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Sergeant Dan Hayes and his partner, the coyote Carlos Ortiz, pull over a car just out of town one night. The driver is not very keen on getting that ticket, but it has to be paid somehow...

Well, it's been a quiet week in Cannon Shoals, Oregon, my hometown. Here's some more noncon smut because hey, we're gonna ring the New Year in right_. It stars Danny Hayes, protagonist? of "The Exclusive" and "Evening edition," though not his public radio friend. Thanks to Spudz and Max Coyote for editing help._

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

"The stop" ** by ** Rob Baird

---

"You say that again, and I'm gonna have to bust yer face in." Daniel Hayes scowled fiercely; the suggestion that had been made was unconscionable.

"I'm just saying, Dan. Think about it."

"Already did. You're bein' a fuckin' idiot, Scout." Carlos Apolo Ortiz -- Dan called him Scout, because of his anachronistic choice in vehicles and because the stoat seemed to reject the authority of legal names on principle -- was a good worker, but a bit of a softie. Dan intended to break the poor dumb fool of that, but not if he kept being so fucking dense.

"Hey, come on. You can go, by the way." The light, which was old and mostly useless, had changed. Dan nudged the gas, and the squad car eased out onto Highway 520, back towards town. "The thing is, okay, I see what you're saying. But Picard was assimilated by the Borg, and then he got better. That takes stones."

"Yeah, and Darth Vader has a fuckin' lightsaber. Dude can choke people with his goddamned mind, Scout. You want to talk stones, fuck, let's talk blowin' a planet to shit 'cause some dumb bitch wasn't bein' talkative enough. You see Picard doing that?"

The coyote looked over, eyebrow lifted. "You're asking if I see Picard ordering the genocidal destruction of Alderaan? No. No, it's pretty out of character."

"Because he's a goddamned pussy. I don't even know how he got that fuckin' command. Nepotistical fuckin' bullshit..."

"You know, Dan, in fairness the question wasn't whether Picard was a pussy, it was who would -- whoa, hold on, watch it."

From up ahead, around a curve, they could see the two glaring points of headlamps, drawing precipitously closer. Dan eased their car towards the scanty shoulder, letting up on the accelerator. Not ten seconds later the lights raced past -- a little roadster, clearly with better plans than to follow the posted 55 of US-520.

"What do you think?"

Dan sighed. It was late. The call that had sent them to Oak Valley, about illegal fireworks, had been a waste of time. The Great Wall Kitchen was already going to be closed, and that meant Hot Pockets and Rogue stout for dinner. "Shit. I don't fuckin' know. You call it."

"Come on, let's meet our quota..."

He flipped the Crown Victoria around and gunned it. Then he threw the lights on for good measure, while Carlos radioed back to the sleepy night shift at Cannon Shoals. Daniel Hayes did not particularly enjoy the thrill of the chase; generally he believed in skipping the chase altogether. Fortunately their quarry didn't seem to be all that familiar with the curves of Highway 520; they slowed down, and the squad car had caught up to them within two miles.

Except then they kept going. "The hell?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Dan growled again, and gave a little pulse of the siren to remove any doubt about his intent. The brake lights came on -- briefly -- and then went out again. Christ on the fucking cross. Growling, he flicked the loudspeaker on. "Hey, dipshit. Pull the fuck over or I will end you."

"See, Dan, I mean --"

"Yeah, I know. Your fuckin' boyfriend Picard wouldn't do that either. But it works, don't it?" The car had turned off, into a rest area, and Daniel realized that they had probably been trying to find a section of road with a halfway decent shoulder. Well, whose problem was that? Not. Fucking. His.

The lights of the squad car cast garish, stark shadows on the sleek curves of the Z3 -- like the car was sayin' yeah I done wrong but fuck I looked good doin' it. Not a bad effect. Dan stepped from his car, and steeled himself for the ensuing conflict.

Mostly, it would be patronizing. Rich people were always patronizing. "My taxes pay your salary" was practically a free square in Idiot Civilian Bingo. Dan made a bet with himself: taxes, I'm-going-somewhere-important, and c'mon-let-this-one-slide.

Not that he was wedded to writing a ticket. It all depended.

The car, which was in lovely shape, had Washington plates. Strike one. The driver had not bothered to kill the engine. Strike two. And by the time he came up to the driver's window, they had already rolled it down and were leaning out to regard him. "Hi, officer..."

The drawl suggested a trace of alcohol, perhaps. Or perhaps it was merely an accent. She looked like a dalmatian -- not that he could tell all the fuckin' dogs apart, anyway. Spotty Haygood, who he also thought of as a dalmatian, was apparently some kind of coonhound.

This one, with lustrous alabaster fur and deep black spots all down her face and neck, seemed like a pretty safe bet, though. "Good evening," he answered curtly.

"Oh, isn't it?"

Strike three. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I don't know what you mean!" the dalmatian cast her eyes softly, the very picture of innocence. "We're just driving back home from a visit to our friends in Newport, and..."

"And you got confused?" Dan asked. "Thought that '520' sign was the speed limit?"

She blinked wide eyes, and shrank back into the car. "Was I... speeding?" Her paw came to her shoulder, fingers splayed to clutch gently at her neck as if in surprise. Claws brushed the links of a thin platinum necklace that seemed to fall naturally between her soft black spots. "I certainly didn't mean to, officer."

