FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for Corey | August 2021 | 6352 Words

"The preceding segment was sponsored by The Silver Rush," a tinny voice crackled through an old vacuum tube speaker sitting atop a busted soda machine. The old receiver's woven fabric speaker cover showering soft motes of dust as it bounced up and down. "Siiiiiilver Rush. Feel the rush of a warm laser in your hand." The sound echoed softly, bouncing off the nearly empty reception area of the old Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters, the acoustics warped ever so slightly by the damage and debris left over from the day the bombs fell. Dusty concrete, rebar, and waste from over a century of dereliction left the old soda bottling plant haggard. And yet, the little radio, with its broken knob, still caught the gravely voice of Mr. New Vegas. And were it not for a single lone creature snoozing in the receptionist's chair, the old disk jockey's words would have echoed off into the Mojave. "Got some Dean Martin talking about the greatest feeling in the world. Love. Ain't That a Kick in the Head? Heh heh, sure is Dino, it sure is..."

As the old record spooled up, gentle swing music lilting through the broken-down building, the creature stirred, sighing heavily underneath his broad brimmed cowboy hat as he adjusted his boots upon the receptionist's desk. "WELL HOW-OWDY, PARDNER!" So close to falling back asleep, the creature ugly-snorted as the goddamned doll started talking again. "Welcome to the hea- hea- headquarters of th- th- the Sunset Sas- Sas- Sasparilla Company!" Reaching to grab his hat from off his muzzle, the dusty-blonde fennec fox snarled as he adjusted the old leather jacket he wore, lined with bits of scrap and tire tread to create a rough approximation of armor. Ever since the gang took over the place, the damn fortune-telling robot had gone on the fritz. Grabbing a rusty sawed-off shotgun he left leaning up against the desk, the fennec snarled as he vaulted the desk and sauntered towards the old saloon-themed stand housing the robotic puppet.

But just as the guard prepared to haul off with the barrel of his gun the front double-doors to the old business swung wide open. Shoved face-first through the door, a ruddy-brown furred Springbok in simple farmer's clothes stumbled into the middle of the reception area, followed close behind by a coyote clad in a desert duster.

"Look who decided to grow a pair?" the coyote growled, licking his chops as he leveled his hunting rifle on the dirty creature, the tips of his curved horns quivering as he stood. "The little worm came to collect his whore."

"I came to get my wife back," the Springbok growled holding his palms at his side as he sweat, the two raiders leveling the weapons at the man's bared chest.

"You'll have to talk to Lucky about that," the fennec chuckled, shaking the barrel of his gun towards a back hallway. Walked under guard, the farmer tried to hold his composure as he was led through the old bottling plant, past the derelict machinery that once fueled the most popular beverage in the west. Paraded past leering members of Lucky's gang, the farmer could not help but blush at some of the cruel names tossed at him. Wretch. Scum. Cuck. Humble and unarmed as he was, there was little he could do but try and block out their taunts. Led to a second-floor office, the coyote gave a soft nod for the springbok to step inside.

"Well, well, well, you finally grew a spine, Pete," a smarmy voice crooned as the farmer stood on the threshold of the old manager's office. Leaned up against the dusty managers desk towered a brute of a man, a stubby-snouted armadillo clad in surprisingly little compared to his fellow raiders. His broad chest and thick waist were covered only with a loose-fit vest and shorts, clearly showing off his thickened, natural armored plating on his arms, legs and upper body. While most of the gang swaddled themselves in heavy leathers or metal straps for protection, this New-World mammal seemed rather confident that he need not worry about bullets or blades. Confident to the point of being cocky; festooned over his chest and hips were multiple bandoliers, a frag grenade dangling from every third bullet loop. There was a reason his fellow raiders called him Lucky; somehow the charismatic leader was damn lucky he had not blown himself up yet. Rattling the deadly little balls of death against his naturally armored form, the bandit king took a step towards the springbok. "I'm surprised you were man enough to show your face."

