27 Hours After (Furry, Sex-Crazed Huge-Dicked Beasts, Male Domination)

Story by Lithier

This story is written to stand alone, but it is a sequel to 27 Minutes After. As you may guess, the whole thing is jus a lil bit of a horror movie parody :P Enjoy!

27 hours after containment breach, a crash and a rumble echoed across the river. The old drawbridge shuddered and swayed under the cooling winds of the night, reluctantly dragging its immense central platform down one more time. Alan and the last few survivors had managed to hole up here long enough to make a plan. And Alan was it.

He was alone in the pickup, now. The tiger wrung slowly at the steering wheel. In the rearview, Josie stood watching with a soft, fretful expression. That bear, Dreck, stood with a paw on her shoulder, and Alan looked away. That kid, the skunk, was off to the side, looking about as out of it as always. Just the four of them left. That's why he'd agreed, really. Three was few enough.

The lights on the bridge below picked out patches of the horde. Savage creatures, once his friends and neighbors, now swollen with muscle and overwhelmed with primal lust. They had lapsed into a violent orgy when their prey fell beyond reach. They were only noticing the drawbridge's descent slowly.

Alan flicked on the radio and searched a bit. He was going to need some noise. Some of the channels were dead, but he could still pick up a few. A screech resolved into the beginning lashes of a vicious metal tour de force. He turned the volume as far as it would go, and his eardrums throbbed as the vocalist harmonized and swore.

Heads poked over the edge of the platform. Golden eyes swung his ways, slitted and flashing in the headlights. He slammed into the gas, and metal angels heralded his launch into the seething masses. Skulls cracked and bodies broke under his bumper, tires rolling over muscle-bound limbs as that hunk of metal he called a truck tore through the horde to meet solid road. Only one tire made contact-- the rest anchored on crushed flesh. He tore out all the same, plastering yowling beasts to his hood as the guitars revved.

Plowing through the creatures, Alan was thankful for every entirely unnecessary ounce of horsepower the beast of a truck could muster. It was Dreck's-- football, guns, and overly powerful automotives seemed to be his answer to life. When people started turning into sex zombies, he bet the bastard couldn't have been happier. How Josie could like such a hulk of a man was beyond him. Not that he knew much about what she liked in a guy, he supposed.

He was swerving to avoid the creatures, now-- not so much to keep from hitting them, but to not hit any dead on. Flinging a creature off the corner bumper was easy, but it was hard to shake off one that got nice and planted on the hood. He took the first turn as fast as he dared, managing to swing off a battered, oversized dingo that had been clawing weakly at his windshield. Electric banshees flayed their own vocal cords as he picked up speed, weaving down the road with the ass of the truck swinging to smash up just about anything he'd missed. Just don't look in the rearview, he told himself.

It wasn't like he'd known anything about what she liked, really. She'd just worked at the same place as him, and he thought she was cute. He'd told himself at night that this was his chance to get with women again, that he had lots to offer a woman. He'd psyched himself up, and imagined how things could go so well, if he just got up the courage to ask her out. And he'd never fucking thought to ask if she had a boyfriend.

A pouncing wolf promptly caromed off his roof with a yelp as the heavy riffs seared the path to hell. Alan stared at the road ahead, pumping the gas pedal against the floor as his snarls were lost in the shrieks of animals both natural and electronic. Another turn, and he made the mistake of glancing out the window.

A solid, seething tide of frothing creatures, all claws and teeth and disproportionate cocks, was rolling down the street after him. With the turn, the tide crashed into the building on the corner, and it crumpled-- windows blew out, chunks of concrete were sent flying, and the creatures clambered over the walls trying to get ahead of the pack. Street signs snapped out of the ground and disappeared under the stampede, and a tree trembled, bark peeling from its sides and its branches bowing or breaking under the weight of lunging creatures. He had to drag his eyes away from the pure savagery, the oncoming flood of lust and violence. He was passing the prison.

That was the plan: draw the beasts away, clear a path to the prison. Without a thousand sex-crazed monsters on their heels, they should be able to close the place up, clean out whatever's inside, and have food and supplies to stay alive and safe for weeks, at least. They just needed a decoy. And that's where his li

... more on the forums ...