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Roscoe was pretty shrewd at keeping his band together, and keeping every show unique and fresh. His methods were known really only to a select few, mostly his band mates, but also the few groupies lucky enough to be selected to participate. When a young lady comes barging into the green room while he’s in the middle of trying to get a tune in his head out into the world of sound and all but demands she be given a spot in the group, well naturally he’s inclined to test her resolve. Among other things.
Heyna, Red Panda, Deer, Mild Hyper, Shortstack, Cum Inflation, Vore (soft), Digestion, Merging/Fusion, Transformation, Hybrid, Gender Transformation, Hermaphrodite, Breast Growth, Genital Growth, Masturbation
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“We’re goin’ ta have a bit of a puff out back. You wanna come?” asked Jimmy.
He and two others stood near the door; a squirrel, a newt, and a kestrel. They were all dressed in loose fitting clothing that had been strategically tied back to minimize the bagginess. It made performing easier while on stage.
“I’ll pass, gents. Gotta protect this golden voice’a mine and all.” Roscoe said, making sure to add just enough of a hint of sarcasm so that the rest of the band would know he was feigning conceit.
“Right, well just don’t get too into whatever you’re workin’ on. Rehearsal’s in an hour,” Jimmy said, “You sure we can’t get you somethin’? Maybe send up drinks or a groupie or what not?”
The hyena remained where he was, seated comfortably on the beat-up sofa. He had his guitar across his lap and he was quietly strumming away, trying to find some chord to go with the melody that would not stop plaguing him. He had not bothered to look up when the rest of his band appeared in the doorway, nor did he see reason to look up as they left.
“Nah, don’t need anythin’ more than water. And don’t worry about me bein’ late ta rehearsal. You just look after ya’selves. Devil’s cabbage might be tasty on the front end, but I prefer ta stay sharp for a show. Save me some for after, though.” Roscoe answered.
“Right. No ‘performance enhancing substances’ for you. I keep forgetting.” said the squirrel.
It was Jimmy’s turn to razz the hyena. The other two boys just looked at one another and chuckled. The kestrel was the next to offer a crack.
“Right, body’s a temple and all that. So when yer prayin’ at it, that means yer suckin’ yer own cock?” Marvin cooed, then chuckled.
The bird-of-prey drummer quickly received an elbow in the chest from the newt, enjoying his slight to the band leader.
“Nah, if he did that, he might end up breakin’ his back!” cackled Virgil, “Can’t have that if ya gonna stand on stage and belt out a power ballad.”
“Right, he might end up chokin’ on his dick too! That’d ruin his voice!” Marvin added, his tone rising as the three laughed, but the others next to him suddenly stopped.
Two different paws gave the avian a light slap on the back of the head.
“Don’t be a pillock!” Virgil said unhappily.
The sudden shift in mood caught the kestrel by surprise. Had he crossed a line? They never seemed to be bothered by jokes of that nature before. Jimmy rolled his eyes and lifted an arm to gesture at the hyena who had still yet to lift his gaze to address his band mates.
“Does that look like the face of a fellow who would choke while tryin’ ta suck his own dick?” the squirrel paused, watching as the drummer just looked on in confusion, “‘Course not! That thing’s barely a mouthful!”
Both Jimmy and Virgil erupted into laughter again, joined very shortly after by Marvin now that he saw what had been so offensive about his comment. He had implied the wrong size.
“Say what ya want, lads. I assure you, if I was so careless, I certainly could choke,” Roscoe said, finally lifting his gaze, “Like in all things, technique is what matters. And it’s actually rather soothing on the throat if you do it right. Trust me, I know from experience.”
That brought the shared merriment to an abrupt end as the other three just stared at the hyena in shock. Had he just admitted to autofellatio? Or perhaps practicing on someone else? Marvin was busy trying to form words in his beak while Jimmy and Virgil just narrowed their eyes at the still seated guitarist.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” the squirrel asked.
“What do you think all those yoga classes were about?” Roscoe asked right back, putting on a huge grin.