"Where is Julie?!" Pete snapped, nearly charging through the door until he realized his question was unnecessary. Laid upon a couch to the left side of the room was a white-tailed doe, the farmgirl clad only in a morning gown dress. She was bound tight, arms folded in a firm box tie behind her back while one ankle was clearly shackled to the couch's leg, ostensibly to prevent her from making any sudden movements. Frozen in a horrified stare, eyes fixed upon his wife's tender face, Pete blinked as he felt the cold barrel of a gun press against his temple.

"She's fine, Pete," Lucky growled, cocking the handle on his revolver. "Why don't you have a seat over there and we can talk about this." Julie pleaded with her eyes, shaking her head as she watched her husband slowly raise his arms in surrender, slinking back to a simple wooden chair in the rightmost corner of the room. Despite being gagged with her own wadded-up panties, held in with an old leather belt as a makeshift gag, the doe tried desperately to beg for this to stop. Clearly out of options, Pete shivered as he settled down on the rickety wooden chair, sighing as the attending fennec guard began to shackle his legs through the chair's cross-struts. "How much food were you supposed to provide us from your last harvest?"

"I... The harvest didn't come in as well as I had hoped," the springbok grunted, holding back the urge to spit as the fennec gave him a pat on the cheek before stepping back to watch the doorway. "I gave you everything I could."

"That wasn't what we agreed, Pete."

"Lucky, I... We would starve through the winter if you took anymore!"

"That's not my problem," the armadillo chuckled, tapping a finger on his chin. "But that means you kept the rest of the food, right?" A smirk crawled across Lucky's face. "I can have my men go collect it, and you can have your wife back."

"You can go to hell, Lucky. You can't fucking starve us."

"You can have your life then. You're worth more to me alive than dead." The armadillo smirked softly as he narrowed his gaze down upon the helpless doe. "But I'll have to take something in return for your broken contract." As Pete sat helpless, under the gun, everything seemed to click.

"You... You wouldn't!"

"Why do you think we kidnapped her? Just to send a message?" Julie was not just helpless, she was vulnerable, and with her panties in her jaws, she was clearly naked from the waist down. Lucky saddled up to the side of the dusty old couch, tracing his hand over her thigh while holstering his revolver. "You both need to learn a lesson about crossing me and my gang. I'm gonna make sure you have a whole litter of future farmhands." The amused little smirk on the armadillo's face curled to a wicked grin as he began to unbutton his pants fly.

"You're fucking sick, Lucky!" The springbok growled, attempting to stand, his feet tangling in the rusty metal shackles as he tried to step forward. It took almost no effort for the fennec to grab Pete from behind, a quick cuff upside the head to bring him back into line. Flopping back into the chair, the springbok pursed his muzzle, watching on with horror as the armadillo dropped his revolver-weighted pants down around his ankles.

"What's the matter, tough guy?" Lucky growled, hiking a leg up over Julie's prone body, the doe's horrified eyes growing wide as she realized her husband was not going to stop the brute. "You come all the way into the lion's den just to watch me rape her?"

"Please," Pete grunted, swallowing hard as he slid his knees together in front of him. "You... You can't do this."

Grabbing Julie's nightgown, Lucky clawed at the sheer fabric, half-yanking and half tearing through the modest farm maid's dress until he had exposed her pert and perky backside. Without her panties for modesty, there was nothing keeping her little nub tail, pert, rounded rump, and supple slit from the raider king's cruel grasp. The moment she felt the armadillo's rough paws begin to grope up her inner thigh, Julie gasped aloud from behind her gag. With a feeble kick, then a harder, more directed smack from her free leg, she began to struggle for her freedom. Eyes wide and head craned, the doe was not about to let herself get taken. That is, until the first punch landed hard upon her temple.

Pete audibly gasped as he watched the ruthless bandit land blow after blow upon the love of his life. With the fennec's shotgun pressed to his back, there was nothing Pete could do but watch as Lucky forced himself upon his wife. He knew the exact moment it happened too. Just after the first trickle of blood flowed out her nose, Julie let out a gagged squeal that sent shivers down Pete's spine as Lucky edged his hips closer and pressed in hard. Two more strikes to Julie's face and the doe was left a quivering, sobbing mess, her eye blackened and swollen as the raider turned to address his captive. "Just gonna sit there and watch?" It was then that Lucky paused, blinking in abject confusion at what he saw. A hot flush rolled over Pete's face as he realized he could not hide it any longer; his pants had begun to tent out. "Well fuck me... You're getting off to this? I thought you were just too goddamned chickenshit to stop me."

