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This written work is the sole property of Gratitude-Advocate (aka Michael Hall) © 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. 2 - Alfonz-Mackenzie

11/01/2014 - 8:36 am

Dear Journal,

Usually on the eve of Halloween, I expect trick-or-treaters with bags full of candy, yearning for more to be added to their pumpkin-shaped sacks. Last night though, I received no children at my doorstep. I did, however, have a visitor. A greeting from a neighbor would sound far too understated and would also be a complete lie, so I'll freely admit to having had a fellow anthro from the grave (that's right, undead) pay me an intensely passionate visit last night. Sound absurd? I too could hardly believe it myself upon writing this, but as God is my witness I received a fond run-in from a truly unique individual upon the eve of Halloween, last night to be exact. It was awkward if not sensational and a bit different if not amazing!

Allow me to reiterate. A long while back while touring with my wonderful grunge rock group, we were all dutifully paid a very hefty sum to headline a major outdoor concert at the Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA., and with compensated earnings rewarded in doing so I eventually purchased a small cabin located in the Southwest region of Lake Michigan located among a small township called Lakeside (aptly named) with a nice view of the lake itself and only a roughly seventy-five mile drive to Chicago. Splendid scenery wasn't the only benefit though. The cabin itself provided a sufficient level of privacy and seclusion to me, two things in which I probably couldn't live or think too creatively without. Not too far away from my cabin, a delicately aged cemetery lay strewn upon a remote hilltop along the lake's outskirts. I've passed by the burial site numerous times before, imagining how many years it's been around. I've also wondered how many dead residents it had buried inside, beneath all the topsoil.

About a week ago, I was invited to attend a Blackburnadeaux family meeting in West Virginia. After a long arduous bus-ride across America the beautiful I wound up in the windy city itself, beautiful downtown Chicago! Upon hailing a taxi, paying the fare and getting a ride to my cabin, I knew that I was set for the remainder of the next week or two. I brought a small pouch of Portland's finest ganja wrapped up in an aluminum pouch, nestled deep within my pant pocket. About a few nights later (along with a good amount of indulging beforehand) I wound up attending our annual family affair. I was rewarded with a chance to catch up and reminisce over recent happenings with aunts, uncles, cousins, even grandparents I haven't seen in a long amount of years. They are good people, knowledgeable and supportive. It was a nice experience but afterwards I grew homesick. In fact, I still am a bit. I'm a natural Pacific Northwestern kind of anthro, I guess. My place is on the West Coast, that's where I yearn to be! I miss my people back in Oregon too. Brookings has its fair share of poverty, but it also has a good lineup of decent locals. This area has nice dibs though as well, so I can't stay entirely biased forever. Oh well.

Last night, there was a thick fog that settled in among the various remote cabins nestled along the lakeside. Perfect for Halloween. The air had a slight chill but otherwise the weather was nice, sufficient for sleeping with the windows cast wide open. I had wound up finding a reasonable location nestled in a fairly well-tended private community so I wasn't at all worried about any burglaries or private home break-ins. So thinking back now, I can recall walking by the graveyard earlier yesterday and hearing a strange noise coming from behind one of the large granite-set headstones. Curious to find out more, I proceeded to swing open a wrought-iron grate smothered with ivy and preceded upon the lush green hilltop. I approached one of the thick granite stones dutifully, watching my stepping over the other gravestones respectfully so as not to stain any surfaces with grassy-green footprints. The stone I approached was carved out with what seemed like a chisel and hammer from a few years ago, faded and green with smudges of algae adorning the letters themselves in their nooks:

H re Lies Alfonz-Mackenzie

A Be oved H und Now At Re t

Born 1988 ~ Di d 2007

A beloved hound now at rest, huh? Alfonz-Mackenzie... what a totally cute and well-established name! He was so young though... what a shame, I said aloud to myself while standing beside the tarnished grave site. He must have been an awfully good hound to have been buried along with the humans in this pristine cemetery. That or some spoiled rich brat had to have his or her way with their dead pet some years ago. In any case, there can always be an amazing slew of secrets to be told in one of these final resting grounds. A cemetery always had a tendency to withhold years of inordinate secrets. Some of those sublime secrets just couldn't wait to be elaborated upon further. Strangely enough, I seemed to remember the name... like I've heard it mentioned somewhere else once before, but I couldn't put a lid on it back then... I could only repeat it through my head. Alfonz-Mackenzie, Alfonz-Mackenzie, Alfie...