Naturally. "Can I see your license and registration, please?"

"Well... of course... I can look for those..." Seeing that the cute look hadn't worked, the dalmatian drew her paw back; her thumb caught the strap of her dress, and the garment sagged precipitously. She had, if Dan allowed himself to dwell, a pretty nice rack. Wouldn't write home about it, but worth filing away for... later. The dress was still committed to its job, clinging to the heavy flesh as she tilted her head up at him, though its dedication seemed to waver when the fabric drew taut. "But..."

Yeah, and he wouldn't mind giving her a good squeeze -- see if they were real, though he kinda thought so. If it hadn't been half midnight, and if his partner hadn't been waiting, and if... well. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I..." her paw drooped, and the strap came with it.

"License and registration."

She cast a glance over her shoulder, to where somebody dozed in the passenger seat. The gesture was a little more nervous. "Look... um... officer?"

"Hayes."

"Officer Hayes... I... I can't get a ticket..."

"License and registration," he added to the middle of her wandering protest.

"... If my husband finds out... c'mon, officer -- can't we maybe... like... an agreement...?"

Her husband was difficult to see, in the dark. Folded ears like the dalmatian, but a solid color. Lab? Dan rolled his eyes, and left the pouting dalmatian to stroll back to his car. "You run the plates?"

"Clean. Car's registered to an address in Seattle. You know, I was thinking. If Captain Picard could --"

"Scout. Shove it. So this bitch wants to work out a deal."

"Deal like..." The coyote rubbed his fingers together, counting out imaginary money.

"More like gettin' her stuffed."

"Her idea? Man, I tell you Danny, these full moons..."

"She doesn't know yet. I mean, I do. She don't, but that muzzle of hers could be awful nice. I got to thinkin', Scout, we been out here awhile. Ain't got shit for it..."

"OT?"

The stoat shrugged; rolled his eyes. "Yeah, fine. What were you gonna do when you got back tonight?"

"Take a shower. Crash."

"Lame. Fuck it, Scout. I'm gonna do this. You in?"

Carlos flicked one of his outsized ears. "This is not by the books, Dan..."

"Fine; your loss. Won't take long, I guess. Kill the lights." He'd owe the coyote, who had looked the other way before, a six-pack of Rogue or something.

It was the principle of the fucking thing. The dalmatian was pretty cute, and between that and the car she was also, clearly, used to getting her way. Maybe a few transgressions? Was that why her husband was apparently a source of concern? Well, and whose fucking fault was that, anyway?

Have to teach the bitch a lesson. "Alright. Get out of the car," he ordered her.

"Wh-what?" She looked over to the passenger seat, and then back to him. In the strong, pale moonlight the canine's white fur had a nice glow to it. The dress, a blue number that nighttime rendered a boring grey, didn't. Might have to come off. "All the way out?"

He opened the door for her, and grabbed her arm. "All the way, bitch." She stumbled in her heels -- half fell into him, and then caught her balance.

"Wait -- come on..." she jerked when he twisted her around and pushed her into the long hood of the convertible. The stoat patted her down roughly: her body was nice and toned; the dress clung to short fur. Good curves, just like the Z3. Fun. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? Arresting you."

"N-n-no, no no -- why?"

She started to turn when she asked the question, and he kneed her in the back of the thigh to pin her against the side of the car. "Trying to seduce a fucking cop? Jesus. Amateur."

"I didn't --"

He tugged the loose strap of her dress, jerking on it -- baring the soft white fur of those sizable breasts. "What was this, then?"

"I thought... maybe... that I..."

"That you had tits? You and three a half billion other people. Look," the stoat said -- the way he phrased it added a silent you dumb bitch to the end. "It's the twenty-first century. I have the Internet. If I want to see tits, I can just go to chicks trying to slut their way out of a traffic stop dot com."

"But --"

"Tits are a buyer's market." He jerked her wrists together, as if getting ready to cuff her, and she twisted, trying to push him away. "Do that one more time, bitch. One more time."

"Fine -- just -- please, don't. Look, my husband will --"

"Appreciate you being taught a fucking lesson," he growled into her ear. The dalmatian froze; the weight of the stoat was heavy on her back. Stepping away, while she thought about that growl, he twisted her around to face him and pointed at the ground. "Knees."

"What?"

He grunted, grabbed her by her bare shoulder, and shoved. The stoat was deceptively strong -- with a muffled yelp she tumbled, knocking the car door back closed. Her paws scrabbled into the dirt as she pushed herself up, looking up at him with a dawning realization in her wide eyes.

"I thought maybe you could just..."

"Getting a look at your rack ain't exactly a year end fuckin' bonus, bitch. Finish what you started."

She swallowed, and turned to look at the door. She couldn't see inside. "But... Stuart..."

"Finish. What. You started."

"I..." The spotty bitch, trapped between the car and the solid body of the stoat, lacked an exit. But that's what you got when you played with fire like that. Her ears pinned; she stared at his crotch and Dan could see her thinking -- straining in the moonlight -- could she see something? A bulge in the black trousers of his uniform?

Yes.

"My husband can't find out. Can we at least... like... go... into the woods, or -- "

He grabbed her muzzle to shut her up. "The next time your open your mouth, slut, it's going to be to put my cock in it. Do you understand me?" She only blinked, so he squeezed a little harder. "Do you?"

