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The Explosive Show

 The nights turned hot abruptly. The long second winter of the City's Spring was replaced by the suffocating, sweaty Summer in a single, terrible instant. The University's students boiled alive in their long, black robes during the day, and hid within any building that promised some soothing sanctuary during the night. One of these was an old shipping warehouse nicknamed The Ailing Theater.

Long abandoned, the place now served as an arena and a stage for those shows that the City's censors, preachers, and newspapers deemed too scandalous to grace the wooden planks of more acceptable establishments. Most of the year, it was populated by unemployed anarchists, drunk poets, and the occasional low noble trying to play at rebellion or art.

With the arrival of the students in Spring, the Ailing Theater grew fat on the profits. Bitter, bad-year wine flowed, gold clinked on the tables, and the shows became more ambitious. It was a cycle everyone accepted. Even the City's censors would show up to see what the crowds enjoyed when given the chance, grinning from beneath their wide-brimmed hats at the pornography, obscenity, violence, and gore it was their job to despise. But, the balance was ruined one day, with the arrival of the Circus.

It came, a shambling, ghostly procession of carts that wove their way through the city's worst neighborhoods, flashing fake permits and bribing anyone in authority who so much as raised an eyebrow. They arrived right along with the news of their generosity and complete fearlessness, and the Ailing Theater swallowed them up without a second thought. The owner, an elderly, perverted gerbil, was all too happy to receive three thousand up front for hosting the show, and no amount of strangeness could stop him.

Their preparations took a full two nights. By the time they were ready to begin, the Ailing Theater's bar sat next to a massive half-circle of tiered seats and there were posters everywhere around the City, advertising the event. The posters were simple, red, white, and black affairs, proclaiming 'Circus” and 'The Most Unforgettable and Explosive Show' alongside the more mysterious 'Boom' and 'Splash.' Printed on exceptionally tough, yellowing paper, glued to walls with something like cement, there was no chance anyone could remove the offending, permit-less advertisements before the show. Hundreds of new people showed up, and the Ailing Theater was filled to the brim for the first time in three decades.

At first, it was, like any other circus show, a fabulous, cheap affair. Popped corn and ugly, fried lumps of unidentified meat appeared, accompanied by their dull-eyed salespersons. Ticket-checkers, as grim and invisible as death itself, stalked the rows. Music, cheerful and just a little too high-pitched, played from some hidden instrument pit. The stage was unoccupied, the black-and-red-and-white theme looking the freshest here, at the heart of the Circus. Bells and shrieked commands signaled the beginning of the show, and the City's idlers, fools, perverts, and never-do-wells took their seats.

“WELCOME!” the words echoed through the warehouse, pronounced with a faint hint of a lisp and all the false cheerfulness the people expected from a clown.

But, the being that stood before them on the stage, bowing like the most disturbing caricature of a barrister, was clown only by the loosest definition of the word. He was a bat, this much was clear, a plain gray-furred male, as naked as the day he was born. Red spirals, painted right on him glowed in the spotlights focused on him, and the swirling patterns swam across his flesh with his every movement. There was plenty of flesh. A bit on the fat side, the bat's cock reached past his knees, a veined log. His balls were like two beer casks, marked with the same crimson smile that decorated his lips. His belly, pleasantly plump, wobbled sligtky as he rose from his latest bow, and he looked around at the audience. He grinned, and sharp teeth, almost like a shark's glittered.

“WELCOME!” the clown shouted again, and danced forward.

So, it was that sort of show, the audience realized as one. Greedy eyes drank in the bat's flopping meat, his swollen genitals swinging in a hilarious, sexy display. Laughter filled the Ailing Theater, and thunderous applause shook the dusty windows in their cracked panes when the bat bowed again, ears scraping the floor, before hopping awkwardly into the air. Assisted by the small wing-membranes of his arms, the clown barely managed a somersault. He landed with a resounding slap, his bent knees allowing his massive member to hit the stage.

“OUCH! TALK ABOUT A HEADACHE!” he scooped up his dick, and rubbed the glans.


“Wiggle yer ass some more! Boo!” a bobcat yelled with a loud burp, his voice finally penetrating the crowd's ears, now that the loudest thing in the room stopped talking.

