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“Adrenaline High” by Kandrel [18+]

[18+] Today’s story is “Adrenaline High” by Kandrel, who really wishes his future dystopias would stop coming true.  The story was originally published in Feral by FurPlanet, and you can find more of Kandrel’s stories on www.foxyonline.com.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcript
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Today I'm reading an adult story for mature listeners.

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If that's not your cup of tea,

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or if there are youngsters listening,

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you can skip this one and

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I'll have a new story for you next time.

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and today’s story is

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“Adrenaline High” by Kandrel,

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who really wishes his future dystopias would stop coming true.

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The story was originally published in Feral

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by FurPlanet, and you can find more of Kandrel’s stories

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on www.foxyonline.com.

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Adrenaline High

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by Kandrel Three miles up and counting.

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Air’s thin. Clouds at my feet.

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Glass beneath my fingers.

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Look at the world spinning slowly below.

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Ground cars below tram rails below hover lanes below city copters.

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A million little lights skim over the distant surface

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dotted with old skyscrapers.

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Like glow-flies between blades of grass.

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Wind catches my flaps, but I’m holding tight.

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Effortlessly. Fingers are tipped with bonded gecko-skin prosthetics.

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Whatever it had cost

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(and it hadn’t been small)

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was worth it. Prosthetics for my hands, bionics for my limbs, metal for my bones, and silicon for my brain.

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Three miles up, and with the smog I'd've been dead two hours ago

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if I hadn’t had filters in my lungs.

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New Angelas was not a city friendly to wet tissue.

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I stop again to let the hydraulics in my legs cool down.

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They've carried me this far,

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but I could feel the steam rising from them.

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Good job, boys. Take a few minutes off and I'll climb under my own power the last few hundred feet.

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For the millionth time,

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I check my wrist.

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On it is a patch of bare faux-skin kept permanently free of fur where a smart tattoo tracked my progress.

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Pigments beneath my skin

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show the whole of Magnolia Tower,

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all thousand and eight stories tall.

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It glowed through my hide with phospho-luminescence reverse engineered from deep sea fishes.

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Here I am on the nine-hundredth-and-eighty-third story.

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Any story now I’d find the right point of entry.

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Light flares. Automatic compensation in my implanted retinas dims my vision

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to preserve my night-sight.

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Twenty feet to my right an express elevator scythes past at fifty miles per hour,

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audibly decelerating before it hits the top of the tower.

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Windows are dimmed.

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Don’t know if anyone can see out.

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Don’t care. It’s a dark night with no moon.

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I don’t even need my chameleon suit to be unnoticed,

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but I’m wearing it anyway,

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because I’m a fucking professional.

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That’s why, while all those runners down at street-level were sprinting at top speed just to scrape together enough for their next fix,

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I’m up here getting paid in megacredits.

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They didn’t hire just anyone for corporate espionage.

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If I were caught,

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I’d be a liability.

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No matter how good a mind-wipe protocol I ran, a talented psyk could still lift enough details from my cranium to link me back to my employer.

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So instead, the plan is to not be caught at all.

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Sound good? I think so too.

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I think that’s what I’ll do. Just never be caught.

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Good thing that’s what I’m best at.

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It’s what I was designed for

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—first by being born in the flesh,

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and second by being born again in metal and silicon and carbon fiber.

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Not to say my natural talents weren’t significant before I decided to undergo the surgery.

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I was the son of an ascended,

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so already I had the jump on the poor skin-walkers I saw everywhere around Magnolia Tower Arcology.

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Dumb, deaf, blind, weak humans, convinced that their superior intellect and their possession of thumbs somehow made them gods of this earth.

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Well, more the fool, them.

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They gave us stupid animals brains,

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and now we’re smarter, faster, and stronger,

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and wonder of wonder, it turns out thumbs can be artificially implanted!

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Mom hadn’t been a fan of the modifications.

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What can you expect from a first-gen like her?

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Her parents had been sugar gliders au-naturale, barely more than zoo specimens.

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Then Agri-corp happened, and all the animals caught the smarts.

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Even so, she’d been a naturalist.

