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The Elemental Portals

Book I – Terra

Chapter IV – Contracts and Conventions

Rory Douglas made it through the dessert world of Panchaia easily, thanks to a cloak that changed colour magically to match the dessert terrain. It would not have fooled the snakes, but the Prince’s amulet kept they away. Once he passed through the portal to Hyperborea the magic in it ceased to work, but that was okay because its natural colour was a neutral white, excellent camouflage for the ice world. There had been a polar bear in armour guarding the Hyperborea side of the portal, but a wave of the .60 cal. revolver and a gold coin was enough to convince it to look the other way.

The next portal brought him to Terra, near Norumbega, the Capital City of the region that went by the same name. It was supposedly ruled by a hereditary Duke, but Rory knew that the real power in Norumbega was the Council of the Guilds.

There were guilds for every conceivable trade in Norumbega: A Construction Guild, A Thieves and Beggars’ Guild, which included minstrels and other entertainers, an Artisan Guild, and an Assassins’ Guild, among others. Rory was most familiar with the Trade Guild, which controlled all the buying and selling of goods in the city, including the shops and their hired staff. He had to deal with them whenever he traded with the bears on Hyperborea as he had no portal of his own connecting there. Although if he could move goods from earth across the Panchaian dessert safely he could cut out the middlemen, or middlecreatures in this case.

Tonight though, his business was with the Assassins’ Guild.

Rory packed his magical robe away; it wouldn’t function on Terra in any event, revealing clothes that were more suitable for the locale. He also packed away the useless revolver, relying on the short sword at his hip, several concealed knives and the pressurized gas pepper spray to protect him.

He stopped at a street vendor to buy a roast chicken leg and inquire about the date and time, pretending to have spent the last few days in one of the establishments run by the Harlots’ Guild. As expected, he was almost a full seven Terran days ahead of Arthur and his son’s arrival in Dougs-ur-Mark. He finished his chicken and thanked the proprietor for the paper napkin which he used to wipe his hands. Then he headed for the Assassins’ Guild Hall to see about the contractors Ross had recommended.

* * * * * * * *

The wonder of Earth technology wore off fast for Jimmy’s Terran guests. Gael was getting anxious being away from his forge for so long, and Junafir few tired of watching people having fun on the television shows while she was stuck indoors.

“Of course he picked the one with the blonde fur.” She shouted at the television set after binge watching twelve hours of a popular reality show. “After what they did in the hot tub, who else would he choose?”

“Don’t any of these people have a job to go to?” Gael grumbled, as he fiddled with a spinning device had found in the guest room. “And what is the point of this thing?” He cried as he gave it another twirl and watched to see how it would turn before slowing down.

Even Jimmy was feeling bored. He would have liked to call up Annie but if she found out he was back in town she was sure to come over. As it was, she would probably come by Tuesday to check the mail after the long weekend and they would have to clear out before she did.

He had found the open letter from the Gene Genie with the refund cheque. Annie had added a note explaining why she had opened it and expressing her sympathy for the disappointing results. She ended with, “Please cash the cheque and buy another DNA test, hopefully from a more reputable service.”

“No need for that.” Jimmy said to himself. “Mystery solved.”

Maybe he would cash the cheque and treat his guests to a nice dinner out, but then he remembered that wherever they went it would have to have a drive-through ... and vegetarian food for Gael, ... and lots of it, the Blacksmith ate like ... like a lot.

He had gone out shopping earlier in the day and had bought the essentials as well as a sack of oatmeal for Gael and turkey bacon for him and Junafir. He also bought enough greens to make the store clerk joke that he was running an underground rabbit breeding operation. Jimmy found it hard to smile back as the comment brought visions of Junafir’s mother with her cleaver to mind.

For lunch he introduced them to grilled cheese sandwiches. For supper he served vegetable fried rice with chicken nuggets on the side for him and Junafir and a massive salad for Gael. When they were finished, he brought out a two-litre tub of Kingston’s finest ice cream and they ate half of it while Jimmy explained the evening news to them.

One item at the end of the local newscast caught his attention.

“Cornwall is hosting its first Furry Convention as fursuiters from Montreal, Eastern Ontario and Upper state New York converged on the Saint Lawrence Seaway Centre for the first evening of the ‘Fur King or Country’ International Furry Convention. The theme for this inaugural furry gathering is Loyalists versus Rebels.”

The video playing behind the new anchor showed a number of people in various degrees of fur suit. Most wore just ears and tails but many had partial suits with heads and paws and a few had complete suits. British Ensigns and Betsy Ross Stars and Stripes flags and accoutrements featured prominently, as befitted the theme.