He then lifted his guitar out of the way and dropped a paw to his groin. He groped at a not-so-subtle bulge in his black jeans, then ran his fingers along the swell that ran down one of his thighs. It was no secret he was rather well endowed, which prompted all the ‘small dick’ jokes. After all, they knew he wouldn’t be self-conscious about it. They also had the standard comment about him being able to choke a horse on occasion when he was being too critical of himself.
“So… you can actually-“
“I sure can,” Roscoe said, interrupting the still stunned Marvin, “I could show you all a thing or two if yer so inclined. It’s great for flexibility. And you’ll never have to complain about back pain in the morning ever again. You know… unless you have to reach extra far ta get at the little cocktail sausages hidin’ down there somewhere.”
The reversal brought back the levity and the group just rolled their eyes and snorted in good-natured derision.
“Right, whatever. Just don’t be late to rehearsal.” Jimmy said.
“Don’t be late ya’selves!” Roscoe fired back, then paused, “And you know what? G’head and send up a groupie. I’m feelin’ like ‘the temple’ needs someone ta ‘pray’ at it for a bit and I just don’t think I’m up to the task. I could use a second set’a hands with it and all.”
It had been intended as another dig at size comparison, but he was actually more serious about wanting company than he originally had felt. The other three made their way out the door, grumbling half-heartedly about the conversation.
“Sure, sure. Another groupie. Go easy on this one, would ya? Last one took a few hours to come ’round after your fun with her,” Jimmy said, then lowered his voice, “Fuckin’ cocktail sausage. Ain’t no fuckin’ cocktail sausage down there.”
“Right, you got yerself a proper blood sausage, huh? Doctor says no one should put in their mouth? Sounds ’bout right if ya ask me!” Marvin cried out, already making himself laugh before he could get the words out.
They were already headed down the hall, so their voices were somewhat muted compared to earlier, but their continued harassment of one another lingered for quite a while. Roscoe just chuckled as he listened to them fade away. He went back to strumming away on his guitar, obsessed with discovering the elusive melody in his head. It was easy for him to lose track of time while he was playing around with the notes of a new song not yet fully formed. The concern the rest of the band had for his tardiness wasn’t completely unfounded.
Ten minutes later, there came a knock at the still open door. When Roscoe lifted his gaze, he spotted a young lady standing in the doorway. She was a red panda, clearly a fan. She wore a t-shirt that advertised for a different band. Good, she wasn’t so eager to impress that she wore the shirt for the band that she came to see. A dark skirt draped almost to mid thigh, leaving her legs largely exposed, showing the long, green-striped stockings that disappeared into the thick, heavy boots hugging her paws. Her hair was voluminous and dark, reminding the hyena of the old ‘hair metal’ groups of several decades past. Ordinarily, such a choice in style would be the possible subject of ridicule, but on her, it worked quite well.
The red panda was somewhat short, possibly only reaching up to Roscoe’s chest were they to stand side by side. She was also generously curved. Her outfit appeared to have been designed to look just ever so slightly too tight, letting little hints of her fur spill out in strategic locations. It offered onlookers glimpses of orangish crimson along her back and a deep dark along her stomach and chest. And what a chest it was. The hyena had a difficult time not letting his eyes linger there too long. With as much cleavage as she was showing, that had probably been the point.
Her eyes were locked on him. He could sense a subtle hint of wonder being squashed down mightily by her self-control. That was different. She lowered the paw that had been used to knock, letting the chunky black leather and metal spike bracelet on her wrist slide back down against her paw. There was another on her other wrist, and she wore a choker that matched. All of that combined with the understated black makeup along her eyes and lips screamed ‘serious rock fan’.
For several moments, they both remained silent, regarding one another. Eventually though, the silence had to be broken, but it wasn’t going to be Roscoe. He was too busy appreciating the young lady who had come to the green room to see him. He always wanted to let a visiting groupie be the first to speak.
“Mr. Hiddleton?” the delightfully punk red panda asked.