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Bobsmage416 : You be in need of spiritual counseling then, Mr. Blackburnadeaux?

TheShepCoonAbides: Yes. When would I be able to come over with it?

Bobsmage416 : Anytime you like, sir. I always be free with these consultations. I advise to be here before very long.

TheShepCoonAbides: I'll see you within the hour, then.

Bobsmage416 : Excellent.

TheShepCoonAbides: Thanks again for this... I honestly didn't know who else to turn to.

Bobsmage416 : It be a pleasure, mind you!

TheShepCoonAbides: <3 I know... that's why I'm so grateful. TTYL

[Bobsmage416 has logged off]

TheShepCoonAbides: Just as long as you know what you're getting yourself into...

[_TheShepCoonAbides_has logged off]

~

When Maxwell knocked at her door, he half-expected an elderly old voodoo priestess with endless wrinkles adorning her face and dead rat skull charms decorating her cloaked shroud of human skin to answer. Who answered instead came to him as a great surprise.

Standing upon a brick-mason-built mini-deck of the humbled abode's front porch was a fairly young and slender hybrid anthropomorphic. Her fur was as orange as Maxwell's eye-patch and shimmered slightly in the setting sun upon the distant horizon to the East. Her eyes were browner than the darkest chestnut brown and deep-pocketed. Her cheeks were painted black with cheetah-derived tear-mark lines. Her hair was long, ashen-brown and braided elegantly down her back, running along the middle of her spine. Unique tribal patterns marked the rest of her fur's surface in intricately designed cylindrical abstract shapes. Her tail jutted out, very long and elastic, appearing to Max like that of a cheetah, despite her prepossessing canine features. Her shins were wrapped in parchment bands which reminded Maxwell of professional kick-boxers or ninja recruits. Her torso also held sway to this wrapping, preserving her modesty. In one hand-paw, she held a long wooden staff with a wolf's skull attached to the top. The skull was half-corroded, with its cranial structure still intact; lacking a nose, the muzzle, eye-sockets and most of the jawline and temples remained fully exposed with a large tuft of dark gray mane-fur upon the top and back of its head and neck, along with its perky ears still intact. The disembodied wolf's skull had a strange dream-catcher glyph tied to its neck, which swung with each nuance of movement the cheetah-wolf anthro made. Max was profoundly taken back by her elegance and shocking youth, despite what he was half-expecting initially beforehand. Even the presence of a tribal-bound relic impaled on a stick couldn't deter his advances.

"You have arrived. Good. We have much to be done, with precious time to do it. Quickly then, this way." She said, stepping back and guiding Max with her hand-paw towards the front room of what was most likely her home as well as her reputable side-business... demonic purification and spiritual cleansing. She stopped Max dead in his tracks, before he could step inside. "But... take dem shoes off first, and you be leavin' that there bass at the door as well if you'd please, dear sir." She insisted.

"I was under the impression my bass guitar would be needed for such a practice? It is the relic that's responsible for this entire mess, after all." Max said. From inside the house, emanated a strong cloying scent of patchouli, lemongrass and cigarette smoke. Her expression changed dramatically as she looked uneasily at the instrument. She nodded with comprehensive understanding.

"If you be feelin' dat dis'ere instrument you've brought me done be truly possessed like you say earlier... then by all means, bring it. Please handle it carefully, yea? There be lots of valuable contraband inside dem quarters, would hate to lose ya to the darkness too soon, shep-coon!" The cheetah-wolf-woman said, stifling a morbid giggle. Her tone sounded harsh and hesitant but her eyes held a solemn virtue of patience and knowing. Max nodded, being careful not to let his bass swing around against his thigh too freely. When he stepped in, he saw a young random cheetah-wolf cub sitting cross-legged upon a shaggy blue carpet in a nearby connected play-room fiddling with building blocks. A tiny 9-inch television was on, playing an obnoxiously loud cartoon. The room itself had pictures drawn by a toddler (most likely this very one) adorning all four corners of its interior. There were various toys scattered along the floor, leading to a large plastic bin, lid removed and tilted over onto its side. A cornucopia of childhood wonders, adventures to be had, damsels in distress, white knights apt to slaying mythical dragons, teddy bears and truck engines. The young hybrid-child gazed up at Max with swift disinterest and broke his glance away immediately, resuming toy-time. He had cheetah-sized large green eyes and a ridiculously cute face that any mother could love. His body was slightly pudgy, allowing anyone to mistake him for a furry dwarf-boy. His rounded spectacles added a swift serving of John Lennon to his characteristics overall. In essence, he was a ridiculously adorable little tot. Was he this hybrid-anthro's son? The resemblance was strikingly similar. Maxwell stood steady and silent for a moment, drowning in thoughts, looking at the hybrid-boy play. Then he came back around.