Pete swallowed hard as he looked down between his thighs, his modest farmhand's clothing sporting a hefty, almost equine sized arousal. His hefty girth certainly put everyone else in the room to shame. But even worse was the fact he could not control his need, it was utterly embarrassing having to watch his wife get railed by the man who kidnapped her, and that embarrassment only fueled his arousal in a vicious feedback loop. Slowly, Lucky sat back on his haunches, allowing his diminutive five and a half inches to pop back out of Julie's tender pussy, much to her audible relief. Stepping off his prize's body, the armadillo sauntered across the room, his throbbing cock swaying between his thighs as he towered over the savanna deer's body. Grabbing Pete by the muzzle, Lucky forced his gaze upwards, staring down at the mortified farmer with a bemused look.

"Goddamn, you're pathetic..." Tracing his free paw along the bulge in the man's pants, Lucky playfully began to stroke and tease with his captive's shaft, feeling up the heavy meat between his thighs. Popping the button on his trousers, Lucky turned on his heels, grenades jingling as he stepped towards an old metal filing cabinet off to the corner of the room. "Pants off, big shot." He said, popping open the drawer and digging about inside, occasionally removing a set of cuffs or oversized dildo he had stashed in the makeshift toybox so he'd have more room to work. After a little searching, the raider king chuckled as he produced a baseball sized item, giving it a little heft in his paw before tossing it over to the frightened springbok. "Put it on," he said as the hand-welded chastity cage rolled to a stop at Pete's feet. "And don't play dumb, I know you know how."

Warily, the farmer sighed as he stared down between his legs, frustrated at looking over his own hefty bulge. He couldn't do anything to change "Fucking cuck," the coyote growled from behind, as he watched Pete bend over to pick up the heavy metal cage off the floor. The canine couldn't help but smirk as he watched the springbok disassemble the CB cage, fumbling nervously as he fed his meaty balls one at a time through the tight-fitting ring in an attempt to stall so his cock could deflate to a size befitting a 40-millimeter ring. Lucky watched on with a shit-eating grin, his cock practically throbbing as Pete stole a glance up at him, his face clearly showing how utterly fucked he was.

"You like it, don't you?" the armadillo chuckled, swaggering back towards the farmer, licking his chops as he watched Pete try and jam his cock through the ring. "You were born to be another man's slave..." Without pause, Lucky's paws shot down to Pete's groin, slapping away his hoof-tipped fingers as he forced the springbok's cock through the tight-fitting ring. It hurt. A pained yelp escaped the farmer's jaws, his balls clenching at the same time his cock squished through the metal cock ring. By the time his gut pain had subsided, Pete could hear the click of the miniature padlock, his shaft safely locked inside a length of banded iron, ensuring it would never hit erection ever again. "We'll talk about letting you out later," Lucky growled coldly, turning his attention back to Julie's helpless form. "Maybe after next year's harvest."

Pete gasped, his shaft quickly swelling to fill the length of his new cage. "No! N- no... Please...!" Even as the warm blush of embarrassment crossed his face, Pete could not help but crack a soft smirk. Nobody else in the room seemed to hear it; Lucky was too busy climbing back atop Pete's sobbing wife. The fennec was still chuckling over the cuck's deepening arousal. But Pete was more than just a subsistence farmer. You don't survive out in the Mojave wasteland without being attuned to the sounds of violence, and the springbok's ears swiveled as he heard the first pop of gunfire off in the distance.

"Look at that," Lucky growled, grabbing Julie about the neck as he forced himself onto her wriggling body, wrapping his arm about her neck and kinking her head, forcing her to stare at her emasculated man. "Listen to that, cuck," he snarled, shifting his hips a little until he had bottomed out deep in Julie's pussy. The doe whimpered, low moans escaping her bruised jaws as she pleaded into her gag for mercy. "You hear that moaning? That pathetic fucking whimpering? That's the sound of your bitch taking a real man."

