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This written work is the sole property of Gratitude-Advocate (aka Michael Hall) (c) 2012.

Do not remove the original artist's proof or alter, revise, plagiarize, or otherwise abhorrently copy this story or any passages included therein for your own benefit. Do not redistribute this story for any monetary gain in any way, shape or form without first consulting the original author's explicit & exclusive written permission. All rights have been reserved under penalty of law.

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This story is based entirely on adult-oriented fiction. The author himself does NOT condone or suggest any described behavior to be taken out in real life and will not be held responsible in one's decision to do so. Always practice safe sex with a condom and trustworthy partners. Any similarities between real events, locations and/or persons are completely and wholeheartedly coincidental. All included described characters, locations and/or events are written to represent purely fictional entities.

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Coon-Dog Diaries Vol. 1 - Ash/Tig

8/24/2015 - 7:49 am

Dear Journal,

Last night was one of - if not THE - most sensational experiences I've ever endured among the presence of the general public. Hell, anywhere for that matter. I don't believe I've felt such a grand erotic state of mind of such magnitude since High School, maybe even during my time in the slammer, and I owe all sorts of thanks to that wonderful couple who merely "dropped in" for a quick java, so they claimed at the time. Of course Brad, Maile (pronounced "My-Lay", like a Hawaiian princess, not like "MYLEY", that slutty Disney-established pop star.) and I had the place rolling hard last night. One of our better live acoustic sets played in months, years even. Reception from our audiences at these private VIP gigs usually tends to be decent at best (let's face it we play hard grunge, soft acoustics sound mildly awkward in our style), but nonetheless the group from last night ate us up. Success!

After the show, I got my gear packed up - Gibson Le Bass, the wooden stool, even my lucky "cognac" mug - and no amps or wire-jacks to deal with, being an acoustic show and all. The place itself had nice dibs for these kinds of small one-off performances. As a kid, my fondest memory was catching free shows here at Dillinger's Coffee Cabin. It just "clicked" for a place to serve fresh coffee and offer noteworthy live acts simultaneously. But back to topic, I hit up the counter after all the dividends were split between the three of us and our gear had been packed and ready for the disembarking. No rush though, this IS my hometown of Brookings and as they say, the coon abides. Or is it shepherd? Shepherd-coon? Whatever.

As I approached the counter top and sat down in a wooden high-rise stool (not mine, the venue's property) I immediately noticed a couple discussing... something between each other, they continuously kept glancing my way, so I ultimately assumed they were talking about me one way or another. Sure I couldn't hear them, but I knew they kept me as their little "center of focus". They looked like they may have both made the cut for offensive tacklers in College football or something. Hefty boys out doing what hefty boys do best. Their open relationship triggered immediately, but I had no problem with that. Why would I? If two guys in love wanted to go out on a date, they had every damn right NOT to flaunt it. More power to them, I say.

Where was I? Oh yeah... husky stud number one was a Folf (fox-wolf) I'm almost sure of it. His eyes had an olive-gold glow (very fetching) with a few facial piercings and a trim of facial hair that extended from his upper jaw down to his chin in a V-shape. He must have weighed close to about 270 or so, judging by the overall build. Tall too, at least a couple inches above me. His mate was a tiger, unlike any I've ever seen before. His stripes flashed with a chrome-like glow under the dim fluorescent lights in the place. I swear he shimmered like a park fountain at night. It was quite a dazzling spectacle to behold visually! They were both so, in fact. A few inches shorter than his lover and probably about 220 give or take, this "chrome tiger" was. All in all, a sweet and devoted couple - they reassured me that love has no bounds, even between different species. Something my father would have scoffed at like mad. So it goes! But fuck him...

When I caught whim that they were perhaps discussing me, I debated whether or not to move a bit closer to introduce myself. These two looked damn good this evening and I couldn't let a chance opportunity slip. As I stood back up, these young adorning fans rushed me, probably local students stoked to finally be meeting me in person, major fans of our band. I anticipated seeing the Sharpie pens, cameras, anything to give them satisfactory proof that they met me in person, in the flesh, up close and personal. To allow them to admit to their buddies later on that they shook my hand, that they hugged me, that they brushed up against me with their over-excited erections (hey so my fans are way devoted what can I say?), anything to confirm their fan-boyish fantasies coming true at a whim. Mitch, the local security and bouncer in the place, had a different idea in mind. When he tried to restrain the kids from hounding me, I insisted to him that he let them go, let them come to me; it's no problem at all. I was a bit exhausted but not entirely cranky enough to deny my fan-base. The usual routine played through, just as I had anticipated. They got their signatures, their photographs and their handshakes and pats to my back. One asked me who my bass-playing inspiration had been from the very get-go. I told him Larry Graham and he smirked at me with forlorn surprise. That's right kid, not every grunger looks up to Krist Novoselic or Mike Starr to get good at playing solid generation-X bass. They thanked me and went on their way and I sat right beside the folf.

