General Pepper stood tall, atop the stairs of Lylat Hall. General Pepper had an air of great seriousness about him as he sucked the lollipop in his maw. To get the most suck out of the hard pink candy, he had devised a way to set his bottom jaw in a mechanical, rotating motion while his lip muscles pulled in unison to create negative pressure. With each suck, his flews wobbled back and forth at either side of his chin.

"Why, if it isn't Slippy of Star Fox!"

General Pepper had been waiting for someone. With a creak of metal hinges, the Lylat Hall parted ways and this someone now materialized, panting and oozing slime from every pore of his amphibian skin.

Slippy's weary eyes glance up at his intimidating general. Struck by the presence of his superior, he finds that he is at a loss for an answer.

At the very sight of the most slippery toad, the candy nearly slipped from Pepper's mouth with a tight pop. It was recaptured in time by a vigorous, strategic slurp.

"We need your help, Star Fox. By this I mean to say, I need your help, Slippy my boy."

"M-my help?" Slippy stammers, all but subconsciously. Sweat slipping silently down his slimy, lumpy mortal frame. "Wh-what do you need my help for, s-sir?"

"You see this lollipop, sonny?! This most delectable sucker betwixt my grizzled and calloused hands? A token of sweetness and innocence to be devoured by the hungry, ravenous jaws of superior existences? To be suckled lovingly but not without vigor until its very being dwindles down to a wet paper stick? Do you see it, my boy?! Do you SEE?"

"Y-yes sir!"

"I'm that lollipop," General Pepper said, popping the sucker back into his maw and placing his hands gracefully behind his back. "I'm that sucker."

"I d-don't understand sir. How c-could you be a-"

"Loli." The general's maw had mashed itself right up against the amphibian's auditory hole. "Fuck me like you would your underage anime girls, babe."

"G-general!" Slippy gasps, his blushing cheeks hiding timidly behind shaking webbed hands. "I don't know what you mean!"

"Drop those hands, private."

Slippy does as he's told, quietly turning from green to scarlet, like a bruised unripe banana or a bad lime Jell-O™ violated by scarlet food coloring.

"Yes, thatta boy," the general said, pleased with himself as he returned to an erect position. "That's some mouth you got on you, boy. I bet it's seen more action than Sylvester Stallone's guns."

"I-I'm a girl, G-general. Have been since the t-transition six months ag-"

"Yeah. More action than Bruce Willis in those Die Hard movies. Only I bet you that mouth doesn't bleed like old Brucey's. How wide you think you can open that gullet of yours?"

"S-sir! M-my mouth is for eating flies! M-mostly..."

"Not anymore it isn't. We're under special orders from the U.S. President." Pepper was a serious man, that is, dog, that is, hound, with serious business. He said what he meant and he meant every word of it. "We can't have good talent going to waste. Not with a mouth like that around."

Slippy turns redder and redder. Even the whites of his eyeballs are going red. Red as a Californian sunset at the dawn of the Revelations. Red, like something bad that you shouldn't tell mommy or the police about.

"Now fuck me, babe," the highly distinguished, decorated general moaned from the floor where he had positioned himself in lordosis, as his jowls slid apart and the chewed-up lollipop stick dropped from the hole of his missing tooth, plopping to the floor. "Salute me with yer privates, Private!"

"I already t-told you, G-general, I'm a gi-"

"Did I not convey to you the urgency of this mission?! We've got our orders! Show Corneria what you got, son!"

"B-but, sir, what mission?"

"The mission of God, Slippy boy. God sent me on this mission. God sent us both on this mission. Do you ever get that tickle in your cloaca? Those primal URGES to EAT or BE EATEN in a fit of pure, unadulterated lust for the CAUSE?! What do you think gives us those urges, boy? God, that's what. God gives us those urges."

