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Some threesomes are had purely by accident or coincidence... this one was neither.

Maxwell arrived not a moment too soon at the block party his bass tech buddy invited him to. The shep-coon was always seeking out fun outings to attend, party-hardy endeavors to enlist in. This one was no different. Lots of hunky young guys and gals flooded in droves around a beautiful Victorian-era villa in hopes of mingling and moving their hips to the steady rhythm of the Bose sound-system that spewed forth funky dance grooves in the home's back yard. A deep oval-circular swimming pool was illuminated with neon-purple fluorescent lamps, giving the body of water a black-lit glow. Strings of lightbulbs were hung along low-hanging branches of thick, gnarled oak trees that circulated in random locations around the home. The party-goers were mixed with humans and anthros alike. Some young, some mid-aged, some tall and short, others fat and skinny. A wide assortment of variety, all hailing from different backgrounds, ready to make the most of their fun-filled night. "Man, this shit is off the hook!" Max cried aloud as he stepped through the iron-wrought gate keeping the back yard separated from the front. Girls passed by him, casting flirtatious glances and flinging his dreadlocks teasingly while giggling and swooning over his charmingly good looks. He smirked and winked at a few of them, causing their cheeks to blush beet-red as they walked away quickly, clumsily stumbling over others before them. Max giggled at how cute lots of them acted. He was impressed with the turnout, so many different people both human and anthro in attendance, all seemed very intent on partying hard and living loud upon this lovely and well-chilled evening. He raised his arms to outstretch his joints and jumped into a group of avid dancers, swinging his dreads to the beat of the techno that now blared aloud, heart-pumping bass circulating through his body, causing his foot-paws to vibrate upon smooth crisp cement tiling.

The shep-coon began to dance immediately after arriving. That's what I figured he'd be apt to do... he always seemed like a very outgoing type, even though other Enim-Noinu fans I've spoken to have all proclaimed that he's actually very shy and soft-spoken around others. I didn't see any of this tonight, though. He was swinging around other dancers like he'd been doing his own sort of thing all his life. He leaned in and brushed his whiskers against the nose of this one cat-girl like a total mack-daddy, then swayed and did a bump-grind against another wolf-guy with blue hair. Though mine is longer, his seemed darker in color. Nothing to it though! One way or another, I was going to get my foxy hand-paws on that shep-coon sooner or later. It was... well, it was inevitable. He was here in attendance at my friend Rory's party, and there wasn't a damn thing holding me back from getting a taste of him. Good things were bound to happen this evening... I could already feel it. Especially in my groin, which tingled ever-so-slightly upon seeing how beautifully graceful he moved.

You show up at the party, completely horny and apt to fuck anything that moves. Your identifiable gear-marks upon your shoulders usher in plenty of praise, lots of the anthros here are familiar with you, if not by reputation. They pat your back and brush their finger-paws through your hair, welcoming you to the engagement. Rory, some random bass technician for another musician in attendance, was fortunate enough to put this party on at his place to begin with. The dude must be well-off, to have been able to afford such a gorgeous place to live in. You stroll through the huddled masses of party-goers, all holding red and blue plastic cups, all sipping fine liquor and smoking cloves, all getting their flirt on. Suddenly, you see a remarkably beautiful young silver fox perched upon a barstool, sipping at a mimosa, gazing into the dancing crowd with tender-hearted brown eyes. His hair is as blue as the water in the pool. Sporting a rather grunge-inspired outfit, you carve a path through the crowd and wind up bumping into Rory himself. A slightly pudgy older bulldog, he cackles aloud and welcomes you with a gritty biker-bar voice, insisting that you help yourself to whatever. Drinks, food, girls, guys, the whole enchilada. You thank him kindly and continue to walk towards the silver fox, apt to embrace in a fond make-out session with this boy, this succulent and attractive young fox pup.