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Only ever wanted things the way they’d been grown,

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rather than the way they’d been made.

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Natural food, so scrawny fruits and discolored vegetables from organic farmers when we could buy perfect tomatoes and genetically superior bananas from the local store at a quarter of the price.

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Natural scents, so our little mid-story hole smelled worse than the factory reprocessed air outside.

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Natural friends and natural neighbors, so clothes were a rarity.

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I’d had my education in the sugar glider anatomy by an early age.

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Dad hadn’t even been ascended,

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so I guess her sex life had been “natural” too.

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I guess I should be grateful that she’d gone to see a doctor when she’d been with me and my two sisters,

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or we might have come out stupid hybrids.

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Life’s not so good for the sub

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-sentient these days, so I have that to be thankful for at least.

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She'd even given me a name she said was native to the region where we were from. Djarrtjuntjun. Hell, I can't even pronounce it, and it's mine.

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I don't care if it's traditional—it's unusable.

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Had she given me anything of actual worth?

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Well, yes. Everything, really.

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Don't think I'm ungrateful.

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She gave me all the tools that made me what I was today. Sleek fur?

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I call it natural insulation.

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Webs arm-to-leg? Watch me fly.

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Tail as long as I am high?

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It’s called a rudder.

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Freakishly large eyes?

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All the better to see you with, dear.

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All my cybernetics just enhanced what I already had,

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improving them from the home-grown variety of breaking-and-entering tools to an industrial-grade cybersafe-cracker mounted on biological wings.

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You should see me work.

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I’m a piece of fucking art.

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And they pay. Diamond earrings and gold connectors for my craniojack pay.

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Premium vat-bred caviar and designer synthetic champaign pay.

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I live like a king among gliders.

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I’m the duke of flaps.

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They call me petauridae superioris.

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I call myself Jun.

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And if you’re not pulling in a corporate bankroll,

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no, you can’t afford me.

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Two stories up the side of the arcology and I see darkened glass.

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Hand on the window emits ultrasonic vibrations, too high for the security microphones to catch.

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Vibrations come back.

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A map forms. Executive office.

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Perfect. In the window frame are vibration sensors.

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A short electromagnetic pulse fries them without setting off the alarm.

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In the corner across the room,

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a motion tracking infrared camera.

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Ultraviolet kilowatt laser through the darkened glass

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burns out its vision.

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Prosthetic fingers cut the glass

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and I’m in, scampering through the sharp hole.

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I make sure not to catch my sensitive webbing on the glass.

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Blood would be too identifiable.

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Nice comfy executive chair behind a desk way too large for any human to actually fill,

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but that didn’t matter.

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Other than the holomonitor display, it was completely empty.

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Why did he pay a secretary, if not to have the full desk for him.

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I hop down. Plush carpet beneath my feet.

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There’s probably other smaller motion detectors, too small for my scan to catch,

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but they won’t catch me.

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I’m far too small.

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Stupid executives still stuck twenty years in the past, when corporate espionage didn’t break into your nine-hundredth floor office on four legs

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and webbed wings

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in a package no larger than one of their soda cans.

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Their old security just wasn’t built to catch me.

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I find the computer jack built into the CEO’s desk.

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In my backpack were multi-jack adapters.

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It takes me a minute to find one that fits,

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then another to hook up the interfaces.

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I don’t bother “hacking”.

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It wasn’t necessary. It never was.

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I count on one truism:

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business people hate computers.

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They’re finicky. They’re logical. And every month, just like clockwork,

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they tell you that your old password just isn’t good enough anymore,

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and you have to come up with a whole new one!

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How inconvenient!

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The desk has drawers.

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They’re locked, but it has old keyholes rather than electronic locks.

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The keyholes are so large I can almost fit my hand inside.

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It’s pup’s play to align the tumblers and push the drawer open.

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In the top one, just where I expected them to be,

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are post it notes. On each one is a litany of profane worship to the gods of cybersecurity.

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“ThisIsAPassword123!”

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“WhyDoIHaveToChangeThisAgain5?”

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“OkayJamesThisIsANewPassword4.”

