Furry High (furry 'coming of age' story) R18+

20

Adrian understood. He pulled the gas-mask away from the dogs face, unclipping it from the rest of his suit with a shaky, life-threatening struggle. He pulled it away and the smell of stomach acid slashed up into his muzzle.

Vomit leaked from the mask, clogging the respirators, dripping down and hitting the dog-bowl in the tent by pure accident.

The teen's face, a brownish, furry kind, stared out in an unaware trance. He seemed to want the mask back.

Then he made a funny little expression, and Adrian rolled him onto his side as he convulsed up some more grungy food at the foot of his dog-bowl.

"You're alright..." The sheepdog soothed.

Tears formed at the base of the the canine's muzzle.

"Everything's alright..."

"I could've..." The dog began, his eyes rolled around in his head like a faulty compass. "I should've stayed... he'll..."

"Shhh..." Adrian soothed, interpreting this - by lengthy experience - as an episode of post traumatic stress from this dog's past. Usually with the 'poundered' kind, the neutered pets of these awful, popular people, trauma was served to them more frequently than meals.

"Skim... he'll..."

"What? Hey... what did you say?"

"God... its too late..."

"Stay with me, you said Skim. You mean a racoon?"

The dog's eyes widened, his chocolatey ears twitched a little from the recognition. He gave the slightest of nods.

"Stutterer? S-s-says things like this?"

The dog smiles for a second, until his expression suddenly shifts. He reaches for his gas-mask desperately. "Please."

Adrian stares.

"I can't be seen like this. If Filler catches me again... I'll..."

"I know. You're okay now, alright." Adrian said, in attempt to be soothing. God, Ren is so much better at this stuff. Calming people down, getting them help... heh... maybe he got all the empathy from mum. And I got all the shit from dad...

"Please." The dog begs.

"If I give it back, you have to take me to Skim."

"He'll kill you... he'll... kill you."

"Who...? Skim?"

Then there was worry in his eyes. A tut-tutting sadness. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

But all he could do was shake his head.

Adrian left the dog behind. It was all he could do, once the canine had insisted to stuff his face back into his vomit-filled mask and slowly choke on it on the floor.

Adrian had stuck around to make sure it wouldn't be dangerous. He made a little mental note in his head to come back and check on the dog, once he had gotten Skim back alongside two ounces of beautiful Dog Nightmare and everything would be blown over.

Or maybe it wouldn't be. Maybe the only thing that's gonna be blowing are my brains. Directly out the back of my head. Or blowing some weirdo in the basement of their crackhouse, with my neck chained with a collar just like Hux's here.

He hurried his pace when he heard the screaming.

The shrill shrieks of girls. The sudden absence of music. The mumblings of teens wondering what was going on.

"Fuck..." Adrian mumbled, and he suddenly had his gun trained onto the air in front of him.

He creaked open the front door.

The crowd were all gathered around, staring at something whilst the sheer mass of their bodies blocked the attraction.

As Adrian guided his shaky limbs into the damp, sweat-smelling air of the house... a voice floated through a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." The voice crackled.

Suddenly, there's enough of a clearing to see the stage. One that's been made from tables and chairs piled onto each other like an IKEA kingdom, all smelling and stained from oozes and boozes.

On the top, stood Filler the horse.

On the bottom, chained naked to the chair, with scratches lining up his body into bloody gashes, his eyes bloodshot

... was Skim. Tied up. Gagged and terrified.

"Skim!" Adrian yelled out.

The racoon tried to say something, but it only came out in a stuttered cry.

"The moment, you've all been waiting for!" Filler's voice boomed.

Then suddenly, Filler's hoof was trained in a direct line over to Adrian.

Everyone turned around. They stared at the gun in Adrian's hands with indifference, as though it were a mere prop for the show that were about to unfold.

I'm scared to give you all the details... they still hurt and bubble up in this Masky mind of mine. They still boil over and quiver, shaping me into this thing that I've become. This meth-cooking bandit. This gun-slinging outlaw, with no laws left to out.

Two ounces.

And I had been thinking this, tied to my chair, staring at this sheepdog, unsure whether I was excited for this gruesome death he were destined to. Thinking about those two fucking ounces of whatever it was that had started all this...

For that, had just got the ball rolling...

And now...

That ball falls from the cliff's edge.

Chapter 3

Mete-Out

It's not long before the sheepdog was tackled to the ground, the gun yanked from his grip by the brute strength of the horses who ran these events. He was lifted to his feet, and dragged up on stage.

"Skim!" He called out on the way, "I'll get you out of this! Don't you worry, Southy, I'll f-" The horses clamped his muzzle tightly shut.

And now he could see all of it, and his shock were just the same as Skim's had been.

That sheer anticipation of trauma. The sheer mass of it all. The powders, the needles, the tablets, the rolled goods, all of it rolled like the arsenal of a drug-dealers personal pharmacy, a real chef-selection of all the chemicals that could kill you...

... and here they are, lined up in a strange order across a large table.

What a wonder, just how many were there! All of these drugs! Perfectly arranged, perfectly untouched.

"Now now, ladies and gentlemen, quiet down, quiet down!" Filler seemed to really be getting a hard on for all this.

Skim squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying to chew at the leather belt lodged in his teeth.

"I understand its been quite a while since our last 'mete-out tournament'. Even longer so since we've had our good friend Adrian as one of our challengers." He grins that awful yellow. "So, without further a-due, let me remind y'all of the rules..."