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Savage: Skye's

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Jack’s orders were to find and neutralize the leader and financier of a group of international spies turned mercenaries. He had failed twice before, but If Savage could put a bullet in his head this time the whole operation would come crashing down and the ZIA would finally have a particularly nasty thorn out of its side. Jack knew that in international waters, his license to kill was irrelevant. Just one more perk of the assignment.

The radar-dampening submersible cut through the cold Catlantic ocean waters, right to the side of the floating facility that Francisco Sitatunguerra made his base of operations. The operation called for utmost stealth and secrecy. Given that the facility was designed for large-sized species – bovines, felines and the like – Savage expected to have an easy time staying hidden throughout.

He was hunched over in the submersible, tie hanging down from his neck as he checked his equipment. A Bearetta Pico .380 was his only firearm, and he entrusted his life to it. On more than one occasion, the small, concealable firearm had saved his life during a game of life-or-death-stakes poker. But this was no place to reminisce about the good times. Savage felt his waist, ensuring that his lock picks and combat knife were in place.

Savage didn’t like using his combat knife – too messy. He hoped he wouldn’t have to repeat that grisly affair at the volcano on Doomarkhor Island. For a white-furred jackrabbit, that much blood was hard to wash out.

‘All set.’ He thought, staring up at the escape hatch at a photograph plastered there. It was Skye, her white-tan fur covered in grease, lying on the floor of the equipment bay back on the sunny Zootopia docks. She was smiling, wiping the sweat off her brow with a cloth while a large-gauge wrench wrested on the crotch of her denim overalls. The photo had kept Jack company on the trip from the drop off point a hundred miles away.

With a grunt, Jack popped the hatch open on the submersible and peeked his head out. His ears, as always on operations like this, were constantly flat against his back. Instantly he smelled the salt of the sea, saw the void dark void of the night sky above him, crisscrossed by beams of searchlights emanating from the facility. Every so often he could hear an announcement over the loudspeaker, but it was rushed and unintelligible.

Jack set the submersible to descend into stealth mode while hooking a line to the ladder on the side of the platform. He couldn’t let his only form of escape float away.

Climbing the ladder was always the worst part. He felt the rungs beneath his paws one by one, rising up over the edge of the platform and peeking over it to survey the facility. He had seen satellite photos and committed them to memory, but the real thing always looked different.

‘Alright old boy, let’s find this bovid and put him down.’ Jack thought to himself as he slid over the edge. Numerous buildings and large steel shipping containers provided amble hiding space. The patrol was constant, and in the depth of night it was led by nocturnal species – tigers – who had excellent night vision. Their black uniforms hid their stripes, but Jack knew their shape. That, and their languidly swinging tails gave them away.

Jack crouched low, ducking under rumbling pipes and behind crates doubtless filled with weapons, drugs, or both. He honestly didn’t care what kind of commerce Sitatunguerra was engaging in on the side; a kill order was a kill order, and he knew enough about mercenary corps to know that this one was probably responsible for more damage than the uprisings their type were often hired to quash. With a sigh Jack pulled himself into a maintenance vent, small enough only for him, and crawled on his belly toward the command center, a control room at the center of the base.

The black marks on his cheeks naturally reflected light like the oil paint that sports stars used, but in the depths of the facility’s ventilation system, he needed what little light he could get. He fished a penlight out of his pants and flipped it on, only turning it off when he had to crawl past a vent. Through these slotted apertures he could make out barracks, armories, and maintenance hallways, none of which got him closer to his goal.

‘I wonder why they don’t just bomb this place from orbit…’ Jack thought to himself, envisioning the whole facility exploding while he sipped mai tais on the beaches of Bairdmuda with one hand down Skye Steppefurd’s bikini.

What a girl she was. A vixen, but not too full of herself to sleep with a rabbit. Young, but mature and unafraid of a little grime in the agency’s garages. If only she were around to give him a little operational support.

A whoosh of prey-scented air passed him in the vents, and Jack followed the source. Prior to departing from the mission, he had been trained to pick out the scent of his target’s species. The subtle smell passed his nostrils like a ghost, and he knew he was drawing near. When he came to the end of the duct, he pocketed his penlight and peeked through the grating.

There he was. Francisco Sitatunguerra, hooves kicked up and that unique brown and white-striped pelt showing on his bare chest. He bore a grisly scar up the side of his body from a tangle he and Jack had engaged in years ago in the catacombs beneath Purris. Jack bore scars of his own from that fight, but they were a small price to pay for saving the daughter of Interpol’s director-in-chief.