"Never fear, babe..." Max said as he stared indifferently at the child for a spell longer, soon resuming the hybrid-woman's trail back to wherever she'd been initially leading him to. "I'm very cautious of other people's surroundings. Say, you gonna let me try to wild-guess your name? We've yet to be introduced properly, not even online, when I posted that message to-"

"Yes, dere be a strict reason behind dat, mind you. Confidentiality, you see. Dis practice... it is not commonly performed on a day-to-day basis, you understand well enough?"

Max nodded. He understood all too well.

"Trust me, I'm aware of what you intend to do to my bass, though I'm not entirely in agreement with it... but what must be done shall be done, right?" Max said. He felt a tickle in his chest, nervous tics perhaps.

"Right. Okay den, as such, we have a certain... obligation... of secrecy to be met and adhered to. You agree with dat as well, yea?" She asked. Her poise and tone meant business and Maxwell admired this free-hand diligence, so graceful and reassured.

"Anything to free me - well, my bass at least - of this horrible affliction that I've been cursed with recently. I'm desperate! I-"

"Yeah, ya punk, dat be what dey all say until they cannot even get dey fill an' den dey go out to get the next gal stuffed right proper. You no different from a band o'pigs, ya fuckin' bumbklaatt!" A strange, mysterious voice brayed out loud, interrupting Max. "Oh, by and by, she be Rayen and I go by Bob. And you is a just fuckin' tool-bastard pussy-boy! HAHAHAHAAA!!"

Max's brow furrowed and he cast a stern yet horrified gaze toward Rayen's staff, then his gaze tapered off and his brow's creases flattened out quickly. The wolf-head on Rayen's stick - which called itself Bob - appeared to be... smiling... at Maxwell. Casting off a ludicrously conniving grin, one that spoke loudly and freely of coy intent. Then the ears jerked and twitched, reeling back and popping up again. Max could hardly believe his good shep-coon eye.

At this sight, Max leapt back in a startled jerk. Witchcraft? Sorcery? What kind of sick shit is this all about? His thoughts went wild with amazement and curiosity. The mandibles clacked and clicked as the skeletal jaw drooped then retracted over and over, as if Rayen were a professional ventriloquist and her wolf-head's staff was her greatest creation of all.

"WhattheFUCKisTHATthing!???!" Max hollered.

"Sssh! Pipe down! You don't go be disturbin' the young one in de other room. Here... we just..." Rayen said. She walked to what Max presumed was her bedroom door and closed it, but not all the way... only leaving a wedge opened in the doorway, just enough for, say, a child to come through if he needed anything.

"Oi! We wouldn't want'ta have the little'un pissin' and shittin' himself all over the carpets, eh? Some of us are dignified, for Cain's sake! Like you be knowin' anything 'bout dat?" Bob said in a sing-song-y tone.

"Can it, Bob." Rayen proclaimed. She waved her hand-paw in a half-oval shape across the air and the skull immediately came to a stand-still, clacking immediately ceased, introducing a new-found silence into the room, save for the discernible popping and shuffling of plastic blocks and that damned obnoxious cartoon.

"What... IS that? How can it... what did you do to make it... whaaat the hell?!" Max exclaimed. He was dumbfounded. How could he have not seen this coming?

"Listen to me closely, shep-coon. I know I done mentioned privacy earlier... something or other about confidentiality? Well, I was lying for fuck's sake." Rayen chuckled. "Lying. Man, I's no spiritual counselor. I done put dat ad up just to get someone to come calling for it, which I figured would never ever happen. Y'all woulda done loved seein' my face light up when I realized dat Maxwell Horacio Blackburnadeaux himself, the shep-coon who set fire to the Rotundra Hut on Saint Patrick's Day-"

"Hey that wasn't me! Okay? It was a group of damn bikers. I had nothing to do with that and neither did Bradley. Since you know so much about me already, I figured... it'd be better to come clean with the whole ordeal. Thanks for the reminder, by the way. How did you know about that anyways? It was an isolated incident." Max questioned.

