War's a furry hell (c)1997
by KillJoy

"God I hate this shit!", Mark thought as he marched through the bog,
slipping and getting stuck occasionally, the 20 pound pack on his back
didn't help either. When he had signed up, mark thought the army would
let him, as they said, "See the world." Well, all he'd seen so far was
a lot swamp land and dead bodies. He was the sole survivor of troop D,
as they were sent into an ambush by a field commander fresh out of the
academy. "If only I could get my hands on him..." he thought, wiping
sweat from his face, replacing it with the mud which covered most of
his body.

Mark continued walking, not knowing where he was going, as long as it
wasn't where he'd been. "One days worth of rations and 15 rounds of
ammo? Ya, I'm going to make it...", he said aloud, still brooding.
"Well, that was dumb, hope no ones around.", he thought, regretting his
previous statement.

As he neared the forests edge, his senses sharped, expecting trouble
form all directions. He slowed his approach, raising his gun.
"Well, if I'm going to die, this is the place.", he thought as he
examined the well trafficked path in front of him. Mark entered the
forest rapidly, hoping to avoid any fire which would come his way.

He was some what relieved when none came. He walked deeper into the
dark woods, alert to every sound and shadow. "I think there's a station
in this direction, I saw one on the map back at the base.", he reassured
himself, "Wish I had a compass."

The sun was fading into the horizon and Mark as tired, he'd been going
all day and hadn't slept much the day before. He found a tall tree and
climbed to the higher branches, his small fox claws adding in his
accent. Upon reaching a good elevation, he tied his belt to the branch,
to prevent him from falling in the night.

"Ha, the funniest thing about this whole war is who we're fighting,
some 3rd world want-to-be country that's still using musket loaders
for god's sake, why didn't we just bomb them and call it good?", Mark
pondered, "They attack one of our factories over here and our country
goes ballistic, there must be more to it then that..." After some
effort, Mark managed to drift off to sleep.

Images of friends and family danced through his head, drifting away
as he boarded a plane and flew off to war. He tossed about as he
remembered watching his troop being slaughtered around him, and how
he ran... ran away from the carnage, the death, theirs and possibly
his own. These thoughts all left him as a loud snap awoke him, followed
by a trip to the forest floor.

"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea." he thought as he checked
himself for injury. He untied his belt and turned to find his pack,
which was no where to be found, neither was his rifle.

Mark search desperately, finally realizing the truth as he found several
small foot prints in his area, "Some little bastard must have seen me
climb that tree and robbed me while I slept." He began following the
prints, which lead deeper into the forest which would soon be filled
with the morning sun as he could see dawns first light emerging
through the trees.

"At least I still have my knife.", mark thought as he pulled the steel
blade from its sheath in his boot. He continued tracking the unknown
thief into the after noon, "How far could they have gone and why didn't
they kill me when they had the chance?" Mark soon found other prints
meeting up with the ones he had been following and now seemed to be
following a small army, 10 or so by his best guess.

Mark soon came upon the edge of a small clearing which held a primitive
village. Mark circled it, hoping to get a better look at the residents.
As he stalked, he saw several children playing on the edge of the woods.
He snuck up behind them and watched, they were speaking a language he
couldn't understand as they threw a simple ball made of wood back and
forth. There were seven of them, small mouse children, laughing and
playing, "How can they be playing with a war going on around them?",
Mark wondered as he sat there, until he noticed that he hadn't heard and
gun fire in a while.

"Was the war over he wondered, had the Mong won?" A females voice broke
his train of thought, a soft sound which came from the village.
All of the children ran toward a hut and vanished into it. Who was this
voice he had heard, Mark had to know, it had stirred something in him
and he had to know why.

He crouch and moved into the village, approaching the hut the children
entered. He found a window and peered in, trying not to be noticed.
Inside the children had gathered around a small table and were preparing
to eat, Marks's stomach grumbled and he watched them. A young mouse girl
came into view, carrying a bowl of fruit which she placed on the table.

The fruit disappeared rapidly as she spoke to the youngsters, Mark
listened to her silvery voice, not understanding but, intently regardless.
Her long brown hair was only slightly darker then her fur and waved about
as she walked. Most of her form was in full view as she wore little more
then a rag about her chest and waist. Her breasts were small but, well
developed for a mouse, Mark thought, watching them closely as she tended
to the children.

One of the kids started to cry and she rushed to him, leaning over to
see what was wrong. As she did, her tail lifted the rag she wore,
revealing her tight rear. Mark's mouth watered as he watched,
his member rising to match his pulse. Mark responded by massaging the now
hard shaft which struggled for room in his combat uniform.

He watched as she finished her feeding the youths and sent then scurrying
out the door and began cleaning up. "I don't think I can take it much
more, I don't know if I'm ever going to see a woman again and they are
the enemy, right?", Mark battled with his morals, "What the hell, you
only live once." He leaped through the window, take the girl by surprise.

He was upon her in a flash, pinning her to the ground and holding his hand
over her mouth. Even this seemed to turn him on further and his body
pressed against hers. He laid there, his shafted pressing hard against her
belly, contemplating what to do first. Mark began by restraining her with
one arm and fondling with the other, the girl struggled at first but, with
Mark's arm against her throat, she found it hard to breath, let alone
scream.

Mark played with the firm breast he had so admired from afar,
now in his clutches. He tore back the rags which served as her clothing,
fully exposing her body, he studied every curve, caressing her
soft fur. Mark fought with his zipper before finally unleashing his
member, which jutted out from its furry sheath, he rubbed it across her
stomach fur, enjoying the sensation it caused before sliding it down to
her quivering mound. Once there, he savagely thrusted it in, causing the
girl to give out a choked howl.

Mark was now fully immersed with in the warm ecstasy he had desired
and gave into his animal instincts, pistoning hard between her thighs,
slamming into her violently on every thrust. As he went, her mound began
to sop with juice, she may have been fighting him but, her body was
totally his for the taking.

He had never seen any one cum so muck before as she was soon running
with the juices of their passion, causing a wet, slapping sound as he
pistoned in and out. He could feel his knot building and slammed harder
against her, making sure it was lodged deep within her before releasing
his first fiery load.

His body was racked with the orgasm, like nothing he had felt before,
as his every muscle stiffened, his grip on the girl loosened and she
cried out. This act snapped Mark out of his bliss and he pulled hard,
forcing his knot to dislodge painfully for both of them. He heard the
villagers rushing toward the hut and made a leap for the window but,
one of them had made it to the window before him and he collided with
him, knocking them both to the ground out side.

Mark's combat training paid off as he instinctively back handed
the native, knocking him unconscious and allowing Mark to escape.
Mark ran for the woods, swollen member flailing between his legs as he
fled. Once Mark reached a safe distance, he stopped to regain his breath
and closed his zipper. "Now there's something to write in a war journal.",
he thought as he continued his trek through the hostile woodlands,
searching for a way home.
---------------------------------------------------
This is another tough one to write, I just couldn't think of any thing,
writers block I guess. But, once I got writing, there was no stopping
me. I left this one open as I'm thinking about writing more stories
starring that war-torn love animal "Mark Dasher".
If you liked this story and think I should continue it, e-mail me at:
killjoy08@aol.com