FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Tansy Bigg tutted sharply as she beckoned her husband to follow. “Hurry along, darling. I haven’t got all day!”

Her tone was the type reserved for a strict adult berating a child for being stupid, despite the fact the miniature horse following the woman like a lost puppy hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, Neener Bigg was as good a person as he was a handsome devil. The anthro Shetland pony was quite stocky, but he had sharp attractive features and was always dressed his best. He gave to charity as often as he could, he worked hard at any jobs that came his way and he paid his taxes on time.

And this is all very impressive considering Neener was married to the don of a criminal empire.

Tansy Bigg was taller than her husband – although that was no feat of physical prowess as most of the adult population of Ville was taller than Neener. Tansy also seemed to fit in quite well with the high class feel of Ambient Spice restaurant halfway up the beanstalk.

The anthro jackal had a steel grey shade of fur so sleek and well-groomed it fitted over her like a second skin. Her emerald eyes were brought out by pitch black eyeliner and the raven hair framing her face – cut into a straight fringe over the forehead with the sides falling straight down to the shoulders in a Queen of the Nile style.

Her slender body was clad in formal wear, a dark grey suit jacket over her white blouse and a black skirt hiding the tops of her stockings held up by a garter belt. Her sharp heels clicked on the restaurant’s polished floor louder than the hubbub of conversation among the tables, telegraphing her seemingly important presence.

Tansy made a bee-line for a booth to the edge of the restaurant by the windows. Seated alone at the deepest point into the semi-circular couch sat a lone anthro. The round featured bear wore a suit similar to Neener’s, only it seemed to have been a while since he saw his tailor as the buttons on the front looked like they were about to pop and have someone’s eye out.

With elegant poise that suited her graceful profile, Tansy Bigg slid out the chair opposite the gentleman and delicately sat herself down, her firm rear creating a gorgeous set of tight curves that begged to be touched and fondled through the wireframe backrest.

“Mister Dismon,” Tansy greeted the bear pleasantly with a faux smile she reserved for all her clients and business associates. She liked to create an air of friendliness so that people looking on would think her a pleasant woman. “Don’t get comfortable, Neener. We’re not staying long,” she snapped as her husband tried to slide into the couch.

But those who knew her knew better.

Neener, realising with drooping ears he wasn’t going to be able to order a portion of the specialty salad before business was concluded, took a seat beside his wife opposite Dismon as the bear looked up.

“Mister and Missus Bigg,” he began to say until Tansy corrected him.

“Missus and Mister Bigg.”

Dismon looked bewildered, not realising the difference for a moment.

“I received this from the deadflakes under my employ,” Tansy said crossing her elegant legs. “They reported the target dead.”

Placing a magenta folder on the table, Tansy pinned her fingertips on it and slid the file across to Dismon. Catching the file before it slid into his lap, the bear cracked open the cover page and cringed at the graphic images Maeres had sent Tansy barely an hour ago.

Mister Dismon had inherited his trade empire and all its caravans and routes from his late father who had built the Dismon Trade Company with his own bare hands. Dismon himself had never been beyond the dome of inner Ville, so sights that wouldn’t have fazed his father clearly disturbed this pampered bear.

Tansy on the other hand was no stranger to blood and guts.

Closing the folder as quickly as he had opened it, Dismon quickly threw it onto the couch beside him and rested his elbows on the table, looking thoughtful. “Warboss Tain was a scourge for all the traders moving materials between Ville and Barrack. His death will benefit my competitors too.”

“Well you should have thought of that before you put a price on his head then,” Tansy huffed.

Clearly Dismon hadn’t thought his actions through. He had lost ten-thousand credits of cargo to Warboss Tain in the wildlands, and in his anger hadn’t paused to realise raiders could be bought and swayed with riches.

So instead of paying off the raider with maybe another five-thousand credits to harass other competing caravan companies instead of the Dismon Trade Company, the hot-headed bear sunk another twenty-thousand into putting a bounty on Warboss Tain’s head.

Dismon clearly had no idea how to run an empire, and that alone angered Tansy more than anything. She took silent comfort in the thought she and her employees would get paid either way.

“Twenty-thousand credits will be wired to your account.” Dismon paused for a second. “Or should I shave off what you owe me for the MANA shipment?”

Tansy kept up with Dismon’s skip from one subject into another. Within moments he was talking about a special MANA shot shipment he had running from the city of Lake through the wetlands and to Ville. A shipment he was now almost demanding payment for even though Tansy hadn’t seen a lick of MANA yet.

“The MANA hasn’t arrived yet, Mister Dismon,” Tansy said, keeping it classy. “You know the rules. You will be paid upon delivery.”

Dismon cocked his head. “And therein lies the problem. The delivery boat has hit a little… um… snag.”

Tansy’s smile vanished and she narrowed her eyes. “Snag?”

“The delivery boat has gone missing. Well, not missing entirely. I have a tracking beacon on it of course. But the boat hasn’t arrived. It’s stuck in the wetlands.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Tansy asked impatiently.

“Well, I don’t have the recourses to mount a collection, so I figure since you want this MANA delivery, why don’t you go collect it?”

Tansy waited for the punchline that made this joke hilarious but it never came. “You expect me to collect the goods you promised to deliver. The goods you are being paid to deliver? What is to stop me from going to another source who will actually do what they’re paid to do?”

“You know you can’t get what I’m offering from any of my competitors.” Dismon spread his lips into a wide smile, seeming to have figured it all out. “You need me to make your new business venture work remember? So here’s how this is going to work. You are going to pay me for the shipment and I’ll give you the tracker frequency so you can send your deadflake monkeys out to collect the merchandise.”

It would seem Dismon had Tansy in a corner. The bear had a monopoly on the product he was meant to deliver, it would seem Tansy’s only option was to give in. But still the jackal gave one of her little faux smiles, slipping her heel out of her shoe and dangling it from her toes playfully. All appearances to the contrary, Tansy wasn’t backed into a corner at all.