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“StopBuggingMe99”

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All arranged in reverse chronological order,

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they went on for years, one a month,

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and occasionally more frequently when poor mister personal-jet-and-weekends-in-the-saychells

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-CEO forgot his password.

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Again. And again. I follow the chain to its miserable end,

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then log into the system with

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“ThisIs25CharactersOrMoreSoStopTellingMeToMakeANewOne”.

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I’m in. Why bother with high-end hacking software when you’ve got a low-end user?

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I’m in and out in seconds.

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It didn’t matter what account I’d hijacked.

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Accessing these files is about to get me some serious attention.

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Their security net will be programmed to recognize the CEO's behavior patterns, and he was about to misbehave.

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Four point two zetabytes in under two seconds into cranial storage.

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When I disconnect,

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the first silent alarm is already flashing red beneath the CEO’s table.

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Back out through the window.

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At this altitude the air is freezing,

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but my chameleon suit has enough insulation that, with my fur,

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I don’t even notice it.

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I have a graceful swan dive,

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and from three miles up,

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I figure I can get a good amount of speed towards distant freedom before the aerial patrols catch up.

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My heart beats. Man I love this feeling.

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Air screaming past at fifty miles per hour.

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If I want to go any faster, I’d have to get out and push.

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Or get rocket boots.

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Now there’s an idea.

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I’ll add it to the list.

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Clouds approach.

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Then tear at my cheeks as I dive through water crystals and solidified smog.

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In a second I’m through,

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and the distant needle spires of New Angelas rise up to meet me.

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Before I draw level with even the highest one,

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the sound of choppers is in the air. Unmanned

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drones. Those aren’t a danger.

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Their radar can’t pick out something as small as me.

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I’m out. I’m golden.

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I’m free. A blip in my retinal hud.

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Click. Click. Sonar.

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I’m doomed. I extend all four legs. Thin flaps of skin catch the air and slow my descent in a graceful curve.

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I angle my forelegs for evasive action,

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twisting left and right.

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Click. Click. It’s too soft and too quick for my ears to catch, but my neural wetware informs me that it did, indeed, see me.

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Shit. Okay, give me info.

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Satellite connection grants me an uplink, and my query is sent on the next packet.

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Glance at my wrist,

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and tumble into a freefall as the gesture ruins my glide.

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It’s okay, I have time to pull back up.

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Novacorp. The security firm on duty tonight is Novacorp, and now I'm logged into their internal net.

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Next query is away

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as I dip below the highest skyscrapers and pull my tail spin into a fast glide in between the towering penthouses.

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Whoever is on my tail is close.

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I can hear the sonar now, audible clicks above the rushing wind.

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Something whooshes past me,

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and only wired reflexes lets me tuck my wings and roll.

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I catch my first glimpse against the under-lit clouds.

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A sharp collection of curves and points,

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about ninety percent wings.

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A bat. Of course they’ve got a bat on payroll.

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I level out and duck around a building as it scythes past.

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An updraft catches my flaps and pulls me upwards twenty feet back to the apex of a building.

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I sprint across the abandoned rooftop and throw myself from the far side.

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I’m fast, but the bat is a better flyer.

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Wings envelop me.

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There’s another moment of freefall, then breath is knocked from me as we collide into the glass window of someone’s penthouse apartment.

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Of course, the bat’s impact is cushioned by my body.

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Asshole. “Don’t resist. You are under arrest.”

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With the updraft roaring around us, even his shouting sounds like a whisper in my ears.

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My wrist buzzes and I glance down.

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Only one bat on roster at Novacorp.

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Hire date within the last week.

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Just my fucking luck.

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Arthur Jenkins. And it—and he has his wings around me.

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I send my next query off while I struggle against him.

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He’s a flying fox, one of the fuzzy ones with a face that doesn’t immediately make me think of early black-and-white movie monsters.

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His ears wiggle in the wind.

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It’s actually rather warm in his wings.

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If only he wasn’t trying to fit handcuffs to my wrists with one spare foot.

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Time. I just need time.

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His fumbling with the cuffs gives me the opening I needed.