After I returned back to the cozy cedar-wood cabin, I entered back inside, turning the unlocked knob and pulling the large oak-cast front door shut behind me. After I locked the deadbolt and took off my twin-layered parka to hang upon a wall-nailed coat hook, I reached down and pulled my T-shirt right up and off my back since the interior of the log-built gets goddam stuffy later into the brink of an early evening. Outside from the large Venetian-style front-room window which I had left open for fresh air, I heard a random wolf-whistle echo through. I wondered if somebody hadn't been spying on me the entire time I'd been home. Probably some random peeping-tom or female passer-by that caught sight of me partially undressing and thought it would be cute to flirt a little from a long, drawn-out distance. Since the weather was so incredibly nice for the autumn season and I didn't want to close everything all back up again, I kept the window pried wide open, regardless of who may have been watching in. The bright post-afternoon heat that radiated from the shining sunny day faded away into the soft-glowing chilly brink of twilight. For the remainder of the evening, I maintained a steady blush beneath my fur and grew a little self-conscious of what else I found myself doing, promising not to resort to any kinky business. At least, that's what I originally thought...

After darkness absorbed the rest of the daylight, I dimmed the lights inside the cabin to set the mood for a quick late-night toke. Lake Michigan herself sparkled with the moon's reflection, twinkling ridges of waves breaking with creased patterns flowing constantly up to the shoreline. A few incandescent lights could be seen strewn along the outskirts of the lake's coastline, twinkling with steady and prominently bright circular beads from adorning homes and their rear porch lights. Another solemn night had settled in elegantly and I felt at ease, granted especially by the fact that last night was Halloween. No toilet paper streams thrown into any nearby eucalyptus trees, no firecrackers being tossed under police cars or into patio mailbox slots. I bore witness to another peaceful and serene evening just like any other, until a loud knocking upon the front door startled me stupid.

I was three inhaled breaths into my bowl and sat comfortably in a hand-me-down leather La-Z-Boy recliner when I heard a thick rapping sound struck against the large oaken front door. Oh great, perfect timing, JUST perfect, right in the middle of my indulging time. I hoped it hadn't been another neighbor intent on borrowing hedge trimmers again or some die-hard desperate fan hoping for an autograph, but who trimmed hedges at this time at night? Putting the glass bong down beside the leather-bound recliner, I stood up and ambled toward the door steadily while clearing my throat and waving the acrid marijuana smoke out toward the wide-open front room window. It hovered through the air in spiraling ribbons and refused to drift off anywhere else, just linger. I shrugged and went to the door in a hurry. I had no peephole but I felt no fear, usually those who came to my place in this neck of the woods were either lost and needed directions or just couldn't believe Maxwell Horacio Blackburnadeaux from the West Coast had lived here of all places. I unlocked the deadbolt and pried opened the door to... nobody.

I looked around on the front porch toward my neighbor's cabin, down Bluff Road which acted as my surrogate driveway... nothing and nobody, only a couple trick-or-treaters with flashlights glaring conical-shaped illuminated trails in the thick fog trotting through dense mist a few blocks down. Maybe I'd been had by a couple smarty-pants ding-dong-ditchers? I had no doorbell installed so they must have thought how much fun a good knock-and-ditch would be instead, a good incentive to keep me on my toes. On Halloween night, anything could happen to most anyone who hadn't quite readily been prepared ahead of time. I turned on the patio light and shut the door again, shaking my head in confusion and disregard. It was probably just a neighborhood stray cat pouncing down hard upon the porch. I wouldn't begin to trip hard just yet; I wouldn't allow such a thing to commence. The time had been far too early for that. I was only just getting started with my ganja supply. Walking back to reclaim my bubbler pipe, I noticed the Venetian window had been opened even wider than before, pulled up further upon its hinges. I didn't do that. If so, certainly I would've remembered something as minuscule and obsolete as having opened the sliding-pane window a bit wider? Maybe I wasn't so alone after all like I had thought initially? Paranoia began to creep in with lucrative strides. The interior of the place began to stink less like pot smoke and more like dead road-kill. What the hell? I thought then, a little grossed out.