Finally a nod. Rolling his eyes, he let her go. With one final glance to the car, she stretched her paw up and started to unbuckle his belt. Dan let his eyes wander. Yeah, hell of a rack. He could see down into her cleavage now -- the soft mounds heaving with her nervous breath. Did dalmatians have spots there? Didn't look like it, but, hey. Only one way to find out.

Later, though. She unbuttoned his trousers and tugged the zipper open; the pants dropped about his ankles obligingly, and he watched her soft paw gingerly feel for the elastic of his briefs. Her fur was immaculate, he noticed, save for a little bit of dirt she'd gotten in it when he pushed her to the ground. Silver bracelets circled her wrists. Long arms, dappled with cute black patches.

Dan always enjoyed the look on a bitch's face when she saw him for the first time. The dalmatian's silky-furred ears twitched and went back, flattening to frame her silver mane. Her muzzle gaped. "Ah..."

"Not here for color commentary, slut."

"But..."

In the interests of not being there all night, he grabbed her paw and guided her to his cock. The soft fur felt quite nice, and she knew how to work him properly -- fingers encircling him, squeezing the thick meat firmly. Slow, hesitant strokes. The pressure brought a little bead of precum from the tip; it glistened in the soft moonlight, threatening to spill. "Clean me off," Dan ordered, voice dark.

The dalmatian woman swallowed, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. Hot breath washed him, and then the softest, lightest touch of warm, wet silk caressed him. Gentle as it was he still rewarded the bitch with a guttural sigh, and rocked his hips toward her when she lapped, lightly, up the bottom of the stoat's prick to find the pre that slicked it. Her ear twitched.

"You like the taste, huh? More where that came from."

Slowly she took a greater interest in the stoat cock bobbing before her. Her tentative laps became wetter, longer slurps and she kissed his tip softly, licking him clean. Her long canine tongue circled him in a sloppy, wet caress and Dan groaned as the satiny touch drew a stronger spurt of slippery, tangy precum that she swallowed eagerly.

Christ, but he needed to keep a dog around. Those tongues! His breathing was becoming more hoarse and uneven. "Muzzle. Open."

The dalmatian looked quite uncertain; shook her head. "I can't," she whispered, trying to keep her voice down. "You're too -- "

"Open yer muzzle, whore," he grunted to her. The canine's ears went back, and so he slapped her cheek sharply. "Do it!" Trembling, she complied, with her tail tucked between her spread legs -- the girl had pulled her dress up to keep from getting any dirt on it, he saw. Cute.

He slipped the tip of his cock between her lips and pushed a few inches into her warm muzzle. Then, with a jerk of his hips, he shoved in a few more, only stopping when she gave a choking protest. The words were muffled by his thick meat -- not that she was really worth listening to anyway.

"Yeah? Well, suck me off and we'll see about letting you talk again." She tilted her head, looking up at him with those soft brown eyes, and carefully began to suckle on him. Tight, intense pressure sent a sharp jolt up the stoat's shaft; he groaned, through gritted teeth. "That's a good girl..."

She couldn't really fit him, that was true. Sandra Callaway, the slut of a wolf who was sort of his neighbor's girlfriend and sort of, unwillingly, Dan's toy had a good long muzzle that could manage the stoat's endowment. With difficulty, but she could manage it. The dalmatian was a little too short, and not dedicated enough.

On the other hand, the sight of a good few inches of his throbbing meat left before her soft black nosepad, and the reminder that the rest of him was stuffed into her warm, slick maw was awfully damn hot. She dragged her tongue over him, and he tensed and fought for breath as pleasure shuddered through him with the touch.

There was nothing like a canine for that. Even if they weren't all that into it. Especially if they weren't all that into it. The dalmatian was trying not to choke on him; her breath whistled heatedly through her nose as she bobbed gently on his prick. She was sucking hard on him, trying to get him off. It worked -- the stoat could feel the pressure rising in his loins. He had to think. Making the bitch swallow his load seemed like a good plan. Except...

Except that he was a bit irked by the dress stunt, still. It was obviously a very nice dress, and it wasn't soiled enough. Neither was she. He pulled his cock from her mouth, leaving her panting, and hauled her back to her feet. "You were a good girl," he smirked to her, as she licked her muzzle to try to remove the taste of his cock. "Sorry you didn't get your treat, but..."

Slow to catch on, she didn't pick up what he meant until he had her ass firmly planted on the side of the BMW's long nose, bracing her against the windshield. His paw shoved her legs apart and he slipped it up under her dress to feel for her panties. The spotted girl's eyes grew wide, and nervous. "No -- no, you can't -- Stu --"

"Already expects it, I'm sure," Dan rolled his eyes, and tugged her panties down. She tried to push her legs together -- strong, muscular thighs. It stopped him, and he was a bit tired of that, so he ripped the thin cotton until the fabric tore, instead. "Don't be difficult, bitch."

She shook her head and tried to push him away when he grabbed her ass and pulled the dalmatian closer, pressing up between her thighs. She gasped when she felt the heat of his cock shoving into the white, velvety fur. "Please don't," she begged. "I'll suck you off better -- I promise!"