The male was sprawled across two rows of seats, feet in the air, shirtless and drunk as only a bored dock-worker could get. The feline's pants were open, and he was trying unsuccessfully to paw himself, but his belly got in the way, and the bat's dance suddenly ending only annoyed him more.

“OH! A BOOZY BALLOON! SEXY!” the bat licked his lips, swaggering up to wave the bobcat over. “COME ON DOWN HERE FOR SOME FUN! YOU'LL REALLY BLOW!”

“Urrrp! Fu-fuck yes! Fuckin'... Yeah, I could use you right...” the fat male staggered upright, and swaying, stumbled his way down, tripping over the ring of soft sandbags around the stage.

Flailing his arms, the bobcat smashed face-first into the floor in front of the clown bat, one outstretched arm slapping the other male's genitals so loudly. More laughs; the drunken idiot had to have been hired by the show!

Helped up by the clown ringmaster, blinking blearily in the spotlights, the feline cursed and waved his fist at everyone around. A few soothing caresses over his belly, however, calmed him down enough to forget he was on-stage. With a blissful smile, he stared at the other male's junk and drooled.

“SO, MY BOOZY BALLOON, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO GET BLOWN?” the bat shouted for the benefit of the crowd.

“Whore-son-hoppery-slick-guano-ass, would I love to get blown, you loud-ass chiro bastard!” the bobcat answered, spittle flying as he straightened up, and dropped his pants right in front of everyone.

“WELL, THEN! LET'S GET YOU BLOWN!” the clown sauntered over, pressing close to the fat male, groping him mercilessly, before gently resting his full, red lips against the feline's mouth.

The pale, red-smeared face momentarily looked serene, even passionate. The audience quieted, laughs and jeers dissolved in a shocked silence. The kiss was gentle, slow, the bat's tongue sliding into the drunken cat's open mouth. The dock-worker relaxed, his hips thrusting into the bat's paw. In the deathly silence, everyone could hear the quiet pants and the slurp of wet cock in the clown's grip. Before anyone had any time to wonder, however, the bat's expression turned sadistic, the wicked, toothy grin back on his face in an instant. His eyes popped open, positively glowing with malicious intent, and his cheeks puffed out.

The drunk had no chance. As he stood there, pants around his ankles, short stub of tail twitching, the bat blew air into him. He shuddered, his eyes popped open, widening in horror. He tried to push the bat away, but his paws seemed to slip on the greasy red paint, and the clown's attention on his cock never wavered. The cat released a muffled whimper, and swelled larger and larger. His belly went from an ordinary paunch to a round ball in moments, then passed the size of any ordinary creature's stomach. It wobbled with a hollow sound when the bat clown slapped it with a free paw, his other continuing the obscene paw-job for his victim. Bloating up continuously, the bobcat soon resembled what the nude ringmaster called him, a great, big balloon. His sides strained, rounded, his modest ass spread, revealing his clenching asshole, and the bat's paw withdrew from his length, which soon wobbled below him, his legs spreading wider and wider. When at last, the bat's lips withdrew with a loud smack, the bobcat's entire body was round, a nearly perfect sphere, paws and feet slapping his swollen surfaces, tail shaking in fear. The drunk burped, tried to expel air with a pitiful, needy moan, but nothing escaped him.

The audience, disbelieving, roared its amusement. None could hear the feline's weak pleas for help, could see the way his hide developed small tears, the stretch marks across his flesh resembling wounds with every moment. He was too full, and at the bat's mercy, now.

“YOU ALL THINK HE'S HAD ENOUGH?” the clown raised a paw up to his ear with a giggle.

“NO!” the crowd's shout revebrated within the poor, straining dock-worker, sounding like his death knell.

He shook his head, desperately trying to avoid the white-painted, red-pattern face of the clown approaching him for another kiss. His dick, still hard, throbbed behind him, in full view of everyone. He whimpered in terror as he felt his ballsack filling with air from within him, shaking as it began to resemble a giant grapefruit wobbling under his tail-hole. His ridiculous doom took an exagerrated breath, grabbed him by the ears, and pulled him closer. The bobcat's mouth was sealed over by the bat's, and he felt air rush down his throat, join the mass of gas refusing to leave him, press against his organs, spread to his every digit.