Despite the intentional cruelty, something had changed in the springbok's gaze. Despite his throbbing arousal, the flared head crowding out the crude metal tube of the cock cage, the farmer no longer flinched or squirmed as he watched his captor slowly push back into his wife's vulnerable snatch. Frag grenades jingling against his chest, the armadillo snarled as he plowed into his prize. Groaning deep as he claimed her as his own, Lucky gripped tight into Julie's short-cropped hair, yanking hard as he took what he was owed. The bandit king quickly lost himself in the rut; his throbbing length already close to busting its load deep inside of the helpless war prize. Her pain only made the sex electric, the doe's agonized clenches and muffled cries perfectly accented the beautiful fireworks that rung in the air.

...fireworks? No, those were gunshots.

For a brief moment, Lucky froze. Sitting balls deep in Julie's tender pussy, he listened as the gunshots grew louder and more defined. The furious cracks were soon underscored by horrid screams. Recognizable voices echoed through the bottling facility; cries and screeches for help, or simply for mercy, seemed to fall on deaf ears as the sources of gunfire fell silent one by one. A worried look crossed Lucky's face, the armadillo slopping off his captive's snatch so he could grab his pants up off the floor. The equally concerned fennec gave a soft whine as he left Pete's side, approaching the door in a vain attempt to help his fellow raiders defend their home.

Yanking the door open, the fennec guard stopped in his tracks, wide eyed as a grotesque and scaly beast towered in front of him. Easily two and a half feet taller than the doorway, a brown-scaled deathclaw loomed just outside the office, taloned feet clanging upon the metal catwalk. His hunched body and thick, meaty thighs were exposed to the open doorway, but only because he had just finished slashing his deadly-sharp claws through the coyote guard's chest and neck, the canine yowling as he tumbled over the railing's edge before landing in a bloody heap upon the bottling floor. Before the fennec could raise his gun, the beast had already turned his attention back towards the office. The scaly, reptilian creature parted its gnarled teeth, drawing in a long, growling breath as it contemplated the fear-frozen bandit. The little dusty fox gaped his maw, his short stature forcing him to stare blankly at the creature's scar-pocked belly looming mere inches away. He would not get a chance to react, the deathclaw effortlessly thrusting its clawed paw straight into the fox's throat. A spatter of blood sprayed out in hot spurts, the canine's blood joining that of so many others staining the deathclaw's rippling, muscled chest.

"H- How the fuck-?!" Lucky cried, fumbling with the revolver tangled up in his shorts, a mixture of confusion and horror on his face as he tried to yank his iron free from the tangle of clothing. How on earth could a deathclaw enter the building, let alone make its way all the way up to the innermost rooms? The how became abundantly clear as the beast dropped the fennec fox's corpse to the floor, a throbbing pink arousal, at least a foot in size, pounded between the creature's ample thighs. Lucky shuddered, unable to believe his eyes; it had to be in rutting season.

Ducking down to squeeze itself through the doorway, Lucky got his first good look at the creature's face. Glowing orange eyes stared out over a set of vicious, bloodstained jaws, bits of raider armor and flesh still clinging to its chin. It scraped its twisted horns against the doorjam, needing to kink its head to wedge its heavy body inside. By now, the armadillo had managed to free his revolver, an ear-splitting SPACK SPACK SPACK rocketing out from the barrel as lead bounced harmlessly off the creature's armored shoulders and chest. Taking drywall and paint with it, the deathclaw bellowed as it lunged through the narrow doorway, charging across the executive's office in a brutish drive towards the creature bent on killing it. In a mere second, the beast had closed the distance, gripping the armadillo about his throat and carrying him backwards. In one fluid movement, Lucky found himself slammed against the wall, gagging for breath as the deathclaw's cock throbbed mere inches underneath his bottomless rump.