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He doesn’t know I have hard-wired actuators in my legs for high jumps.

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I catch the look of surprise on his face

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when the frilly little sugar glider he’s caught pushes with the force of industrial hydraulics

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and launches back into the night.

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That’s a mistake he won’t make twice.

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Response hits my wrist

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at the same time his sonar ripples over me again.

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I’ve got his Citizens Identification Pin.

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I bless the backdoor I’d bought into the registration bureau.

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Next query might take a while, so I fire it off as I’m gliding in between two towers.

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I’m close enough to ground level now that I can figure my location by the tops of buildings.

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Fifth and Walnut. I turn right.

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Arthur is on me again,

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one clawed wingtip holding onto my ankle.

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It throws both of us into freefall, but he uses the time to crawl up and secure me with his legs.

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With my wing-flaps squeezed to my sides, I’ve got zero say on where we fly.

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His wings snap open,

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and it feels like I’ve been punched when momentum drives his feet into my diaphragm.

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He slams me into a second building as I’m gasping.

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I feel him fumbling for the cuffs again

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as I’m attempting to catch my breath.

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When I start to struggle again, he leans forward and bites my neck.

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Well, there goes the whole vampire cliche. “Arthur,” I wheeze. With the wind gusting past, he doesn’t hear me. My lungs won’t expand. I can’t breathe.

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I struggle more, and his teeth sink deeper.

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Fuck, if he weren’t trying to arrest me, I’d make him buy me a drink first. “Arthur! Stop!”

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That time he hears it.

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His eyes shoot open

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and teeth disengage.

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He’s managed to latch one of my forelegs with his cuffs,

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but he fumbles and drops it loose when he hears his name.

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“How the fuck?” Just enough of a distraction.

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It takes him a few seconds to recover when I duck out of his stunned grip

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and glide towards nearby freedom.

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Freedom doesn’t last long, but it’s long enough for me to laser his cuffs off

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and drop them into the yawning gulf below.

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We’re now down to the level of the older skyscrapers.

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The wind starts to fade as I curve to the left and dip into the cover

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of an overhanging bit of brickwork.

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Gecko-finger prosthetics grip the stone with ease.

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Sonar pings, followed by radar and ladar.

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Damn. Seems my date has a few tricks of his own.

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With a scrabble of claws, he swings upside down into the gap I’d hidden in.

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“I don’t know who you are or how you know my name, but--” “Arthur.

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Arthur Jenkins.” “Shut up.

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You have the right to remain silent.

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Anything you say--” “Give it up.

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That shit hasn’t been legal for decades.”

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I try to edge around him,

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but he blocks my path. He’s bigger than me.

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Faster than me. I glide,

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but he flies. Guess I’m down to my brain.

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“Arthur, check your HUD, if you would be so kind.”

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He stalls on his approach.

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Then goes rigid. “That…” “That’s twenty five thousand credits. In your account already.”

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His mouth closes, then opens again.

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I’m down to my brain and my bank account.

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“I- I can’t--” “Of course not! What was I thinking?” I thumb my wrist.

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“That’s far too low for an officer of your caliber.”

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I add a zero. He loses his grip with one claw and flails in the air momentarily.

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I’m silently thankful that this particular rent-a-cop wasn’t familiar with black market rates for top corp data.

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I launch off while he was regaining his balance.

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The old Haymarket building is three blocks away, and there’s

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more than enough places to hide there.

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Plus, I have a stash hidden on the roof,

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and a few tools that’ll guarantee my safe exit from the scene.

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Before I even turn the next corner, I feel a tingle as sonar washes over me again.

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Fuck. Wings surround me, and I meet my third building wall face-first with Arthur spooning in behind me.

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“Did you think I was dim?

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You’ve already paid.

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I’ve got your money, whether I catch you or not.

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And here I am thinking a collar would look really good on my record.

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record.” “For fuck’s sake, Arthur, you watch too many cop movies.”

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He bites my neck again,

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forcing a gasp out of me.

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But while I’m definitely caught,

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he’s also not trying to fit another pair of cuffs, or struggling to restrain my forelegs.

