FSE

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The girl leaning back against the bar had a tent in her skirt. There was a wolfess on Sevens' right getting awfully friendly with a snake boy's posterior. And on the stage up ahead, the lead vocalist was wearing a tight leather number, with a painfully obvious bulge between her legs. Sevens was sweating. The entire club was... what? He still didn't know exactly what Pandora was. But whatever she was, there was a lot of it here. He swallowed, and forged on through the writhing, dancing, grinding crowd.

And much as he'd finally recognized them, they had recognized him-- he was being stared at. He never quite caught someone's gaze, but in the corner of his eye, people stopped to look and whisper. Of course, this only seemed to make it harder to get anywhere. Giggling, androgynous couples stumbled into his path, making out and feeling each other up, blind to his scowls. He had to detour, and duck aside, and turn around and throw up his paws. He didn't even know where he was going. He tried to pick his way over to somewhere with a better view when he felt what was most definitely a paw on his butt. He whipped around with a snarl, but only the anonymous crowds milled before his eyes.

With a huff, the coyote spun on his heel and forged on-- straight into the chest of a rather solid deer. The man had half a foot on him, not counting a healthy rack of antlers amidst which a glowstick halo had been suspended. A dozen curved claws of bone caught the light, seeming almost suspended in nothing over the stag's head, all pointed at Sevens. The larger man smiled, but his eyes were dark. "'N' what're you doin' here, then?" The music was cacophonous, but the rumble of his voice cut through the noise. Heads turned.

The coyote glanced around. He adjusted his hoodie, trying to put on a casual air, though he was shooting daggers everywhere he looked. "I'm looking for someone, alright? Who are you?" Damn good question, what he was doing here. But after that night... He just... he had to talk to her. Yeah. Talk.

The stag tilted his head, one eye in shadow and the other catching the light as he smirked at the obviously anxious canine. "You can call me Saint Peter." His arms folded slowly, deliberately. He was putting on a tough guy act, but he was a little on the flabby side, really. "'N' whaddya want with our girl?"

He wished he knew. There were a lot of things in his head, and some of them he really didn't want to think about. So he told himself he was here to... get revenge, or something. "I, uh... I liked it." He glanced around, hoping his voice was swallowed in the noise. "Last time was pretty hot, so I wanted to come see her again." The lie slid off his tongue just a little too easily. There wasn't anybody he actually knew here, right?

The so-called "Saint" narrowed his eyes, staring at the coyote shifting his feet. Finally, he turned, and nodded his overburdened head for the canine to follow. The crowd opened right up for the stag's plodding departure from the dance floor. Sevens managed to slip in behind him just before the crowds closed up again.

Once more into the dark hallways. When light bloomed again, he found himself in a softly lit suite, a deal larger than the room Pandora had taken him to. Couches and chairs, plush with padding, lined the room, and there was even a bed off to one side. A variety of furs lounged here and there, but the place was quiet. Many were locked in various stages of intimacy, while some simply talked. The light was a cool blue, tinged with purple. But...

"Where is she?" Sevens couldn't see her anywhere.

The Saint leaned back against the back of a couch, regarding the coyote with yet another smirk. "You wanna see Pandora, you'll have to prove you're comin' for the right reasons." His nose dipped down a little, giving him a confiding look. "Believe it or not, sometimes we see guys come in here 'cause they've got bad blood for someone or other, and they'll say just about anythin' to get their hands on one of our girls when they've got their mind on it. So... you'll have to prove you're the real deal."

Sevens kept a very straight face. "So... what do I have to do?"

This grin actually looked authentic. "Bend over."

Teeth ground behind black lips. He'd just about seen it coming, but... what the hell did he do now? This was the only way he could get to her, and if he didn't find this damned "girl," he'd probably never have a proper orgasm again. A slow, nearly silent sigh. He turned to a nearby chair, and reached to grab the back. His paws felt heavy, but he got them up on there. He shifted back, pushing his ass out, and shot the stag a look. Maybe it was just a little test, and that'd be enough. Maybe...