It was only then that a peculiar thing happened. Lucky slowly opened his eyes, confused at the simple fact his guts were not spilled across the executive suite floor. Instead, the deathclaw seemed preoccupied, the creature's horned head turned about to look over the situation, as if it was trying to understand what it had just walked in upon. The springbok remained nervously bound to a chair, his cock shyly throbbing inside an ill-fit cast iron chastity cage. The beaten and abused wife had clenched her eyes in disbelief, still trying and failing to flip her nightgown back down over her puffy, abused nethers. And then there was the raider king, pantsless and struggling, his cock still slick from having plowed into Julie from behind. It took a moment, but the creature seemed to understand what was happening. A toothy grin curled across its face, the beast turning its attention just in time to see Lucky frantically grab for a knife tucked into his boot.

Hung by the neck against the wall, Lucky scrabbled to gain some purchase and ease the pressure from his throat, pawtips groping against his calf as he desperately reached for a boot knife. A warm huff of fetid breath washed over the armadillo's face, causing the raider to slow his struggle to a fidgety little twitch. Turning his head, Lucky locked eyes with the deathclaw, the creature baring it's teeth as a hot snort washed out it's flared nostrils. Slowly, very slowly, the genetic monstrosity shook its head, eyes narrowing as the wild beast seemed to warn the raider not to start something he couldn't finish. Blinking, the armadillo let his mouth gape, a soft gasp escaping his throat before raising his knife in a frantic bid for freedom.

A roar blasted right into Lucky's face, the force jingling his bandolier and causing the cocky raider to freeze, his heroic attack fumbling as foul breath and slimy spit spattered across his stubby muzzle. Rearing back with his free paw, the hulking beast thrust forward, its musculature rippling as it's vicious fore-claws contacted flesh.

Lucky screeched, eyes bulging wide before clenching shut as the deathclaw raked three bloody gashes from his wrist down to his elbow. The sickening sound of claws scraping bone and supple tendons fraying like guitar strings sent shivers down Pete's spine. Wincing, he watched the knife fall uselessly to the ground, followed shortly by Lucky. The beast snorted as it planted a foot upon the armadillo's shoulder, the squealing raider too busy struggling with his blood drenched forearm to resist being kicked onto his back. Bumping hard against the wall, Lucky yelped, shaking his head wildly as the beast took a step closer.

"N- No! No no! Stay back! H- Him!!" Lucky yelped, pointing his remaining good arm towards Pete. "He's th-" The pathetic pleas cut short as the deathclaw kicked Lucky's paws aside, nearly breaking his wrist in the process before slamming a taloned paw down hard into the half-naked raider's balls. "HYURK!" Through the deathclaw's thick thighs, Pete watched as the wild beast shifted its weight, focusing its massive body weight down upon the raider's balls. It snarled straight into the armadillo's face, dragging its claws over the creature's sack while tugging those delicate orbs to the edge of their limit. Stretching his prize jewels to their limit, until the sagging flesh ached, the creature leaned its face in until its blood-soaked jaw practically touched the armadillo's stubby snout.

"You hear that pathetic fucking whimpering?" the beast rumbled, the heavy bass voice suddenly catching the room off guard. Deathclaws can't speak?! ...they were known to mimic human voices now and then to draw in prey. But this one was different. As it narrowed its eyes, the beast snarled, digging its taloned feet into Lucky's balls while gripping them tight. "That's the sound of a bitch," it growled in a clear, if gravely, voice.

For a brief moment, there was silence in the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of piss. A flood of filthy, acrid fluid washed against the beast's foot as fear forced Lucky to lose control of his bowels. "P- Please! Please wh- whatever... whoever... you are please! I- I'm... I'm sorry! I- I- I-" Unable to make sense of his situation, Lucky broke down into a jabbering mess, tears flooding the armadillo's face as he desperately tried to bargain his way out of imminent death. The deathclaw cracked a bemused smirk across its broad muzzle, growling as it slowly tugged its feet backwards, playfully yanking on the raider's balls to see what happened. The pained jerks did nothing to quiet down the sobbing mess, prompting the beast to roll his eyes at the humbled beast upon the floor.