One particular fursuiter caught Jimmy’s attention. It was a woman, presumably, in a Cheetah costume. It had a very realistic head that was part makeup and part rubber. The ears and tail were articulated, activated by a controller built into one of her hand coverings which had claws and pads similar to Junafir’s, he noted. The reminder of the suit was skin tight and showed every curve and cleft that wasn’t covered by a short red dress and the feet were realistic depictions of Cheetah paws, made by gluing foam toes over stilettoes then cutting the tall heel off and painting it all to match the suit, the owner was explaining for the field reporter.

Jimmy paused the transmission as the camera pulled back to show the full cheetah suit.

“Hey guys, you up for a little outing tomorrow?”

* * * * * * * *

Each of the guilds in Norumbega had a guild hall where the business of the guild was conducted and major social events were held, but there were also a number of unofficial hangouts where guild members congregated to quaff more drinks than was advisable and complain about the senior guild members. The Blacksmiths’ hung out at the Hammer and Tongs while the Thieves and Beggars drank their cares away at the Open Palm. The Brush and Quill was always full of poor artisans and the Scar and Eye Patch was the pub where Assassins whiled away the hours between contracts. It was also the designated meeting place where clients could hammer out the fine details of contracts with the contractors of the guild.

The pub had been founded centuries before by a retired assassin. She had named it in honour of the injuries that commonly afflicted experienced assassins. It was a dangerous profession, one where being caught meant certain death, with the blessing of the guild no less, as it was the surest means of enforcing quality control. Close calls, however, often left marks that the assassins wore as badges of honour.

“What do you call an assassin with two eyes and no scars?” Someone would inevitably call out before closing time.

“A rookie!” Those clients sober enough to reply would call back.

On this evening a Grey Fox named Chris Cinereo entered the Scar and Eye Patch because his Guild master had told him that someone was interested in hiring him for a contract. Things had been peaceful around Norumbega for a long time, but that was okay because one did not assassinate in their own backyard, as the saying went. Still, contracts to the other regions had been rare lately too as the wars that had ravaged the neighbouring territories had ended. So he did not want to pass up the opportunity for a contract, even a local one.

The room went silent when he entered as the staff and drinkers evaluated him.

He was a tall lean fox with ashen-silver fur, where it was visible under his cloak. Once he doffed his hood everyone could see that half of his left ear was gone, burned off by the look of it. He also had a terrible scar that cut though his muzzle and ended under his chin, the kind a barbed chain might make if it just missed taking one’s snout completely off.

The clients relaxed. The grey fox was one of them. The bartender, Three-Fingered Mike, motioned toward a corner booth with his remaining two fingers. Chris looked that way and paused.

There was another fox already seated at the booth, and he did not look like a client.

The other fox was starring back at Chris through cold grey eyes that hinted at some off-world heritage. He had a scar also, one that started above his left eyebrow and got deeper as it ran down his face. There was a gap in it below his chin, but it started again high on his chest. Chris knew that the only way to get a scar like that was if one were diving backwards away from a sword strike a split second before the blade cleaved his head in two, but also a split second too late to avoid injury completely. He wondered what had happened to the creature wielding them sword, suspecting that a toe blade had taken them out before they could strike again.

He was obviously another assassin, but that was where Mike had told Chris to go, so go he did.

“You’re not a client.” The other fox said with an upraised lip as Chris slid into the booth.

“Neither are you.” Chris held out his hand. “Chris Cinereo.”

The other assassin looked at the hand as if it might bite. Not an unusual response when assassins met as it was not unknown for someone to take a contract out on an assassin that had killed someone they loved. But the guild only authorized contracts like that for extraordinary amounts of gold and neither Chris or the other fox looked like they would be worth such a price as target or contractor.

“Sevade,” the fox with the grey eyes said reluctantly, and then added in a lighter tone, “of the seven blades? You’ve heard of me?”

Chris shook his head. “Nope. Which Guild Master do you report to?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, come on. EVERYONE in this town works for a Guild Master, and while you may be experienced,” Chris pointed to Sevade’s scar, “you are no Master.”

“Maybe I’m starting my own guild.”

“By the Maker!” Chris looked around to see if anyone had overheard. “Don’t talk like that when I’m sitting beside you. You know that the Guild has a standing contract on anyone that tries to break away.”

No one was paying them any attention tough, so the grey fox sat back and shook his head. “You’re as nutty as the crazy old wolf that sometimes hangs out here. What was his name? Oh yeah, Frost.”

Sevade snarled and lunged at Chris’s with a blade that had appeared from the sleeve of his tunic. Chris caught it on a tri-bladed knife he had kept hidden under his forearm while they were talking.

“This is not my only knife.” Sevade hissed.

“I’d guess that you have six more, according to your appellation, but I have a pocket crossbow in my other hand, and it’s got a hair trigger.”