He could no longer even wiggle his claws, much less move his tail. His flesh strained, pulsing with a terrible, oncoming climax he knew he would not survive. If he could, he would scream, but even that mercy was denied him, now. The flesh balloon deformed offly, the skin around his navel throbbing in a momentary, expanding bruise, and he shivered, bulging eyes seeking someone, anyone who understood his plight. But, no rescue was coming. The bat continued blowing into him.

There was a creak. The bat clown hopped back, laughing maniacally. And, the fat bobcat disappeared in an explosion of fleshy scraps, his last acts as a living creature, to shoot a pressurized stream of cum unto the floor and released a panicked, desperate squeal.

The audience, a crowd used to the fake blood and gore of the underground theater, clapped and hooted, cheering on the clown ringmaster as he giggled and ran around the stage, kicking bits of the bobcat into the air like leaves. All they saw was a hired actor, maybe a trapdoor, and a very large sack full of air exploding. The few that noticed the details of the bobcat's demise, convinced themselves it was part of the show somehow, and resolved to see what would happen next.

What happened next, in a surreal twist, was not as unusual as the beginning of the show.

“BE BACK SOON!” the clown yelled, and rushed off-stage, his top hat flying off to fall among the feline scraps.

Then, came the lions. Of course, it was not common to see such performances in the City, but a few seedier strip joints still allowed such things. Six slick, muscular cats, the very antithesis of the bobcat earlier, strode on-stage, posing and flexing. Wearing only thin, see-through loincloths, their manes groomed shockingly short, they cartwheeled and pounced with easy grace. More traditionally handsome than the obscene clown, they were a welcome relief, and the audience watched, mesmerized, as they built a pyramid of their malleable, sweating bodies, straining, shoving their crotches at the crowd in lewd, but entirely ordinary displays.

Their 'tamer' strode out, a cute ferret with enormous, fake breasts stuffed into her pink leotard, wearing a golden tiara and brandishing a whip much, much too big for her delicate little paws. Swishing her tail and snarling fiercely, she climbed the living monument to masculinity, and perched atop it, began to shout commands. The males beneath her heaved and slithered and strained, until the pyramid became a tower, with her at its tip, her legs spread, her whip resting snugly in her cleavage. In defiance of her incredibly tight tits, she contorted her body into pretzels, shoving the heavy chest-meat aside to send air kisses to the audience.

Her lions, not to be outdone, began to deconstruct the tower, until only one of them held their mistress, the rest standing at attention, cocks shamelessly wagging in arousal. The lucky male beneath the ferret, grinning, removed his loincloth, and the 'tamer' unfolded in his arms, her leotard slipping off in the midst of her return to normalcy. Naked, they made love roughly and quickly, the other tigers beginning to rebuild the pyramid beneath them, this time casting aside their own meager clothing to fuck each other.

The perverts in the audience pawed themselves, and the prudes hid their own desire behind muttered complaints. But, a 'lion tamer' was the most popular of shows, and many spent themselves when the ferret slipped off her charges, and the exhausted, steamy group ran off-stage.

“I HOPE YOU ARE ALL NICE AND HORNY AFTER THAT!” the bat clown yelled up at the seats as he ran back onto the stage, scooping up his top hat. “IN THE NEXT PART OF THE SHOW, BEING A LITTLE AROUSED IS RECOMMENDED!”

With a flourish, he pulls out an ornate gold watch from his hat. It is an old-fashioned piece, flowers wreathing its edges and a crown on its back. The clock face, however, suffered a terrible vandalism. Crudely etched into the glass, there for everyone to see, was a tremendous phallus. It ruined the watch and cheapened the magic trick, but everyone found their eyes drawn to the disgusting scratches anyway.

“I HOPE EVERYONE IN THE FRONT ROW APPRECIATES A BIT OF NAUGHTY FUN! IF YOU DON”T, TRY NOT TO LOOK DIRECTLY AT THE SWINGING PENIS...” the well-endowed clown giggled and began to slowly swing the watch back and forth.