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Oh, I get it. This isn’t my first rodeo. This isn’t an arrest

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—it’s a negotiation.

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“How silly of me. What was I thinking?”

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He gives me enough room to reach for my wrist again.

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I hesitate. It looks good to hesitate

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—as if I’m not sure I can afford it.

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It makes him think that I’m giving him a lot of money.

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Then I add another zero.

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Two point five million credits.

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He smiles. His eyes light up.

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I act nervous. It’s not even a quarter of what I’m getting paid.

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“You know I still can’t just let you go.”

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I frown and finger my other backup

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—a miniature tazer.

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I didn’t want to pull it out.

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From this height,

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it’d be quite lethal.

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But I’ve given him every chance to turn back.

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Come on, Arthur, be smart.

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“We’ll have to make it look like you just barely escaped.

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So, shall we dance?”

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Ah, an exhibition match, just for the look of it.

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Now that I could do. On the shoulder of his minimal uniform I could see his personal camera—lense cracked and body crushed.

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It must have met an unfortunate accident with his rough takedown.

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So it was just incidental security cameras dotted around the city he wanted to make a show for.

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I thumb my hidden holster closed again.

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Sleep tight, dear tazer. Your skills are not needed tonight.

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I stick my nose right up under his chin.

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“What, think you can keep up?”

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He makes room for me to escape,

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and I glide across 8th towards the Lyon’s Mutual building.

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He’s closing in on me when I latch myself to the stonework on the corner.

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His wings surround me,

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and his teeth are at my neck again.

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I’m not sure when the silent agreement was made.

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Was it something I said?

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I moan as he licks at the bleeding wound he’s left me.

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His uniform has been unzipped down the front,

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and I can feel him pushing up behind me.

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“What the hell? I didn’t say--”

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“You don’t have to.”

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He pushes his nose through my fur.

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“You’ve been reeking of it since I first plowed you into a window.”

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“It’s just an adrenaline rush!”

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I crawl out from beneath him, scaling up the sheer rock.

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And that puts his snout just beneath my tail as he followed.

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Oh, fuck, that feels good.

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How much tongue does this guy have?

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A hook-like claw catches my foot as he steadies himself.

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I don’t know how long he’s down there, but I sorely feel his absence when he stops.

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I glance back at him.

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He’s smiling up at me.

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“Oh, so I guess that’s a no, then?”

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Fucker. I put a foot on his face and kick off.

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Of course it’s not a no, dipshit.

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Not if you’ve got a tongue like that.

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But you gotta earn it!

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Without saying any of this,

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I angle myself across the road again.

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He strafes me, as if just to prove he could have me at any time.

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Oh, and to show off, I’m sure.

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He’s sticking out of his sheath.

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I’ve never had a bat before.

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I didn’t know what to expect, but now that I’m looking at it,

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it’s raising more questions than it’s going to solve.

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For example, where is he expecting me to fit all of that?

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When I land again and he covers me in the blanket of his wings,

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I lean back. His claws catch on the brickwork.

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I’m not worried. He can clearly support my weight.

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He grooms my ears as I pull him up between my legs so I can get a close look at it.

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Fucking hell. It takes both of my hands to fit around it, and it sticks up straight to the top of my belly.

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Not bad at all. Arthur holds on tight to the building as I stroke.

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When he throbs I can feel that length tensing against my thighs and firming against my belly.

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It twitches out of my fingers and sprays up along my chameleon suit.

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He’s breathing heavily

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against the top of my head.

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A second splash hits the underside of my chin and drips down over my chest.

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Oh man, this bat is the gift that keeps on giving.

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I put my hands over his tip,

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and he shoots straight through my fingers.

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It spatters my face and drips from the bricks.

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I open my mouth to lick at my quickly dampening face.

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He doesn’t taste too bad.

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A bit sweet beneath the bitter, and no aftertaste.

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“Shit. Sorry, I--” He manages to gasp in between breaths.

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“Hair trigger when you’re flying?”

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I ask. He nods.

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“It’s the adrenaline.

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I get it too.” “Don’t worry,

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it won’t take me long to go again.”