She was backed against an army that would lay its life down for her.

“Is that so?” she giggled like he’d paid her a flattering compliment.

“Yes it is. We agreed on thirteen-thousand for the MANA, so I will pay you seven-thousand credits for your services rendered on the subject of Warboss Tain and we’ll be even.”

“Really.” The way Tansy breathed the word out it sounded more like a statement than a question.

As she was luring his gaze into hers, Tansy quietly set her shoe down and reached forward across the space between them with her foot. With accuracy reserved for an expert marksman the black tips of her stockings over her toes found her target, pressing firmly into Dismon’s crotch.

She felt him jolt the moment she made contact, despite how gently she pressed. In the meantime, as her toes were gently rubbing his sheath through his trousers she slipped her other foot from its shoe.

“What are you doing?” Dismon asked, bewildered.

“Negotiating.”

“Is that so?”

Tansy stuck her bottom lip out and gave the cutest of pouts, like a little girl begging to be handled gently for her first time. “Oh, yes. A man of your calibre and wit, whatever is little ol’ me to do? You have it all figured out and I’m powerless before you.”

Her toes trapped the zipper of his fly and carefully, at a sensual pace, pulled it downward. As his trousers were opened her other foot came up. The woman had perfect balance as though she was at her most comfortable with both feet off the ground.

With her right foot teasing down the bear’s fly, her left foot delved between the folds of fabric to feel a length of meat rapidly hardening under her the caress of her soles. Tansy had herself a secret little smile noting how Dismon was suddenly having trouble keeping a straight face and began digging his nails into the surface of the table.

Every few rubs of her silk-wrapped feet up and down his length, now standing at full mast, Dismon would cast a panicked glance at Neener. The equine was still very much engrossed with the specials page on the menu.

“I’m at your mercy, Mister Dismon. Unless…” Tansy gasped and it was impossible to tell if it was because she had a revelation, an idea, or because the manipulations of her feet managed to slide the man’s throbbing member out of his fly. “Unless I can convince you to reduce the price significantly because I’m the one who has to collect the goods you promised to deliver.”

Dismon whimpered feeling her trap him between her arches, forming a perfect grip for her to begin sliding up and down. Her feet were warm and the silken stocking so sleek and soft. He risked a look down, savouring the building feeling in his loins as he caught a good eyeful of long, sumptuous legs darkened by the fabric of her hosiery.

It suddenly wasn’t just her feet he wanted wrapped around his cock, Dismon suddenly wanted to leap across the table; bend Tansy over and rub one out in the soft stockings pressed between her gorgeous thighs. He gave a panicked glance to the equine and buried the urge. Neener was small, but he was still a horse. And they could deliver one heck of a kick when they wanted. He feared for his life simply enjoying the footjob he was receiving.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, shouldn’t you Mister Dismon,” Tansy suddenly said, drawing the bear’s attention.

Just the coyness of her voice had Dismon biting his bottom lip and clenching, squeezing a little bead of pre from the tip of his erection.

Sliding her foot upward she hooked her toes over the head of his member, then expertly rubbed the digits down over his shaft. She could feel the dampness through the soles of her stockings as she lathered the length with his precum like it was lotion. In the light his length must have been glistening and shining, but the sight went unappreciated under the table.

Not that Dismon cared, Tansy figured. All that mattered to him, like it would in most men, would be the feeling of her expert strokes that followed. His breathing escalated. She felt him thrusting against her feet as if wanting more and she felt the cock swell between her arches. She had him right where she wanted him…

Tansy smiled and stopped dead. Dismon gasped lightly like he was about to ejaculate and a robotic clam squeezed him painfully shut. Neener let out an “ooooh,” and pointed at the chef’s special on wetland root-cap mushrooms.

Dismon tried to thrust when he suddenly let out a soft “oof,” Tansy’s heel digging into his gut and the other ball of her foot pressing painfully to the base of his erection.

“So I’m thinking you bring the price down by half,” the jackal suddenly said, all of the coyness and seductive tone having vanished from her voice like a switch had been thrown. “Six-thousand credits.”

“Missus Bigg, that’s not fair.” He paused, suddenly realising they weren’t talking about the price of an orgasm but the price of Tansy’s shipment. Dismon scoffed. “That’s not even half!”

The ball of her foot pressing at the base of his erection eased off and began to rub gently, ever so slowly up along his length. She felt him twitch and swell, then trapped his head between her toes and held fast. The man squirmed pathetically attempting to thrust, but she held him in place so he couldn’t move.

“Oh, well twist my arm then, Mister Dismon. Three-thousand credits it is.”

“Missus Bigg!” he whined.

She stroked downward. The sole of her foot was so soft, so silky. It was wet too, nearly drenched in what must have been a waterfall of precum drooling down his length. Dismon felt like he was going mad. She was too good at this! Even as she moved, she was keeping him close to the brink but never letting him finish.

Her shrewd negotiating skills brought him to that very cusp, that very edge of ultimate bliss… but he never slipped over. He was never released. Tansy held him within an almost magical grip between her feet.

Dismon wiped some drool from his lips and panted, looking at Tansy pleadingly. She merely sat there, a neutral smile on her lips, staring down into his soul with a look that tortured him as much as her feet did. He knew from those eyes she was never going to give him sweet release. She wasn’t going to let him unless…

“Come now, Mister Dismon. You know this is a fair price. You can feel it in you, can’t you?” a seductive croak crept back into Tansy’s voice. Her eyes narrowed suggestively as she started emphasising the right words to get Dismon’s synapses firing again. “You can feel that it’s such a good price, and you’re urged to agree. Isn’t that right?”