He introduced himself to me as Ash and his mate as Tig. Cute names, that's what I remember thinking at the time. These guys had very cute names; they both must have been raised by sweet devoted parents. If only they were MY brothers, they wouldn't be thanking their parents for very much at all... anyways, we discussed the overall sounds in the place and how the audio engineers had done well in implementing such well-toned acoustics. The highs sounding nice and high and the lows sounding nice and low, common run-of-the-mill jargon to fill the night after a solid performance. They had traveled from somewhere back east, I don't quite remember where exactly now, but they came out West to attend some furry convention down south in California and travel up the Pacific Northwestern coast to sight-see. How they wound up HERE was at the time perhaps a total coincidence or fate, maybe chance knocking on my door? Whatever their reasons, there they were and there was I too, three anthro-dudes gumming it up over cups of hot local java. They asked me what "species" my drummer was. I told them she's a goat/otter mix and they appeared to be rather impressed, granted the hybrid was rare in occurrence to them. Only on the West Coast, baby! After some time I opted to use the little boy's room. It was then and thereafter that the night got all the more interesting...

In the restroom there were two enclosed squatter stalls, one standing urinal and a large marble stone sink, splashed with droplets of soapy water from constant use. The overhead lamp flickered a bit but nonetheless remained perfectly calm. My silver raccoon-like fur almost looked bluish-yellow in tint under the phosphorescent light. As I stood at the urinal shaking off the last of the supply my bladder held tight for the last couple hours, the door behind me opened. I looked over from the corner of my good eye and saw Tig come strolling in. He gave me a strange sultry look, seductive with a hint of assertive awareness like he had some major well-thought-out plan hidden beneath his sleeve. He approached me with a near-silent gait. I figured he had to use the stall as well so I zipped up and went to wash my hands, allowing him access. He commented me prominently on my dreadlocks. A bit bashful, I thanked him and praised his shimmery stripes, how neat they looked under the lighting outside. After I dried my hands off, I turned and was shocked to see him standing directly behind me. Holy shit, how long had he been standing there?

He gazed upon me and my body with pristine attentiveness like a predator sizing up its prey. I was taken aback at how direct he was with his advances. He reached out and cupped my nape in his huge tiger paws, planting a big wet kiss upon my canine mouth. His lips felt a bit chapped but his tongue was lavishing, rough and rugged like some ancient desert grounds with a residual hint of moisture. His kiss truly felt sensational. A spark went off in my brain. My cheeks felt flushed, my heart was racing and my penis became inadvertently erect with each lash of his pink taste-bud receptacle. It fucking rocked! He was a great kisser. I could have pushed him off me and ran out screaming "Rape!" but I was far too gone by then, lost in the overall rush of overwhelming lust that ensued. It surprised me to no end, but in this day and age not many things do, so this was like a breath of fresh air.

After a couple short minutes (they felt more like hours) of enduring a raunchy making-out session, he grabbed me under my shoulders and lifted me, carrying me over to the wall opposite the sink and stalls. As I was placed back down upon the tile with my back against the lavish paisley wallpaper, he reached down and cupped his tiger paws around my tent-pole bulge, caressing and fondling me like mad. Trembling and excited as hell, I gasped out with a slightly high-pitched girlish moan at how thoroughly hasty his advances were. I've had rabid fans in the past, even fellow admirers but this was different.

Right before he let his large husky-sized paw frisk me beneath my pants and boxers, Ash entered and caught sight of us getting down with it. I was terrified and prayed to God that he wouldn't beat the shit out of me. Then I thought maybe he was going to assist in mugging and raping me on the spot. My erection dwindled a bit and my eyes grew wide with turmoil. What did I make his mate do to me? I've never felt more embarrassed or belittled. He only giggled though, asking the tiger why he didn't wait for him before the fun started. He opened the door again, looked both ways and locked the deadbolt behind him, removing his shirt directly afterwards. I was simply riveted, to say the least. These two weren't just discussing me in general; they were discussing how I must have looked like naked and completely aroused. Holy crap, how did I totally miss this cue? It had been far too late to turn back now, evidently.