Without saying a word, the deathclaw reached a paw out, fondling one of Lucky's prized frag grenades with its clawtips. Cradling the little ball of death, it gave a firm yank, popping the pin off while holding the lever down. Grabbing Lucky by the head, the deathclaw snarled as it forced the armadillo to open up, the creature's stubby muzzle gagging as the whole grenade was jammed inside, thrust behind his teeth. Gingerly removing its paw from the grenade, the deathclaw growled as it tapped the whimpering mammal's snout, making it as clear as possible that Lucky had to bite down hard, or else his skull and brains would become a fine mist on the Sunset Sarsaparilla office walls. It wasted no time testing whether Lucky had paid attention, slowly putting pressure on the armadillo's balls until it felt the sensitive little jewels begin to creak and groan under its gargantuan weight.

"MNN!! MMMMM!!" Lucky screamed into the makeshift gag, clenching his jaws tight as the deathclaw curled its paw, giving a soft twist to grind the raider's babymakers into the floor. As the fibrous little orbs finally gave way under the increasing weight, a cruel smirk crossed the reptilian's face. Twisting its ankle, the deathclaw felt one of the delicate little spunkmakers shatter, the other one yielding as his weight stamped down hard, flattening both to the floor. Reflexively, as the gut punch of lower abdominal pain smacked Lucky like a ton of bricks, the armadillo jerked his hips, the involuntary clench forcing a chunky pulp of sperm and mashed-up balls to dribble out his cock. Spilling his bloody seed out over his cock, still slick with pussy juices, the raider could barely see through his tears as he doubled up in a collapsed mess.

A swift kick to the gut forced Lucky to roll over, the grenade-gagged man whimpered as he flopped face-down in his own splattered balls. Turning his head, the raider stared blankly across the room, reaching his paw out towards Pete for any sort of help. There would be no sympathy from the springbok's cold gaze, just a twitch from his chastened cock as the deathclaw mounted its victim. Grinding his fat, girthy cock against Lucky's ass, the beastly creature planted a paw upon the armadillo's head, holding him still as he lorded his heft over the emasculated bastard. Glancing up at Pete, the deathclaw even seemed to give a wry little smirk, snorting out its broad nostrils as it silently lorded over the cucked farmer, seemingly taunting that it was the bigger man now.

Unquestionably bigger. The beast's shaft was thick as a mini-nuke, with a broad, blunt head already dripping precum down its blood-spattered length. Despite the supple pink flesh, the cock seemed to be ribbed, almost barb-like in nature, sure to cause maximum discomfort. Toying with its captive's tender ass, the deathclaw began to playfully grind between Lucky's exposed ass cheeks, the ribbed cleft of its fat cock head popping against the armadillo's tender hole. It seemed to enjoy flirting with the raider, bloody claws groping against the ribbed plating on his body, painting red streaks over the armadillo's half-naked form. The jibbering mess pleaded through his gag, gasping around the greasy frag as he begged to be let free. Clenching his claws down hard upon the armadillo's ass, the deathclaw snorted as its cock throbbed, hotdogging one last time before angling its hips and slowly pushing in.

Lucky squealed like a stuck pig, his paws scrabbling against the floor in pained panic, only stopping when he heard the grenade lever begin to actuate against his palette. Chomping back down to keep it from exploding, the emasculated bandit whimpered as the deathclaw slowly pushed inside, snarling as it crammed each agonizing inch deeper and deeper. The deathclaw whistled through its clenched jaws as it cored out the raider's ass. The ribbed length of its engorged and drippy cock made sickening pops as it plunged past the raider's tight-clenched sphincter, quickly blowing out the soft muscle as the beast bottomed out deep inside his victim. Squirming his hips a little, as if to stir the creature's innards, the beast grunted as it slowly, painfully began to pull back out, inch by torturous inch.