Sevade glanced down at the table but Chris’s other paw was out of sight under it. He slowly raised his grey eyes to those of the grey fox and studied them for several moments.

Sevade lowered his blade and slipped it and the one in his other hand back in their wrist sheaths. Chris folded his triple blade and brought his other hand into view to show the crossbow, cocked and ready. He did not unload it, but he did point it away from the red fox.

“Don’t you dare compare me to that piece of shit Frost.”

“Oh, you know him?”

“He was my Master in Darnis.”

“Was?”

Sevade shrugged. “I was a street urchin, an orphan. Survival was hard, and one of the pimps kept trying to press gang me into his stable of boys. I killed him, and in quite an ingenious manner, if I do say so myself. Problem was it was so ingenious Frost, who was passing through at the time, was accused of taking an unsanctioned contract. He had to figure out who did it to save his own ass, and he did. But instead of turning me over to the city guard he took me as an apprentice, arguing with the Guild Masters of Darnis that such talent should not be wasted.”

“But you had a falling out.” Chris guessed.

Sevade took another sip of his beer before answering. “He taught me everything he knew, but never acknowledged the good work I did, especially when I had to innovate on the fly to close a contract that otherwise would have slipped through his fingers. Having me around improved his success rate and his reputation grew, but he kept us moving around, afraid that if we stayed in one place the local Guild Masters would see where the real skill lay. He wouldn’t settle down and he wouldn’t grant me full assassin status, so one night when he was drunk I ran off.”

“I got as far away as I could, ending up here in Norumbega. Along the way I used the coins I had squirrelled away to buy forged release papers so when I got here I applied to the Guild and was accepted. Frost comes around every few months looking for me, claiming that he never signed the papers and swearing that he’s going to force me back into apprenticeship under him. But I’ll see him dead first.”

Chris sipped at his drink and nodded in sympathy. Sevade was in a tight place. The unsanctioned killing of a Master Assassin by an apprentice or ordinary assassin was punishable by death, but a Master Assassin could kill another if they had a grudge with them. Obviously Sevade was trying to stay alive and away from Frost until he earned Master status. Normally that would take many years of dedicated work, but if the right contract came along one could be put on the fast track to promotion.

Chris’s Guild Master had told him that this was that kind of contract, and he immediately became suspicious of the rival assassin’s presence. He shifted the pointy end of the crossbow back towards Sevade, who must have been having similar thoughts because he already had knives in both hands.

“Evening, Chris.”

The two assassins turned to face the new threat, a boar that was standing just out of sword’s reach and who was holding his shield in front of him. He was missing his right ear, wore an eye-patch and had only one tusk: another experienced assassin.

The boar nodded to the weapons they held. “You two not getting along?”

Chris sat back and redirected his weapon. Sevade did likewise.

“Evening, Wart. Do you know Sevade here?”

“Of the seven Blades?”

The red fox smiled, proud to be recognized. “Yes, that’s me.”

The boar sat down in the booth on the other side of him. “Never heard of you.”

Chris leaned forward. “Is this a social visit Wart, or are you here for the same reason we are?”

“It you’re here about a big contract, then so am I”

Before Chris could ask Wart if he knew anything about the contract or the client the room went silent. A tall red fox with bright fur and expensive clothes had just entered and he was conferring with the bartender. He was obviously a client. Three Finger Mike gestured toward the booth and the fancy fox walked over.

“Oh good, you’re all here. Don’t get up.” The fox said as he took a seat opposite them. “My name is Douglas, Rory Douglas, and I have a rather important contract to, uhm, execute.”

Sevade whistled. “The big trader himself. You’re a long way from Darnis, Mister Douglas.”

“Well, Darnis has run short of the type of expertise I need at the moment, and besides, the contract in this region and rather time sensitive.”

A life-long resident of Norumbega, Chris had only vaguely heard of the trader fox from Darnis. He was supposed to have almost an army of his own creeps and thugs and had a reputation for using them when ‘negotiating’ delicate trade deals. So anyone he wanted to take a contract on must be very, very important. Which brought his mind back to the presence of the other assassins.

Under the table he angled the small crossbow so it was pointing roughly at Sevade’s femoral artery. If he was off a bit it wouldn’t matter because the pain of the bolt passing through the other fox’s testicles would be enough of a distraction … he hoped. He could see Sevade’s arms shifting about out of the corner of his eye and knew that his fellow assassin was readying himself to strike also. He didn’t worry about Wart because the boar favoured long-range weapons. Despite his size and rough appearance the boar hated close-in fighting and was not likely to get into a e brawl over a client.

“How many targets are there?” Chris asked.

“Just one.”

“Then why did you ask for three assassins? Is this …” he shot a glance at Sevade, “… a competition?”