I stepped forth in great strides straight into the kitchen and pried open the refrigerator door: A few cans of Sprite, a packet of honey ham, a squeeze-bottle of spicy mustard, an expired bottle of A-1 steak sauce, a packet of hot-dog buns, a jar of homemade pickles given to me by my Uncle Matthew from the reunion, a small glass flask half-filled with tequila and - YES Hallelujah! I had forgotten about the petite watermelon, uncut and freshly-purchased from a local farmer's market just a couple days prior to yesterday, placed avidly on the top shelf. My stomach-bound munchies began to sing from within like a choir reciting hymns to the Lord upon Easter Sunday. A few fresh-sliced wedges would be a perfect night-cap to make the evening even better than ever. I pulled the green-tinted melon out and set it down upon the nearby marble-stone counter. I then slammed the fridge door shut with my coon-dog foot and turned a one-eighty to fish a large carving blade out from a silverware drawer opposite from where the melon had been placed. As I turned back around to cut the ripened sucker in half, I swore I saw something move from behind the chair I had been partaking in earlier. The flash of silhouetted movement made me jump hard, causing my tail to perk up and my heart to jolt twice as fast, thumping in my chest at rapidly-successive beating intervals. I almost dropped the blade on my foot, but managed to maintain my grip.

I chose to willfully ignore the ongoing fright that begun to swell up from within and proceeded onward in satiating my hunger, assuming the brief glimpse to be nothing more than a mere trick of shadow. I cut the melon in half, milking sweet nectar upon the rough fine-polished marble-top surface and exposing clustered patches of black seeds nestled within red pulpy melon flesh. A few wedges later, I had a paper-towel napkin filled and ready for imminent consumption. Sweet consumption... then I heard a strange shuffling noise from behind me as I began to walk back to the leather-bound love-seat to continue from where I'd been rudely interrupted before. I turned gracefully and froze in place. There he stood.

He actually managed to sneak past me somehow when I was so thoroughly involved in cutting the melon. He sprouted up from behind the counter, from behind me, to my complete surprise. Shocked and slightly petrified, I laid my eyes upon a skinny male canine figure standing amicably beside the counter, arms folded behind his back, swinging his hips like a pondering child, staring hungrily at the watermelon wedges that resided upon the counter top. I ogled over him silently, taking in his features diligently. He was stark naked and his sheath, covered with a small patch of white pubic fur, dangled freely beneath his fuzzy thighs. His matted fur was primarily beige-colored with a large patch of white that stretched from his lower jaw down to his groin. His body was frail and skinny, proof that he was either extremely malnourished or no longer among the living. His tail swung from behind his back like a flag blowing atop a skyscraper, also beige with a stripe of white surrounded by purple streaks and marked with a strange figurative shape of a slit eyeball. I couldn't tell if it was some form of a hieroglyph or a strange tattoo. He had green fur lining along his ear tufts and an attractive patch of long, straight dark-brown hair which bore a single purple-dyed bang that drooped down, practically reaching his pectoral muscle. His limbs were striped with bright green and purple hues, similar to my ringed tail. He brought his forearms out from behind his back casually and I saw that they had been sewn on, protruding large scars across the surface of each arm. His fingers were yellow and spindly, like delicately sharpened pencil-like claws. Another large scar held together by what looked like fishing line stretched across his white-bellied abdomen and two more adorned his face, one below his left eye near his muzzle and the other reaching past his brow above his right. His eyes themselves glowed with a dark yellow-gamboge hue and slit pupils, similar to a red fox. His legs were identical to his arms, also stitched upon each ankle and ring-striped, ending with white paw-tips and yellow nails. Standing upright in a _canid-digitigrade_stance, he glanced between the watermelon and my startled pondering shepherd-coon eye, frozen wide open and staring. After a brief amount of time that felt like forever, he proceeded to ask me in a strangely polite manner if I was going to eat all of that delectable fruit myself, then I fainted.