Dismon shook his head, then gasped. Her toes raked down his length, enough to getting swelling again. His balls churned, but all she would let him do was twitch and send a tiny little jet of pre across the top of her foot.

“Say yes, Mister Dismon.”

The bear finally whimpered. “Yes.”

“Actually, call me mistress.”

“What?”

“Say ‘yes mistress, I will give you the tracking frequency for the boat for three-thousand credits.’ Say it, Mister Dismon.”

Dismon couldn’t blurt the words out faster if he actively tried. “YesmistressIwillgiveyouthetrackignfrequencyfortheboatforthreethousandcredits!”

“There’s a good boy.” Tansy paused, holding off for just a moment longer with a small smile. “Oh and Mister Dismon?”

“Y-y-yes?”

“Don’t ever fuck with me again.”

Tansy worked his cock with her feet like it was her speciality. Her left foot came down and trapped the top of the shaft over the top of her foot. The sole of her right foot began rubbing up and down the underside, lubricated by the softness of her stockings and the generous smears of precum up and down his cock. Her toes would massage the tip with every upward stroke, and each down ward stroke would gently tease the balls with the ball of her foot.

The speed was perfect. The application of force was just right. It only took her three strokes to end it all.

Dismon twitched and orgasmed a moment later, plastering the underside of the table with a blast of cum. Tansy withdrew her feet immediately so not to get any of it on her, slipping her toes back into her shoes. She shouldn’t have let him cum for his insolence, but you attract more bees with honey than vinegar. Showing him some mercy might be beneficial for future dealings, Mister Dismon might approach her knowing there was a reward in store for him if he played ball.

But for now Dismon sat there panting for breath, nails embedded in the table’s lacquer and his cock unloading several more long spurts as he was still cummings harder than he had ever before.

“It has been a… pleasure, doing business with you, Mister Dismon,” Tansy said sweetly as she rose to her feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, all this negotiating has gotten me quite excited. Come along Neener. I have a job for you.”