“No, no. It’s just that the target is likely to be protected, by sympathetic locals if not actual guards. My tactical expert, Mister Ross, calculates that the odds of success are just better than one in three. Sending three assassins brings them up to almost a certainty. I’m hiring you all at the standard retainer. If you work together you can split the completion bonus, which is sizable. But if you work separately whoever makes it back with proof of completion gets the whole thing. Here, I brought tree copies of the contract, all duly notarized by your guild.”

Chris and Sevade reluctantly freed a hand each to pull the proffered paperwork towards them. Wart took his in both hands and mouthed the words as he read them.

“Retainer of … yeah, yeah … completion bonus of … By the Maker’s left ball! That’s a lot of gold.”

Sevade whistled when he reached that part and even Chris was impressed. Completing a contract for that sum would go a long way towards achieving Master status, but not if it was split three ways.

Sevade voiced what they were all thinking first. “I’ll take this contract, but I work alone.”

“Given the present company I would rather work alone also.” Chris said, and added, “No offense Wart.”

“None taken, but I’ll take this contract, Mister Douglas, whether these two join in or not.” He squinted at the other two through his good eye. “We can sort out the split later; after the job’s done.”

Chris shrugged. He didn’t mind working with Wart, and a two-way split was still a handsome reward. He was certain that the other fox would refuse, but Sevade surprised him by agreeing with the boar.

The client rubbed his hands together gleefully.

“Alright then. As you can see in the contract your target is a human. A young man with bright red hair. Now listen closely, this is the proof I require you to bring back …”

* * * * * * * *

Jimmy got up early on Saturday morning, despite having stayed up late the night before trying out the new condoms with Junafir. He had picked up a box of thirty-six regular size ones at the drug store on his way home after doing the groceries. The elderly female clerk at the counter had raised an eyebrow and advised him that “These don’t keep forever, you know. We sell them individually and in three packs, if you even need that many.”

Clearly, she did not think that he did, but they had gone through four of them the night before. Although, to be fair, the first one had broken because they were a little tight on him and when Junafir touched it with one of her pointy claws it had split from base to tip. Jimmy planned on getting some large ones today, but he would go to a different pharmacy to get them. The first probably wouldn’t take back the unused ones in exchange in any event.

He picked out clothes for Junafir and Gael that would cover up the fact that their furriness went far beyond the average fur suit. Athletic shorts and a loose T-shirt for Junafir, with a hole for her tail cut just below the elastic waistband, and cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt of his father’s for Gael.

“The trick is not showing skin where a suit would have seams, like the shoulders or under the arms.” He told them. “And, uh, the same for the area the shorts cover. Try not to talk too much when we get there, and if you do don’t move your lips. You want to make it look like you just have a really good mask on.”

They had agreed to his terms and were excited to go. He bought the day passes online in his name, Annie’s name and his father’s, using information he already had stored in his computer from purchasing other event tickets. He just hoped that they wouldn’t ask for ID from all three of them when they registered.

For the drive down to Cornwall he took the old highway instead of the four-lane 401, because he had promised to let Junafir sit in front and that way no one would be cruising along beside them and see her big tiger’s head staring back at them. He also wanted to show them some of the scenery along the Saint Lawrence Seaway, especially the island chain along the Long Sault Parkway.

The two Terrans were impressed by the scenery, by the big boats in the Seaway and the architecture of the old towns they passed through. Gael was most interested in hearing about the Pioneer Village where, Jimmy told him, they had a large blacksmith’s forge and a working water-powered sawmill. Unfortunately, they could not visit, not during the daytime, but Jimmy thought that they might be able to give it a try at Halloween, when the pioneer village was open at night and lit up by thousands of carved pumpkins. That was if his dad didn’t kill him for bringing Terrans over in the first place.

He brushed the thought aside and continued to drive.

He was gratified to find the parking lot of the convention centre packed with people wearing all sorts of fur suits. There were complete suits with big cartoonish paws and heads, and many, many partials with the missing portions hidden under shirts and shorts, just like those Junafir and Gael were wearing. He even saw the Cheetah from the news, posing by a fountain while fans took her picture.

“Just grin and stare glassy eyed until we get inside.”

Registration went smoothly as Jimmy had been able to verify their ages online in advance. The young man at the desk had asked to compare the photos with the participants but when he saw Junafir and Gael he shrugged.

“I’m not going to ask that you remove such wonderful costumes. You are both obviously adults and that is all that matters.” As Jimmy signed the form the fellow leaned over and added “And by the way, tell your old man for me that that is one impressive physique. If I wasn’t taken ….”

They had already started attracting attention while waiting to register, and it only got worse as they entered the lobby full of furry fans.

“Oh my God! Look at that mask. It looks just like that horseman guy on Netflicks.”