"Nah, done with that." Dan's eyes narrowed to slits as his tip ground against the soft, puffy lips of the dalmatian's pussy -- teasing into her until she opened up around him and the first inch of thick, rock-hard stoat meat thudded into her. "There we go..."

"Stop," the spotted slut whispered. "You can't -- you're too big..."

Grunting, he forced himself deeper in sharp, jerking thrusts. An inch at a time, her walls squeezing as she stretched to take his girth. She was not making it easy. He had to work for it, relying on his generous precum and her slick saliva on his cock to ease his entry. "What'd I say about the commentary?"

She whimpered and gritted her teeth as he worked his way inside her. But -- she could take him -- just. His hips shoved flush against her spread thighs; he flipped her expensive dress up to look at her, lips clinging to the cock plunged to the hilt in her. "But... but you can't be doing this... you..."

"Means close yer fuckin' mouth, cunt," he panted, and slowly pulled back from her, watching his glistening shaft tugging free with an effort. Her folds grasped at every ridge and vein; Dan shuddered, and didn't even get halfway before the need to fuck her took over and he hammered forward again. The girl yelped, and he narrowed his eyes warningly. "No -- quit that too."

Her struggles resumed when he began to thrust -- paws pushing at his shoulders, legs kicking uselessly to try and throw the stoat off. She was getting wetter in spite of herself but every time he rammed into her it was still with a muffled squawk that she choked back with an effort -- her husband was still asleep in the passenger seat. "Please... stop..."

This wasn't the kind of thing a good, obedient dog should've been saying. Dan rolled his eyes and shoved her down onto the hood -- leaning down and over her as she stared up at him with wild eyes. His weight pinned her, and he rested a moment with his cock half buried in her and his sharp-toothed muzzle bared in a grin. "Stop what?"

"This isn't right..."

He watched her face tense with his next thrust, plunging all the way inside her again. Her ears were back, but he felt a pulsing flutter of her snug cunt on his tool and he smirked wider. "Uh huh. You think I'm stupid?" A smoother buck of his hips followed; even muffled by her dress and his body he could hear the slick squelch as he slid through her lips to sink back into her tight body. "Just another fuckin' whore..."

"No!"

"Think y'can just flash yer tits an' I'll let ya go." He pumped fluidly into her again, and felt her shudder and give another ineffectual twist of her hips. There was nothing quite like the rush he felt, forcing himself on a squirming, helpless bitch like the dalmatian as she tried to fight him off -- particularly when, like this one, she probably wanted it anyway. Then again, didn't they all? "But it ain't quite like that, is it?"

"My husband," she sniffled.

Like the stoat had been the first? Not fucking likely. He snorted, and patted the bitch's hips. "Ain't doin' much of a job fuckin' ya, is he? Well. Give you somethin' better." And with a grin he shifted into a quicker tempo, pounding her into the side of the roadster. At first she tensed, but her struggles were starting to weaken. Soon enough he could see that little electric flicker in her soft eyes when his driving thrusts crammed him into her quivering pussy. "Like that, huh?"

She didn't want to have to admit it. She was fighting her own body as he fucked into her, his rough movements rocking the car -- that well-tuned suspension groaning its own protest. Dan grunted with the effort of it -- forcing his cock deep into her satin-soft folds, stretching her wide. Resistance -- he could feel the tip nudging up against her cervix when he ground in deep. And then she moaned -- her fur immediately darkened, in the moonlight, with the blush as she realized what she'd done.

Too late. She was submitting to him, her body betraying her own desires. "Don't fight it, slut," he reassured her in a rasping groan as he laid into her, driving hard between her spread, tense thighs. He was losing his own battle, letting his thrusts sharpen -- growing quick and hard.

"Officer," she whimpered. Her eyes had closed. The dalmatian licked her muzzle -- he could see her trying not to moan again. Her strong, spotted legs had long since stopped kicking. Now she had them half-wrapped around the stoat's bucking, flexing hips.

"Dan," he groaned to her. "It's Dan. Danny. Say it, bitch -- howl for me."

"Bu -- mmf!" he forced the reservation from her lungs with another thrust, and when she opened her muzzle and it was clear her lips were not obeying he did it again.

"Say it -- I want to hear you -- say it -- when you cum on me." His voice was strained -- she could hear that too, he was sure. He tried to keep the rhythm up, letting the rocking of the roadster force her hips back and into his strong thrusts. "Go on, bitch..."

"Ha -- ah! Oh -- fuck -- oh fuck," she breathed, sucking her breath in hard as she began to tremble. "Oh god yes, yes -- yes," in a ragged, panting hiss and then -- "Dan -- oh, god -- Danny!" It was a crooning canine wail, as she thrashed on his cock -- clenching on him, milking that oversized length. She howled it as her back arched and her ears flattened.

The stoat groaned and gave in without another word. Shoving himself to the hilt, he felt his cock lurch and jerk as he spurted into her -- long, hot jets of weasel cum squelching around him as he fucked it into her. The car squealed in protest just like she had, screeching under the sound of her moans and his sated grunts as his balls emptied into her begging cunt.

Letting her pant and squirm, he jerked his hips back -- the pressure sent another throbbing ache of pleasure all up his shaft -- his peak thudding right back into him as he pulled out from her. Grasping, fingers jerking over his cock as streaks of hot, musky weasel cum spurted onto her -- staining her dress, painting her black spots a pearly white that glistened in the moonlight.