Smirking slowly, the stag moseyed on over to the proffered coyote rear. One firm tug dragged his jeans down, baring his hind end for everyone to see. A subtle draft kissed his pucker, reminding him it was still a little overly sensitive. He shivered despite himself.

A sharp smack popped a yelp from his lips, and the coyote bit tightly at his lip, half-turning his head and glaring at a nearby couple, both wearing dresses and apparently completely engrossed in each other. His ass was still jiggling slightly. He tensed it, trying to still the motion, but that just squeezed a louder noise from him when the second spank landed.

The Saint chuckled. A hand set on his ass, and a thumb jutted suddenly against his hole. Sevens caught his breath in his throat, grasping tight at the chair. This should be enough, right? He'd proven he was... like that. A firm push, and he stretched open, taking that thick digit with a rasp that had almost come out a moan. This guy had... big hands. He closed his eyes, trying to relax, but that thumb just plumbed away at him, plunging in deep and dragging out, feeling up his insides. When it finally popped free, he barely managed a sigh of relief before two fat fingers were wedging at his hole. A yelp and half a howl squeezed from the coyote as the stag worked them in, wriggling and shoving deeper and deeper, till the Saint's knuckles were grinding against his cheeks.

"Hmmm," the deer rumbled, "you got it from her, alright. Took my fingers like they were nothin'." He snickered as he dragged out. "You shouldn't mind this, then..." The soft zip seemed deafening in Sevens' ears. His head craned around, but he didn't have to see-- he felt a big, fat dick flop against his ass. The stag seemed to like that, actually-- he gave the canine's cheeks a few thwacks with that weighty shaft, bouncing it off and watching them jiggle.

Finally, the coyote dragged his lips open, "h-hey, isn't this enough? I've proven I'm into it, but I wanted it from her." Hearing the words come out of him rankled, but he'd say what he had to.

"Into it?" One heavy brow cocked, catching the soft glow of the stag's glowstick halo. "You haven't proven shit, yet. Here..." He dragged that slowly drooling head down between the canine's cheeks, jamming it to that tense pucker. "Take me to the balls on your own. That'll prove you're 'into it.'" The stag's meat tapered to a narrow point at the end, and the pressure alone had his head half-buried in that pucker.

Sevens bit down on his lip. Well, it wasn't like he couldn't handle it-- from what he'd felt of the guy, he was big, but no match for Pandora-- his was a cock of the mortal realm. If that's what it took to get at her... He drew a deep breath, and gripped tight at the chair. Staring at the carpeting between his spread feet, he focused on relaxing. Just the ease of tension slid the stag's head in fully, and Sevens had to stifle a moan. Dammit. He had to be more careful, or it'd look like-- well. He guessed he was supposed to seem like he liked it. Another deep breath, and he pushed back.

It was drooling all over him, and while it wasn't exactly smooth, the stag slid right in. Sevens let a low, shuddering moan roll from his lips before convulsively seizing down on the shaft a moment, breathing out a shiver. In little time at all, the stag was tapering to thick, throbbing flesh, and he was stretching till that shaft was rubbing along his cheeks on the way in. He had to keep going, though. His arms flexed as he took a death grip on the chair, holding himself steady and forcing himself back even as his tailhole strained and protested, remembering only too well the harrowing experience of the other night.