"Any ol' time, young pyro-boy and son, you ain't the only one gifted with telekinetic ability in dis'ere room." Bob added with a delightful tone. "I could see it all from miles away. So could she. In fact, she done jilled off somethin' fierce when you-"

"Bob!" Rayen shrieked aloud. She raised her fist up above her head and the staff fell over, lifeless and inanimate. "Enough." Rayen literally scared the daylights out of her own magician's staff. She then turned her attention back to her current ring-tailed subject.

"Like I be sayin', you shoulda seen how shocked and pleased I was to see that you be de one to respond to my call. I never imagined you'd be my response! You... well, you astonish me, shep-coon. Truly you do! It be your persistence, methinks." Rayen said. She had a clean-cut admiration about her that Max found unmistakable.

"Yeah, just like how I never imagined my instrument was capable of cursing my fans from mere touch alone. You need to destroy that thing - pronto! I don't care if you're really a spiritual counselor or not... you have a medicine-wolf on a stick, use him!" Max could almost feel the wolf's skull named Bob sneering at him, "I swear, there's been seven cases of sudden brain aneurysms, nine cases of debilitating illnesses contracted from cancer to AIDS and roughly fifteen cases of an early coma. All from fans just fucking touching that accursed bastard!" Max said, pointing at the instrument. "You must cast whatever demon is currently inhabiting my bass out of it and-"

"Why we gotta go break a perfectly good instrument? I could strum out a tuneful shamanic ritual dance perhaps..." Rayen asked, "Or we could easily replace dis'ere current one with a new refined and purged instrument? What say you to dat, Maxwell?"

"Huh? Oh no, I didn't suggest breaking the thing! Only cleansing it! Also I'd like to keep my own piece, if that's do-able..." Max insisted.

"You are making little sense, boy." Bob said over a growl. Rayen stared at Max expressionlessly.

"Sorry! But you know what I mean? A spiritual purge. You can do that, right? Obviously if you can make that..." Max pointed at Bob, lying motionless upon Rayen's shagged maroon carpet "...thing come to life, certainly you can take the life from my weapon of choice and-"

"Fine, shep-coon. I understand, ya? You don't have to go be takin' such a tone with me. Any broke-down bottom-nosed fool could see that it is officially had, just timber for the fireplace, really." Rayen said. Bob chuckled aloud in response.

"I don't need to hear anyone talk shit about my instruments, you understand? I don't-"

"Simmer down, boy!" Rayen cried. She pushed Maxwell onto a large plushy green bean-bag cushion. He plopped down easily enough and when he attempted to get back up, she held him down by her own magical will, which was insistently stronger than his. Her hand-paw was cupped and a strange glowing green aura came pouring free from her padded wrist. A green corona faded from this apex of glowering light. Max couldn't budge an inch. His arms, legs, head... even his tail, had all been frozen in place. Rayen had locked the shep-coon down with no intent to see him go free anytime soon.

"I can do a lot more than just exorcise your precious bass guitar, shep-coon. Lots more. You be seein' soon enough! We gonna be cookin' you up with gas right quick real soon, all in due time, my dear shep-coon boy." Rayen said. Her voice held a triumphant exuberance over it that couldn't be surpassed by anyone.

"Let me go right now, you freaking witch! I swear I'll-" Max began to say, upset as ever.

"Oh you swear now, huh? Let us see how much swearing you be capable of performing wit dis'ere attached, ya cutie-patootie." Rayen said. She reached quickly under the bean-bag chair with her non-glowing hand-paw - extremely quickly; at the speed of cheetah - and yanked free a leather ball-gag muzzle. Rayen shoved the breathing-hole-perforated green rubber sphere into Maxwell's gaping maw and wrapped the ball-gag's harness straps tightly around his head one-handed, attaching a buckle behind his skull, just above his nape. She got a finger-paw tangled in one of his dreadlocks and growled, seemingly irritated. The green corona flickered yellow briefly. Max shook his head and tried to free himself, attempting to nudge her off his chest. She wouldn't budge an inch though, her thighs were glued strongly to his torso, attached firmly to his body. As fast as Rayen grabbed the ball-gag, she then undid Max's pants and pulled them free, along with his boxers. She tore his Hendrix T-shirt right off his chest, pulling it up and over his arms. Max struggled to move but to no avail. Rayen had him gridlocked tight. As a last-resort, he decided to utilize the last and only method imaginable. Telekinesis. How much more powerful could she possibly be than him anyways?