“He’s much better looking than that.” A slim blonde with rainbow ears and tail purred as he reached out to stroke Gael’s arm. “And the suit is soooo sheer. It feels just like real horse hide.”

One of the Conventions security force, a fellow with a partial grey fox outfit with a blue uniform shirt, trousers and a lack leather utility belt leaned in. “Remember the ‘no touching without permission’ rule Billie. Next time I see you groping without asking you’re out.”

“Right. Got it.” Billie watched the security officer nail he was out of earshot. “Gray muzzled old fart. You didn’t mind me touching you, did you ... ?” Billie looked up expectantly.

“Uh, Gael.”

An equally adoring group had formed around Junafir, although they were admiring what they thought was a suit more then the occupant.

“I have got to have one like this!”

“Where di you get this done? Did you do it yourself?”

“Tell me, confidentially, what did it cost?”

Jimmy pulled them away from the crowd. “Let’s find a quiet corner and check out the schedule for the day.”

There were craft workshops, a session with the Guest of Honour and a discussion on what it meant to be gay and furry, the usual fare.

“Let’s go check out the marketplace and Artist’s alley.” He suggested.

He soon wished that he hadn’t.

The room was crowded, and despite the ‘no touching without permission’ rule they were often squeezed against other patrons. Jimmy noticed that the blonde with the rainbow ears always seemed to be close by.

Gael was uncomfortable in the packed room but Junafir was enjoying the vibe from the crowd. She wanted to buy everything but had no local currency, just some gold coins she had saved up. Jimmy had to explain that even the smallest of her coins was worth much more than most of the items she wanted to purchase. He saw it as an excuse to get Gael out of the crowd though.

“Let’s go back to the Lobby. I saw an ATM there. I’ll withdraw some money to, uh, loan you and we can come back to buy a couple of things for you, Junafir. Gael can wait in the restaurant for us.”

Both agreed to the plan. Jimmy took them to the restaurant first, where he asked the hostess to seat them in a booth in the farthest corner, away from the rest of the convention goers. He told Gael to order whatever he wanted and informed the waitress that he and the tiger would be back soon to order also. Then he left with Junafir to find the ATM.

Gael held the menu up in front of his face and asked for a salad and a glass of water. The waitress returned with them a couple of minutes later, and she asked if he was ready to order anything else

“I’ll wait for my friends before I decide.” Gael said from behind the menu. He kept it up as he listened to her walk away. Before he lowered it he felt someone slide into the booth beside him.

“You two were quick. I just ordered and ...” Gael froze. The person beside him was not Junafir or Jimmy it was the blonde with the wandering hands from the lobby.

“Well, hello again ... Gael, was it?”

Gael remembered to keep his mouth and face stiff as he talked. “Yes.”

“I’m Billie, with an ‘ie’, no ‘y’, because I never ask why. I just live in the moment. And at the moment I’m looking at one swole treat. TBH, you’re the Gucciest thing to walk in her today and I was, like, wondering if you were up for a casual smash?”

Gael had no idea what the blonde human was talking about, so he just sat there with his face frozen in a neutral stare.

Billie locked his pale blue eyes on Gael’s large hazel ones in an unblinking gaze that seemed to go on forever. Finally, the human spoke again.

“Soooo, you’re the strong silent type, are you?”

“Yes.”

“You do speak English though, don’t you?”

“Yes. Do you?”

Billie threw back his head and laughed, slapping Gael on his muscled thigh as he did. When he stopped laughing he left his hand there.

“Not from around here?”

“No. I’m very far from home.”

“Well! Welcome to Cornwall, or Cornhole as some of us refer to it.” Billie stroked his rainbow ears to emphasize something, but Gael did not know what. Down below the table Billie’s hand was moving back and forth on Gael’s thigh, slipping more and more inside as it went.

“So, Gael. Do you have a room here for the weekend?”

Gael swallowed. He was not inexperienced, but he had never been approached by another male before. He had often wondered what he would do if he was though, and to his surprise he found that he was not entirely repulsed by the human’s advances.

“No. My friends and I are just here for the day.”

“Oh! That is too bad. But if you are here for the whole day maybe we could go for a walk later. I know a few, uhm, private spots by the river where we could get to know each other better.”

The big Blacksmith looked down at Billie. The human was slim, almost girlish in physique, and was dressed in the kind of frilly, colourful clothes that he females here seemed to favour, judging by what he had seem on the television. Gael did have a thing for smaller, softer creatures though, especially if they took the dominant roll in the relationship. More than one young female in Dougs-ur-Mark had given up after waiting months for Gael to make the first move.

A lump had formed in Gael’s shorts one that was impossible to avoid given the current range of the thigh stroking. Billie cooed when his hand traced its length.