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“Hah!” I laugh in his face.

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“That’s if you can catch me again!”

Correction:

I duck under his wing.

Correction:

He’s not trying to keep me still anymore, and this time I angle myself for the Haymarket.

Correction:

The wind pulls drips and streamers of bat spunk from my fur as I glide.

Correction:

Where does he keep it all?

Correction:

He tackles me to the side and flaps twenty meters over the first layer of hovercar traffic to a half-finished high-rise.

Correction:

It’s been just a skeletal steel structure for years,

Correction:

ever since the towering corporate arcologies started to dominate the sky.

Correction:

This time he rolls me onto a horizontal surface made of scaffolding boards.

Correction:

Three of his limbs stilt around me

Correction:

while his right wing drags his strange wing-digit down my front.

Correction:

I spread my legs for him,

Correction:

and his curled claw catches the zipper just beneath my tail.

Correction:

He tugs, spilling fur and rump and balls and my own poking length out into the night air.

Correction:

“Aww, it’s so cute!” He laughs.

Correction:

“Fuck off, cop. You’re not--”

Correction:

I stop mid-sentence as his long tongue curls three times around my shaft. “-

Correction:

-fuck.” He laughs through his mouthful.

Correction:

Okay. Maybe not a whole mouthful.

Correction:

Guess I’m just not built to measure up to a bat

Correction:

—in more ways than one.

Correction:

I drag my hands over his ears.

Correction:

He hums under his breath.

Correction:

That vibrates. I never stood a chance.

Correction:

His tongue slides against my cock and dips down beneath my balls.

Correction:

That thing has applications I could never have anticipated.

Correction:

I convulse as I spray the roof of his mouth.

Correction:

He’s kind. He doesn’t let go until he’s drained me of ever drop.

Correction:

He’s hard again.

Correction:

Twitching between my spread legs and dribbling more of that fluid onto my belly.

Correction:

He throbs visibly,

Correction:

lifting from my stomach and slapping against his own front.

Correction:

Then it drops again,

Correction:

making a “splat” sound as it lands in my wet fur.

Correction:

I turn and scamper.

Correction:

Three steps and I’m over empty space again.

Correction:

I duck beneath the first hover-lane,

Correction:

weaving through traffic at speed.

Correction:

His sonar caresses me.

Correction:

A truck screams past between us.

Correction:

I catch a slow-going taxi

Correction:

and use the momentum to flip over the next lane.

Correction:

I laugh. This is how it should be.

Correction:

This is life! Behind me, Arthur dodges a bus

Correction:

and disappears momentarily behind a slowing tow truck.

Correction:

When I see him again,

Correction:

he’s beneath the sports car strapped to the back of the flatbed.

Correction:

He launches himself at me.

Correction:

I can see his crazed smile even through the night time gloom,

Correction:

punctuated by the blinding glares of low altitude traffic.

Correction:

I dodge, he weaves.

Correction:

I’m not at my most aerodynamic, because I’m hard again.

Correction:

It’s the rush. It’s the height.

Correction:

It’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins as his claw catches my ankle again

Correction:

and sends me into an uncontrolled spin.

Correction:

I get my flaps out in the wind just in time to dodge a car.

Correction:

Asshole. Sonar brushes my fur again.

Correction:

I can’t even see him,

Correction:

but I can sense his presence.

Correction:

I’m stiffer than I ever remember being.

Correction:

He nails me against the side of an apartment complex.

Correction:

The lights are on.

Correction:

Someone’s watching TV.

Correction:

I don’t care. Arthur’s behind me,

Correction:

and he’s wet and slick.

Correction:

He grinds my crotch against the window as he pushes his twitching tip up under my tail.

Correction:

I leave a smear on the glass when he spreads me around his slim tip.

Correction:

That doesn’t feel so bad.

Correction:

It’s followed by what feels like whole inches of cock.

Correction:

Oh fuck, I can’t take this.

Correction:

He bites my neck when I cry out.

Correction:

Someone’s watching us through the glass.

Correction:

I hope they get a good show.

Correction:

Hell, where am I supposed to fit all of this bat?