After I came back around to, I was lying sprawled out on my back upon the queen-size bed that was also located in the main living quarters. The cabin itself had only one major room, a small hideaway bathroom and a singular island counter in the kitchen. The place felt like a ski-lodge condominium more so than a private lakeside cabin at most times. My eyelids fluttered open then I sat up rapidly and looked around, seeing nobody else. I thought that I must have had some strange hallucination from the weed. It was still dark outside, but I couldn't exactly tell what time it had been. I also had no idea how long I wound up laying on the bed. I wasn't always here, right? _I swore I had fainted near the walkway between the La-Z-Boy and the kitchen itself... and just what in the hell WAS that strange canine creature I saw? It couldn't have been a fox, maybe a jackal? Some kind of a canine, that's for darn sure... but how did I even wind up lying down upon this bed again? All I remember was fainting and then- _

Perhaps all at once my enigmatic pondering was answered, as a skinny clawed hand rose up from behind me and grasped hold of my shoulder tenderly, passionately.

I jumped, reeled back away from the sudden grip and fell off the edge, slamming down hard onto the mahogany floor. The dog-thing, whoever or whatever he was, had put me in bed after I fainted. I glanced down and realized I too was stripped down to the buff. Not only had he carried me back to my bed after I fainted, he also rendered me nude. I was scared to stand up and face him. What if he came here to eat or kill me? If he really had been a zombie, shouldn't I have thought of keeping a gun or a torch handy? These concerns riled through my brain at a thousand miles a second as I lay upon the floor, sprawled out in a stoned daze.

Suddenly a small snout poked out from the edge of the maroon-colored top-sheet, then a flinging purple strand of hair, then his striking eyes, weary with deep-pocketed bags beneath his sockets. He crooked his eyebrow playfully and gazed down at me, lying on the ground in a forlorn look of shock and uncertainty. He asked me if I was alright and commented me on having taken a rough and ready tumble both coming out of the kitchen and right off the edge of my bed, refraining from laughing by blowing a soft raspberry, then almost immediately afterward cracking up joyfully. His voice sounded hoarse and grainy, nasal with a slight twanging lisp. He appeared to have slightly pinkish-red watermelon blotches beside his lips, soaked into the fur on his muzzle. For some absurd reason or another, his fastidious presence and simple innocence aroused me wish a surprising rush of sexual attractiveness. The poor dog was dead, undead in fact, and yet I still felt undeniably horny, lusting excitedly for him. I remember wondering if he had felt the same way for me. I certainly must have been higher than I cared to admit at the time!

I stood up hastily, head spinning dizzily from the fall and then retained my balance at last, glowering upon him with mixed emotions. I asked him who he was. He told me I should remember, duh. I didn't understand what he meant but he just giggled and flicked his wrist at me like I was completely silly and misinformed. He then told me that I had once been involved in a threesome with him and a red panda boy named Aiden from a few years back. My god, had I been stone-drunk or mega-high during that particular evening? I asked him for his name. He gave me a pout, a disappointing look and said Alfie. His name was Alfie, asking me with grave concern why I couldn't easily remember. I could barely muster the memory though, attempting to visualize and failing miserably at remembering anything remotely close, let alone a threesome with a red panda and a zombie-dog. That must have been during one of my earlier ride-ins from a few years back... though I still couldn't exactly conjure what had happened. There has only been one major drawback to my marijuana addiction - the frying of my short-term memory.