Pacing up and down, he soon had the first row, over thirty people in all, staring intently at the nasty clock-face. They could not look away, trapped by the bat's flow of words.

“Look deep, look, sleep, deeply, deeper, look....” he chanted, with all the seriousness of a masterful hypnotist.

The clown's face, white and red, wrinkled by his smile, transformed before the audience's eyes. Anyone not looking at the swinging watch and succumbing to his voice knew without a doubt that this was no clever play of mirrors, no buffoonery, but a game for the demonic creature waddling about the stage. Those teeth, once comically pointed, no longer in the spotlights' glow thanks to his proximity to the seats, appeared real, sharp, curved fangs like swords nestled in a too-wide mouth. That ridiculous make-up could not hide the vicious, bloody glow in the bat's eyes, like the last sunset of the world.

A few managed to leave, quietly slipping away. Others, denying the signs, laughed and jeered at their own superstitious fear. This was an entertainer, a jester, not a monster! They watched as the first row succumbed, falling limp, flopping in their seats like puppets with their strings cut.

“Good.” the bat's voice seemed to penetrate every ear, though he no longer shouted in his warbling clown's voice. “You are in the depths of a wonderful dream. A dream you desire. A dream you've waited all your life to have. You cannot escape it, and you do not want to.”

The first row sighed and moaned, spasms of pleasure running through the hypnotized victims in waves.

“You are full of lust. You ache with need. You are surrounded on all sides by the most exciting sights, every wet dream forming in clouds of vapor from your desperate flesh.” the ringmaster continued. “You know you must do something to reach the blessed orgasm you need....”

The moans intensified, turned to whines and whimpers, changed to hisses of discomfort and need. The first row strained to hear, their closed eyes twitching in their skulls, trapped in the vision the bat conjured up. They waited for their command, grimacing. The males dug their paws into their pants, or sat, slumped, their bulges more prominent than ever. The females seemed in a similar state, kneading their skirts and fondling their breasts.

“Stand.” the word echoed throughout the warehouse, and even those not in a trance were seized with a terrible need to rise from their benches.

As one, the first row stood, as elegant and slow as rising incense smoke, their faces flushed, their breathing shallow and their bodies shivering with lust.


They obeyed, cooing and stumbling, rubbing up against each other as they slipped out of their clothes. Pants, ties, skirts, undergarments flew off them, some floating down to where the bat clown stood, the creature chuckling darkly, nothing like the light titter he used before.

“Good. You are surrounded on all sides by the most exciting sights, every wet dream forming in clouds of vapor from your desperate flesh. You cannot escape it, and you do not want to. You know you must do something to reach the blessed orgasm you need.” the bat repeated himself, watching his entranced victims as they stiffened, mumbling, their minds struggling in earnest to hear the next command. “Grow larger. Your most excited parts are swelling, your wet dreams swirl and dive inside you. Cum, milk, juices flood in. Grow larger.”

There was some confusion as the command failed to grab the whole hypnotized group. But, each soon found themselves growing, their captured minds forcing the lewd transformation. The first to succumb were the fastest to grow and the most incredible in their change.

The gazelle, standing almost within arm's reach of the bat, the tatters of her voluminous dress at her feet and her hat revealing her profession almost as much as the silver, number-stamped ring on her paw, trembled. The City censor was large already, a pleasantly plump hourglass, a soft potbelly and beautiful, perfectly-shaped breasts resting upon its curve. Now, she blew up, sloshing with miraculous growth. Her cunt, well-hidden beneath a layer of fat, expanded, a tightening, peach-colored, leaking mound, her clit like a fat cherry, ripening. Her breasts groaned on her chest like two monsters, becoming rounder, firmer, the tit-meat soon bigger than her belly, an ocean of fat wider than her hips. She pawed the pair of balloons, and moaned cutely, her horned head bowing low as milk poured from her nipples, the areolas around them looking like tiny, stretched-out islands.