Finally, the stag's hips pushed to his ass, and the broad curves of two massive, weighty balls snugged in against him through his jeans, still barely tugged down enough. If nobody could see the hardon he was sprouting right now, he was happy enough with that. He chewed at his tongue. Damned weakness of his. But he could turn it to his advantage here, at least. And now that the Saint was fully buried, he was sure-- he really wasn't nearly as big as Pandora. He was probably actually a little smaller than Sevens, in fact: no more than two and a half inches thick, he reckoned. He squeezed tight around that slow-throbbing length of rockhard flesh, and strange things crept in the back of his head. Not nearly as big. Not as... satis--

A sharp draw pulled his breath through his teeth in a rasp. The stag's hips swung back, and plowed in again, shoving a sudden cry from the coyote that had entirely too much of a slutty ring at the end for his tastes. He swallowed bitterly. All the better to keep up the image. But what the fuck? "You said that'd be enough, asshole! I--" his voice died a moment as the stag drew again, and pushed in slower this time, a long, hungry, firm stroke. "I... did it on my own. I've proven I like it. Now, I came here for her, not you, are you gonna--?"

"'Into it.' You've proven yer into it enough to do it on your own." The Saint worked long, luxurious strokes into the coyote's ass now, slowly easing out and allowing the canine's ring just a moment to ease close a bit before being shoved wide open again. "But to see Pandora, you gotta prove you LOVE it. And that... is gonna take some more involved testin'." He chuckled darkly, pausing just an instant to give Seven's ass a smack before plowing in again. "Nfff... I gotta say... you haven't got much of an ass on you, but you've got a pretty nice hole. Good on ya, tightening up proper so quick after she's used ya." He snickered, plowing in roughly, and working into a deep, firm assault on the bitterly growling canine's ass.

"Oooohh, I heard you had a new toy, but I never thought!" A high voice, pitched rather oddly, raised behind and to one side. "That's the boy Pandora was talking about, isn't it? The really hung one?" From the lilt, he had to guess it was a woman. "Awww, you shoulda texted me, B!"

"It's Saint Peter tonight." He could hear the smirk in the stag's voice. "Boy thinks he can come see Pandora again, so I'm puttin' his love for cock to the test." A pause, and he was grinning. Audibly. "You wanna help?"

"Ohh hoho, you're terrible and I love you. Mmm... you know, I think I do. He's cute, in that angry way."

"Only makes fuckin' 'im in the ass that much more satisfying." The stag paused, dropping his arms-- and swept the coyote's feet out from under him, hefting him up into the air folded in half. Sitting on that dick. "Here... room for one more."

"Ya big paluka! You know I couldn't reach all the way up there! Could hardly even get the head in!" Sevens' vision was swimming a moment, trying to re-establish in the dark room when he was already a little dazed.

"Hmmmm. Ah, I know." The stag backed up a few paces, and fell-- plopping back onto another couch, setting the coyote bouncing atop his dick with a yelp. Finally, the feminine voice drew into his view, and his eyes slowly focused on her.

She was a ferret, in what almost looked like a schoolgirl outfit. She wore a devious little smile as she considered him in turn, from his mussed hair all the way down to his exposed, stuffed hole. There was something odd about her, though-- she seemed... off. And the more he looked, the more it came together: she was a boy. It was hard to tell, but her makeup was smudged off in places, and rather overdone in the right ways, and her voice sounded... fake.

Of course, it did support his theory when she flipped up her skirt and whipped out a cock. She was smiling widely now, her slender little hips swaying elaborately even with the two steps it took to bring her intimately close. "Never thought I'd get a chance at you, babe... so glad you came back." She leaned in close, a paw resting on his chest, and her head tilted just when their noses would touch--

"Candy." The stag's voice was firm.

The ferret paused, and looked up, giving a wry little smile. Her name was Candy? "I know, I know!" Her eyes fell to the coyote's, and she winked playfully. "Maybe next time, cutie. But in the meantime..." She leaned in, while the stag pulled his legs up tight against him. A hot tip tickled around the edge of his strained hole. "I'll just have to give you a down payment..."

"H-hey! Th' fuck're you--?!" Sevens bit off the words in a rasp, having a hard time breathing in the stag's tight hold, but the tip was already wedging in, burrowing against the side of the stag's beast to shoehorn into that taut hole. Choked noises spilled from him as he stretched, and suddenly, the head popped inside.