Neener put down the menu, stood a little bewildered and followed his wife as she took his hand and planted it firmly on her rear. And only then did he realise this job she had lined up for him was the usual kind involving their bedroom…

~~~~~~~

Warwick inhaled sharply, opening his eyes as the soft beep of a communicator rang out. The human tried to reach across to the bedside table only to grab a long phallic hunk of rubber in place of his tablet.

Sitting up proved difficult too, as Winsum was partially draped over his naked body. One of the woman’s stockings was missing, her panties still bunched around one ankle and her makeup was smeared so her eyeliner gave her raccoon-eyes. Some streaks of crusty cum clumped and matted to the fur on her cheek with some drops on her neck as well.

Warwick looked a right state too, with Winsum’s red lipstick dotting his neck and chest with kisses, as well as smears of her red and Loosum’s purple lipstick staining his flaccid and worn out cock. He had a muscle ache like no combat op had ever given him too, making slipping out from under his mother a little harder than it normally would have been.

Loosum was spooned up around Winsum, also sleeping soundly. Her corset had fallen down low enough that it acted more like a skirt, exposing her large huggable breasts to the multi-coloured lights in the street spilling through the bedroom window.

The dildo on the bedside stand was but one of a few toys littering the bedroom floor with the pizza boxes. One of the vibrators on the foot of the bed even had a flashing red light to indicate empty batteries. The Grav family had been fucking so vigorously earlier that they’d lost track of time. Loosum had let dinner burn and they resorted to take-out. And even eating had turned into another one of their kinky games.

Warwick smiled, remembering, but considered a little more care regarding the mixture of pizza and sex in the future.

Finally finding his data tablet under one of the pizza boxes, he quickly slid his finger across the screen to accept the incoming call. He made sure to keep the volume low.

Immediately the screen lit up a familiar face. Tansy Bigg was superimposed across the screen, but the angle seemed all off. Behind her was the ceiling of her bedroom – a ceiling Warwick had found himself staring at on some occasions – so it was as if she were on hands and knees, looking down at her own tablet laying on her bed.

He could only see a bust of the woman, her breasts only barely hidden by a corset of the same brand Loosum was wearing, only a much darker coloured ensemble to blend in with the dark fur on her cleavage.

Tansy was bobbing back and forth, Neener’s familiar soft grunts sounding from somewhere off-camera. And judging by her short jerking motions of her hair swaying back and forth he was going at her quite vigorously. Although with Tansy there were two paces. Vigorous or not at all.

She smiled seeing Warwick answered. “Ah, Wicky. There’s a handsome face every girl loves to see while taking a horse-cock balls deep into her snatch.”

Warwick frowned. “Was that comment meant to be really arousing?”

“It really was.”

“It came across as really not.” Warwick rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes and added, “What do you want, Tansy?”

“Ah-ah-ah!” the jackal moaned and Warwick had to wonder if it was because she was scolding him or because of Neener’s ministrations. “You know the rules. When I’m wearing the corset it’s Mistress Bigg.”

Warwick sighed, fingers moving away from his eyes to rub the bridge of his nose. “What is it, Mistress Bigg?”

“I have another job for you.”

That kicked whatever fog of sleep still hanging in Warwick’s head right out. Straightening with a start, he glanced at his mothers to make sure they were still asleep, then stepped out into the main area of the penthouse, shutting the door quietly behind him.

And even putting a door between him and his parents, Warwick spoke with a hushed voice. “No! Tansy, no! We agreed. One job a week. That’s the limit! That is our contract.”

“Oh, Warwick. You’re an exceptionally good deadflake. It’s a waste to limit you like this.”

His teeth gritted. “I made my decision four years ago and I’m sticking with it. Our original contract remains.”

Tansy’s expression suddenly went dark. She went from enjoying her husband’s thrusting to a glare that could stop a bullet in its tracks. Her voice changed at the same time, from light and easy to low and terse. “Well I’m revisiting our original contract. And it seems I need to revisit old threats as well. Think of your parents, Warwick. Your sweet, lovely, beautiful mothers who love you so. You don’t want bad things to happen to them, do you?”

She saw Warwick look away, but caught a hint of fear in his eyes just before he broke eye contact. There were very few things Warwick was afraid of, and only one of those things resided within city walls. Realising Tansy had him without even needing to lay any of her extremities upon his crotch, the jackal softened her gaze.

“I understand you don’t want your parents to find out about your real job. Tell them I need you supervising an important repair in the workshop for a few days. That’ll free you up. I’ll back your alibi if they ask. It’s either that or I send a few large men to have a little chat with them.”

Warwick swallowed, then slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it. Just leave my parents alone.” He didn’t look back at the PDA screen.

If he had he would have seen Tansy shut her eyes and bite her bottom lip before screwing her face into an expression of bliss. Somewhere off-screen there was a soft spurt sound as she ejaculated all over the equine cock, lubricating the piston further as it continued to slid in and out of her with more audible wet sounds now.

It would have been impossible to tell if she came because of Neener or because she had bent a man to her will.

“There’s a good boy.” She cooed, coming off her brief high. “Meet Maeres tomorrow morning. I’ll forward details to your PDA.” On an off-handed note she added, “Is our friendship going to suffer because of this?”

Warwick shook his head. “I’m a highly functional sociopath. We’ll be fine.”

She smiled hearing that. Leaning forward Tansy kissed the camera lens on her side of the call, leaving a hazy lipstick stain across the screen before she winked and the screen flashed to black.

A moment later some data scrolled over the tablet screen. Mission data, folders, parameters, maps, all sorts of stuff for the next mission Tansy had prepared; probably while she was fucking her husband. She was a wicked multi-tasker like that. But for the time being Warwick didn’t care. He was going to be separated from his loved ones again for a while, he decided to enjoy these last dozen hours together. Locking his tablet he left it on the living room table and moved back up to the bedroom.

As quietly as he moved, by the time he shut the door behind him he looked at the bed to see Loosum had woken up. The giraffe was laying quiet seductively on her side, probably by accident, with her head propped up on one hand and her hips forming a gorgeous curve in the dim lighting.

“Hey, sweetheart. Is everything okay?” she whispered across Winsum’s sleeping form, and Warwick quickly nodded.

“It’s fine. Just a late night call from Missus Bigg.”

Warwick quickly sidled back into bed with his mothers and sat up against the headboard. As if feeling his weight settle beside her again, Winsum sleepily reached out until she found his leg. Like a child finding its teddy, Winsum smiled in her sleep, hand gently gripping the human’s thigh.

“Was she wearing the corset?” Loosum asked, and Warwick chuckled.

“Right. Mistress Bigg then.”

“What did she want?”

“Oh… just some work lined up. She just got off the phone with an important client looking to restore a car,” Warwick lied without a beat. So far the cover for his real work was working at a garage restoring old sports cars for wealthy clients of the Biggs.

Honestly Warwick didn’t know the first damn thing about cars, but he got away with stories of how he did up bodywork and painting while his colleague Maeres worked on the mechanical aspect. Both Winsum and Loosum were proud of course. As far as they were concerned their son was an artist!

What they didn’t know he was actually an artist with a rifle, not an air-brush.

“I’m probably going to have to stay in the workshop a few days while I work on this,” the human added.

Loosum frowned with a little concern, climbing around her wife and settling her chest on his lap. Her long neck craned such a way her face was level with his.

“Does this mean we’ll miss the Mommy-Swap party over the weekend?” she asked a little hurtfully.

Warwick quickly grinned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

Loosum smiled deviously learning this. “Good. Because this time Saturday I expect to have two ravenous cougars sticking their tongues in my ass and my pussy while my wonderful son fucks my throat raw.”

Warwick stared for a good while. Despite all sorts of discipline and self-control he had, he couldn’t help but visualise his mother’s lewd mental picture and grow almost immediately erect. He had been so worn out from the previous hours of lovemaking that not even Tansy’s little display and sounds could get a rise out of him. But just one comment from his mom…

Loosum glanced down and bit her lip, eying the throbbing shaft hungrily. “The latter,” she whispered seductively, reaching down with one finger and touching the head of his erection, “I can’t wait for.” She gave it a small downward push causing his cock to bounce eagerly in place.

Rolling her tongue out of her mouth, the giraffe coiled it around his cock. She could only wrap it around once, coiling the tip upward to flick caressingly over the head, but it was enough to draw a gasp from her son. Her mouth open she drew him in, and Warwick tilted his hips forward, rewarded with the first, drawing suckle.

With her tongue wrapped around his shaft she held him in place with ease. His taste made her mouth water and soon Loosum was slurping and swallowing just so she wouldn’t make a mess. Warwick had thrown his head back and closed his eyes. His hands tenderly found the back of Loosum’s head, massaging her scalp encouragingly while her lips, her cheeks and even her throat muscles began working their glorious magic.

Loosum’s highly practiced motions didn’t continue very long. In moments she had him on the very edge of bliss. His hardness swelled in her mouth and she quickly began sliding her coiled tongue up and down his shaft to finish him off mercifully. She knew exactly when her son was ready, and finally she slid down, clamping her lips over the base of his cock, driving the tip as deep into her throat as she could.

Warwick came only thirty seconds into the expert blowjob, thick ropes of hot semen painting the inside of Loosum’s mouth. It filled her to the point the woman’s cheeks bulged a little and as she withdrew a little bit of cum dribbled from her lips.

Not one to waste this delectable treat, Loosum swallowed it down, then scooped up the excess with her tongue, making sure her son was all clean; as a good mother should.

Panting, Warwick slid down the headboard until he was laying down, Winsum automatically spooning up to his back while Loosum curled against his front. One of the giraffe’s hands lovingly stroked her son’s face, the other felt up and down his slick softening member.

“I let you finish quickly tonight because it’s late,” Loosum teased with a smile. “But at the party on Saturday I expect you to have me gasping for air and screaming your name.”

Warwick smiled as they cuddled and gently drifted off to sleep again. “Yes, ma’am.”