Pete watched, wide-eyed and wincing as the deathclaw plunged in and out, plowing the raider face-down into the floor. Grinding his stubby snout into the office carpeting, the creature's massive girth quickly broke Lucky's ass, his pink cock turning streaky red with blood as the bandit's ass rubbed raw, muscle yielding and tearing from the deathclaw's relentless pounding. With two sets of vicious claws holding his hips, Lucky's agonized thrashes went nowhere, his struggling squirms forced the deathclaw to grip tighter against his midriff. Grunting through each powerful thrust, the beast seemed to notice how quickly Lucky's ass began to rip apart, dribbles of blood spattering down his flattened ball sack as the raider's sphincter finally tore. The loss of muscle tone for its own personal fleshlight was easily remedied, the deathclaw casually raking its claws against the armadillo's side, almost as if the beast was petting the armadillo for being a 'good little cuck.'

The long, razor-sharp talons glanced over the bandit's armored bands of flesh, easily slicing through Lucky's bandoliers and vest. It barely needed to apply any pressure to carve long, thin divots in the hardened flesh. The real fun began when it reached a weak spot, where two armored patches overlapped. Slender claw tips easily slipped between the cracks, piercing the armadillo's supple flesh while catching on the next plate of heavy armor. Pockmarking the raider's body with dribbling wounds and welts, the beast sheared over his victim's sides like a cheese grater, peeling off thin strips of flesh and armor with each patronizing pet and rub. Suddenly alight with full-body agony, Lucky did the only thing he could do; clench down tight and scream as the deathclaw rearranged his kidneys with each powerful thrust.

Slashing down the raider's sides, the deathclaw picked up its pace, plowing its victim nose-first into the floor. The beast did not seem to care much for drawing out its pleasure, its hips slapping wetly against the raider's blood-soaked ass, a low growl escaping its jaws as lust welled up in its loins. Still raking its claws over Lucky's sides and back, the beast quickly turned any spot of open, soft flesh into a mess of chunky viscera. Dripping blood clung to long strands of ripped cotton, the remnants of his vest left in tatters as his life dripped out onto the pile of frag grenades that littered the floor underneath his chest.

Bloody viscera dripped out the raider's body, the deathclaw grunting as it began to rend its claws in deep, not satisfied with simply mauling the cocky fucker. Digging its claws in under the raider's skin, the beastly abomination peeled back the armadillo's thickened armored plates, as if he were picking at a wound. The rough patches of flesh yielded slowly, ripping off with gooey, fibrous noises, the flayed fleshy chunks discarded haphazardly like so much rotten meat. The smug smirk on the beast's face said it all, it enjoyed toying with its prey, ripping into the raider's body in new and exciting ways, creating a harlequin patchwork of flayed skin, juxtaposed next to the occasional armored band, still attached but utterly drenched in blood. Lucky bellowed the most horrific noises, the chastened raider no longer able to hold himself up anymore. The beast did not seem to care, his powerful thrusts mashing Lucky into a gooey pile upon the floor, picking up its pace as it used what little coherent flesh remained like a stroker toy, wildly masturbating with the armadillos twitching body. The jabbering cries only ceased at last when the deathclaw angled its hips down just a bit too much, a sickening CRACK ringing out as Lucky's bloodied face kinked up at a grotesque angle.

What remained of the raider's half-skinned corpse began to twitch and spasm wildly, the broken neck causing frantic synapses to misfire in the blood-drenched body. For its part, the deathclaw did not seem to notice, its deep and torturous thrusts had turned to frantic, almost desperate humps as it chased that orgasm it so desperately needed. Snorting out its broad snout, the creature's heavy pair of low hanging balls tightened between its thighs. A guttural growl escaped its throat, a final triumphant roar as thick and gooey cum flooded Lucky's mangled body. Hot spunk drooled and seeped out openings clawed in the raider's chest, like playdough mashed through a grotesque fun factory. A final, triumphant roar bellowed out the beast's chest, resonant and low as it pounded all the way through orgasm.

Slopping off the raider's filthy body, the deathclaw grunted as it half-heartedly wiped its cock off on what it could only guess was a piece of the raider's vest. Turning about, the beast fixed its gaze upon the springbok, a wry little smirk crossing its muzzle as it stared down between the farmer's thighs. Throbbing hard, and absolutely coated in drippy pre, the springbok seemed almost excited at the fact that his headstrong bull got ravaged right in front of his eyes. Licking its chops, the deathclaw smirked as it eyed over Julie's bound-up frame, the doe whimpering over her shoulder as the lumbering brute sauntered towards her, its cock throbbing as it prepared to get seconds on Pete's wife.