Maxwell's mind tapped into hers with pondering, fingering mental prods.

Listen, Rayen... if that's your name. I don't know what you're up to, but I have powers just as well as you do. Obviously we both utilize these abilities to our own greatest extent. All I need is a material-possession exorcism then I'll be out of your hair and out of your life for good, promise. All I need to know is that you'll promise to let me go and soon. Please.

Rayen's face scrunched down into a deeply methodical one, fraught with concern. Then she replied, lips uprooting into a deliriously lustful grin, brown eyes twinkling immeasurably, heart racing from within her cheetah-wolf rib-cage.

Ohh Maxwell! You is soooo gullible... I ain't gonna be hurtin' you none-such, shep-coon. I been so lonely lately... aching for a new friend... a new partner... you be the answer to my needs! My wanton desires! Don't you see? I'm not doing dis'ere out of hatred for you.... I'm doing it out of love, my bona-fide human-killa. You is gonna be my sex-slave and I shall have my way with you for as long as I see fit, until either you die or I tire of you! Dat, as day say, is dat.

Max's one eye grew wide, his brow creased and his head cocked funny. She wasn't going to kill him, then... as he had originally feared.

"Now answer me dis, Maxwell: why would an all-time favorite groupie of yours, who conceived a child over your music, who seeks out your image every night by way of mental stimuli, go and try to put a hurt on you?!" Rayen asked. Her tone was amused. She giggled daintily, wagging her tube-like cheetah's tail. "I'm most certainly not in it to cause any harm to you, my dear shep-coon..." Rayen leaned in close to Max's face and planted a delicate kiss upon his wet-dog nose. "...but he might. You see, Bob is extremely jealous of other men, especially of those whom I desire and lust for. You are just another prime example of what makes Bob most envious. So, as a way to spite that annoying fuck-head, I'm going to have unrelenting sex with you... right here on dis bean-bag chair. You'll stay my captive, but only as a sex-slave. You'll please me accordingly and never second-guess or question my ruling. You'll ejaculate as many times as I need you to until I am satisfied. Agreed?"

Maxwell nodded after a slight hesitant moment to think things over. Drool was beginning to trickle down the shiny-green surface of his ball-gag. He couldn't see it exactly, but he could feel his dick... stiff as a weather-vane's rod.

"Excellent! Now let us get your foot-paws taken care of... your hand-paws too, of course." Rayen said with a tongue-in-cheek grin and a wink. When she stood back up again, she glanced down to see Maxwell's massive erection. His cock throbbed pinkish-red with a rather sizable knot at its base. It stood straight upwards, pointing at the ceiling like a unicorn's horn. Rayen giggled and cupped her hand-paw to her lips, holding her muzzle in her grip. "Wow, you must really be into de kinky shit, eh? Okay, let us make dis more interesting if we can, yea?"

As Rayen glided to her dresser with a gracefully Savannah-inspired gait, hindquarters bobbing back and forth like windshield wipers shuffling in a downpour, Bob the wolf-headed mage's staff rose up on its own, animated with life. Maxwell saw tiny rivulets of smoke teeming off Bob's dream-catcher centerpiece. The staff twirled around in place, skeletal muzzle pointing directly at Max, and the staff began to hop over closer to the shep-coon. Max squirmed with a reviling fear, frightened off his rocker at the approaching voodoo-relic. When Rayen found what she'd been searching for, she slammed the drawer shut and Bob came toppling back down to the ground again, seemingly still unconscious.

"Okay, shep-coon... hold still a little more for me, we are almost ready. Oh wait, you're already holding still? Gosh, sometimes my own powers just slip my mind! Ha!" Rayen exclaimed. Her poorly-timed joke made her sound like an excited coach ready to give a potential super-star a little one-on-one consultation time, despite the fact he'd broken both his legs already. Rayen knelt down at Maxwell's feet and cuffed his ankles in a leather-bound bar-strap and tied his wrists up to a nearby bedpost with fuzzy-green handcuffs.