"Mmmmm... long time since I've shared a boy. God, it's a tight fit..." She gave a noise that might have been a simper as her paws slipped up to grasp at the coyote's chest. "Mmm, you poor boy. You'd probably never even feel me now, if it weren't for our... Saint, here." She gave a teasing smile, glancing up. "That's what she does to folks, after all." One of her paws slid down, rubbing over his crunched belly. "But there's other uses for a pretty little boy..." She sighed, and dragged her paw back up. "Just not tonight." She smiled brightly now, and drew her hips back to give him a firm thrust. The odd burst of friction tearing up just one side of him, making one wall sizzle while the other only pulsed dull against that thick elk sausage, set his insides churning in confusion. It felt... unbalanced-- compromised. And worse-- the stag was starting to move.

Just slow, easy strokes, a long, agonizing drag and a slow, unrelenting push, but it dragged all along his insides-- except for in front. To the slow, bass gravel of the elk's easy strokes, Candy was a rocky staccato, stabbing in and out impatiently at his strained hole. She surged against his inner walls in all directions, grinding against the underbelly of that beast stirring his guts one moment, raking at his prostate the next. Together, they ravaged his insides at once fast and slow, deep and shallow, rocking his core while scrabbling at his worn ring and his tender button. Not to mention the odd shape-- his ring was stretched rather oblong around them, and with every thrust of the smaller ferret shaft, the shape changed, his hole straining one odd way or another. They really were stretching him out-- warming him up for the real thing with all the tenderness of a drill sergeant. Or... a drill.

Breathing was a problem. He had enough trouble coordinating basic motor functions as his body trembled with under the assault of bizarre sensations, jolts of electricity jumping from his loins to his very toes, his fingertips, his eartips, but the coyote was half-crushed besides. The stag's broad chest and belly heaved against his back with his deepening breaths as his Saint started to enjoy himself, and those huge, can-crushing hands had his legs pinned tight to his belly, giving not an inch even as that slab of meat he called a torso surged up to crush him against that grip. He was folded up and helpless again-- that was how he seemed to end up here. Whatever his intention, he was folded in half for easy access to what they wanted-- his hole. His stomach churned in protest as that very hole was pillaged-- the constant flux of pressure was throwing his insides into chaos, a constant push and pull overlapping and counteracting itself from one moment from the next, leaving him suddenly stuffed, and suddenly so very empty for less than a heartbeat. He would have been nauseous, if the scintillating pain and pleasure washing up from his worn hole didn't wash away such simple, dull sensations. He was too busy being fucked to be sick. That was the simple logic his body seemed to be offering him now.

His head flopped back helplessly, and hot, bitter air washed over his face. His nose wrinkled. The Saint was panting down on him, his nose a couple inches above his like this. Sevens' ears folded back, his eyes flicking about and away, but he couldn't miss the elk's smirk. "Havin' fun, boy? Ya look a lil... discontented. Should we go faster?" The stag's words were mocking, but his hips promptly pounded up, nearly pushing the coyote's eyes out of his head. That beast was thickest at the base, and with the ferret already practically hilted in him, they were stretching his hole something vicious. He groaned through his teeth, a tight, breathless sound, but he managed a nod. And a forced little smile. "Hmmm. Just let me know if it gets to be too much." With that, those heavy hips rolled down, and heaved up again. He couldn't match the ferret's urgent, hungry little thrusts, but he was working into a powerful piston action, stretching the coyote out mightily with each greedy thrust.

He had to act like he was enjoying it. This was his test, and he had to fucking LOVE this, or he wouldn't even get to see that bitch. Sevens struggled for a deep gulp of air and grit his teeth, clearing his head. "That..." he managed a grin now, not quite looking the stag in the eye, "that's more like it." His paws clasped weakly at those iron arms holding him folded, squeezing as his body gave a weak little roll to push against one of those heavy thrusts. Just that motion helped squeeze the beast in a hint deeper into his gut, shoving against some organ or other inside him that had escaped harassment up until now. A gurgle melted into a groan in his throat, his toes wiggling erratically at the ceiling. The two that seemed to hover over him now chuckled softly.