Correction:

He keeps pushing, and he keeps biting.

Correction:

Even though I’ve just cum,

Correction:

I can’t help it. I start to wash down the confused onlooker’s window.

Correction:

It dribbles down the glass translucent

Correction:

and flowing in thin waves as Arthur slams my prostate.

Correction:

It’s too much. I need a break.

Correction:

I push, and reluctantly Arthur lets me go.

Correction:

I feel him slide out of me.

Correction:

And keep sliding out.

Correction:

I close my eyes.

Correction:

It’s too much, but it also feels good.

Correction:

Really good. Even though I’m pushing away,

Correction:

I’m really sort of regretting it as I feel his tip finally slip out.

Correction:

And then he’s twitching against my back, and then

Correction:

I’m pushing off of the unlucky audience member’s window.

Correction:

Between the top layer of hover traffic and the raised rails of the tram network,

Correction:

I glide to the wall of the Haymarket.

Correction:

I’ve lost too much altitude to catch the roof,

Correction:

but it wouldn’t take too much time to climb up to it.

Correction:

Arthur lands around me.

Correction:

This time, he’s gentle.

Correction:

He licks the multiple punctures he’s given me as he slides between my rump cheeks.

Correction:

I twitch my tail against him

Correction:

and one free wing hugs me like a tight, constricting blanket.

Correction:

I let go of the wall entirely

Correction:

and let gravity slowly slide me down onto him.

Correction:

He doesn’t move this time

Correction:

—letting me grow used to as much of the length as I can accommodate.

Correction:

I look down. There must be half of that throbbing giant twitching in the air between my legs rather than inside me.

Correction:

Then I feel him push against a curve of my inner walls, and both of us know

Correction:

that’s as far as he goes.

Correction:

His wing hugs me tight,

Correction:

and his hips pull back.

Correction:

I lean myself into his hug.

Correction:

I close my eyes and let my head loll.

Correction:

It feels like I’m flying again as he thrusts.

Correction:

There’s so much of him,

Correction:

it feels like he’s humping through all of me, rather than just the little bit my rational brain knows I’ve been able to fit.

Correction:

It doesn’t matter.

Correction:

The sensation is electric.

Correction:

He’s breathing raggedly into my ears.

Correction:

I reach up and wrap my fingers around his head.

Correction:

He leans down and puts his tongue to work.

Correction:

It’s long enough that he can stroke me with it,

Correction:

even while his larger body curls around mine

Correction:

and slides that monster of his through my sensitive ring.

Correction:

Then he’s throbbing.

Correction:

The tug is so strong that it moves my body,

Correction:

pulling me back against his belly with each pulse of his shaft inside me.

Correction:

A hot rush fills me to and beyond full.

Correction:

I can feel it gushing out against my thighs and dripping over his sheath.

Correction:

If there wasn’t room for the first soaking spray, then there definitely isn’t room for the second.

Correction:

Or the third. His tongue squeezes.

Correction:

I think I’m cumming, but I can’t tell.

Correction:

Maybe it’s a dry orgasm.

Correction:

There’s so much of his cum in my fur I can’t tell.

Correction:

Three times in probably just as many minutes, that’s definitely a record for me.

Correction:

His wing holds me

Correction:

as he humps straight through his own peak.

Correction:

The gushes of liquid still running between where I’m trying to clench around him

Correction:

suggest that he’s enjoying the treatment thoroughly. Then he’s

Correction:

softening. I can feel it in the way the throbbing fades and his thrusting pulls more out than it pushes back in.

Correction:

And then he throbs free.

Correction:

His last couple of twitches splash my back,

Correction:

warm through my chameleon suit.

Correction:

Man, I’m going to need to dry-clean this.

Correction:

Or I can just buy another.

Correction:

I could buy another ten with tonight’s pay.

Correction:

He doesn’t stop me as I crawl up to the roof.

Correction:

I sit on the concrete rim,

Correction:

looking out into the city.

Correction:

He joins me a moment later.

Correction:

Bats aren’t particularly agile on flat surfaces.