The tiger kept on kissing me and soon after the folf knelt down and unzipped my pants, pulling them all the way down to my ankles, boxers too. My penis bobbed up like a loose plank on a pirate ship, uncut and slightly drippy with pre-cum. His olive-green eyes (more like a deep gamboge under the lighting conditions) grew wide and his eyebrows cocked upward a couple times, like a signifying gaze of mutual gratification. I guess he was interested enough in what girth I had established down south because he got to sucking right away. Those waves of pleasure became tsunamis of intense raw feral passion and I reached a coon-paw down, clenching the back of his head in my grip. As he bobbed up and down on my thick erect cock, I jutted my tongue out and panted like some filthy whore being gangbanged nice and rough for the big silver screen. Slightly exposed but totally comfortable with their overall advances, I let him suck away, like a hungry sweet-tooth trapped in a lollipop factory. The tiger reared my head back and gently nibbled upon my neck and chest, pinching my nipples and massaging my abs, tense from all their horn-dog fidgeting. This was an unreal feeling, getting tag-teamed sexually by a random furry couple in some coffeehouse bathroom in my own hometown. "Awkward" wasn't quite the right term, I think "ethereal" made more sense.

Aroused as all hell and totally into it now, the tiger removed his shirt and guided my free paw (not clamped down on his mate's head) beneath the crease of his pants, allowing me to fondle his juicy bits. He had balls the size of goose eggs and his cock felt like a Flesh-light toy turned inside-out, covered with small barbs and warm, slimy to the touch with traces of semen. It was an amazing feeling. I could only imagine what that psycho-dick must have felt like buried in Ash's backside. The thought made me hornier as I let the tiger kiss me passionately, getting the good rub-down treatment from all angles now. The folf used one of his free paws to finger my tailhole, taint and balls. The sensitivity from his touching made for one hell of an arousing feeling. I could've easily come right then and there on the spot, but they were only prepping my ass for plenty more fun times just ahead.

After they primed me up, Ash spit my cock out of his mouth (not without licking the tip first in a sort of lasting residual signature move) and yanked his own pants straight down. If the sight of his knotted dick jutted out and leaking with a filmy clear trace of pre-sperm didn't do me in completely, the scent of his musk emanating from it sure as fucking hell did. The tiger grabbed hold of his mate's bulbous knot and began to stroke, kissing his partner quiet passionately. I watched them steadily, paying very close attention to them both while getting frisky and jerking myself off, arm strained from the repetitive fast-paced recoiling. Before I knew it, we'd begun to engage in a strange obscure sort of circle-jerk. After a little while, they both looked at me smiling and nodding in unison and then grabbed my wrists and shoulders while guiding me into the enclosed handicapped toilet stall. It was nice and spacious, their idea of resolute mating ground. I had no reason to resist. I was completely drunk with ecstasy and quite ready to take on any horny dude's thick fat vein-exposed cock, no matter how big.

I got down onto all fours in front of the porcelain toilet seat, scrubbed immaculately clean. It seemed strangely out of place with the rest of the bathroom. Ash sat down on the seat itself and Tig knelt down directly behind me, crouched down above my hind end. I heard the tiger spit and felt a wet prodding at my rear, along my anal lining. He was lubing me up for further action, all right. I grabbed hold of the folf's throbbing member and started to suck him like crazy, throwing in an occasional deep-throating once or twice as icing upon the cake of arousal. I gagged and coughed quite a bit, eyes watered from the gag reflexes being strained like crazy but I wouldn't retreat from giving these guys their fair share of orgasmic prowess. Ash winced in sheer pleasure and kept both paws rested upon my dread-locked head as I bounced my muzzle over his shaft like a kid riding a pogo-stick. Then the world seemed to open up and take my breath away.

That barbed cock's entry felt like a battering ram being plowed into a meth cooker's laboratory home. The waves of passion were sensational as ever. I moaned again, feminine and submissive, as the tiger buried himself deep into my clenching tail-hole, balls-deep to the hilt. I continued to give Ash's cock utmost pleasure while his mate plowed me like a farmer during autumn harvest season. I'd never really been involved in a spit-roast, let alone in the dead-center of one. It felt better than anything I've ever felt sexually in my life. The level of domination and desire both these anthro men had established over my sultry raccoon/shepherd body kept me incredibly aroused. I also never felt the sensation of a barbed cock before this night as well. That shit set me right over the edge! I was lost, transfixed, dizzy to the immeasurable ripples of vast pleasure these two were unleashing upon me, as I remain knelt down upon the grimy Formica floor-tiling.