~~~~~~~

The Next Day…

By the time the deadflakes had driven out to where the wetlands met the temperate borders of the wildlands a thick mist had descended over the terrain. The vapour rose in thick clouds from the watery floor of the wetlands and hung thick into the air between the gnarled branches like claws branching from the thick trees standing in the calm waters surrounded by skirts of slimy alae.

Tansy had chartered them a boat, a small barge captained by an old coot who swore up and down he drifted the wetlands with tour groups before the downfall. Warwick knew for a fact that was impossible, the captain would be six-thousand years old if it were. And nobody lived that long.

Especially not in this world.

Dull coloured birds let out their calls from deep within the mist as the barge drifted calmly down a channel winding through the heart of the wetlands. The channel connected the wildland harbour where many other ships were moored and the piers of the floating city called Lake. Breaking off from the main channel were thousands of dirt paths and tiny winding rivers and ponds. It was easy to get turned around and lost in the wetlands.

“Tansy wants us to find the cargo of a ship called the Devil’s Queen,” Warwick explained, reading from his PDA as he stood on deck.

Maeres was there while the captain navigated the channel from the helm high to the rear of the barge. She was as per usual dressed for an entirely wrong occasion, a pair of luminescent skate shoes on her feet, black yoga-pants and an olive green tank top that revealed her mid-riff.

Warwick on the other hand wore his customary tac-vest over a black goretex jacket and woodland camouflage bottoms with a pair of hiking boots. Slid into a drop leg holster was his Glock, while carried across his back was a large bulky rifle. The weapon was stripped down though, the heavy bipod removed and the usual telescopic scope replaced by a set of hybrid holo sights. Glowing across the side of the enormous weapon was some luminescent graffiti spelling out “Lobotomiser.”

Essentially the wetlands offered poor long range visibility and plenty of cover and debris to get between you and a target. Warwick’s thinking was packing a big anti-materiel rifle so he could put rounds through cover and into targets. And since the .50cal rounds were able to sear flesh even if they only passed by the target by eighteen inches, the Lobotomiser was well worth lugging about.

“She was able to secure the frequency of the cargo’s tracker, so we just follow the signal to the objective,” Warwick continued. “I couldn’t think of an easier job even if I tried.”

“I could think of better wilds to operate in though,” Maeres commented. “I hate the wetlands. Always humid and claustrophobic. I prefer the views in the wildlands. Nice and exposed. Lots of wide open views. The views in this murk suck.”

As he faced her Warwick folded his PDA down until the tablet was just a small watch-sized screen that fitted onto a mount on his wrist. Maeres was leaning over the boat’s guard rail, bent over slightly and pulling the seat of her pants taught around her buttocks.

“I dunno. It could be worse,” he commented, staring at her rear.

Looking over her shoulder she caught him looking and smirked. “You remember the last time we operated in the wetlands? I’m sure the area got a little wetter after that.”

Warwick smirked back before he checked a ping on his PDA with a glance at his wrist. The deadflake then turned and waved down the captain. “Signal is a few clicks to starboard!” He pointed down a branching stream. “Can we head down there?”

The captain put the engines into reverse and parked them neatly along the shore before leaning out of the bridge cabin. “No can do!” he called down. “That stream shallows out rapidly. We’ll run aground!”

Warwick nodded with a thumbs up before slipping his FAST-helmet onto his head. “That’s probably why the Devil’s Queen got stuck. They took a wrong turn and beached themselves.”

The deadflakes vaulted the side of the barge and took to solid land, telling the captain they would be back in a few hours.

“What if you’re not back by sun-down?” the captain had asked.

“Wait longer,” Maeres had told him.

Warwick could tell the captain didn’t like that idea. The wetlands were like the rest of the wilds. Anywhere outside a city wall was unsafe at night. During the day there were monsters and creatures out of your worst nightmares roaming and hunting.

Then at night the bad things came out. Things that escaped tangible description. Things that turned the most hardened deadflakes into blubbering fools cursed to living the rest of their days until they found the courage for putting the barrel of their gun into their own mouth.

The walk through the wetlands was surprisingly easy. Of all the areas the Devil’s Queen had gotten lost in, they had picked the driest land. The mud still sucked at their soles, but it was with relative ease that Maeres and Warwick pushed through the undergrowth and followed the bank of the winding stream deeper into the wetlands.

The old captain wasn’t kidding about the stream shallowing out. Rocks jutted out of the water here and there and there were points that even in the murk of the oily water that Warwick could see the bottom. He checked his PDA and followed the ping still a few kilometres away, but closing as they moved. He was surprised the Devil’s Queen had made it this far down the stream.

Then again, they could have gotten stuck a few times before stubbornly un-beaching themselves and moving on.

“How’s the Lexus doing?” Warwick asked, one hand on his pistol and eyes glancing between the terrain and his PDA.

Maeres was quiet for a moment and Warwick wondered if he had brought up a sensitive subject. He knew full well she loved that car, but he had to wonder why she brought it on a raider hunt if she loved it that much.

Eventually she said, “It’s fine. New tires, body patches and then a good paint job and she’ll be right as rain. I was hoping to get more time to work on her, but then this came up.”

“I’m not particularly happy about it either.”

“What happened anyway? I thought you had an arrangement with Tansy. One operation a week.”

“She’s revisiting the original arrangement,” Warwick answered, quoting their boss. “You know there’s no saying ‘no’ to Mistress Bigg.”

“Oh, she was wearing the corset, eh?”