He smeared the last of it into the fabric of her dress as the bitch collapsed, trembling, on her car. Then the stoat took a step back to have a look. She was panting and spread; the lips of her pussy were stretched and a thin line of his seed was already starting to trickle from her abused folds. He'd marked her thoroughly -- the dress would need one hell of an explanation at the dry cleaner, and his cum drooled lewdly down her thighs.

Not. Bad. He might even have to --

"Molly?" She whimpered, and Dan heard a scrabbling from inside the car before the passenger door opened and a figure lurched out. "What the fuck? What's the fuck's going -- what happened?"

"She didn't want a ticket," Dan grinned.

The other dog was a yellow lab. Friendly looking; paunchy. Nice clothes -- nice like his wife's; it must've been a pretty upscale party back in Newport. He was staring in horror. "Molly -- how -- how could you? We've been -- remember our last session with Dr. Carmack -- how could --"

"Stuart," she shook her head. "Huh -- no. He made me."

"Hell, sometimes I even had to tell her twice," Dan agreed, with a roll of his eyes. "Why don't you get back in the car, man. I'm almost finished here."

"What do you mean, 'almost'?"

"Well, I'm gonna tell your bitch to clean me off first, see?"

"Stuart," the spotted dog -- Molly -- said, voice wavering. "Please, you have to believe me!"

"You... you monster..."

Stuart was glaring daggers at Dan -- locked on the stoat's face -- but Dan glanced downwards instead, as though he'd been staring elsewhere, and shrugged. "Yeah, it ain't bad, is it? Anyway. Car. Please."

The dog wavered.

"Shit, can neither one of you just fucking follow orders? Goddamn Washington fucks. Can't read a fuckin' speed sign, can't suck a dick without step-by-step instructions, can't -- "

Molly sat up. "Stuart, c-call the... the..."

"The cops?" Dan turned his paws up in a gesture of disbelief. "Look, I already fucked one lesson into you. I need to do it again?"

"We're having fun here? Everybody?"

"Hey, Scout."

"Problems?" The coyote, having abandoned the car, glanced around at the moonlit scene. Molly was still seated on the hood of the car, her dress rumpled and one of her heels off. Dan's pants were down around his ankles, and Stuart was a lumpish spasm of vague, impotent agitation. "Yes? No?"

"This man," Stuart stammered and pointed. "Th-this man just -- just raped my w-wife. At a -- at a traffic stop!"

Carlos nodded thoughtfully. "I mean. She was going awfully fast."

"And she was the one to take the dress off," Dan added.

"I was not!" Molly shook her head. "He told me to get out of the car and..."

"I -- I told you you can't trust cops." Stuart was avoiding looking at Molly, Dan noticed. With a dog's sense of smell, the ride home was going to be fun, too. "That's why they need to wear cameras!"

The stoat rolled his eyes. "Cameras? Seriously?"

"Body cameras! So that we can..."

He caught Dan's glare and trailed off. "So you can?" the stoat prodded.

"F-f-for evidence. We could --"

"Evidence?" Civilians. Now he was getting an extremely clear picture of the type. Probably worked for a big company up in Seattle. Aerospace or software. Guilty about how much he made; guilty about the BMW. Very concerned about awareness. Canvas Trader Joe's bag folded in the trunk. Mailbox with "heartfelt thanks" from some offbeat charity sitting next to a 401 statement. Yo La Tengo playing on Bang & Olufsens in a penthouse with lots of natural light. "Scout. He needs evidence. You know. For police misconduct."

The coyote was a bit soft for Dan's tastes, but he still knew which side to come down on. "Really."

Stuart's ears twitched. "It is!"

"You retweet a lot of things with very important hashtags in them, don't you?" Carlos snickered. "Hashtag social-justice. Hashtag yes-all-hopeless-losers. Hashtag my-wife-is-a --"

"S-stop it! That's not funny!"

"Come on, Dan. You done here?"

"I'm serious! If there was a camera you --"

"Did you not see enough? Seriously?" Dan asked. "What kind of a pervert are you -- you want documentation? Can't get off to normal porn like the rest of us?"

"It's not about -- you -- oh my god! No, it's not about that!"

"You want to watch your wife get fucked, though."

"No!"

Dan shrugged. He leaned down, tugging his pants back on as though he needed a moment to think, and then shrugged again. Then the stoat scratched behind an ear. "Guess I can't blame ya. Hell, I'm kinda curious, too. I was a bit distracted. Scout, what do you think?" He gestured to Molly, who was watching them with pinned ears. The integrity of the innocent look was muddied by her matted fur, and the stains on the hood of the roadster.

"Not bad," the coyote appraised her. "I mean. Not, like... I wouldn't click the video thumbnail, you know?"

"Yeah, but she's here." And really, Carlos was selling the dalmatian rather short. She was from good stock -- soft, shiny fur; looked like she worked out. Nice, big tits, pushing up against the smooth dress, that he should've squeezed when he had the chance.

"That's... true..."

"What are you two --"

"Shut up, Stu," Dan cut him off. "The men are talking. Spotty bitch -- over here."

Molly tensed, and didn't move. "Why?"

"Whatcha doin', Dan?"