Correction:

He climbs wing over wing to me, then stops at my side

Correction:

and leans heavily into me.

Correction:

I have to brace to not be knocked over.

Correction:

“So. How often do you steal shit?

Correction:

I think I’m free tomorrow night.”

Correction:

I laugh. Oh man, I really caught a gem.

Correction:

Or is it the other way around? “Um,

Correction:

seriously. I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this, though.

Correction:

By all rights I really should have caught you.

Correction:

I nod and run my hand over his head.

Correction:

His big ears twitch against my fingers.

Correction:

“Arthur, do you trust me?”

Correction:

I ask. “No.” He didn’t have to give it much thought.

Correction:

“That’s fair.” And then I tazer him.

Correction:

His whole body goes rigid, and when my juice runs out, he collapses on the edge of the roof.

Correction:

He’s breathing. Good.

Correction:

I reach down and kiss his head.

Correction:

I waddle over to the stash I have under a broken roof tile near the north side.

Correction:

First I extract a little kit I keep just for situations like this.

Correction:

Well, sort of like this.

Correction:

Usually it’s tranqs, or a graze from a bullet.

Correction:

An injection of pain killers.

Correction:

Fuck, I’m already starting to feel sore.

Correction:

I swear I can still feel him inside me.

Correction:

I think I’m still dripping.

Correction:

I look down into a puddle.

Correction:

No, I’m definitely still dripping.

Correction:

I start to zip back up,

Correction:

then stop. Actually, it’s probably better if I let it air a bit, rather than have it get trapped inside the suit.

Correction:

Less to clean. Second I have a little wide-band white noise generator that I would have brought with me if I’d known I was going to face a real predator of a cop like Arthur.

Correction:

Not that I’m regretting it.

Correction:

Not even a second of it.

Correction:

I walk back over to him,

Correction:

attaching the device to my suit.

Correction:

When I fly away, I might as well be invisible in a sea of noise.

Correction:

Not that I think I’ll need it now,

Correction:

but it’s always good to be sure.

Correction:

Anyway, it gives him a better story.

Correction:

I reach down and caress his balls from behind.

Correction:

They still felt heavy.

Correction:

I wish I had more of the night.

Correction:

Ah well. Maybe there’ll be a next time.

Correction:

“Sorry Arthur, but this really is for your benefit.

Correction:

Tell them you chased me this far before you got tazed.

Correction:

A perfect alibi. Not only do you get to keep my two and a half mil,

Correction:

but you might even make it off without even a disciplinary.

Correction:

Hell, play it right and maybe you’ll even get a raise.”

Correction:

I turn to the roof’s edge, but before I leap,

Correction:

I have another idea.

Correction:

I wire him a bit more money.

Correction:

Only five digits this time.

Correction:

13092 creds.

Correction:

Hardly a drop in the pool compared to his night’s haul.

Correction:

But maybe worth more in the long run.

Correction:

Because if he types that into the right New Angelas exchange,

Correction:

he’ll get my personal com on my wrist.

Correction:

It’s a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Correction:

Then I launch myself into the night.

Correction:

Four point two zetabytes of paydata in my cranium and one amazing fling still dripping from me as I glide off below traffic.

Correction:

A note to my fixer says I’m ready to exchange.

Correction:

Smart money would buy me a transfer to another city.

Correction:

This payout is enough to survive on for years.

Correction:

But I don’t want to survive.

Correction:

I want to live, and there wasn’t anything quite as alive as the skyline of the New Angelas sprawl,

Correction:

broken up by the arcologies towering high into the sky.

Correction:

Maybe if I hit the right clients,

Correction:

I’ll get another visit from Novacorp securities,

Correction:

and the only cop they’ve got on payroll

Correction:

that could ever catch me.

Correction:

Hell, I’m rich now.

Correction:

I’m genuinely fucking minted.

Correction:

Maybe next time, he’ll let me catch him instead.

Correction:

This was “Adrenaline High”

Correction:

by Kandrel, read for you by Khaki,

Correction:

your faithful fireside companion.

Correction:

Thank you for listening

Correction:

to The Voice of Dog

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About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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About your host

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Khaki