It didn't take very long for Maxwell to realize he was being watched. As he finally tired himself out, taking a bow to the relentless dancers and grabbing a nearby cup of water provided by one love-struck young cheetah, the shep-coon decided to introduce himself to his intent watcher, a silver fox perched comfortably upon a barstool near Rory's mini-bar. He passed by the old-ass bulldog on his way to the fox's location, though he didn't recognize Max at first. That's okay - with the amount of party-goers in attendance, it had to be hard for one individual to remember saying hello to absolutely everyone. When Rory threw parties, he went all out with them, no matter what. Max was under the impression that the old dog may have spent a little time with Led Zeppelin during their hey-day of touring, though that might've just been wishful thinking on his part, all things conside- he bumped hard against the husky guy. He reeled back in shock and alarm, hoping he wasn't holding full cups of beer. He wasn't, luckily. "Woah, dude! Sorry about that. I didn't even..." Maxwell glanced upon the husky's gear-shaped markings on his shoulders, "see you there." Max whispered aloud, deep in thought. "No problem, amigo." This anthro uttered nonchalantly, continuing towards the fox Max initially saw, who was even still staring the shep-coon down, almost brimming with nervous anticipation. Maxwell thought he'd recognized this husky from somewhere, though he didn't exactly recall. He followed the anthro-dog, combing his way through the crowd, keeping close to this seemingly familiar husky-anthro's heels.

Maxwell had seen me and I was fraught with embarrassment. Did he know that I was watching him this whole time? Was he just playing me, letting me stare freely? When he proceeded to approach me, my heart began to race and my limbs felt tingly, foot-paws losing circulation, hand-paws jittery with nerves, hairs on my nape standing on end. I decided to just casually sip at my mimosa beverage and admire this wonderful crowd in attendance, hoping my affectionate staring wouldn't come back upon me with a smack to the face or a fist to the head. As I kept the shep-coon in my prehiperal vision, he bumped up against a particularly attractive husky-guy. I knew of him from many other swings and flings in the past, knew that he'd been very sexually active with others in the fandom. Gear, his name was... I think. I knew... and yet I watched on, watched as this husky marched towards where I sat, watched as Max followed closely behind, trying to get his attention. I began to question what was on Gear's mind as he came closer to me, eyes piercing and face swimming with predatory desire. I had a good guess, but I opted to let him confront me anyways.

You meet the bassist who Rory works for in a flash-occurrence of a moment. He's lanky and the left side of his face is totally shot to hell, but he's still pretty cute regardless. He casts a glance of predominant affection towards you, recognition tinkering away in his expression. He appears to be reminding himself of where he saw you before. You admire his studiousness and continue to walk towards the silver fox, feeling a twinge of erection in your shorts, wondering if he feels the same way, since he's practically looking right at you... or is he looking at the shep-coon behind you instead? In any case... if there's sex to be had tonight, it'll be with this adorable fox.

Maxwell catches up with the fox at last, as the husky he recalls as being named Gear approaches him simultaneously. Max begins to wonder if these two weren't meant to be united here, in Rory's backyard, under his jurisdiction. The shep-coon places his hand-paws on both their shoulders and his one good eye rolls back into his head as he reads their thoughts and memories like an open book. In the fox, named Yukon Silvermoon, he sees a life of rock and roll. He sees a young fox inspired by many, admired by many, yearning to be adored by all. He sees a youthful kit under his bed-sheets jerking his knotted dick off to pictures of stud-laden older anthro men posing for a nudie-mag, trying to keep his moans quiet so as not to disturb his parents. The husky, named Foxgear, has been involved with numerous anthros throughout his lifetime. He's a swinger of sorts, very sexually active and highly intelligent in his approach. He sees the pup as a youth, surfing and skateboarding with friends who all mock homosexuals, making fun of the stupid queers at school, threatening to beat the hell out of the fags and put them in their fudge-packing places. Foxgear goes home and cries in his pillow later that evening, knowing how terribly offensive their words are, how deeply affected he is by their savagery. The next morning the boy comes out to his friends, admits his love for men and gets abandoned by them all...except for one, who also comes out, inspired by the husky's bravery. They grow up not as lovers, but as incredibly good friends. Max zones out with these memories being portrayed before his mind, corrupting his vision. Meanwhile the other two anthros are casually discussing prospects of retiring to a more private, more secluded place.

I'm introduced to the husky right around the time the shep-coon grabs hold of my shoulder. He seems to be in a trance, probably from the music, so I just let him keep a hand-paw placed upon my shoulder, thinking nothing much of it. I mean, Maxwell Blackburnadeaux of Oregon's finest anthro grunge band is caressing my shoulder! I wouldn't brush his grip off for the world. The husky introduces himself to me as Foxgear. I admire his charming good looks and his bright, piercing blue eyes. My own goldenrod eyes must be twinkling under the backyard strings of light bulbs, since I can feel nothing but the fondest attraction to him. His demeanor is approachable and not too brash. He asks if I'd be interested in moving to a more private location, to which I nod and smile with a definite yes. I think I can just make out a small crease of bulge in his shorts, though that could easily be my imagination growing as unflinchingly lewd as a hooker on the Vegas Strip, like it usually does.