"B-but I'm a girl so please stop misgendering me and besides I've never even heard of that thing you keep calling Go-"

That's when General Pepper had enough. You could tell in the way his vice-grip fingers wound themselves around the frog's confused lips. General Pepper hooked his desperate phalanges around the base of the amphibian's limp jaw, which was pried open inch by frightening mile from the perspective of the toad.

"Atta boy," General Pepper grunted passionately, wrinkled forehead-skin pushed against Slippy's slender and sticky tongue. "Juuuuuust like that."

"But I don't want-" Before Slippy understands what's happening, the dogman's furry head presses tight against the back of his throat, eliciting a violent gag.

"No pukin' while I'm in here, m'boy!" General Pepper's muffled voice echoing throughout the cavernous cave within Slippy's taut, stretchy maw. "Let's save all the good stuff for your tummy."

Choking back tears, Slippy becomes cognisant of what's happening at last. "Gggghhhhhkkkk! Ggggghhhhhhk!" he desperately protests.

"Oh yeah fuck me harder oh yeah!" the general moaned distantly as his snout slid through the distal third of Slippy's esophageal tract, pushing cautiously against the lower sphincter of his superior feeding-tube. Simultaneously, a tiny puddle of pre squirted through his whitey general's tighties, staining his khakis quite deliberately. No, wait. Scratch that. General Pepper was not wearing pants. Or underwear, for that matter. Said tiny puddle of pre thus dribbled up his fluffy belly, towards Slippy's venerable lips. A portion of the pre failed to counter gravity in this manner, instead plopping onto the tiled floor beneath. Pepper's stiff red rocket shiny amongst mottled fur in the florescent lighting. Sturdy hound's legs kicking, like a sedated mule stuck head first in a sewage pipe near the New Jersey Turnpike.

Slippy feels the weight and mass of the burly dogman's upper body filling up and ever squeezing down his throat and tummy. His boss is screaming things far too muffled to for his comprehension - but hey, to be fair to the toad, have YOU ever tried to communicate with someone inside you? Not that easy. A webbed hand tugs desperately at the general's muscled thigh stretched against his mouth-corners, trying with all his might to remove the lust-filled animal from his quivering bowels. At the same time, it is getting more and more difficult to breathe, because Slippy's breathing-tubes are simultaneously being crushed by the general's presence in his chest cavity.

At the exact moment when the general's head implants itself in Slippy's stomach, the door kicks open.

"Slippy!?" a confused hare's voice exploded in an interrobang as its owner attempted to piece together the scene unfurling before his near-sighted eyes. "What in TARNATION?!"

"GRRGGHHGGGHHHHH!" Slippy's intended this-isn't-what-it-looks-like sizzles into a gag and gurgle as he chokes on their boss.

"What it looks like!? Looks like you've unhinged yer jaw and ye're munchin' on General Pepper is what it LOOKS like!"

"GGGGHHHHHGGKKKKK!" Slippy's panicked hiss rises up in the air as though to say fuck-okay-that-kinda-really-is-whats-happening-right-now, but-I-had-no-fucking-choice-they-were-orders-from-General-Fucking-Pepper-okay, okay, but instead he just gags and chokes on the twitching pair of ankles extruding from his Slippy-lips.

"Damn right. You expect me t'believe that THE General Pepper COMMANDED you to do this? Like some kind of degenerate vorophile?"

"GrrrggggGHh! CK! PPFFFTTPPPPP!" Slippy protests, this time trying to communicate to the rather deaf old hare that okay-okay, this-might-be-crazy, but-believe-me-oh-please-I'm-innocent!-. However, as you might have predicted by now, he succeeds in nothing but a pathetic gagging noise as his now upset intestines chime in with a higher-pitched gurgle.

"Fuck you, you horny, cheating critter."

"GRRRGGGHHHK!" Slippy grrks, trying to remind Peppy that I'm-a-girl-not-critter-for-the-nine-hundredth-eleventh-time-in-their-four-month-relationship.

"What? I can't understand you while you're deepthroating General Pepper." Voice tuned up to an even more aggressive pitch, he yells, "Pepper! I don't give two hoots that you're my boss! You git the hell outta my boyfriend!"