My brain had been arguing over what I should have been feeling up until then. The left hemisphere vowed to force me out the door, running and screaming, begging for mercy to be rescued from the zombie that had broken in through my window while I was gone running various errands. Meanwhile the right hemisphere considered how politely aloof he seemed to be, perhaps simply just lonely and seeking a rightful companion to spend All Hallows Eve with, finding that companionship through me. Common sense also butted in, exclaiming that even if I did run out and cause a major outlandish scene, the local authorities surely would wind up smelling the reeking stench of cannabis upon my fur and immediately assume that I was enduring a thorough hallucinatory phase, just another dumb-ass burner to slap into handcuffs to be driven down to the local precinct and booked for possession of illegal narcotic substances of a psychotropic nature.

Alfie only stared back at me blankly, expressionlessly, and I could imagine that he wondered what on earth I had been so paranoid about to begin with. His curious stare had been filled with wonder and amazement. I almost had to fight back the urge to laugh aloud hysterically over how absurd the entire situation had become, then I noticed he wasn't even looking at my eyes, my face, not even anywhere near my upper body. He was staring transfixed upon my penis. I glanced down as well and noticed that I had become erect. My heart began to race, pulsing in my chest cavity faster than comfort could adhere to, and I blushed furiously beneath my fur. One hand-paw of mine reached up to my dread-locked head, rubbing at my temple and the other reached down to grope the rock-hard schlong embarrassingly, trying to hide it astray. I also happened to catch sight of a slightly protruded bulge beneath the bed sheets where he had been laying. Good god, he was becoming just as aroused as I was. I wondered if zombies could even keep it up.

We just eyed each other up and down from head to paw, pertaining to our indifference and our features, feeling ever-more attracted to each other after every passing minute. I apologized to him for having exposed his eyes to my junk and he only just shook his head, brushing the apology off like a minor technicality. I thought I'd faint again but instead I sought out the steady urge to approach him, slowly at first since he appeared to flinch away from my slow-paced advancement, but I began to pick up my stride soon thereafter. My coon-dog feet shuffled across the barren crimson-toned carpet between the recliner chair and the mattress. He looked up at me and issued a slightly crooked smirk upon his pristine face. For being seven years deceased, he hadn't truly decayed far too much. In fact, he was very attractive and unmistakably sexy. This enticed me to no end. Was I about to have hot passionate sex with a zombie-anthro? Who the fuck cares? Certainly not me, after all he is quite cute! As long as he was willing to copulate freely and shed compensation unto me as well, nothing else seemed to matter. I only prayed hard that no further visitors would sprout upon my doorstep unwelcome or that he wouldn't fall apart like some Frankenstein's monster, a scarecrow held together by twine and hemp padding.

He kept his gaze upon my face as I wound up perched beside the bed, then he reached out and rubbed his hand gently across my belly. His slight touch sent sensational flurries through my groin and chest. I really had felt carnal urges throughout the past week or so, but I never would have imagined my pent-up feelings could be satisfied by an undead zombie-dog. Halloween night couldn't have become any more fascinating to me at that very moment. He caressed his spindly-fingered hand up and down the muscular crease of my chest, my abs tickled delightfully by his slightly bashful touch. He then reached out with his other hand and groped my waist, pulling me closer to him upon the bed. I raised myself up and plopped down into the sheets, burying myself into the down-comforter blanket beside him while my ringed tail swooshed back and forth. His lips curled up in a grin and he re-introduced himself to me as Alfonz-Mackenzie. I stared in awe and wonder, suddenly remembering who he was and finally asked if he had heard me, standing beside his grave, talking aloud. He raised a finger up and pressed it against my lip, poking my snout with the small sharpened tip. He then reached behind my dread-locked head, pulled me closer to his face and kissed me. I could smell a faint scent of watermelon and vanilla, perhaps the latter had been the earliest stages of fetid rot. By now none of that mattered, I was immaculately drawn to him. Alfie lapped his canine tongue upon the roof of my shepherd muzzle and I also brushed mine against his slightly faded pink taste receptacle, warm and moist, flavored like watermelon. The little punk had eaten my melon slices after I fainted, but I could care less. He must have been awfully hungry. I suppose lying dormant in a shallow grave would make most anybody develop an appetite, let alone a zombie-turned anthro like him.