For the moment he chose to ignore Carlos. "Spotty bitch," he ordered again, putting an edge on his voice. "Get over here." And when -- showing a petulant reluctance -- she refused, he hauled her over by the wrist. "I know you can be a good girl. Get my partner hard."

She looked between Carlos, Dan, and Stuart -- the labrador, having been outflanked, was merely spluttering. "I don't -- I don't know."

"We don't have to do this, Danny," Carlos spoke up.

"Yeah, but she secretly wants to."

"No, I --"

"Spotty bitch, you're not doing your job," the stoat warned her.

"Molly. Molly, you don't have to do this. You know you're --"

Dan turned, and stared the lab down. "Stuart. One more word and I'll muzzle you. Just enjoy it, man -- you seem stressed."

The dalmatian slowly looked Carlos Ortiz over. The slender coyote had a few inches on Dan; Dan had a few pounds on him, and while it was all muscle he had to admit it wasn't like Ortiz was much of a slouch in the build department. "I mean... Dan..." he was muttering -- then he took a deep breath and his face shifted. Those golden eyes flickered; at first, Dan thought he might've... smelled something? But the dalmatian's paw was resting on his crotch, too, and that had to be distracting. "Actually, no. Why don't you keep going."

Dan heard Stuart open his muzzle to say something. Stepping away from the dalmatian and coyote, he joined the lab and reached over to gently push his mouth closed again. Holding it there, framing it between his thumb and index finger, he shook his head slowly. "Quiet," he smirked.

When he turned back around Molly had Carlos's trousers open, and her paw had slid inside. Whatever she found there, the coyote's eyes were closed and his big ears were flattening out. A soft grunt of pleasure followed suit. "You're very good at this..."

"There's a surprise."

Stuart, too, was staring -- transfixed. Molly's soft, stroking paws tugged the coyote's shaft free of his black pants. A healthy three or four inches were already protruding from the soft fur of his plump sheath. It made for a pawful, and with Molly's fingers circling the pale crimson flesh she started to stroke and pump him while he stiffened and throbbed larger in her grasp.

Five inches... six... seven. Dan snickered, and nudged Stuart's side. "Not bad, huh?" Soon his long, pointed canine length was at full size. He wasn't as big around as the stoat, but an honest assessment would've concluded he was, if nothing else, a little longer. Molly's husband blinked, unable to do anything else, and so Dan kept going. To be helpful. "Spotty bitch!"

"Molly," Stuart mumbled weakly.

"Spotty bitch," Dan repeated. The dalmatian lifted her ears a little. "You like him? You want to give him a taste? Wag your tail like a good dog." And, as her husband's mouth fell open, a protest silent on her lips, she did. Her tail swayed, and she looked up to meet Carlos's eyes. "Scout? What do you say?"

"Get down," the coyote told her. Obligingly, she did; this time, Dan had to note, she didn't bother lifting her dress out of the way of the dirt. Her soft pink tongue reached out, and she worked over the sides and bottom of the officer's rod in gentle licks and laps. Carlos groaned deeply as her tongue bathed him wetly, leaving his pole glistening in the cool night air.

Another, coarser groan followed: Molly had taken the base of his cock in her fingers and was holding it in place while she suckled on the tapered tip hungrily. Carlos grunted, bucking his hips, and both Stuart and Dan caught the throb of his cock and the way the dalmatian bitch's tail started to wag faster. "She's pretty talented at it," Dan told the lab as an aside. He doubted there was any personal experience to speak of.

"Very talented," Carlos panted. "Deeper, Spots..." When she didn't respond quickly enough, his paws grabbed at her ears to hold her in place and he thrust a few more inches into her hungry muzzle. Dan grinned at how quickly he was learning. "Harder -- ohhh, that's good right there."

Guided by the coyote's paws, the dalmatian was bobbing her muzzle over the first two thirds of his shaft, or so -- whatever she could fit without choking. She inhaled deeply, filling her nose with the coyote's musk. Dan was a little jealous: his partner was a perfect fit for the dappled slut; he fit her muzzle like he was made for it. Molly had her ears back, like sucking his cock took a lot of concentration.

At first the stoat was a little worried that he would have to start giving orders to his partner, but after a few more seconds of her eager sucking -- thick, wet sounds filling the clearing as she stuffed herself with his meat -- he groaned, and pushed her back. "Up against the car," he said, voice thick. Rising unsteadily, Molly did as she was told. She turned around to look at him, and Carlos shook his head. "Nope. Bend over."

She stretched out, and bent forward over the long hood of the BMW. Her legs were spread and the lips of her already well-used cunt parted in a wet pout. Dan caught Stuart's whine, as Carlos stepped up behind his wife, slowly teasing her soft, puffy folds with his slick shaft. The coyote caught it too, and looked over his shoulder.

"Problem?"

"That's... my... my wife..."

"Good point," the coyote nodded. "She ought to want it, huh. Molly?"

Molly's ears splayed. She glanced towards the coyote, scrupulously avoiding looking at her husband. "I... don't?" It sounded a great deal like she was hoping for somebody to save her from admitting the exact opposite.

Carlos seemed to agree. "I think you're lying," he said, and patted her sleek, white rump. One of the coyote's claws circled around her spots. "It wasn't so convincing. Why don't you go ahead and beg, mm?" He pushed his hips forward, and Dan watched his partner's cockhead slowly slip between the dalmatian's lips. "Beg like a good puppy, so I know."