"I had pink ones, but an old ex of mine ran out with 'em, as well as a new young virgin mistress, so I had to settle for the next best thing! Hopefully you don't mind too much? I figured they'd go well with the bean bag and ball-gag... and your ear-tufts evidently! So fetching!" Rayen smiled, licking at the inner-tuft of Max's right ear. The sensation made him squirm with sensitivity. He dragged his right paw-padded foot against the top of his other foot-paw and moaned aloud, penis leaking with pre-cum. "I done made me a right choice today, methinks." Rayen said, clicking her tongue and winking in a sultry teasing manner. Maxwell just gave her a rudimentary stare, remaining expressionless, staring at the nearly-lifeless voodoo shaman's staff.

"Okay, pup. Time to show you de goods. Bob, take note." Rayen said.

"You shouldn't be whoring yourself to the likes of this rat bastard, I say!" Bob said.

Rayen stomped toward Bob and grabbed the shaft of wood, hoisting the skull up to her face, muzzles nearly touching. "The difference between a whore and a groupie is that whores get paid to fuck now and talk later, Bob-o-riffic. I be no whore and don't you dare forget. Are we agreed, my pet?"

"Dat be fair, master." Bob said apologetically... then laughed aloud. "But you gotta admit, he does look like a pansy-ass, don't he? Jesuit jumpin' Christ on a stick!"

"Whatever... just shut dat big trap of yours, Bob, mind my words." Rayen insisted.

"My lips - or lack thereof, mind you - are sealed, young lady! You have my reassurance there, believe me." Bob said.

Rayen stood up and unraveled her tape-mounds, freeing the tight grip from her body with riveting ease. Her breasts slipped free and jiggled with each brief step she took. Rayen's flexibility astonished Maxwell to no end, watching as she nearly dislocated her shoulder while bending to remove an excess strip of banding from a spot on her back, normally unreachable to practically anyone else.

When she'd been completely disrobed, Maxwell felt the lock of paralysis break free from his limbs and he could feel himself in control of his own body once more. He struggled and squirmed in the bean-bag mound but could hardly move at all due to being sunk inward so deeply by Rayen's pressing down hard upon his chest, breasts dragging freely against his torso, thighs caressing his torso.

Rayen said, "I done been fantasizing about dis very moment for de longest time, Maxwell... the day in which I'd meet the coolest anthropomorphic rock-star from Oregon in person. Dreamed about it... over and over. Dis is why I opted to get you here with me to begin with. The ad was a farce... though that shouldn't mean I'm not able to exorcise your bass still. You were such an easy catch. All it took was precious patience, persistent posting and instigation to have you arrive upon my doorstep. I will conduct an exorcism for your cursed bass instrument... under one condition only, shep-coon."

Name it.

"You gonna go an' fuck de shit outta my hybrid pussy, coon-dog. Make insanely passionate love to me and I may see fit to cleanse your prized possession of its evil qualities."

Thought so. What about your kid?

"Oh, de young boy? He be a direct result of a past relationship gone wrong... he is my child, but he'll be fine so dere'be no need to worry at all about dat. Right now, I want to straddle you raw and raunchy. So brace yourself and no wimping out or going limp, got it?"

"Dear God, why don't you write for more soap operas, master?!" Bob hollered unexpectedly from behind them.

"Aye! Curses be to you Bob, you frightened me. Honestly I'd all but forgotten you were there still." Rayen admitted.

"Yeah, you forgot alright. You forgot on account of that fool's hard cock, didn't you? You gonna be ridin' him hard next, I bet! Goddam despicable, if you ask me. What's he good for anyways?" The staff demanded. Max thought he saw an apparition, a ghastly silhouetted figure of Bob's true form appear briefly for just a flash of a second, perhaps nothing more than a mere trick of shadow from the setting sun outside. In this phantom-glimpse, Max saw Bob's eyes had been yellow and pale as moonlight, seething with bitter envious jealousy and incessant rage, a genuine death-sneer.

"Be getting a little dark in here, don't it? Let us be graced with the gift of more light." Rayen said. She snapped her finger-paw and a fluorescent lamp hanging from the ceiling on a chain came stuttering to life, illuminating the room in a stark vivid white glow. She nodded in approval, smiling with a grin.

"Much better! Now I can see which hole you gonna be going in, at least. Hold still, Maxwell... you is about to make this fan-girl extremely happy!" Rayen whispered, her tail wagging with jittery haste behind her back.