Her companion, who sat through the show looking bored until his hypnotism, must have been a banker. Slips of records fell from the mink's pockets as he ripped off his gray, pinstriped suit. Years of little activity, too much wine, and his pipe made a dent, but the weasel's shiny, brown fur was well-groomed, and his erection stood a proud paw-length long, bobbing in time with his strong heartbeat. The mink ran his paws over his chest, whimpering as his length fattened, veins sprouting on its turgid surface, the pink glans soon looking bruise-purple, dripping precum from its gaping slit. His balls, once modest plums, filled, ballooning into heavy, sweaty melons, the raphe separating them sinking into their cleavage.

At the far end of the first row, things were beginning to get just as heated. A young, slender civet, full pouting lips parted in a breathless moan, shook in place. The bat's command had him turning more feminine by the second, his butt growing fatter, his hips widening as he rubbed his length, his cock now resting on the floor, squirting into the sandbags around the stage. Though his balls did not expand nearly as much as the banker mink's they still looked plumper than any ordinary male's. His spotted hide shimmered with sweat, his desires tormenting him more than any other male in the audience.

Others played catch-up to the three unlucky perverts, gaining size where their lust concentrated the most. Those not in the grip of the clown bat's hypnosis watched, horrified and fascinated, as the first row became as hyper-endowed as the ringleader. Unused to their new size, they shuffled from foot to foot, pawed themselves, blindly sought something to relieve the awful pressure within them.

“You are cumming.” the clown bat smirked, and licked his lips.

Cries rose up, like an infernal choir, low and bestial. Their growth slowed, the horny creatures fell among the benches, shooting cum, squirting their juices, and releasing fountains of milk. Their trance forced them to endure each new pulse of climax, minute by minute.

“Deep, deep. You are cumming. You are cumming, but it's not coming out...” the bat threw aside the defaced watch, plugged his claws into his ears, and fell to his knees.

It was like nothing anyone in the audience ever witnessed. It could not be mistaken for a special effect, could not be denied. The cumming, overfilled first row whimpered and shrieked in the midst of their seemingly endless climax, and met their end.

The civet was the first. Already lying on his back, his enormous thighs stuck between the seats, his tail lashing beneath him, his fat dick towering five feet into the air, hard as stone, blood no longer pumping through its solidified veins, he mewled like a kitten. Corked by his own flesh, the femboy lasted only a few heartbeats, his creamy belly bloating up with semen. His straining, spotted skin heaved as if an ocean was unleashed in him. Thick, white cum bubbled up from his mouth, his eyes flew open, and he thrust upwards. He disintegrated, strands of his cum flying everywhere, some even hitting the furthest rows.

The censor, proving the second horniest, shook in place. She filled, creamy stomach lying like a beached whale on the cool floor, her breasts just, grown just as big jiggling with milk she could no longer spray out. She clutched at her throat, mouthing a plea for mercy, or for more, her massive ass shaking behind her as she thrust it backwards, rubbing her grotesquely swollen pussy lips together with loud squelching noises. The gazelle was on the verge of drowning in herself, the pressure within tremendous and growing by the second. Impossibly, she raised herself up, gulping in air, and shuddered in the height of bliss. With a nasty splash, she ripped asunder, and her milky fluids covered her weasel companion.

The gazelle's climactic demise triggered the mink humping himself on the floor next to her. Balls as big as the sandbags in front of him slapping into a stomach he thrust against with the mad desperation of the condemned, the former banker was now merely a balloon of his own cum, good for only one thing. As he pleasured himself, sliding his slick length beneath his nearly fur-less, enormous stomach, veins popped up all over him like tiny networks of roots seeking the relief of water, just visible under his thinning fur. His arms and legs spread outwards, weakening muscles flexing uselessly, and he expired with a blissed-out sigh and a massive KABLOOSH!

The rest followed soon after, their bodies ending up as puddles of milk and sex fluids, pieces of them lost among the rivers of goo. One of the last, a gurgling badger, as muscular as he was large, shuddered and wobbled in place, his trance gone, his eyes full of pathetic lust and a horrified awareness of what was coming. He shook his striped head, tears of seed running down his cheeks, his male juices beginning to come from his ears and run as sweat down his shiny, downright translucent belly hide, holding together by force of will alone. The ringmaster stood up, wiping his eyes.