You can literally smell the fox's musk all the way from where you now stand, looking attentively into his beautiful yellow eyes, watching them twitch and gaze lovingly into your own blue-tinted irises. Maxwell the shep-coon bassist is keeping a firm grip upon your shoulder, which is strange, but not terribly uncomfortable. He almost looks as if he's about to suffer from an epileptic attack. If that does happen, you'll be on the ball, making sure Rory can get an ambulance to arrive and haul him off to the local ER. That doesn't though, luckily. The shep-coon blinks back into consciousness and alertly regards his surroundings, looking at both you and the gorgeous silver fox, named Yukon, with an intrigued non-patched eye. You ask the cuties if they'd both like to retire to a more private environment to get better-acquainted with each other. They both agree, one nodding enthusiastically, the other shrugging and deciding against all other odds. You smile and curl your brows deviously at the plans ahead.

Maxwell, now with a fresh new understanding of both these anthros, ultimately decides to proceed with them into one of Rory's more private guest bedrooms. Max was purely under the influence that Rory kept these bedrooms well-furnished for this reason alone... to appeal to sex-crazed anthros who showed up at his place during recording sessions, fancy dinner engagements or parties. Especially parties, no doubt. Max, silently but excitedly, marches on behind Foxgear, who guides Yukon in front of him, into a comfy bedroom upstairs from the party commotion. The room is soft, dimly-lit, brimming with the scent of lavender and geranium. In a no-bull act of swift haste, Foxgear pries Yukon's shirt up and off his body, throwing it to the carpet beside the bed. Gear grabs the fox in a hugging embrace and proceeds to kiss him deeply, rubbing hand-paws against his slender grey-furred back. Yukon moans and drags his finger-paws through Gear's silky-smooth faux-hawk, tail wagging relentlessly. Gear picks Yukon up by his arms and lays him upon a nearby bed, swaying and waving with oceanic strides. It's a water bed, for God's sake. Rory really was a kinky fucker when he applied thought to it!

I wasn't half-way into the bedroom when Foxgear ripped my shirt free from my chest and began to kiss me. It was marvelous and very arousing, especially when his tongue slid against my lips and the roof of my mouth. My muzzle tingled with delight and every inch of me was singing with pleasure as he lifted me up, hoisted under my arms, to be laid down upon a surprisingly comfy water bed. Maxwell stood in a nearby corner, fondling at his jeans, watching us engage in an amazing make-out session. Gear moaned and breathed through his husky nostrils, wet dog nose brushing against my fox whiskers. He pressed his erection, poking through his shorts, against my belly. I could smell the spunky musk already and my mind was driven bat-shit crazy by it. He was horny as hell and making me feel the exact same way. I began to grow harder as Maxwell let his pants drop to his ankles, stroking at his amazing shep-coon cock, so rigid and veiny, swollen and erect, throbbing with each heartbeat. I couldn't wait for much longer.

You slurp at the beautiful young fox's muzzle after having guided him into the privatized living quarters, looking swank and kinky as the set of a seventies porn flick. Maxwell, the shep-coon, is watching all the action from a nearby corner, jaw dropped agape, single good eye staring dreamily upon your hot enticing actions. You plop the fox down upon a water-bed and yank down his pants to stroke him off, licking at his neck and kissing his nipple teasingly. You can smell his stench, lapping at his armpits, tugging the long natural hairs with your lips, indulging in the wallowing scents of his natural musk. The pheromones drive a wedge of hot arousal into your brain as you leak a hint of pre-cum in your boxers, inhaling deep and sniffing avidly at the bodacious scent of Yukon's fresh perspiration. This, mixed with the hot-buttered wafting scent of his testicular sweat, is enough to make your unsheathed knotted husky-dick rip free through the seams of your denim jean-shorts. You unzip and pull them down to your ankles while licking at Yukon's ballsack, kicking them free against the wall of the bedroom. Maxwell, still propped in a corner, is now on his knees, masturbating furiously, licking his shep-coon lips and twitching with orgasmic flurries, one hand-paw cupped upon his balls and the other pleasuring his unique penis with grace and erotic persistence.