With a final taut tug, the struggling toad finally manages to pull General Pepper's now limp legs and also remainder of limp body loose from his mouth-cavern, a tight slurping pop releasing the general's soaked, still-digesting torso onto the tile floor with a sickening splatter. Clumped fur, churned with raw meaty chunks of muscle, have begun to detach from the bones beneath. With a sickening, bile-laden heave, Slippy ejects the remainder of the contents of his stomach onto the puddle of Pepper. Crumpling into a pile by the wall, Slippy's unfocused, watering and still-red eyes look up at Peppy as he continues to heave, smaller shockwaves following in the wake of the main Richter-7 quake.

"Well, ain't that just dandy. Not only did you cheat on me, you've committed a warcrime!"

"Peppy! W-what do you..." The toad nearly faints as he finally becomes aware of the messy carrion clumps scattered about the floor. "Oh mother of Lylat…"

"Slippy mah boi, murdering our general ain't exactly gonna earn you no badge of honor. It's a warcrime. And you know what they do to warcrimnals? They put the plugs to 'em. They put the plugs IN 'em."

"But he made me!"

"Yeah, you said that while you were STILL suckin' an' sucklin' away on his upper half! What in tarnation's the matter with you, boy?!"

"Peppy, I'm not a bo-"

"What you've done is just SICK. NASTY. All them bad critters go to hell for a sin like this! And you fucking CHEATED ON - awh, Jesus, Slippy, what the hell is that on your chin?"

"What's a Jes-" Slippy touches his webtips to his chin and, unaware, strings a line of vestigial pre-hound from his mouth to his webs. That's when Peppy leaned down his old shaggy hare-head, and lapped up said string of Pepper's salty pre between his teeth.

Slippy turns red again, like lime Jellysnack™ inundated by red food coloring into which even more red food coloring is added.

Peppy's dick was now all swolled up, like a shivering little raisin reviving to full virile grapehood. Slippy hungrily digs into Peppy's mouth with his own, smacking and slurping as he would a grape-flavoured man-loli. Throbbing for the *POP*.

"Wanna give it to me, bae?" the horny hare groaned, baring his wide birthing hips to his lover.

"E-even though… Y-you caught me cheating with our general?"

Peppy shrugged. "Hadn't we always fantasized 'bout a threesome?"

Slippy blushes and smiles as he plugs the tips of his toad-claws into the nostril slits upon his rubbery toad-face. His cheeks swell as he blows and blows into his blocked airpaths. The negative pressure builds inside his belly as his stomach fat squeezes in such a way that would make Antonio Maria Valsava proud. The pressure mounts and copulates until Slippy's face turns blue like artificial blueberry pie filling, inner walls strung so tight as to nearly burst - when it happens. A wanton chunk of cloaca blows through the underside of Slippy Toad's doughy frame, in a way that only a windsock or otherwise discarded condom, found in the park and blown into by curious underage Japanese schoolchildren, could.

Sighing in satisfaction, the toad whips his slick, fresh prolapsus out into the chilly open air. He stretches it taut, then twists it 'round a few times, tying off the end. Blushing like a schoolboy, he pushes air once more against plugged nostrils, inflating his dangling cloacal secrets like a not-yet-animal-shaped animal balloon.

"Oh yeah, sonny! Fuck me!" Peppy groaned, bending over and scooting his splayed old ass closer, knees deep in the remnants of their general. "Fuck me like a dirty little rabbit!"

"Shhh," Slippy cooes into his ear, gently patting his twitchy, furry, little old rump. "Don't you remember? I'm a girl."

Snorting back a huge glob of snot from his sinuses to his hindthroat, the toad hocks his slimy load in his mouth-cavern. Slippy throws back his head, letting the mouth-snot gurgle before spitting it out sloppily with a dead-eye aim that would knock a bean curd off a flyin' rat's pecker from just over two clicks away. The sudden wet impact upon the hare's quivering ol' sphincter instigates an immediate constriction from agape to apucker.