Mr. Big-Tig began to thrust even faster now and I could feel his balls slapping against my taint rather profusely as he continued to dig deeper into me, reaching his final climax soon, judging by how fast he began to hump. My prostate was enduring one hell of a roller-coaster ride while I kept the folf's cock hard and well-doused with my shepherd-coon saliva, wrapping my muzzle around its entire width and ramming it down my throat repetitively, polishing the tip, shaft, knot and balls with my long spongy shepherd-coon tongue. After some time I cupped his canine balls in my slender shepherd-coon paws and pulled on them a bit, massaging both folf testes between my thumb and fingertips. I could feel his small wrinkly ball-sac pouch tense up with a small trace of movement upon his vascular tube. He was on the verge of cumming deep into my maw. Before long, I'd not only smell his musky fluids but I'd TASTE them as well. Would I be able to handle such raunchy promiscuity after having just extended the last of my strength to performing a live acoustic show for a devoted group of Enim-Noinu fans no more than a couple hours ago?

Well fucking DUH! These guys were showing me the time of my life and I wouldn't want to spoil the experience by gagging and vomiting up a fresh round of sperm generously given to me orally, that would embarrass me and cast a bad shadow over my reputation. I'd rather not spit after all, I swallow every time. Am I proud of it? Just consider this: Is Brent Corrigan proud of taking a dick up his ass on-screen for money, fame and popularity among the homosexual porn crowd? There would be no other reason to stick to such drastic measures of utmost pleasure if one simply didn't enjoy it or feel comfortable with themselves over it come the morning after. I had felt at ease with these guys and their promiscuity. Perhaps they had been as pent-up as I had... I'll probably never know now but it mattered not while they were busy fucking me at the time, and they'd certainly fucked me pretty doggone good.

Tig leaned down and panted rapturously into my ear, apprehending my neck in his firm grip and keeping a steady paw clenched down upon my grinding hip while he began to tense up himself. I could feel his balls less and less upon my taint, assuming he was on the verge of spontaneous orgasm as well. Both these panting hunks felt ready to blow their tops and cum hard in, on and all around me. I welcomed it with open arms (not literally) as I yanked Ash's knotted cock out of my mouth and moaned exquisitely with stifling lust, like pigs in a muddy sty fornicating wildly. The shimmering tiger came like a sieve into my tail-hole. I clenched down extremely tight over his girth to further extend the pleasure of his orgasm as he let loose a multitude of spurts into me. My insides felt full with his sticky warm feline nectar and those barbs of his set my range of adoration into a tailspin, a flurry of ticklish sensations that racked upon my brain and sent massive rushes of cum-drenched passion coursing through me like some fabulous viral infection that one couldn't possibly wait to be contaminated with. If this is how leprosy felt, then cast my ass out to the next island colony immediately!

The tiger panted and exhaled in long bursts of warm drawn-out breaths while he kept his cock planted firmly in my tail-hole. His folf-dog mate squirted rope after sticky rope of creamy pearly-white jizz into my maw which dribbled down my chin and neck. He tasted salty-sweet with a faint hint of candied pecans and shucked oysters, which made my stomach grumble at the thought... or maybe that was just the sperm I'd ingested? The scent was like heaven on Earth, I swear. I've never been more turned on by pleasure of any kind other than this. (Not entirely true - there was this Wolgon I knew one time awhile back... but that's another story entirely!)

When both the folf and the tiger's testicular supply were spent on and in my shepherd-coon body, I reared back against the bathroom's paisley-adorned wall then sat down upon my buttocks, feeling a small trace of tiger semen oozing out of my stretched tail-hole and spread my legs wide to stroke myself into a cross-eyed sensual daze. They had emptied their love chambers upon me and now it was my turn to return the favor. Ash jumped up from the toilet seat and knelt down over one of my legs, perching upon my calf while Tig crouched down upon the other. I noticed his barbed cock was drippy with fresh santorum. They looked at each other for a brief moment, exchanging a glance of dedicated promise and then they both shared my cock in-between soft exchanges of spit and pre-cum.