"Yea, you be getting' extremely pregnant too, dumb-ass! Why don't I see a fucking rubber on!? Where de wrapper done go? What're ya running here, a frat-house, fa-chrissakes?!" Bob asked. His voice held an unmistakable irritation that annoyed Rayen to no end.

"Shove it, Bob, or I shall cast a non-fertility spell on your face, problem solved! Don't be so fucking jealous already, why don't'cha?" Rayen asked.

"Bite me, bitch! Oh wait, you can't! I'm a fucking HEAD on a fucking STICK imbued with magical properties! Hardy-har-har! Ain't that just the milestone joke of this entire damn century?!" Bob yelled aloud. Tiny ribbons of white began to fester around the bow of Bob's dream-catcher. They emanated plumes of smoke.

"See what I have to put up with on a regular basis?" Rayen asked Max into his ear privately in a low whisper as she sat down upon his lap and drove his rock-hard cock into her vaginal slit. Max moaned apprehensively. He shook his head and tried to kick his legs outward to jerk Rayen off his body. She just clenched her thighs tighter around his waist and held her weight down harder upon him, holding him in place, as Rayen let Max's cock penetrate her deep, much to Bob's profound disapproval.

"I best be chompin' them goddam nuts clean off that shep-coon prick for his insolence and yours as well, young lady! You know as well as I that he ain't nothin' more den a panty-waist shit-stained no-good butt-bumbler! Why you'd stoop to giving him any push in the bush is an enigmatic mystery beyond my years." Bob said. "He don't even look all that big where it counts the most!" Bob added. "Whatta fuckin' waste of space, proper!"

Rayen flexed in place while riding Maxwell's lap, feeling his knot digging and scraping against her swollen and sensitive reproductive region.

"Oh, won't you please fuck off already?! Go play in traffic or something, damn!" Rayen said in-between "Oh My God!" and "Yes Max! Harder!" while gasping with considerate pleasure.

"Only if you gonna be learnin' to ram that damn bass guitar's neck up your ass first... maybe that'd bring forth a new pleasure unto you? We should try that, then I'd play a riff and give you an anal orgasm from the vibrations within! How about that, eh master? Meanwhile we can keep this faggot waiting and wanting! It'd be hilarious!!!" Bob said, cackling aloud afterward. His perversions provided a terrible cover for his incessant raging jealousy.

"Oi! Bob, quit talkin' so damn sick!" Rayen yelled back at her magical wolf-headed staff, now livelier than ever due to some unforeseen magical enchantment, brought on by the dream-catcher talisman.

"I be takin' sick over groupie any ol' day o' de week, mind you!" Bob said through hysterical laughter.

"Ignore him if you able to, Max." Rayen said, loud enough for Bob to hear purposefully.

"Riiiiight, just ignore the hopping magical stick with a dead wolf's skull perched down on top of it! It'll be a thrill, especially when you jizz into my owner, though I doubt you'll even get THAT far, mate! You'd best be countin' your blessings in hopes that I don't hop over dere and bite your damn ear off, eh, shep-coon bitch-wad?" Bob said to Max. Now simmers of heat could be seen drifting aimlessly from the center of Bob's dream-catcher medallion.

Rayen simply ignored Bob, continuing to ride hard upon Maxwell's lap illicitly. She was breathing deep and panting hard, moaning and humming aloud alongside each luscious thrust. Rayen's foot-paw slid up and down Max's heel softly, granting a slight tickling sensation. Her tail brushed against his knot and raccoon-fur-smothered testicle sac every so often, priming Max's lust-factor heavily. His own ringed tail wagged with predominant excitement.

Eventually Rayen's thrusts became faster and deeper until she squealed aloud, shivering in place as her body trembled madly upon Maxwell's lap and the cheetah-wolf hybrid let herself succumb to orgasm, squirting rich seminal fluid upon the shaft of Max's dick. The scent of her juices flowing freely and the sound of her shrieking orgasmic wails threw Maxwell's brain into lust-overdrive mode and caused his universe to tip over lop-sided as he too endured an intense nut-draining, soul-shattering climax. Panting and breathing heavily, fast and furious, twitching spasmodically in place, they endured a mutual near-death experience. Bob just laughed sarcastically as the two hybrids indulged in their good hard creamy jizz with each other. The sound of Bob's laughing was scathing with annoyance, but Max tried to ignore it as best as he could. He could sense Rayen's thoughts and she too felt the same way about Bob.

