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

21

Adrian was propped up onto an uncomfortable contraption, that looked quite a bit like a saw-trap if it was missing all of its 'lethality'. Rusty and degraded at the edges, as though it had been pulled from the storage closet after its prior use a long long time ago - a time in which it hadn't been cleaned, and was probably rusty then, too.

Filler's house was now a stadium. It had a second floor, although that's in the past tense, as it had been completely ripped down at its floor and walls to form a massive room, making the room more of a 'hall' than it was a 'house'. The sound from the microphone and speakers echoed around and shook att he exposed drywall on the walls.

The rodents, high out of their minds, swung freely around on the chandeliers and tipped over beer cans and loose booze. The stench of them was amazing. The girls formed into their groups and sat at tables, that were really just bits and pieces from the wreckage of a once furnished party.

"Alright folks! You know how this works, right?" Filler's hooves avoided the syringes across the table, all primed and filled. "Its like shots. Two contestants, going back and fourth in 'rounds', first furry to drop is the loser, while the furry who stays in his chair is the winner."

The blood on Skim's cuts were getting to his feet. Not exactly stab-marks, more just scratchings and bites. Hux hadn't wanted to do it. Filler had - through pondering methods - insisted.

"Oh, and we're making it harder. As a bonus, we're gonna rise up the 'Scoville scale' on these drugs, so to speak. First we'll start with the lighter stuff." He bends down in dramatic pose to point at the foods, far left side of the table. "Edibles, all that. That's all kiddy stuff, though... but here, we've got the snortables." Onto cocaine, in such a pile, that if you were to kick it the room would look like a baking commercial. "Ah yes. Coka-cola, ladies and gen-tel-men."

Adrian wriggled in his chair, the trap like a large, metal belt - securing him into place. It seemed to tighten. "Southy..." He whispered.

Skim stared forward, unmoving, despite having heard him.

"The rest is pretty straight forward, we'll find out as we get through it."

A burst of cheers from the audience.

"Final rule. This one's new. Because we've got two players with us this evening, we're gonna have a decision between both parties, on whether we should initialise a tag-team system for both teams."

"Who is vuh... v-versing who?" Skim says quietly.

Filler meets the sheepdogs eye. "Me versus Adrian." He grins. "Like the good ol' times... Sooo... if you guys decide on tag-teaming," his eyes flick to meet Skim's, "You'll have to participate, too."

"We're not d-doing it." Said Skim.

"We're doing it." Said Adrian.

"What the fuh... fuh-f-fuck, dude? I don't do drugs."

"This is your mess as much as it is mine."

"Bullshit."

"Southy." Adrian mouthed, concern in his eyes.

Skim stared.

"I can't win this. This guy... he's a lunatic." He took a deep breath. "I'll die."

"Guh... good."

"Southy-"

"F-fuck you... you..." He bit his lip. "Ruh... ruh, r-raped me..."

Adrian opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His ears flicked down.

"I hope you do die. Slowly, and puh... p-p... painfully."

"I..." muttered Adrian. And it was all there. All flowing back and digging its lethargic teeth into the back of his neck, those thought... that man... that border collie who pushed and pulled... and bucked his hips together until - you're so good to me, Addy - and god knew that he tried to take the pain away. Fuck he had tried everything just to make it go away, just to forget about those little things. The little scratches on his mattress and pillowcases. That smell that always stuck in the room afterwards, and the breeze could never just pick it up and - so, so good - carry it off and into the evening.

"D-Die." Said Skim.

"Alrightio," Filler cleared his throat. "I guess I'm the tie-breaker, then. I vote... yes. Yes, we will have teams. Now, let me introduce my team member."

Skim and Adrian stirred. They looked around, everyone did. No one was making any reveals, any spicy little openings, or walk-ins. The door on the front of the house, creaked open and shut as a nighttime wind softly pulled at its hinges.

The humming of a car. A quiet, decently expensive one. As it turned and its headlights beamed into the house, the room become a gathering of anticipated shadows. Dog-like ears quivering at each noise.

Quiet enough for a pin to drop.

"Say." And Filler's voice was raw, and sudden. "Can I tell ya something, Masky?"

The racoon snarled gently.

"There's a lot of perks to growing weed." He smiled. "A lot of 'em. But my favourite, and it'll always be my favourite, is that when you grow it for the right furrys, you get to call some favours."

The car hummed to a stop, the driver got out. And who could it be... but the otter himself, dressed up quite nicely, with that same, scared little expression on his face - and that same quivering cigarette stuck between his lips, like a splinter in an open wound.

Filler smiled. "I liked the couches."

Skim's eyebrows furrowed. "W-What?"

"Awh, c'mon. The couches. Ya know, with most businesses, I'm really not into all that overpriced 'inflation' bullshit. Leather this, leather that, right?"

Skim felt his chest tightened.

The otter beside the van, opened the car door for someone else.

"I didn't think you'd have them in your living room, though. That's a little self-promotional, right? Even for Roy's standards."

"No. No... n-no."

"Yes, yes yes, Skim. Yes."

The otter reached within the car, as though he were unblocking something. His top end disappeared for a little while, and he was just a flickering tail and two legs, both twitching with the stress of it all.

When he leaned back, the unconscious passenger was in his arms. Sleeping soundly, its little body snug against the otters skinny chest. The sack wrapped over its head didn't seem to be distressing it.

Adrian's eyebrows raised at how gold the little pup's tail was.