He reached down and fondled at my scrotum, tugging my balls in a teasing manner and gently stroking at my shaft. I began to leak slightly with pre-cum and reached behind his head, pulling it back by grabbing onto his soft nappy hair, caressing the tip of my snout against his neck, kissing and licking at his soft earth-scented fur. I felt the back of his nape and rubbed another large stitch-sewn scar that ran down the center of his spine from his neck to the center of his shoulder blades. The potent aroma of organic greenery produced a natural pheromone that drove me wild with intense passion. He was drawing me in with every delectable nuance, with every touch and caress he had further built me up and sent me over the edge of sanity and reason. I must have been right proper insane by then to let myself give in so hard to an undead specimen but I won't lie, not even to myself - I was quickly becoming more and way more aroused with every passing second.

Then Alfie lay upon his back, pulling the covers free from the top of his body, pushing them off the foot-end edge of the bed with his petite paw pads. He spread his legs wide, exposing his sheath, now pulled back with a turquoise-blue knotted doggy-dick jutting out from stretchy elastic fur-aligned folds, erect as mine was. He reached his arms around my neck and proceeded to wrap his legs around my hips, drawing me in closer to his body. He began to grind his erection against my own and rub my back solemnly. The heated throes of passion began to stifle my senses as I reached down and cupped his thick knotted member within my grasp. I stroked at it a little and he moaned in a fairly loud manner, issuing a small series of feminine gasps and heaving pants. I felt a throbbing sensation course through his zombie-dog cock and wondered if he could even pump any blood through his heart, or even if he still had a heart. Obviously he had come this far, he must have had reliable still-operating water-works coursing through his body. At the time I wasn't entirely concerned, only the fact that he had tempted me with his sultry wanting and intent desire had remained prominently upon my senses. I was yearning to make love to the cocky undead pup, no matter what kind of consequences I faced in this lifetime or the next.

I reached down and positioned my coon-dog penis in place, aligning it evenly with his tight little tail-hole, rearing him back and spreading his legs a bit wider to allow him to take me deep. I prodded at him and he whimpered a little, slightly trembling beneath my grasp. I found that reaction to be incredibly cute, wondering perhaps if he had died a virgin. If he had only been about nineteen years old at the time of his death, technically he would have been around twenty-six today. The lack of aging though kept his youthful figure alive and kicking. His grip tightened around my waist as his ankles locked in place behind my buttocks directly under my tail. He whispered into my ear that he was ready to be taken. Only a fool would have denied such an offer at that very moment, stoned or not.

I penetrated Alfonz-Mackenzie forcefully. My tip prodded its way into his anus, poking though soft internal ridges before sliding gracefully deep inside him. He moaned aloud and begged me to fuck him good, insisting not to hold back since hardly anyone ever really gave him any direct sexual contact very often. Feeling a slight twinge of remorse and pity for him, I began to thrust with a constant rhythm. Each humping prod caused him to irk out a clearly audible passionate moan which had sounded more like girlish screams. His maw hung open and his tongue twirled around, licking at his lips and upon my neck. He truly demanded every ounce of satisfaction and I was bound and determined to give it to him as best as I could, considering the circumstances. If this was all just a hallucination, I prayed thoroughly that it would last for a long while. Though it really happened and not from a conjured fantasy of mine, my prayers had been answered. I was only too naïve and caught up in the moment to realize how lucky I really wound up being in the long run.