The bat's claws raked across the badger's middle, right down the red, wiggling line bisecting his massive gut. The gigantic male clenched his teeth, snarling, shut his eyes, and bled white. The clown bent down, and licked up the cum, his tongue slithering up the wounds in a teasing display, slow and torturous. The badger shook, his whole body clenching, actually shrinking for a moment, before he threw his head back, mouth open in a silent scream. A jet of spunk shot upwards, hit the ceiling, and fell as rain on the audience. Simultaneously, his asshole, navel, and piss slit surrendered to the unearthly pressure of semen inside him, spraying with all the force of a fire-hose. The bat flew backwards, landing center-stage, propelled by the blast of white from the overloaded stripe-weasel's belly button. The badger, meanwhile, seized up in the midst of eruption and exploded like a bomb, his body's contents enough to give the whole warehouse a coating of slime.


The shocked audience sat in total silence, dripping, their clothes ruined and their minds struggling to deal with the horror they witnessed. Not one of them stood up to run away, afraid the cum-covered, painted demon before them would come after them next.

What followed was a blur of events. A rat magician came next, demonstrating his skill while the bat clown watched right up on stage, offering commentary. Some, sickened, watched and waited for something terrible to happen. Others, finding their arousal even under threat of destruction, sat on the edge of their seats, expecting the well-endowed ringmaster bat to give them another show. Every joke about the card-tricks the black-and-white rat performed had the audience gasping in fearful expectation or panting with desire. But, the rodent escaped unscathed, bowing and disappearing in a cloud of smoke. The next to walk on-stage was a plump capybara wearing a sky-blue thong fitted for his enormous endowment, and a comically small red vest. The bat chuckled, and waved an arm at the large creature.

“SAY HELLO TO OUR STRONGEST PERFORMER!” he shouted, and smacked the proud male with his cock. “GO ON, HUGO, SHOW EVERYONE WHAT YOU CAN DO!”

The capybara took the hit, grinning as if he was not standing before a monster at all. Then, he grabbed the enormous member, gripping it tightly, and with a mighty heave, threw the bat upwards. The clown rolled in the air, twisting, his arms flailing in mock panic, and at the last second, he spread his wing membranes, and flapped his way down.

“NOT BAD, BUT THEN, I REMEMBER A TEENSY SHREW ONCE GOT ME HIGHER BY PLAYING WITH MY COCK!” the audience managed to chuckle at the silly face the lunatic bat pulled.

Perhaps, this was still all part of some bizarre act? Maybe, they took things too seriously, after all? Who has ever heard of anyone popping themselves from holding in orgasm? The very idea was ridiculous, surely! This was the usual Ailing Theater nonsense, playing with sex and violence.

The capybara, Hugo, bent irons, tore a huge tome in half, and tossed the bat around as if he were a feather. Then, he asked if anyone in the audience wanted to see him nude. A hyena in the third row shouted some obscenities that amounted to a 'yes' and the giant rodent grabbed his thong, ripping it off without any visible effort at all and threw it to the audience.

Hugo was large, even by the standards of rodents, that much was obvious even from the bulge in the cloth. As big as the clown, even. Before anyone could question why he would show off, his cock flexed, and stood erect, then twisted into a prestzel. Slithering out of the knot it created, the snake-like organ waved to the audience. Taking one of the bent irons, the capybara then slid it into the piss-slit of his dick. When he took it out again, it was straight, as if never bent at all. He bowed, and before anyone could shout for another demonstration, left.


He laughed. The crowd, still sitting in the drying remains of the first row, did not know quite what to say. Then, a paw hesitantly rose in the back.

“Mister Bat, please, pop me! It'd be a good show!” the words carried, but it was still hard to tell who spoke.

“OOO! A VOLUNTEER! ANOTHER MIRACLE IN TONIGHT'S SHOW!” the clown hopped in place, pure joy radiating from him.

The male that walked down to the stage, ears perked and a red blush on his cheeks looked like one of the University students, old enough for the Ailing Theater's barkeep to pour him a round, but young enough that not a wrinkle troubled his adorable face. A fennec fox, he was almost a head shorter than the bat, his scrawny frame trembling with energy barely held back.

