--6

Desmond's reawakening was fast and terrible. He jerked his head to the side with heightened senses guiding his single ear. He watched Aleksai disappear into the brush of the forest and he felt a distinct pang of hatred juxtaposed with terror and the knowledge that death would soon be upon him.

The last golden twinkles of the sun vanished behind the dense trees and soon full darkness would envelop Desmond. Natural night vision from the days of his four-legged ancestry had long since left creatures like Desmond and Aleksai but of course the sergal watched the faggot drag himself through the leaves with the aid of a thermal scope.

From the boy's wanton injuries came a steady weeping of blood. Desmond's life drained from his paws and his wounded behind faster than it could clot and all of this coalesced into a slug trail of blood. Mosquitoes coming alive in the deepening night feasted on the exposed flesh of his paw pads, ears and nose, Desmond too agonized and too pumped-up and strung-out on stimulants to realize. From his mouth came that steady gibbering, those semi-rational thoughts of what he would do just when he made it home on steady legs and how he'd hear his father greet him, how he'd hear it perfectly with both ears and how he'd eat dinner with all of his fingers there to grip the fork and knife.

Aleksai picked up on the boy's muttering as he came nearer. Desmond was too far-gone to realize that he dragged himself just past the sergal whom hid only in the cover of darkness. The sergal watched his prey closely enough with his infrared that he could see the residual warmth of his cooling blood on the leaves.

Desmond's chattering had a surreal stream-of-consciousness to it which made Aleksai smile queerly. The boy was obviously slowing down. The stimulants were already wearing thin, for no amount of purified cocaine and other such black market goodies could keep a corpse alive. Aleksai was certain that he could let the boy expire on his own but he longed for the dying blow. To run prey ragged like a coyote would and let its heart explode was one form of victory but to simply let the faggot bleed out was no climax in his eyes.

"Desmond," Aleksai said, a firm tone. The boy was mere meters away.

The foxcoon halted. Delirious and dangerously low on blood was he when he warbled, "I want to sleep, I'm so tired."

"I know you do," the sergal crooned. He padded closer and knelt beside his prey whom offered not even the feeblest resistance to his touch. Aleksai doubted if the boy even knew who or where he was anymore.

A tiny, weak noise passed Desmond's lips and he shifted to his side. He favored the broken leg which he moved little on the ground. "Help me."

Smiling and petting Desmond's neck, Aleksai murmured, "How can I help you?"

Silence as Desmond's body settled somewhat. Death was just around the bend and Aleksai knew it. "I'm so thirsty," Desmond whispered. In that moment Aleksai could hear the parched scratch on the boy's tongue.

No part of Desmond's exit from the mortal plane was sacred to Aleksai whom opened his fly in relative silence. "Open your mouth," he whispered to the boy whom soon obliged. "I have some water you can drink. It's warm." And so he began to piss on the foxcoon's tongue and into his open maw. Desmond seemed not to notice the nuances of the flavor even when they were so obvious as he drank deeply of the sergal's hot and rank piss. He gulped it down as if it were clear, blue water from an oasis.

When the piss ran dry Desmond whispered so gratefully, "Thank you..."

"You're welcome," Aleksai whispered back. His penis was hard and it throbbed. "Are you ready to sleep?"

"Mhm," Desmond answered, his voice so tiny.

"You most certainly are," said the sergal whom unsheathed his blade. Desmond yielded easily to his suggestive touch and rolled onto his back when the hunter nudged him. The boy was uttering something more. It was some apology which the sergal cared little to hear. Exhibiting unhinged ferocity, he plunged the knife into Desmond's chest through fur, flesh, bone and the sac which walled off the heart to stab that very organ. Such an attack wrenched forth an agonized, nearly surprised cry from the formerly peaceful and resigned young thing. It truly startled Aleksai when Desmond fumbled at him with those mutilated paws, catching only the strap of his crossbow. Blood gushed plentifully around the knife as Desmond's shredded heart beat its final, ragged thumps into oblivion.

When Desmond finally had the good grace to fall slack, Aleksai wriggled the knife loose. It was a struggle to dislodge it from the sternum but he did so with a paw braced on the faggot's bloody chest. Even with Desmond's life snuffed out, there was more to do; Aleksai cleaned his knife and sheathed it and again he had his way with the boy. Even with a cooling, stiffening corpse, he was as ruthless as ever. Hotdog-down-a-hallway came to mind as he fruitlessly fucked the ruined depths of Desmond's asshole. Aleksai wound up straddling the foxcoon's gut to make use of his tight sheath. When he at last came, it was his most powerful climax yet with Desmond and he brayed mightily into the chittering blackness of the forest. For his final orgasm with such beautiful prey, he found it to be a worthy one. In the tenderness of afterglow, he carried Desmond's carcass home, knowing the way by familiarity alone.

--7

Days later, Aleksai hung young Desmond's skull upon his wall. He admired its subtle blend of fox and raccoon structures which formed a trophy that was, in a word, unique. Rather than sully any part of his collection with his seed he just admired their cold, wide gazes with a mischievous smile.

Having cleaned and preserved his latest trophy had Aleksai high on life and he treated himself to breakfast in bed. Eggs, sausage, toast and a bloody mary filled the void and gave him a cozy edge for which to drift back to sleep but first he stood at his windows and peered out at his sprawling property. His eyes fixated upon one little patch near the cabin of raw dirt populated with a few healthy saplings. Fresh transplants from elsewhere in the forest, hand-picked and moved by Aleksai himself, they would grow up strong as they drew their nourishment from Desmond's putrefaction.

Aleksai settled back into bed as the clouds rolled in and the thunder shook the earth. He flipped open yesterday's paper, the timely reading of which his impromptu gardening had precluded. Missing persons was the first entry he scanned, doing so with much vanity. Among the names and photos was one young thing named Desmond whose smiling yearbook image looked so unlike the bloating corpse Aleksai had handled.

Soon Aleksai would call his old goons and reconcile with them to bring them near. Their skulls wouldn't be trophies but their bodies would certainly be fertilizer buried far, far away from his precious boys.

But that was all for another day. The sergal's lust for blood was sated as was his simple hunger. While the rain pelted his window and soaked into Desmond's new grave, Aleksai slept beautifully.