Momentarily I had buried mine deep enough into him that I began to feel my balls slapping against the soft bristling fur nestled upon the base of his tail. I kept one arm hoisted behind him, holding my grip firmly clenched onto his back, while the other arm had found the strength to lift one of his legs up practically to my torso, cupping my hand in the small crater-socket of his knee. I could see his toes curling avidly with orgasmic strain from my peripheral vision and I was panting heavily, burying myself deeper still into his sex-starved hide. The bed's oak-wood headboard slammed into the wall behind it with a repetitive thump, thump, thump that echoed throughout the room in between my various grunts and growls and his loud drawn-out moans of sheer immaculate desire. He talked incredibly dirty to me: fill my zombie-slut hole to the brim with your sweet coon-shepherd cum, don't stop fucking me raw baby, I love the feeling of your cock thrusting inside my virgin-tight tail-hole, fuck me silly cute stuff, I want to lick your horny thick rod while you push your tongue deep into my sheath, a plethora of kinky one-liners. He tensed up so often, clenching his deliciously tight hole around the width of my dog-knotted dick that I felt as if I had been left in a stupor, a zombie-like trance of my own, pounding away like a predator into his queerly slender body. He felt succulent for having been undead. How I had forgotten about being involved in a threesome with this boy was far beyond me and my intuitive reasoning. Damn that marijuana and its side-effects!

He reached down and fingered at my own anus, fidgeting at the tight starfish-shaped ridges. I reeled back and arched my body in response as he began to prod his long index finger into my tail-hole, stimulating my prostate, grinning naughtily the entire time. My good eye rolled up into its socket and I could feel a rushing wave of utmost pleasure creep over my body. My head felt light and tingled overwhelmingly and I could feel my groin region twinge with a ticklish sensation which screamed of an imminent climax. I was about to cum hard into this forever-young cutie who had effortlessly wooed me into bed with him. There had been no holding back. He reached up and cupped my muzzle into the forceful grip of his free hand and begged me to cum into his tight little undead cum-hole. He inserted his fingers into my mouth and I sucked at them with a deep-burrowed carnal lust. He just buried his head into a pillow and bent his body upward, curving into mine, pushing against me, begging for every last inch of my shep-coon-hood.

As I kept pounding into his ass, I suddenly heard a snapping sound. I glanced down and noticed his sewn abdominal cut had inadvertently burst open. Shit! Oopsie-daisies! He whispered deftly into my ear, clamping his hand down upon the open gash, attempting to hold his intestines in place. I could care less since I was so involved in sexing him up. He just ignored it shortly thereafter as well and we kept mating like rabid bunnies. A couple times I caught sight of my own penis through the burst-open cut, spearing upward from inside like a Pogo-stick in a bruised sea of digestive tubing. Rather than feel disgusted, I felt more turned on by seeing my cum-lubed dick in action. Alfie was showing me first-hand what a real "internal shot" looked like and I was fascinated to say the least. Never slowing down for a minute, I noticed that one of his eyelids had been closed and the other barely managed to stay blinking, twitching slightly while his mouth hung gaped and wide open with an O-shaped curve upon his lips, tongue stuck out and breathing deep, gasping hard with uttering moans of intense sublime passion. His "Oh-face" was exposed in full unflinching force. We were both ready to ejaculate simultaneously. I felt his testicles contract into his sac beneath my belly and I tensed up to embrace the magnitude of our mutually-shared oncoming climax.

I came first, squirting once, twice, thrice, four times, over and over into his delectable undead ass, knot sweltering and growing with each fresh ejaculation. He had practically tried to suck me in deeper as I kept spewing my non-stop load of coon-dog semen into his sperm-tainted nether-regions. He moaned aloud, nearly crying with satisfactory pleasure at each thrust and ejaculation I gave unto him. Then he reached his head up to me and clenched down upon my neck with his yellow-stained sharp canine teeth, licking at my fur. He unloaded with one thick musky rope of semen after another, then another, and another until he oozed from the tip of his bulged, twitching blue-veined cock. My chest was damn-near coated with his zombie-dog nectar. He had an awful lot of canine-cum stored up in his system as well and hardly nobody around to give him a chance to truly let loose, until he decided to enter my cabin and feast upon my watermelon that is. His legs stapled themselves around my hips and held tight, clenching me down in a vice-grip, as he jerked and shivered with orgasmic and sensational spasms. His moaning practically deafened me but I had known all at once that he had been satisfied, and so was I.