As Foxgear shoved his knotted rock-hard dick into Yukon's perky wanting tail-hole, slightly dampened by Gear's saliva, Max couldn't bear to hold back any longer. He shuffled forward on his knees and grabbed hold of one of Gear's foot-paws, lapping at its leathery padded surface. The corn-chip scent pleased Max like no other as he lapped and slurped between his paws, nibbling at his toes and sucking his paw-padded feet. Gear moaned aloud and continued to fuck Yukon deliriously, caressing Max's head and rubbing his ears lovingly. Max got a good taste of Gear's foot-paws and slid himself up against Yukon, cradling himself against the fox's chest, fondling lightly at Gear's balls as the husky shoved and humped himself into the fox, thrusting with delicious repetition. Max perched himself in a spread-legged position and continued to stroke himself off, dragging the tip of his dick against Gear's knee, as Yukon's cock leaked pre-cum like a sink not fully turned off. Max lapped at the fox's erection, feeling it tense up and grow harder with each plowing Gear pushed into his ass. Max could hear Yukon's heartbeat pacing through his chest, felt his abs tense up and his chest raising and lower in hitched breaths. Between the scent of their predominant sex and his own heated musk, the taste of Yukon's salty-sweet ejaculate and Gear's sweaty groin-floof mixed together, producing a concocted blend of sickly-sweet male musk that Maxwell could breathe in, pervading his senses, arousing his heavily, making him ever-grateful to Rory for having invited him to begin with.

I clenched my teeth and grit heavily as Gear penetrated my foxy tail-hole. He lifted one of my legs up in his grip and feverishly pounded away at me, eyes rolling back into his head, tongue lapping and lolling from one corner of his mouth, sexy body rubbing and pushing against mine. I buckled and rocked with his thrusts as the water bed swayed in perfect tandem, causing our motions to stay well-tuned and rhythmic. Before long, Maxwell brought himself up onto the bed and lay himself back against my chest, nuzzling his mouth against my groin and lapping freely at my erect cock. I moaned and swayed, brushing my finger-paws through his dirty-blonde dreadlocks, squeezing Gear's knee, curling my toes passionately and inhaling the scent of our lurid lovemaking, wallowing in the mixed potency of lavender, geranium and sweaty body odor. It made me fuck-hard crazy, begging for more, to never stop, to keep the fucking rolling smooth and steady until one of us came deep and thick.

Feeling a ticklish sensation against your foot-paws as you clench your body down upon his body, pushing deep into Yukon's snare-tight asshole, feeling his ringlets dragging against your shaft, tensing up and clenching tighter with each passionate thrust, you proceed to fuck the daylights out of the sexy fox. Your brain is spinning on overdrive from the amount of sheer passion felt in the room, between Maxwell's tongue smothering itself against your sensitive, ticklish foot-paws and Yukon's gentle caressing grip against your thigh and kneecap, you won't last very long before spewing forth a messy deep internal orgasm into the fox's insides. His taint musk is spiraling against your nostrils and Max's arms emanate a potent musky stench that drives you into a non-stop hypnotic lust-frenzy, a relentless fuck-me-hard prowess that thrives for ultimate desire.

As Rory opens the door, curious to know what's with all the strange moaning sounds in the bedroom, he sees the three anthros engaging in sloppy gay sex. Foxgear, knelt down upon the waterbed, is pounding his heart and soul into Yukon Silvermoon, who is laid back prominently, head buried in a pillow, legs spread wide, tail brushing up against Gear's curly-cued husky tail. What throws Rory off entirely is seeing his own goddam bassist in the mix as well, sprawled wide, tail-hole fully revealed, laying against Yukon's chest, licking his cock hungrily while stroking off like a wild tribal to Gear's shifting orgasmic facial expressions. Rory is staring wild-eyed with shock, until Max catches a glimpse of his bulldog bass technician peeping in on them. Rory is frozen in place, unable to move, as Max looks directly at him, a gaze that seems to last for many minutes, but only for a few seconds. Silently without a single word uttered, the shep-coon winks once and raises his eyebrows a few times at Rory, just before resuming to suck Yukon off, giving him succulent deep-throating treatment, gulping hard and breathing rapidly through his snout as Yukon the tasty fox squirts hard into Max's mouth from Gear's knotted orgasm into Yukon's snug fox ass, causing Max to fire off a few creamy, warm ropes of milky jizz upon Gear's thigh and chest, toes curling inward and knees buckling and trembling with satisfactory erotic candor. Rory quietly closes the door, snickers to himself, shaking his head and rolling his pudgy eyes, not too entirely surprised at this unique development. Man, how these parties just seem to progress the way they do! Rory went to check on his grilling shis-kebabs, ensuring the kegs were well-stocked and the music wasn't becoming any less thrilling to his party-goers.