Candy's was more of a titter, really. She rubbed at his chest, half using it for support, half just caressing his convulsing muscles. She was dragging his shirt up, running her fingers through her fur with little devious smiles as her hips pounded in, smacking at his balls where they hung suspended in his crumpled, half-drawn jeans. He was still almost completely pantsed, but the massive tent in the crotch was pretty obvious by now-- though she seemed to pay it no mind now. She just fucked the tight little crack of his ass she'd claimed between his straining walls and that beast that was taking to reaming him, squeezing him that much wider for her pleasure. He might not have minded, if her cock didn't have just the perfect goddamn curve upward to nail his g spot every once in a while-- each time he thought he had a bit of a handle on himself, she suddenly nailed that button dead on, and purple lightning jolted through his loins, setting that damn traitor dick of his throbbing and spitting pre all over his jeans. They were a damn mess by now, he could feel the slime pooling and starting to spill down over and around his balls. Maybe it'd help lube things up a little at this rate.

"Nnnf... oh, he's just too cute... I don't think I'm gonna last, B..." The ferret was whimpering and starting to claw at Sevens' hide, her brow furrowed and her eyes closed as her strokes slowed to deep, tender humps.

The Saint chuckled. "Oh, you go ahead 'n' blow yer load, I'm sure 'e'll be glad to have it. Innat right, kid?" He turned down, puffing that sour breath over the coyote's muzzle again.

Sevens swallowed and hauled his head up, managing a smile for the ferret. "Just shoot it nice and deep, alright? Don't want it spilling out before the big guy's finished." He wasn't sure if that's what they'd want to hear, but judging by the sweet little grin Candy gave him, it couldn't have been too far off the mark. She started pounding away at him again, mewling and making a variety of rather blatantly feminine noises as her claws dug in. When she finally hilted and moaned out, a hint of a deeper register slipping through, the gush of hot juices was a relief-- if only because she was lubing up the beast still lumbering about deep in his bowels. The cruel, greedy shove of her hips, trying to wedge in tighter and tighter, did lever him open painfully wide, but a moment of gritting his teeth behind half a smile, and he survived. The ferret pulled out with a coo.

"I hope your girl takes you back, honey. But... if not... I'll be around, alright?" She smiled sweetly as she tucked her spent shaft back in her panties and pulled them up nice and tight. The Saint rumbled at her, but she gave him a dismissive little wave, "oh, I'm sure he'll pass. You don't mind if I stay and watch, do you?" The stag didn't apparently, and she took a moment to smooth her skirt in the front, smiling once more at the coyote before withdrawing to claim a nearby loveseat.

As soon as she'd slid free, he'd had to bite down on a sigh of relief. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but after that, even the stag felt... comfortable, buried to the hilt between his cheeks. It hardly felt like a strain at this point. The downside, of course, was that the stag seemed to have picked up on this himself. Or at least, he'd noticed the smaller canine was taking him quite easily now-- and he took it for an invitation.

Without the ferret to accommodate, Saint Peter promptly heaved up, lifting the canine into the air, and whipped around to plant the coyote on his knees on the couch, his head and shoulders slapped onto the back. He'd never pulled out, but with one massive trunk of a leg planted on the couch next to his knee, the elk had a good mounting position on the coyote to abuse. One hand planted on his back, pinning him to the couch and using his ribcage for support, and the other gripped the coyote's hip, holding it tight in place. The stag drew.