After we laid back into the bed, exhausted and spent from the intense workout we had both just endured, I popped my girth out from his tail-hole, tugging a thin rope of fresh dribbling sperm from his southern entrance, still attached to the tip of my shep-coon penis. He then turned around and lay flat upon his stomach, arms bent at the elbows and turned towards me, grasping my shoulders. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, thanking me for showing him such a delightful time during this particular Halloween evening. I told him to think nothing of it and that I had just as much fun giving him pleasure as he had receiving it. He then brushed a strand of dread-locked hair from my face and licked my muzzle. He guided himself down my chest, making sure to keep a watchful eye upon his torn belly gash, licking at my nipples and navel until he reached my near-flaccid shepherd-raccoon stiffy, drenched in my own cum and what appeared to be topsoil. He licked my shaft clean and spit the dirt out through the open window, chuckling in a seminal manner. I grinned delicately toward him and rubbed his sperm off my chest, licking at my paw-tips, cleaning the zombie-dog spunk right off. It smelled salty-sweet and tasted remarkably just like watermelon.

He cuddled up beside my chest, grasping me tightly with his striped arms, managing to get his ripped-belly issue resolved temporarily. He then cleared his throat which sounded nearly demonic and drifted off into a deep entrancing snooze. I began to doze out myself until his otherworldly snoring perked me awake again. I lay in the bed for a few minutes, hearing his crackling breaths, heaving in and out with each exasperated inhalation and exhalation. He must have had some serious work done with his organs, especially his lungs. Paying no further mind or distressed worry to his slightly obnoxious snoring, I finally crashed into a deep undisturbed sleep.

This morning when I awoke, I coughed up a wad of phlegm as a result of toking it up last night. The gooey crud tasted like smoke, salt and... watermelon. Suddenly under the influence of realization and returning memories festering in, I jerked right up to look around the cabin in hopes of finding my guest. He was nowhere to be seen though. The window had been drawn closed, the bed sheets had been pulled up from the floor and folded down neatly, the remaining watermelon was gone from the counter and the knife had been placed in the sink after having appeared to have been washed. Alfonz-Mackenzie had retreated back to his grave before the night had ended and I never truly got a chance to say goodbye to him. I rubbed my chest and felt a patch of dried chapping sperm, flaky and slightly filmy against the furred surface of my fine raccoon-coat. I rubbed my head confusingly for a moment, then went to the refrigerator and opened the white revolving door to find a half-sliced watermelon resting neatly upon a porcelain plate, covered with Saran-Wrap and a small note scribbled legibly with attentive clarity attached to the top. It says:

Maxwell- thanks again for making last night one of the best Halloween evenings I've ever known! I didn't mean to eat as much of your watermelon as I did, but I can't help it - I love the stuff! I can't wait until next year... let's spend another All Hallows Eve together again, what do you say? Maybe I can introduce you to a fellow ghost friend of mine... his name is Augustine and I'm sure you two would hit it off perfectly! We could have a lifetime of fun...

Yours truly past eternity,

Alfonz-Mackenzie!

PS. I hope you don't mind the mess I made on your bed-sheets... I also found an old fishing kit in your closet so I used some luring line to sew myself back up. Many thanks for not freaking out too much about THAT little slip-up! xoxo

I have no reason now to complain or feel uneasy about what had happened. He had a wonderful time with me, a living specimen, a reliable source of pure contact, and he couldn't be any more grateful. That matters more to me than anything. I imagine if we did wind up receiving any trick-or-treaters paying us a visit last night, they would've been scared off by the awful sounds of a lady being stabbed to death from inside this cabin. If only they had known the full truth!

Rock Hard, Live Harder!

-Maxwell H.B.