"Well..."

"Spotty bitch," Dan warned; the feral grin was audible in his words. "Don't be difficult, slut."

She swallowed, and lowered her eyes, just barely looking at the coyote. "Just do it," she whispered. "Get that... get your cock all the way inside me... please..."

Carlos rolled his hips in a short jerk that briefly pulled him from her, and then worked the first inch or so back inside. His paw was resting on her ass, keeping her from moving. "Not convinced. I don't think Stuart is, either."

"Fuck me..."

"Go on..."

Molly gritted her teeth. "Fuck me like a dog," she added, plaintively. "Ram that cock deep into my pussy. Use me like a bitch in heat..."

"There you go. Now. Who do you belong to?" Carlos pushed slightly deeper and Dan watched Molly sag forward as she took him, falling into the hood of the car.

"Yours," she gasped. "Your dirty, filthy little bitch. Fuck me like your whore. Like -- " the plea ended in a choking groan as Dan watched the coyote ram his hips forward, a wet slurp announcing every inch of his stiff erection plunging into the little slut's cunt. Despite his size she took him smoothly, sopping wet with her arousal and the load Dan had pumped into her. Her claws grabbed for the hood, and she panted shallowly.

Carlos didn't give her long to dwell. He thrust smoothly, slower than Dan had. Taking his time. His claws grabbed for her rump, pulling her back so that he could adjust his grip -- kneading into her flanks in time to his deep, firm bucks. "Better... much better..."

Watching the two, Dan had to admit a camera would've been nice. The sleek, silver roadster made for the perfect backdrop to the coyote's slim hips rocking up and into the spotted dalmatian bitch -- her spread legs had the side vents framed nicely, and her outstretched arm pushed against the gorgeous sloped windscreen for leverage as she tried to meet the canine's thrusts.

His long, pulsing length slid into her smoothly -- she shuddered and Dan guessed he had to be bottoming out in her; his half-swollen knot was still nearly all the way outside. He kept up his pace despite her squirming, though, pumping forcefully into her. The coyote's thrusts were ending in sloppy, wet squelches, and when he pulled back gushes of the stoat's cum came with him -- plunging the slick mess Dan had made from her tight little snatch to let it pool and drip against the warm metal of the hood.

The two moaned in unison; Carlos had both of his paws on her full hips and was tugging her round ass back to meet a deep, grinding thrust. A sound from next to the stoat made him turn; Stuart was staring, and he licked his lips softly. "See, ain't so bad," Dan leered. "Somebody oughta make your wife happy."

"But..."

"C'mon, get into it. Get your fly open."

"But Dr. Carmack..."

"Wasn't much good. Should be enjoying this! I mean, that whore is, isn't she?"

A muffled bark had provoked this conclusion. Molly was bent double, her hips humping back to meet the coyote -- who was stock still, letting the dalmatian buck and squirm out her peak riding on his gorgeous prick. She was biting down on her wrist, and it wasn't enough to quiet the howling.

Cautiously, the labrador undid his tailored pants. A moment later his own endowment sprung free. It would not have set the world on fire; filled his paw, and didn't do much else. He squeezed his shaft and started pumping.

On the hood, Carlos had begun to shift his pace. Now it was faster -- quick, deep, sharp canine thrusting as he worked to claim his new prize. A mix of his copious precum and the stoat's seed and Molly's slick juices spattered the fender as he fucked her from behind like a proper dog -- grabbing tightly to her haunches for leverage, flipping her dress up and out of the way to get purchase on bare fur. His knot strained at her lips, spreading her open, and he was grunting with the effort of working it into her.

"Ah, fuck," Dan snickered -- just short of licking his own chops. "Man, you think he's gonna tie with her? I hope so. I ain't seen that outside of porn." Stuart whined -- he had a look of strained concentration, his eyes narrowed. "Ah, you poor fuck. You ain't seen it either, have you? She don't let you knot her?"

"You gonna take it?" Carlos groaned -- bent double, his chest pushing the dalmatian's back down to flatten her chest against the curved metal of the hood. "You want that?"

"Yes," she wailed. "Ungh -- knot me -- please, you have to, you have to -- " and then a curious moan as his furious thrusts hammered his canine shaft up and into her folds. Another howl; this time she didn't bother to hide it. She got her paws beneath her for leverage and straightened up, away from the hood, the metal bowing as her arms took their weight.

"What -- about -- your husband?"

"Forget him -- he's nothing like you," Molly keened; thrashing back against the coyote who had locked his arms around her waist to drive his cock into her with those final strokes. "I'm yours, Scout -- I'm your bitch -- yes!" a triumphant gasp from both of them as his hips lurched forward and Dan watched the knot plunge all the way into her. He was still thrusting but they were erratic -- trying to push deeper even though the tip of his long shaft must've been up inside her womb by now. Her lips bulged obscenely around the wide knot that had the coyote utterly trapped.

"Molly," he gasped urgently, and then a fierce growl and he lunged forward. His hips lifted, giving Dan and Stuart a perfect view of his cock locked inside the dalmatian and his hanging sack drawing up snug -- fuzzy balls clenching. The way her stretched lips clung to his knot left no jerk or throb of his buried heft to the imagination.