Holy Toledo, what a truly devoted couple these two were! If this wasn't a true burden of proof, I didn't know what was. With that luscious tiger tongue scraping succulent jerks across my ball sack and that canine tongue whipping and lashing at my purple-tipped penis tip, I contracted and arched my back into a luscious curve to brace myself for a wild-west shoot-off. My dick exploded with bursts of seminal dog-coon spunk which spackled their snouts and faces. They were the blank canvas board and my penis was the artist's paint brush, creating an ejaculate-spattered masterpiece in the making. Ropes and droplets of pineapple-scented jism adorned their robust masculine features and I kept stroking like mad to get every last drop of my love nectar out. It was fucking sublime, the levels of harrowing pleasure I felt, as I looked into their eyes, dizzy with over-the-top sexual excitement.

After we finished up and cleaned the fast-drying jizz off our bodies (with a little help from the sink's tap-water supply and a few recycled-paper hand-tissues), I remembered the post-show joint I had tucked away behind my right ear. SCORE! Somehow after all those shots of cum to my face, that little sonuvabitch still remained intact. Ash fetched my Zippo from the rear pocket of my faded denim jeans and I fired the sucker up with the window cracked open to regulate fresh air. We shared the smoke admirably between each other, passing and puffing like we had won in a battle against some treacherous enemy while fighting in some forlorn war. We exchanged coy smiles and sultry glances at one another, bathing in the afterglow of this insanely random yet enticingly satisfying sexual experience that had just endured with each other.

The roach burned down to a small paper nub, I flushed it away and extended both my arms around their shoulders, thanking them for showing me such a fine time. My tail-hole began to ache a little by then, still bathed in tiger spunk, but I could care less about the slight stinging. My mind had been fixated on the pleasure, the good vibes that had settled into the atmosphere of our collective aftermath. They thanked me for playing a well-rounded show (both on-stage and off), kissed my folf-cum-scented cheeks, left me their cell phone numbers and promised me a good time whenever I found myself back east again. I didn't see that possibility approaching anytime soon, but I had thought by then hey what the hell - it was about time I owe myself a little road trip...

They hoisted me back up to my feet and I limped myself over to my clothing, pulling my tee shirt and pants diligently back upon my body with swift fluid motions. They also got suited back up and unlocked the door. They both waved goodbye to me, I returned with a paw exposed in an arched motion, then both Ash and Tig left. It took only a short moment for me to come to a certain recollect over what had just happened. I was thoroughly relieved to be in one piece, alive, breathing and not dead and pummeled in some rain gutter or sprawled out behind the place in some trashy alleyway, cut up and disposed of in a damn dumpster. They were sincere, careful with handling me and truly passionate. Not just with me, but with each other. That was the kind of devoted relationship I've always dreamed of. Was I envious? Maybe a little... but I don't waste my time feeling that way during every waking moment in my own life. They had enjoyed themselves as much as I too had enjoyed the pleasure their company and this fact remained unmistakably true. I left the bathroom stall drenched in sperm. I figured the janitor wouldn't mind making a little overtime in cleaning up after us big boys.

As I left the bathroom, Bradley (our guitarist and my right-hand man) saw me and immediately approached me with an alarming look of both shock and relief. He had wondered where in the hell I'd gone off to. I told him I just needed to catch a quick smoke break in the bathroom stall, leaving out a couple significant details. He regarded my calm demeanor, sniffed curiously at the rank organic stench of weed on me and nodded with assured understanding. No problemo boss-man, take all the smoke breaks you need, I imagined him saying to me. He simply said nothing more though. I said nothing more after that as well, and that's how it all went down last night, a night of nights, truly one to remember.

I'm going in for an anonymous STD screening today even though I doubt either one of them would be suspected disease-carriers. They both simply appeared far too clean to be littered with AIDS or anything else of that sort. Still, precautions are quite preliminary in this day and age and I didn't wish to feel far too adamant about any deep-rooted fears of upcoming residual outcomes down the long road in life. That's the last thing I need!

Ash and Tig: a perfectly well-rounded and amazingly, comfortably open couple. I felt honored to be involved in a threesome with them and still do even as I write this into my notebook. I hope to see them again soon someday. Maybe I'll try to make it down to that furry convention in Cali next year... surprise them off their rockers. From what I hear, California is very welcoming to the likes of our kind, the fags and furries. If that's the case, I may consider relocating for good measure. Only faith and time will tell! Until my next entry, I remain dutifully solemn, still achy in the tailhole, pleased with the new friends I made last night and anxious to befriend the next lovely couple (or solo partner) down the long road of sexual divinity.

Rock hard, live harder!

-MAXWELL H.B.