Peppy howled in pleasure as his lover's lascivious cloacal tie-off squeezed into his snot-lubricated rabbit-hole. And so, they engaged in coitus with each other upon the pile of Pepper, sensual motions radiating a passion exactly as shown on Cinemabux after 2:00AM.

"THE FUCK."

Slippy and Peppy's heads turn and turned simultaneously to Falco Lombardi standing in the hallway of Lylat Hall, then to Falco Lombardi's unbelieving lower beak dropped at the sight of his naked teammates knees-deep in the pile of ex-General Pepper. The colorful pheasant's eyes widen like jellybeans into watermelons.

"GENERAL?"

Instinctively, that is without thinking, Falco whips out an AK-911. Weapon raised to eye level, stock pressed firmly against his shoulder, the colorful pheasant flicks the side switch from SAFE to FULL AUTO. A wingfinger's flip and the trigger smashes down, unloading a hellthunder of rapidfires exploding across the room and setting all ablaze with their destruction. That is… until Falco realises that the weapon he had just picked up from the floating itemtube had been loaded with blanks. A rain of shell casings tinkles against the metal floor, and all is silent. By the time Slippy has figured out what actually happened, Peppy believed himself immortal and unkillable. (A/N: TRIGGER WARNING this sets up how he dies later and somehow still doesn't expect it!)

That gives time for Slippy to draw the blaster from his side holster, popping the fucker in the head, and spraying the grey walls with brain matter and shattered beak.

"Well I'll do a fuckin' barrel roll." Peppy stared and stared at the chunks of brain leaving slimetrails on the stainless steel, dribbling down in clumps.

"Did you cum yet, baby?" Slippy cooes slyly into the shivering rabbit's ear.

"Did I ever!" Peppy exclaimed, too enraptured to look down at the globs of his carrot juice fusing with the fermenting Pile of Pepper™.

"Good," Slippy says, smacking the ancient rodent on his ass as he pulls out and stands up, untying his cloaca. It dangles like a sock made of meat, but he knows that with a good push of a webhand, it'll retract like a switchblade back into its hideyhole. "Now help me clean this mess."

"You don't mean..." Peppy began.

"That's right," Slippy says, winking at the funnyhoneybunny. "This threesome has officially become an orgy."

Peppy dragged the dead body closer to the Pile of Pepper™, assuring that Slippy wouldn't slip on the wet squishy mess at his toes, or on or over his own sagging cloaca.

Slippy unhinges his jaw, and in pops Falco like a bag of Animal Nuggets™ from a Giddytime Snackmeal™, granting a full 10-cent donation the Ronald McRegan House of Ultimate Truth™.

"Oh yeah, babe, oh yeah," Peppy groaned as his carrot root sprouted forth from the ground anew.

Compared to Pepper's broad, beefhouse frame, the whole of Falco slides in like a jellywalrus™. That is to say, Slippy doesn't even gag on his headless girth. The warmth of Falco's freshly decomposing corpse filling his jellybelly. The satisfyingly fed toad shrugs.

"Tastes like snake."

"Atta boy," Peppy said while giving his slick lover a squeeze on the slime-rolls. "Atta boy."

Slippy's reddened face darkens into purple, then from purple to dark purple, then from dark purple into an even darker purple. "FOR THE LAST TIME, GODJESUS-DAMN-FUCKCHRIST, I'M A GIRL!"

Our beloved angry toadboy doesn't give himself a chance to think before following up his words with actions - actions bearing greatly great consequences. Unhinging his jaw once again, he grabs the rabbit by his unlucky foot, then sucks him from head to pelvis like some kind of Indian noodle - the prayer rug kind, not so much with the feathers and the scalping. Peppy Hare was harder than he had ever been before in his entire life.

"Oh YEAH, Slip! Poop me out whole while I jigglewriggledance! This is so fucking HOT!"