She whined, stretched on her tiptoes. "Scout -- Scout, you're so fucking hot," she breathed. They could see the rhythmic twitching in those heavy orbs. The coyote grunted deeply, his thrusts slowing as he settled in behind her, and had there been any doubt she was begging hoarsely between shallow pants for him. "Fuck your puppies into me... fuck, Scout -- Jesus, there's so much..."

A high-pitched hiss from next to Dan stole his attention as Stuart, too, locked up. The canine's short cock jerked with a few fitful spurts that spattered onto the ground while he whined and panted -- eyes squeezed fiercely shut. Dan patted his shoulder.

"See? Everybody's happy."

The labrador was trying to catch his breath. "I..."

"Don't worry, stud, it ain't the first time."

"I... I know," he muttered. Satisfied, the dalmatian had slumped forward on the hood. Behind her, Carlos panted; from the way his hips still hitched Dan half thought he was probably still cumming in the little whore. "She gets that way in... when it's her, uh, her time, you know?"

"Ah, yeah. Damn shame coyotes are so compatible."

Stuart froze, blinking. "What?"

"Oh, yeah. You're all the same, you dogs. He can breed her. I mean, somebody has to, right?" The stoat paused to consider what he'd said. "Did I say 'can'? My grammar ain't the best. I think I meant 'did.'"

The lab took a step forward, and went down, tripping on his pants. He pulled them up and fastened them around his softening erection, hurrying to the hood of the car. "Molly."

"Fuck... Stuart... I..."

"You didn't want to. I know. Right?"

The dalmatian looked at him blearily. "He's so fucking big, though, Stuart..."

"W... we can talk about this..."

"Not... not now..."

They were still tied, after all. Dan, not one to break up an intimate moment, turned back to the lab. "So. License and registration?"

Not that he would write a ticket. They waited until Carlos could pull out of the spotted dog. His shaft came free with a heavy gush of coyote seed, dribbling down her thighs. Dogs, Dan decided, were too copious for their own good -- Stuart evidently excepted. Something in the quantity of it, and the lust-filled look in the dalmatian's eyes, suggested that it had been more than enough.

"You have a good night." Carlos patted Molly on the ass, nudging her towards the door of the roadster.

"Hold up." The strap of her dress was still down, though it didn't matter. The garment was as mussed and filthy as its owner. Ruined, maybe -- also like its owner. With a grin, Dan gave her breast a fondling squeeze. Nice and firm and warm. Nah. Real, but... "Nah. Wouldn't have been good enough. See ya guys."

Back in the squad car, they sat, and watched the tail lights come on. "That's going to be a fun conversation," Carlos mused.

"Like I told him: no way in hell were we the first. Slut's probably fucked half the Boeing campus by now. She's gonna use being in heat as an excuse. Maybe her dope of a husband'll even buy it."

"'Excuse'? You know she was, right?"

On reflection, it wasn't much of a surprise. "Well, I guess she did jump you a lot faster'n the bitch cottoned to me. Must be some dog hormone bullshit. So it woke up her secret little be-a-whore programming?"

"Maybe," Carlos snorted, strapping in his seatbelt. "Her scent? Oof, you shouldn't leave the house like that."

"Get what's comin' to ya if you do," he grinned. "Did you have fun? Fuck, she called you Scout! It's catching on!"

"I sold the International last year, man, you know that. I drive a Toyota now."

"Ain't it, like, a J40 though? Anyway. You have fun or not?"

"Maybe." He took a deep breath and slumped in his seat. "Jesus, maybe it's still being able to smell her, but I really need to get laid more often."

"I told ya. Told ya a long time ago. You've just been a goddamned pussy about it. 'Oh, no, Sergeant Hayes, this isn't by the books!' Shit, I was teaching you a lesson almost as much as I was teaching her one..."

"A lesson, huh?"

"Damn straight."

"Some lesson..." Then he was quiet all the way back to Cannon Shoals, and it was a while before he spoke again -- straightening up. "I was thinking, actually. You were wrong, Danny. Back there." The coyote jerked a paw to indicate Highway 520, though they were pulling off and into the parking lot of the station.

"Wrong?"

"Yeah."

The stoat rolled his eyes. "How's that?"

"You said that Vader could choke people with his mind. But he has to like, physically hold on to that dude when they board the ship. That's just a regular choke."

"You fuckin' moron," Dan sighed. "Not the rebel soldier. In their fuckin' boardroom, later. General Motti. 'Your sad devotion to that ancient 'Jedi' religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes.'" Dan made a choking sound, tugging at the collar of his uniform. "Then Tarkin has to be all, 'Vader, release him!' Totally by mind, Scout, you ignorant fuck."

The coyote frowned, splaying his ears. "Huh. I'd forgotten that. You're right..."

"See?" He killed the ignition and, regarding his partner pityingly, stepped from the car before leaning against it, waiting for the other man to emerge. "And?"

"And what?"

"And, between Vader and Picard?"

Sergeant Ortiz looked down at his pants, which were plainly in need of a wash. And then back up the highway. "Mmf, I guess you've made your point, Dan. Fine. Vader all the way."

Dan closed the door, and grinned to the coyote fiercely. "Told ya so."

Yeah. He was a real quick study.