“No wonder you picked a horse as your fursona. You can guess why I’m a little pussy.” Billie giggled and pretended to wash his face with his paws. “But I do have sharp claws”. He made his point by digging is long painted nails into Gael’s growing erection.

It did nothing to slow its progress, if anything it accelerated the inflation.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.” Gael heard the zip as the fly of the shorts Jimmy had lent him opened and felt Billie digging about inside until he managed to wrestle the semi-stiff prick out.

“Oh - My - God! It’s got a flat tip! What is this? A rubber extension?” Billie stroked and squeezed the thick tube, felt it’s warmth and the pulse of the blood rushing to fill it. “No! Did you get cosmetic surgery to make it match your suit? You are one hardcore furry, Gael.”

“Uhm, I don’t think... maybe we should put that back .... before my friends ...” But Gael made no move to take Billie’s hands off of his prick. In fact, he found that he was leaning back in the booth with his arms spread across the back of the bench seat.

“I’m just going to give you a quick sample of what you’re in for once I get you alone.” Billie propped up a couple of menus to block the view as he leaned down.

His hands were moving up and down Gael’s cock, one clasped on top of the other and still there was plenty left uncovered. Billie opened his mouth wide and sucked the first few centimetres of the stiff cock inside. With some spit and a little bit of the fluid leaking out of Gael’s rod he managed to take in another two fingers worth, but it was too thick to go any further down his throat. Instead, he bobbed his head up and down as he stroked the shaft with one hand and dug into Gael’s shorts to caress his balls with the other.

Gael sat back, his whole body as stiff as his cock, his face frozen in and open-mouthed stare that made anyone looking that way wonder why they had thought the horse-head mask was so convincing in the first place. His eyes were locked on the entrance to the lobby, where the wait staff congregated, praying that none would come to check if he wanted anything else. Out in the lobby he saw Junafir talking with a bunch of male humans who all had the same pattern of jacket. He wondered why Junafir was talking with them alone and if they were soldiers, they looked fit enough, but he had more urgent concerns at the moment.

He had laid with a few females during in his days roaming about, before he settled in Dugs-ur-Mark, but they had been quick, conventional engagements. No one had ever put their mouth on him like this, let alone a male. It raised some conflicting emotions in him.

Physical sensations and anxieties vied for dominance. The exciting feel of a warm mouth on his cock, and a lively tongue tickling the slit in the flat head of cock battled with the fear of being caught doing it in public. The sense that he was doing something wrong by letting another male pleasure him fought with the thrill of letting another male pleasure him. And the hand rolling his balls against each other, the other with its tight grip on his shaft, massaging the pulsing rod of hot meat as it travelled from base to tip and back made Gael fight to keep from cumming in the blonde human’s mouth.

“Bobbie … maybe you should … if you don’t stop … I’m going to … Ahhhh … Bobbie …”

Gael put his hands on either side of Bobbie’s head, intending to pull him off before things went too far, but he hesitated, just a bit. Bobbie took the heavy weight of the Blacksmith’s calloused hands as encouragement, and he picked up the pace.

“No … you … don’t … understand … it’s … too … much.”

“Moo mush mwat?” Bobbie asked, his mouth still full of cock.

Gael never had the chance to explain that the size difference between equines and smaller mammals meant an exponential increase in the capacity of their testicles to produce sperm and seminal fluid. Lacking any formal schooling, he probably would not have put it in those words anyway. He would have just said what his father always said, “Horses cum by the bucketful”, which was usually followed by “so go to the privy to do that otherwise you mother will have to spend the next six years cleaning your sheets”, but that was beside the point at the moment, sine he was already cumming.

Horses also cum with tremendous force, and it was already too late to stop it. If there was nothing to catch it the spooge would shoot up almost as far as the ceiling and then rain down on Gael, Bobbie and the table. The propped-up menus would do nothing to hide it, so Gael tightened his grip on the human’s head and held on as his gut clenched with the force of his orgasm.

Bobby sputtered, but this was not his first rodeo, so to speak, and he gamely tried to gulp down as much as he could in the moments it took for the bulk of it to shot out of the biggest penis he had ever wrapped his lips around. He almost succeeded, but the sheer volume of spooge defeated him. Like a kid being slapped on the back while sucking down a thick milkshake he gagged and half of it shot out his nose.

Gael held Bobbie’s head down until he felt the last spurt pass through and the human was struggling for air. He released him and Bobbie came up gasping and wiping creamy horse cum from his face.

“Wooo! I think I almost passed out, but I came too, before I came to … maybe there’s something to erotic asphyxiation after all.”

Gael took one of the cloth napkins and started daubing the gooey globs of nasally ejected spooge off his shorts. “I’m sorry, Bobbie. I couldn’t stop it.”