Sudden, deep, powerful, buffeting strokes pounded at his ass, the full length of that elk log claiming hold of the depths of his ass in a relentless, surprisingly spry rutting. His hole was stretching and contracting rapidly around the tapering girth of that creature, every drop of juices washing around his hole soon getting stirred up and put through the stress tests as heavy duty lubrication. His cheeks were even soaked in juices by now, each impact of hips to cheeks a wet, punishing smack punctuated by two blundering orbs ramming against his own denim-encased sack.

The sofa was shifting with each thrust-- the impact resounded through the full length of his torso, jarring his slowly crushing ribcage against the sofa with enough force to lever it back slightly. Two feet jumped just a hint off the carpeting each time, before the force of the stag's one foot shoving at the sofa planted them down again. Sevens was fairly certain at this point the stag was just trying to kill him-- to either suffocate him by pushing the air right out of his lungs with that hand taking root on his back, or to crush and destroy his ribs altogether with that hand and the pure force of his hips, or to rupture some vital organ with the vicious stabs he was starting to unleash on his insides with that pointed, tapered weapon he liked to call a cock. Now that Sevens was taking him easily, he was abusing this privilege to its fullest extent-- he supposed he didn't get a chance like this often. Those massive, muscled hips pounded in with a certain terrifying fervor, brutalizing his ass with no consistent speed or even direction so much as a frenzy of motions that roughly came out as forward and backward. His ass was dragged around, side to side, up and down, following the erratic stabs of those hips as the tip sheared at his inner linings, as though trying to find a weak spot to pierce through into the good stuff. He fucked and fucked at that ass like he'd never gotten any before, like he never would again. Like he didn't care if he broke someone else's toy. Sevens was pretty sure he was that kind of ass.

The deep rumble of an orgasmic groan rolling up in the stag's belly was a double relief. Partly because it meant that there was hope in sight that he would survive without being crushed or torn open or who knows what. And partly because, dammit all, it was getting to be pretty fucking hard just holding back his own load. His balls seemed to pulsate every time those huge buggers the elk kept between his legs slapped against them, and he was steel hard and throbbing beside, dribbling almost constantly down his pant leg. He just prayed he could hold out-- he didn't know if he could take it if he came just from being fucked by this pig of an elk and his little girly trap friend. Pandora was-- a special case. But these guys were riff raff in his book. He wouldn't-- he wouldn't cum.

The elk was lowing and moaning and making the most terrible, feral, thundering noises, and Sevens got the dirty feeling he was just declared a nice, bred bitch in old-fashioned elk-ese. Those hands closed, and he thought his hip might shatter under the sudden, brutal tightness of that grip. His ass sure as hell wasn't going anywhere-- or so he thought, till those hips swung in like a wrecking ball. The couch heaved forward, his back may have been broken, and either he was bleeding internally or the sunovabitch finally let loose. His consolation was that he doubted he could bleed that fast-- heat exploded inside him, flooding the depths of his bowels until he felt bloated and vastly overfed. Don't cum. Juices were rolling down his crack, some seeping inside his pants, a lot just rolling down the outside. Don't fucking cum. He was throbbing like he was gonna burst one way or the other, but he bit down viciously on his lip. Just gotta outlast that throbbing, gushing, pouring--

His pants yanked down around his knees. "Can ya see?" The elk called.

Cold air seized at his cock, and he seized down around the beast in his gut. His balls heaved up, and fat gobs of cum suddenly painted the back of the couch, just under his chest, before he knew what the fuck was happening. Oh, god. Oh, god mother damn fuck, that felt good. His hips jerked and jolted, and he spent himself into nothing, just shooting and shooting and squeezing down tight on that beast rammed up his ass.

Candy giggled noisily and murred. "Oh, I can see loooooots..."

The elk shifted over to one side-- Sevens didn't see it, but he could feel the way that shaft leaned to jut into the opposite wall. "Hmmm." He chuckled slowly, a low, gravelly sound, and that sour breath rolled hot over his ear. "Well, ya proved it now, kid. Ya love tha cock."