But none of it goes as planned. At least, not how Peppy had planned. (A/N: You'll remember from earlier that Peppy thought he was a god of sorts, immune to everything including stomach acid. Except, he wasn't. And isn't, either :/) While he spilled ropes of pearly white carrot juice down his lover's gullet, he began to feel the stomach acid eating away at his calves and ankles.

Peppy screamed and screamed. He couldn't tell for sure at that moment, or for the rest of his short, agonizing life, whether that made the experience all the sexier. Mostly, he screamed in excruciating pain. He hollered and yollered and jizzed his way down into Slippy's stomach.

Slippy has the hardest time with Peppy - he's not built like a brick shithouse like Pepper was, and he was even a bit shorter than Falco, but the size of his jiggling belly was nothing to sneeze at. Grunting and choking, faceskins turning bright red as the ass of a baboon, Slippy squeezes the plump bunny down his frothing gullet, gagging throat-passage, wriggling neck-tube, desperately churning stomachparts, uncomfortably tight stomachsphincter, and rippling small and large intestines.

Throughout this longer-than-anticipated transit time, Slippy recalls his seventy-fourth date with Peppy old man. Oh, how he remembers the excruciation of the wait, the mouth-watering aromas, that enveloping, convivial warmth of their beloved local Burrito Alarm™ joint. Peppy sure did love his Burrito Alarm™, as much as Slippy loved that girthy furry waistline. How fitting, Slippy thinks to himself, as he feels the rumbling of instantaneous diarrhea banging unforgivingly on the back of his sphincter, like a wet little pussy-cat locked out in the rain.

Picking up his sagging cloaca, careful not to poop on it, he bends over and shoots a jetstream of poorly digested Peppy-Falco combo across the Pile of Pepper™ at a G force greater than his wildest rides in outer space. Shards of beak tear through his sensitive insides and scatter like shrapnel across the bloody pile of bile and bones that once was a very noble, and quite delicious general. Before he knows what's going on, his once powerful stream of liquid waste fizzles into a last series of long wet farts spraying incessantly from out his bowelhole.

After what feels like an eternity, the ripping and tearing of the poor toadboy's pucker finally ceases. Coming to his senses, he realizes he has nothing to wipe with, thereby rendering his presence in this room little more than a liability. Slippy slips while slipping through the pile of past acquaintances as he wriggles towards the exit. It's time to leave, he affirms to himself as he plugs his nose and sucks his dangling inner flesh back into his body like a balloon animal into a powervac.

Slippy slides through the iron gates of Lylat Hall, hobbles three blocks down to the Swanky Hanky Inn, and descends to the laundry room where, lo and behold, there stands Fox fucking Krystal pressed against a washboard's abs atop a washing machine. The cis het vanilla mammal fuckers, fucking each other like it was the entire world's business to get off watching them fuck. Fuckers who've misused, misloved and, most of all, misgendered him, time after time again.

His maw opens wide, and in goes Fox, Krystal, the washboard, the washing machine, the hotel, the street, Burrito Alarm™, even Lylat Hall with the remnants of his now-dead lover, general and friend, then the whole of Corneria.

Slippy then whips around, and looks the reader in the eye. His jaw unhinges, one last time. In you go, the Earth, the Sun, the Solar System too, and he keeps swallowing and swallowing, lapping up the Milky Way like spilt milk and somewhere in the Lylat system that is not Corneria, a little transgender goat girl looks up into the sky and feels the great warmth of the world flow into her, a world of opportunity and love, where there is no suffering and where people don't do horrible things like misgender one another, shoot each other and make each other deepthroat one another until their heads dissolve in the stomach juices of their lovers before ejecting out of one hole or the other. A world where you are embraced, not humiliated and cast aside for your differences.

And maybe, just maybe, she dares to dream, the universe might be okay after all.

THE END.

IN MEMORIAM OF : SWIPER. NO SWIPING
HERE LIES APRIL'S CHILD OF FOOLS.

Mappack - 04/01/2017