“We’re lucky we’ve gotten away with the one operation a week rule so far.”

“Yeah; I blame you for this turn of events,” Maeres suddenly said as she stretched her arms over her head.

“Me? How is it my fault?”

Maeres chuckled as if the answer to that should have been obvious. “It’s because you are so fucking good at this job. If you weren’t such a good deadflake she’d treat us like the other mediocre dumbasses under her command.”

Warwick grumbled. But he didn’t have a counter argument to offer. He was pretty good at his job. And now Tansy was realising his potential she was going to push to utilise him more often, and on higher risk missions too.

Keeping his job from his parents was going to get very hard, especially if he started leaving Ville for days on end and coming home with more bumps and scratches. As much as it hurt him to think about it, he’d probably have to think about moving out of home and seeing his mothers less.

There was a sinking feeling of brief terror and panic in the pit of his gut, and Warwick wasn’t sure if it was caused by thinking about seeing his parents less, or because his deadflake senses were tingling.

The latter, as it turned out.

The projectiles whistled out between a thick cluster of branches, fluttering past leaves and thudding hard into Warwick’s chest. They didn’t hit with any amount of peculiar force that wasn’t absorbed by the armoured plating in his tac-vest, but they hit hard and fast enough for him to take a surprised stumble into a tree trunk.

Bewildered he looked down, two arrows sticking out of his chest.

Maeres leapt into action immediately as the attacker dropped from the trees and drew a third arrow into her bow. It whistled off the drawstring but failed to hit the wolf. She was moving with speed and grace thought impossible for a woman her size, leaping and bounding over rocks and roots between the trees as several more arrows followed. They slammed into trunks far behind Maeres’ tail as she circled away from Warwick and then dashed at the aggressor.

Dropping to a hip, Maeres slid under another shot aimed at her head then rose up swiping away the attacker’s bow and snatching the girl by the throat before immobilising her against a tree. The girl squealed and kicked, but it was no use. She was at the giant wolfess’ mercy.

“Wick! You okay!?” Maeres asked as she held their struggling attacker still with one hand.

Finding his balance, the human nodded. “Yeah.”

Warwick grabbed one of the protrusions sticking out of his chest and yanked it from the trauma-plate between the lined layers of his tac-vest. The arrow was tiny, only a dozen or so inches long, fletched delicately with little finch feathers and the point was carved to a point like an oversized toothpick. It looked barely able to pierce a leather tunic never mind ballistic armour plates.

Dropping the arrow he yanked the other from his vest and walked over to the fae girl in Maeres’ grip.

The fae was as tiny and delicate as her weapon of choice. Standing tall enough that the top of her head was just about in line with Warwick’s hip, the girl was about the height of a cub but with the proportions of a slender, leggy woman. She had human features, though notably more petite and slanted with wide almond shaped eyes and long pointed ears. Her long blue hair was tied into a braid and her glassy wings had swirly patterns of purple and pink running through them.

Her attire was as petite as her build and scandalously skimpy, suited to the hot humid climate of the wetlands. Though having said that, Warwick couldn’t say he ever met a fae who dressed modestly.

“Want me to break her?” Maeres asked nodding at the fae girl.

“Wait one,” Warwick said before he showed the fae the arrow that could have had his eye out. “Dipshit.”

The fae gave an embarrassed little apologetic grin. “Sorry. I thought you were the monster I was tracking down.”

Seeming to accept the apology on Warwick’s behalf, Maeres dropped the girl. Her wings fluttered and caught her in a hover before her feet hit the ground and she hung bobbing only slightly at eye-level.

“You’re hunting monsters out here all on your own?” Maeres asked with a bit of surprise. Fae were normally creatures of dance and games, not of hunting and monster killing. “Respect.”

The fae nodded. “Uh-huh. I’m Scarlet Windysocks.”

Warwick subdued the chuckle rising in his throat. “No kidding. I’m Warwick.”

“Maeres,” his giant friend introduced in turn. “Deadflakes. So what are you hunting out here, Scarlet?”

Scarlet glanced from side to side, then lowered her voice to a hushed whisper like she was telling a secret. “A troll.”

Warwick pulled a face. “Ugh. Troll.”

“I hate trolls.”

Sticking out her bottom lip, Scarlet huffed seeing the deadflakes’ almost humorous reactions. “Well this troll slaughtered all in my ring, captured most of the women and has been raping them without end for the better part of a week; so it goes without saying that I feel as strongly about them as you do.”

That revelation his Maeres a little hard. “I’m sorry.”

Scarlet didn’t seem to mind though. She perked up immediately, smiling as if she suddenly realised the anser to a riddle that had been bothering her for hours.

“But you’re deadflakes!” she said brightly. “You’ve killed trolls before!”

“One or two,” Warwick admitted.

“Will you help me kill my troll?”

Warwick opened his mouth to answer but Maeres beat him to the punch. “Sure,” she said, causing Warwick to scoff.

“No, Mae. We have a job. A job that doesn’t involve trolls.”

“C’mon, Wick. The poor girl needs a hand. And you know trolls are nasty.”

“Hence, we should do what we came here to do and not get involved.”

“Oh, please~!” the petite fae squeaked pleadingly, snatching up her bow and leading them down the river bank a little. “It’s not that far from here. Damn thing is held up in the wreck of that boat that got lost and beached on a side-stream just over there.”