Bob hopped over to Maxwell's bass-guitar, propped up against a wall in a nearby corner, and rested himself against the instrument for leverage and support. "Oooh, that was nice! Too bad I didn't warm up the popcorn for that grand finale! Welp, there's always a next time! Pack up your shit vermin, time to leave this house, sorry we couldn't get that demon out of your bass guitar, but y'know-"

"Forget it Bob, this one ain't gonna be goin' nowhere and you an' I both know it. Hey, would you be a dear and watch Max while I go check on my little one?" Rayen asked.

"Never done thought you'd be askin' me, master." Bob said with sardonic irritability.

"Thank you kindly, Bob." Rayen replied. She stood up, popping Max's cock out of her cheetah-wolf-girl's vagina with debilitating ease, causing a rope of sperm to leak down upon his thigh. She grabbed for a nearby cloth and wiped her labia folds clean of any excess shep-coon cum then pulled Max's pants over her legs, buttoned shut, zipped tight; Rayen attached a generic bra to her chest and exited from the bedroom. Bob then tipped over again and landed upon the carpeted ground besides Maxwell and Rayen's jizz-smothered cloth, both angled just right to face him nearly head-on.

"I ain't gonna lie to ya kiddo, if I weren't in such a state of suspended spiritual tranquility, I'd probably beat the tar outta yo ass for shaggin' my girl like dis. You should be goddamn ashamed of yourself, fucking faggot. If I weren't a damn mystical head on a damn magician's staff, I'd be your worst enemy. Alas, my teeth can only reach so far! Which is a major disappointment to me, let me assure you. Otherwise I'd bite yer fuckin' nose clean off and shove it into that fancy-ass patch-covered eye-socket of yours. What if I bit one 'o-dem nipple-rings clean off instead? Wonder what that'd be doin' for Mr. B's pleasure-factor?" Bob said. His tone remained stern and droning during this entire outpouring. Maxwell wondered if somewhere in the inner-dimensional spiritual plane of living, Bob could really kick his shep-coon ass like he said he could.

Without further warning, Bob barked aloud and Maxwell's handcuffs came loose, dropping from his wrists onto the maroon-carpeted floor. Another bark unlocked the brace that held Maxwell's ankles captive. With each barking outcry, Bob's dream-catcher pendant sparked with a blazing bluish-orange flash. Max reached behind his head and unbuckled the leather strap that held the ball-gag in place upon his cranium, cutting off his air circulation. He could hardly believe what Bob had done for him, but he felt relieved nevertheless. He ran to escape by jumping out from the bedroom's sliding-glass window, when he felt his muscles clench up once more and saw a hint of green light coursing from his peripheral vision. He looked back and saw Rayen, frowning with confusion.

"Maxwell! Where you be goin' in such a hurry? I ain't done with you yet by far, shep-coon... we still got lots to do in the ways of lovemaking. You know that, right? After all, what sort of musician would you be if you just up and ran out on your number-one groupie? Besides, I have yet to even purify dat'dere instrument of yours!" Rayen said matter-of-factually, regarding the bass guitar. "I not be fully satisfied yet, Maxwell. As for YOU!" Rayen pointed at Bob and snarled. "I'll deal with you later. For now? Methinks we got plenty more to catch up on. Don't you, shep-coon?" Rayen reached down and grabbed Maxwell's cum-slicked cock, squeezing the knot tight and fondling at his testicles. She giggled softly and slathered her tongue against the side of Maxwell's cheek, nipples perky and as erect (if not more so) as his cock was right then, once more.

"Uh....... I, um ............ oh hell, why the fuck not?" Maxwell said, shrugging and smiling with the most lady-killing debutante grin he could muster. How he wound up in such absurdly kinky situations, Max may never know for sure. Just so long as Bob didn't chomp his nuts off in the middle of the night while he slept, he'd not ponder too obsessively over how his luck with the anthro-women operated. As the sun finally broke away from the horizon, leaving the sky aglow in a massive onslaught of vermillion, red, purple, orange and lavender, the night came to a close, the cartoon ended and Bob's dream-catcher kept a sentry-post's watch over all the souls in Rayen's household that evening. Meanwhile the bass guitar's strings vibrated and tuned themselves.

END