“Oh, don’t apologize … pass the napkins, please … that’s the most fun I’ve had in weeeeks. And I can’t wait to feel that trouser python of yours in my ass. What say we get cleaned up and go for a little …”

“Gael! Have you seen Junafir?”

Gael looked up to see a worried Jimmy standing outside the booth.

“Oh, goody, your squad has returned.” Bobbie’s said with less than full enthusiasm.

“Junafir? Last I saw her she was talking to some men in purple uniforms with their Liege Lords crest on them.”

“University jocks. I saw a bunch heckling the fur suiters outside earlier.” Bobbie offered. “They’re all avocados though.”

“Ava- what?”

“Avocados. People who seem straight but are actually gay … part time at least. Guys like that show up at all the furry cons and pretend to act offended and manly but they’ll all hoping to get a little ass … like mine. They are not picky though. Your tiger friend a girl or a guy?”

“Does she look like a guy?” Jimmy frowned

Bobbie looked offended. “Hey, you can never tell around here. A full suit hides a lot and not everyone is into honest advertisement like me.” Then he smiled and turned back to Gael. “Now, where were we?”

Jimmy threw enough cash on the table to pay for Gael’s salad and then some. “Come on Gael, we have to find her before she gets into trouble.”

“Right behind you.”

“Gael!”

The Smith looked back to see Bobbie holding his hand beside his head with his pinkie near his mouth and his thumb by his ear. “Call me. The number is on the door of the second stall in the lobby washroom.”

Gael hurried to catch up with Jimmy, more confused than ever.

Not seeing Junafir in the lobby, Jimmy raced through it toward the exit. He stopped outside to let his eyes adjust to the bright light and to look around. He heard a familiar giggle and turned his head to the left. There, off to one side and half hidden by a hedge there was a path with a sign labelling it as the smoking area. The sound had come from there.

He ran down the walkway and navigated the small labyrinth that led to the smoking area as fast as he could. It opened onto a small patio surrounded by a few benches and a number of pots of sand for the smokers to squash their butts in. No one was on the benches, however, as all the occupants were gathered in the centre of the patio, where one of them was holding up a smartphone that was blaring the latest dance hits.

There were six or seven of the university students, varsity Rugby players according to their jackets. They were all gathered around Junafir, who was dancing and gyrating in total abandonment while they all tried to rub up against her at the same time. Some had already pulled their cocks out and they had pushed her shirt up to expose her breasts. One of them was trying to pull Junafir’s shorts off, but he couldn’t figure out how to get them down over her tail because every time he let go of the waistband to control the weaving appendage she would laugh and turn around on him.

“Stop it!” Jimmy shouted. “Leave her alone.”

The group paused long enough to size Jimmy up. The boy was alone, Gael having made a wrong turn somewhere along the path. They were not overly impressed by what they saw.

“Fuck off, kid. Go find your own furry playmate.” They went back to dancing and rubbing against Junafir, but a couple of the larger ones kept one eye each on Jimmy.

Jimmy wanted to charge the bunch but his father’s training made him stop to assess the situation first. He looked around and saw a long push broom leaning against the hedge, used to sweep up dropped cigarette butts no doubt. He turned his back to the group and stepped over to it. While he unscrewed the handle Gael arrived, a little winded and flustered. He saw what the men were attempting to do to Junafir and snorted a challenge. Jimmy stopped him before he could charge and whispered a few words in his ear. Together they stepped back onto the patio.

“Hey assholes!” The group paused again when Jimmy shouted. “I guess I should have expected to see a bunch of pussies at a furry convention but I didn’t know they came with pansies too.”

“Oh, you are so fucking dead …” one of the largest ones, their leader no doubt, and two others broke from the circle and charged the two intruders.

One went for Gael, thinking that it was a horse head mask that made him look so big. His mistake. Gael cocked his fist and punched him straight in the forehead, knocking him out cold. The other two went to tackle Jimmy, one high and one low. Jimmy brought the broom handle out from behind his back as he stepped back and to one side. The low tackle missed completely, the assailant’s own momentum sending him into the hedge. Jimmy swung the staff he had created around and under the grasping arms of the other tackler, leveraging him over on his back and then striking him on the side of the head as he raised the stick back up.

Three more jumped to their teammate’s assistance, leaving one back to hold onto the one in what they still thought was an elaborate tiger suit. This time the two largest went for Gael while the third danced around Jimmy, ducking and weaving to avoid the jabs from the makeshift staff while he looked for an opening.

Jimmy kept his eyes on those of the attacker. He saw him focus on something behind him and registered a noise from back there, a rustle of branches. Without looking back he raised the staff as if to strike the one in front of him but instead drove it straight back where the fellow had been looking. There was a satisfying crunch, a scream of pain and something warm splashed the back of his leg. The remaining attacker’s face fell in shock and Jimmy used the split second of distraction to swing the staff up and around, shutting the guy’s mouth for him with an audible ‘clack’.