“I said…” Warwick suddenly stopped and cocked an eyebrow. “Wait. Did you say boat?”

~~~~~~~

In their time as deadflakes, Warwick and Maeres had killed exactly three and three-quarter trolls. What could have been number four had been a tricky one that got away in the nick of time. Not that the deadflakes minded though. Despite the fact the troll had been missing both arms, a leg and a tusk, the fact it managed to get away saved them a few hours aggravation of finishing it off.

Trolls were the worst. Warwick had faced his fair share of horrible nasties out in the wilds. But trolls stuck high on the list of repeat assholes.

Everything about them screamed ‘run the fuck away’ and the troll brooding between the deadflakes and Tansy’s lost shipment was no exception.

It was a typical specimen, like a wing-less oversized vampire bat, complete with a coat of wiry grey fur, pointy broad ears and a face scrunched up into a hateful expression. Eight feet tall with stubby little legs, the troll’s long thick arms ended in four short digits that would scrape along the floor as it walked. Each of those fingertips hid a serrated talon currently retracted.

The troll was almost motionless, blending into the dull backdrop of the boat interior. It would have been invisible in the gloom were it not for a few beams of grim light filtering through the cracks in the deck overhead and the jittery bob of the troll’s head with each sharp breath it took.

Its right hand still moved forward and back at waist level, and its breaths drew shorter and louder with each passing second as the deadflakes and their fae guide crept into position to observe. And by the time they settled in the troll turned to reveal what it was doing.

The troll’s hand was clamped tight around a fae just like Scarlet, who was in turn wrapped around the troll’s enormous cock. The poor girl’s wings were crushed, bits of shattered glass-like wing sticking out between the troll’s fingers, and her legs were opened wider than their natural limit should have allowed. A trickle of blood and other juices dampened the fur on the troll’s crotch as he worked the fae up and down like a living fleshlight.

She was still conscious despite it all, her head thrown back, eyes wide with pain and horror and mouth agape, but she was silent. But only until the troll grunted and flexed its hips forward. The furry balls hanging at the base of the monster’s erection tightened, and the fae girl screamed as the beast ejected a torrent of sticky cum into her body.

It was a scream that died quickly in a gurgle. However she’d been broken, a geyser of viscous white fluid shot from the fae’s mouth and nostrils, suffocating her. But the worse was still to come. And sensing that, Warwick quickly looked away and pushed Scarlet down so she wouldn’t have to watch. Unfortunately the result of what happened already lay bare at the troll’s feet, as it had happened to over a dozen fae girls before this one.

The hooked glans on the head of the troll’s cock flexed and set like meat-hooks so when the troll pulled his little toy off his erection it turned the girl inside out, killing her in an instant only to be discarded with the pile of her kin the troll had already had its way with.

She only heard the dying gurgles and squelch of tearing flesh and meat, but it was enough to send Scarlet over the edge. She whimpered tearfully, but muffled the sound by clamping both hands over her mouth.

Giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Warwick slid the Lobodomiser to his front and propped the handguard over the fallen tree they used for cover. Peering through the sights he watched the troll retreat into its hideout, a gutted transport barge on the edge of the shallow river.

The Devil’s Queen lay beached on the edge of a shallow river, partially impaled on a tree leaning heavily over the bank. The boat itself looked like it had been stripped and used as a troll scratching-post. The side of the hull hung shattered and open like a festering wound in the side of the craft forming an entrance into the hold where the troll had taken up residence. A bed of straw had been laid down in one corner beside a heavy looking chest, and most of the other cargo had been flung out to make space.

“I take it all back,” Warwick snarled counting exactly twenty dead fae girls scattered in the bloody mud. “I very much want to make this troll dead.”

Easier said than done though. The troll reproductive biology alone spoke in volumes of troll stamina and pain threshold. Meathook glans on the male’s penis for example meant the females were worse than males. They craved endorphins which their bodies would create in copious amounts, literally turning pain into pleasure. The short end of it was that trolls weren’t afraid of anything because anything that hurt them made them feel good.

“We’ll need a plan,” Warwick began to say, but Maeres was already vaulting over their cover with a large rock in one hand.

“I got a plan.” She pelted the rock and it made a loud crashing noise on impact with the side of the Devil’s Queen. She immediately walked after it, bellowing at the top of her lungs; “Hey ugly! Bring it!”

Scarlet seemed to like that plan, scrambling after Maeres and taking to the air with her bow out. Warwick on the other hand was left holding the Lobotomiser, sighing and shaking his head.

“This is a bad plan.”

The troll came from its hiding place like an old man checking to see what all the ruckus in his front yard was all about. Only instead of seeing kids pegging eggs at his house, Maeres was swaggering up, beckoning the creature to ante up.

The troll roared at the sight of her and the claws in its fingertips extended with a long slow ‘snikt!’ Maeres immediately lowered hear head and sprinted in for the kill.

The troll swung high and Maeres went low. The wolf slammed a fist into its gut, actually doubling the creature over before she hit it with a right hook that ripped a tusk out of its face. The tooth ending in a bloody knot hit the dirt point down and stood up like a sword stabbed in the ground.

The two went at it from there with Scarlet flitting about them, firing arrows and turning the troll’s back into a pin cushion. Both the troll and the wolfess were a blur of swipes and kicks that Warwick couldn’t decipher as his rifle muzzle bobbed from side to side. He couldn’t take a shot without risking taking down Maeres, and every so often Scarlet crossed his field of fire for good measure.

Finally Maeres jumped back and kicked the troll in the chest. Although the troll didn’t stumble as much as she expected it to. Instead it stood its ground, digging its curled toenails into the dirt and swung with one claw.

Maeres backed off, dodging the first, but the second swipe caught her with a sneaky backhand. The blunt strike threw the woman sideways and head-first into the side of the Devil’s Queen. Maeres went down out cold and Warwick took his shot.

The Lobotomiser let out a mighty crack, and with the shot came a breath-taking kick. Even as the whole firing mechanism flexed on a recoil dampening spring, Warwick was pushed back an inch, his boots digging grooves into the soft dirt below. His aim drew off-target just as the round spiralled out of the barrel, throwing his aim. But he wasn’t off by much.