“Please, Mister Bat, I gotta pop! This is too hot!” he cried the moment his feet touched the stage.

The clown tapped his chin.


The fennec stood there, drooling as he and the remaining audience watched the bat rubbing himself. The sandy fox shivered with excitement as the tool thrummed before him, growing thicker, lengthening until the bat was struggling to paw its feet-long surfaces, the make-up smeared all over it coming off, rubbed away by the larger male's efforts.

“Oh, yes! Oh, goodness! So big!” the fennec praised the gigantic cock, almost as tall as he was.

Gingerly, as if afraid he would spook the fat member, the fox ran a paw down the belly of the shaft, and the clown bat groaned in pleasure.

“I know this thing will end me... but I don't care!” the fennec wiggled in place, petting the cock, shouting out his last words for the whole audience.

The audience, now more than a little wary, stared as the small male turned around, throwing aside his black student's robe to reveal his nakedness, and got on all fours, raising his ass in the air, a paw sneaking under his tail to smear some cum over his hole.

“Please, be gentle.” the fennec sighed, relaxing himself as much as he could.

The bat laughed, nearly falling over, his massive erection all but tipping him over. Barely controlling himself, he waddled forward, and pressed his glans against the vulpine's bottom. The cock-head was almost as big around as the desert fox's waist, but the clown would not be deterred. With a grunt, he pushed forward, and the fennec shoved backwards with a lustful wail. There was a disgusting pop, and the cock, impossibly, horrifically, sank into the crouching male. The fox's sides bulged, and his hipbone seemed ready to crack, but whatever trick allowed the over-endowed bat to fit inside his newest victim made the experience pure bliss for the young University student.

“YESSS!” he shrieked, tail wagging behind him as he tried to shove himself back against the bat, his head thrown back in lustful abandon.

The bat, seeing the fox's need, stepped forward, and sank a foot into the fennec's ass. The boy trembled, his ears flattening against his head, his tongue hanging from his mouth. He grimaced as the clown gently rolled his hips, mashing his member into the smaller male's gut. The fennec's belly bulged, precum spilling into him by the gallon. The vulpine moaned, closing his eyes, and resting his chin on the stage floor.

What followed was pure animal, no jokes, no show. They fucked. The bat, growling and panting with effort humped into the crazed fox, the creature suicidal with lust begging for more with every thrust. Soon, his stomach slid against the cold floor as if he were carrying a litter. The swelling drove him wild, his six-inch cock wagging behind him, slapping against the enormous ballsack of the bat. Soon, his knees lifted off the stage; he rode a stomach burbling with the bat's juices. Panting, he clutched at what he could reach of his belly in wonder, a stupid smile on his face.

“Oh....OH! YESS! FINALLY! BIG ENOUGH!” the fennec shrieked.

The bat choked as if he was about to die, his make-up running as he sweated and panted and thrust forward mindlessly, eyes closing as his balls trembled in their paint-smeared sack. The smaller male he was fucking sensed the coming flood, and clenched his ass around the bit of the member his innards managed to contain, spilling his own seed impotently unto the bat's scrotum.

He swelled, back bowing, belly expanding like a water bed beneath him, yellow-brown fur thinning into pitiful fluff, his pink, bruising gut revealed. His paws flew to his mouth, and his cheeks bulged with seed coming up. His nose ran with the clown bat's virility, and his eyes opened, brimming with tears of joy. The fennec was in heaven, his rapturous smile unchanging even as he ruptured.

Cum spilled over the stage, washed back against the bat's ballsack, the fennec's asshole failing to hold back the flow. The audience knew what to expect, this time, and threw themselves under their raised benches. The small fox, now bigger by far than any other creature in the Ailing Theater, burst so violently he made no noise anyone could hear at all. The blast wave shook the old warehouse, shook the rickety benches, and the wave of bat cum spewed everywhere.

The cry of disgust and realization went up. Censors searched for someone to blame. The crowd rioted. The Ailing Theater, wet and stinking of sex, lost its doors and the bar was looted. But, in spite of the fury of the crowd and the authorities in the audience, no one found the performers. The clown bat and his crew disappeared into the night, no trace of them save rumors of other disastrous, obscene shows elsewhere.