"Aaaand we're back, this is Mr. New Vegas and I feel something magic in the air tonight, and I'm not just talking about the gamma radiation..." the tinny voice of Mr. New Vegas carried over upbeat and boisterous voices inside a little bar near the Westside Co-op. Rough and hearty farmers rubbed shoulders with militiamen, and the occasional NCR trooper looking to sample the local flavor. But as the liquor flowed free and animated voices began to sing along to the next song on the radio, a rugged face slipped quietly past the crowd, making a beeline towards the bathrooms.

Pete grunted, trying his best not to walk funny as he pushed past the doors into the old latrine. The farmer took a few extra days to get his head on straight after what had happened, especially considering he needed to find someone with the expertise to remove the ill-fit cock cage from around his strangled junk. Saddling up to a urinal, the springbok grunted as he tugged down his pants, exposing his still sore and chafed junk. Giving them a soft rub, still a little worried he might have done some permanent damage, Pete hardly noticed that another man had entered the room, nearly jumping out of his skin as a hooved hand clapped down onto his back.

"Still sore, huh," a pink-skinned pig chuckled, his nose ring jingling as he stepped up to the adjacent urinal, casually unbuttoning his combat pants, before letting his fat cock throb out between his legs. "Dozer told me everything."

"Yeah, uh... Didn't quite go to plan," Pete chuckled, his shaft a little gunshy as he stood eyeing over the mercenary's cock. "But we got Julie back, and there won't be any trouble from Lucky's gang anymore."

"Hopefully that didn't create more marital problems for you," the hog chuckled, hot piss flooding out his cockhead, spattering against the back of the urinal in a torrential flow.

"Naw, she... She, uh, she knows I got a thing for being cucked. Made a real convincing distraction too." Letting his cock drop limp between his thighs, Pete sighed as he grabbed a small sack off his waist, thrusting it towards the mercenary. "Here, this should be everything we agreed on."

Still flooding out a torrent, the hog chuckled as he let go of his cock, the stream bouncing wild enough it missed the urinal once, then twice, splattering hot piss down onto the springbok's feet. Counting through the caps, the boar sighed as he thrust his paw inside, grabbing a handful before shoving the sack back into Pete's nervous hands. "Pete, we... we can't take all this."

"Why not? You saved our lives."

"Yeah, but... You're gonna need some cash for child support." As the thick stream trickled off, the hog grunted softly, shaking his knob three times before tucking it back in his pants. Clapping a hoofed paw against the farmer's back - stopping him cold the moment he finally managed to piss - the boar gave one last little chuckle as he added, "Sorry about that, again," before tipping his hat and moseying out the bathroom door.

Ducking out a back exit, before Pete had a chance to finish and catch up, the boar sighed as he turned his attention towards the Mojave sunset. Leaning up against a wall behind the old brick building, the deathclaw stood waiting patiently for his partner to return. Their outfit was a pretty sweet gig; the boar could liaise, schmooze, and pick up contracts in town, while the lumbering deathclaw cleared a bloody swath through whatever stood in his way. With a grunt, the boar sighed as he tossed the half-bag of caps over to his partner.

"Dozer, buddy..." the boar began, chuckling as he shook his head. "You can't keep letting your lust get the better of you." Dozer, of course, remained silent, the towering brute pushing off the wall to follow his porcine companion. Huffing out his broad snout, the beast simply let his companion do the talking. "You killed the target, and you immediately turn around to fuck our client's wife?" A wry smirk crossed the deathclaw's toothy mug. "No! No, no, I don't care of he was into it, that's not the point! You're acting like this whole contract was just some big game."

"He was into it, Corey," the deathclaw grunted, a broad grin cracking across his face as the pair walked down the dusty road towards the fading sun. His low, gravelly voice finished the thought with a bemused chuckle, "The game was rigged from the start."

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