He’d aimed low, anticipating the recoil, but his aim was thrown right a little. The anti-material round met the fleshy shoulder joint of the troll’s left arm and passed clean through. The energy and force of the impact caused a ripple through the creatures flesh and created a rapidly expanding pocket of air. The pocket blew up without end, dislocating the joint, popping cartilage, tearing skin and meat, disconnecting sinew and finally, with an explosion of blood where the round passed out the back of the troll’s shoulder the entire left arm tore free.

The troll just stared at its own lifeless arm for a second, blood gushing in small geysers from the ragged hole of flesh where its shoulder used to be. Then with a snarl it lifted its gaze and spotted Warwick steadying himself for the next shot.

The troll was already moving, darting forward holding its remaining arm out for balance. Warwick squeezed off the next shot, but anticipating it with supernatural reflexes the troll ducked sideways. The .50-cal round passed just an inch past the creature’s head, and Warwick swore he saw the fur smoulder and catch alight, as well as the right eye boil before it burst.

By the time he righted himself to check properly though the troll was on him. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually winged the creature or if he really had missed, but blood was pouring from where the eye had once been as the troll loomed over him.

It had his rifle out of his grip with one swipe, then swinging the weapon back like a club the troll whacked Warwick in the chest with the butt of his own weapon. The impact was softened by the armour in his tac-vest, but the wind was driven out of his lungs and he was flung clean off his feet and hurled through the swamp until a tree broke his fall.

Slumping to the ground, Warwick blinked away stars and pink elephants in time to see the troll throw the rifle into the air at Scarlet who was still harassing it with arrows. The barrel clipped her arm and threw her from the sky at the troll’s feet.

Warwick cleared his vision in time to see the troll reaching for the fae. He groped for his pistol, tore the Glock free and put a full clip into the creature. It barely flinched though, raising a hand to protect its face. Then as if recognising the empty click of the pistol, the troll leapt over Scarlet and ran at the human.

The troll rushed in and Warwick rolled sideways. The single swipe from the beast tore through the trunk of a thick tree regardless, and as Warwick crashed into the side of a rock, he looked up to see the tree in question teetering dangerous. Then with a loud crack of a giant toothpick snapping, the tree toppled and crashed down on top of him.

The branches draped over where it fell on him, hiding the human’s still body from sight entirely.

With a huff the troll turned away and observed its new prizes. Another one of the tight fae, but also something bigger. Something meatier.

Growling with arousal, the troll ignored Scarlet entirely and grabbed an unconscious Maeres by the ankle and unceremoniously dragged her into its hovel. The interior of the Devil’s Queen was dim and dank. Some pools of oily water gathered across the rotting floor and most of the cargo had been dragged away.

All that the troll had left alone was some soft patches of grass as bedding and a few crates here and there. One particularly convenient chest was where Maeres was thrown down. She groaned softly as the troll awkwardly bent her over the chest.

The creature’s claws made short work of the elastic in her pants waistband as the troll tore the trousers down to her ankles. She wasn’t wearing panties, revealing her firm, toned rear in all its glory to the troll. Its arousal grew instantly.

But even then with its target in sight, the troll was distracted by a whistle.

Turning to face it, the creature was startled by a silhouette in the entryway to its hovel. Stepping out of the light and into the darkness was Warwick, alive and well, having found his Lobotomiser and shouldering the enormous weapon comfortably.

The sights were shattered, but at this range there was no missing.

The weapon let out a rapid-fire ‘boom-boom-boom’ as anti-materiel round after round slashed through the stunned troll. Each hit forced it to stumble back a few paces. Blood splashed the opposite wall of the Devil’s Queen before pinprick beams of light filtered into the chamber, each round bursting out of the troll’s back punching through the wall as well.

Finally, on the last thunderclap from the weapon the troll now sporting several gaping, fleshy holes in its chest stumbled against the wall now representing a cartoonish caricature of Swiss cheese. The troll growled venomously despite the injuries, almost as if it was ready to go on the offensive again.

But Warwick didn’t care. He just dropped his rifle and held out his arms in the time-tempered tradition of “come at me bro!”

The beast didn’t have time to come at anyone. Maeres having regained consciousness and found her favourite pants shredded at her ankles, stepped forward with a fury hell had no equal to. The troll barely registered her above a blur of motion as she stepped in then swung one leg around into a round-house kick.

The kick connected with the troll’s chest, sending it howling with pain and hurtling backwards through the fragile perforated wooden wall and into the murky water beyond.

The troll righted itself after a few moments of splashing and floundering. The water only came up to its hips and the beast gave a challenging roar. Only Warwick and Maeres didn’t prepare for another bout as they sauntered up to the water’s edge. The troll was moving around too much and spreading its blood in the water. It was over.

Even without open cuts, everyone knew you shouldn’t go for a swim in the Wetlands.

Lampreys slithered in from their hiding places between roots and rocks. Their thrashing movements disturbed the water surface revealing the smallest of the snake-like predators to be at least six feet long.

They were horrific monsters with gaping round maws filled with razor-sharp teeth that seemed to go all the way down the throat. They latched onto the troll’s lower body and started mincing chunks of meat off its body. The troll lost balance and dropped to its knees, swinging its arm to bat the beasts away. But for every slippery little carnivorous leech it peeled away and threw onto shore, two more would slither in for a bite to eat.

Another, one of the larger ones darted out of the water like a guided missile and latched its rows of teeth into the troll’s eye. Howling with pain the creature fell backwards into the shallow water. But soon after the thrashing stopped and the troll was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m hungry.” Maeres suddenly commented with a grin. “How about sushi tonight?”

Warwick gaped for a second, then sighed. “Yeah, I could do with some sushi.”

Scarlet, having hovered over in time to see the troll’s watery demise, watched the duo frowning deeply. “You guys are weird.”

The deadflakes shrugged, then retreated to secure the Devil’s Queen’s cargo. There was no time to dawdle. After all.

It was sushi night.

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