He looked to his left. Gael had taken one of his assailants out but the other had gotten the horse in a powerful headlock. Gael roared and lifted the big rugby player right up in the air while his head was still locked into the guy’s armpit. Then he threw himself to one side. The guy had two choices, release Gael or have his head driven into the patio stones. Wisely he chose to break away, rolling back up onto his feet and charging again with a bellow that would have made an ox Gael knew proud.

Jimmy was holding off his attacker easily. He didn’t want to hurt the guy more than necessary, he just wanted them to leave him and his friends alone. The last of the teammates must have mistaken his mercy for a lack of skill though, because he made a move to get around to the side for a flanking attack. He pushed Junafir to one side and lunged.

He did not get far. Off balance, she clutched at his arm, digging her claws into the leather of the slippery jacket, and the muscle beneath. He screamed and swung at her. She ducked and snarled at the sudden show of violence. He saw the long fangs and felt her fiery breath and suddenly realized that she was not wearing a costume. Before he could work up enough air to scream again, she was on him.

Jimmy saw her pounce and feared that they would have to stand trial for manslaughter, or tiger-slaughter in this case. He whacked his opponent on the side of the head hard enough to send him to a new dimension for an hour or so. Gael meanwhile had met his foe’s charge head on … literally. The Blacksmith’s skull proved to be the thicker, and he was just arranging the unconscious rugby player in a comfortable position as Jimmy ran to pull the angry tiger off the human.

The guy had gone into shock, although not from any loss of blood. It was a good thing that he had kept his thick leather jacket on as his clothing had been slashed to ribbons yet there hardly a scratch on the him. But his eyes were fixed and empty, his mind full of the image of those fangs and claws coming for him like something from a horror movie.

“Looks like the fight has gone out of him.” Jimmy said as he brushed Junafir off and adjusted her clothing to cover her properly again.

“I saw this when I was in the army.” Gael told him. “Battle shock. Strange that a uniformed soldier would suffer from it so easily, but you never can tell. Must be his first time in battle.”

“In this kind of battle anyway.” Jimmy conceded. “None of the others look like they suffered any permanent damage. Let’s get out of here before they come to though.”

They had to help Junafir walk as she was unsteady on her feet and would have fallen now that she did not have a circle of men holding her up.

“How did you get separated?” Gael asked as they carried her toward the car.

“After she picked out some art for her and a pair of tiger paw oven mitts for her mother I stayed to pay and she got sweep away by the crowd. I thought she must have gone to join you but when I just saw you sitting alone I went to see if she was outside and dropped the stuff in the car then went back to the market to look for her. When I still couldn’t find her I panicked and, uh, I hope I didn’t interrupt … I mean …”

Gael’s hide went a deeper shade of red but thankfully they had arrived at the car.

Once they had sat her down of the back seat and opened the doors to let the air through Jimmy asked her, “What happened to you? Did they give you something to drink?”

Her words were slurred. “Oh no. You told me not to let strangers buy me drinks so I wouldn’t go to the bar with them. They said I was a smart tiger and asked if would go to the smoking area with them instead.”

“I didn’t know that you smoked.”

“I don’t. No one in Dougs-ur-mark does. Your father doesn’t hold with selling liquor or tobacco or durgs … drugs, not like some other traders. But the boys had something safer than smoking. It’s called Vaping. Little magic sticks that produce harmless steam when you suck on them. Have you heard of them?”

“Yeah, that’s not much better than smoking, but you should be okay if you just did it once. I’ve never seen a nicotine high as intense as this one though. I guess it’s because it’s your first time.”

She shook her head, and almost fell over from the effort. “No, no nico- narco-teens for this tiger. That’s the tobacco stuff. They gave me tea in their sticks instead.”

“Tea?” Jimmy tried to remember all the different flavours of vape juice he had seen in the stores before they had put it all behind the barriers with the cigarettes. “Green tea?”

“No, tea hasty.”

“Hasty tea?”

She looked exasperated at his ignorance. “No, they called it tea hasty. Liquid Four-twenty with tea hasty.”

“THC? Jesus Junafir, you were vaping marijuana!”

“Mary’s iguana?” She giggled.

“Strap her in Gael, we’ll get no sense out of her for a while.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back home.” Jimmy sighed. “To look for a magnet and wait for your stuff to be shipped.”

Paul Collieman © Collifan

Gael Tholkes © MarcusXLight

Junafir Pawstone © Frostlupus

Ruth Pawstone © Bunners

Chris Cinereo © Kyroo Echos

Sevade © Frostlupus