Jack could see an amber-colored bottle on the bovid’s desk and smiled to himself. If the target was drunk, it would make the take down that much easier. Screens behind Sitatunguerra’s tall, sculpted frame showed the status of operations all over the world. And here he was, defenseless in his command office, too proud to let security guard him so close. The rest of the room was plain: metal floors, no windows, a liquor cabinet and a carbine rifle leaned against the wall. Jack knew this was his chance, and his whole body tensed.

With a kick from his powerful legs, the grating popped off the vent and Jack fell into the room. He drew his pistol as he fell, and took the shot. The silencer did little to mitigate the noise, but that was the least of Jack’s worries. The shot missed, grazing the bovid’s ear and plunging into the wall of screens behind him. One of them shorted out in a flash of electricity and sparks, sizzling against Francisco’s bare fur.

“Savage!” He screamed, popping out of his seat. His nostrils flared and he jumped to the side to grab the rifle on the floor. The amber bottle tumbled off the desk and shattered on the floor, the liquid soaking into Jack’s feet.

Jack maintained his position, lead his target with the iron sights on his pistol, and took another shot. This one struck Francisco, a patch of blood appearing on his abdomen. He roared, and raised the barrel of the rifle at Jack.

“Die Savage! For once in your life just die!” He screamed, opening fire.

The bullets sprayed a trail behind Jack’s path as he leapt away behind the desk. The space was too small, too enclosed. It was easy for jack to dodge, but a large prey mammal like Francisco wasn’t so lucky. Jack waited until the bullets stopped, listening to the sound of his target panting and groaning in pain. He cursed himself for not finishing the job in one shot – it was below him. With a curt grunt, Jack sprung up onto the top of the desk and shot Francisco three more times in the chest in a tight spread of less than three inches.

“Sorry, Frank. I’ve got too much to live for to die. At least we’ll always have the Caribbouean.” Jack muttered, moving his arms to the side to stare at Francisco. As he watched, the bovid reached up to shatter a glass box on the wall, and press a large, obvious red button that Jack had somehow missed.

“We’ll die together after all, Savage.” Francisco choked out, blood streaming down his lips. He had let the rifle fall to his side, and soon his body went limp.


The loudspeaker system was loud and clear this time. Jack’s ears stood up to hear the announcement repeated again in Spanish, then Afrikaans, and finally Chinese.

“Bollocks.” Jack groaned, heading for the door with his wet feet. He opened it half way and saw large-bodied guardsmen running in the opposite direction. At least he wouldn’t have to fight his way out. He slid himself through the door, looking back one last time as it closed behind him, then jogged down the hall. His bare feet were soft enough to be completely silent, especially with the alarm klaxon blaring. Still, it didn’t help that he stank of whiskey and sweat.

As Jack reached the outside, he could hear the buzzing of motorboat engines and see trails of white in the black ocean below the platform. He was positive that he had taken enough time to be alone, but he still skirted carefully along the edge of the platform to make his way back to his submersible. He reached into his pocket as he stared into the crashing waves below the long ladder, and pressed the -Surface- button on his call remote firmly. Seconds passed, and nothing. He squinted his eyes and grimaced at what he saw.

The submersible’s line had been cut.


Jack began to fret. He could feel his suit grow damp with sweat, and he pinched his brow for a moment before setting off running toward where he had seen Francisco’s guards fleeing. He found a square staircase that led down a hundred feet to where the facility met the ocean.

The docks were completely empty. Not a single lifeboat remained, and Jack cursed his luck. He pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and set it in his mouth, then lit it.

“Last one. You had a good life, didn’t you, Jack?” He muttered aloud to himself.

As he contemplated his death, a sudden noise shocked him out of his self-pity.

To his right, a figure emerged from the waves. He gawked, cigarette tumbling from his mouth and bouncing off the platform into the water, just as a flash of orange pulled herself up.

Skye Steppefurd. ZIA agent, and the object his affections. She wore a form-fitting orange diving suit that left nothing to the imagination. She was a little taller than Jack, and her hourglass figure filled out anything she wore quite nicely.

As Jack watched in disbelief, she let her air tank fall off her back onto the platform, and set down a grisly looking spear gun.

“Savage!” She squealed, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck.

“S-steppefurd! What in blue blazes are you doing here?” Jack stuttered, his body warming instantly at her touch. He shook his head and quickly added, “We’ve got to get out of here! Raise your submersible!”

Skye pouted her lips and took a step back. “You’re not excited to see me? It’s been six months!” She whined, paws moving to unzip her jumpsuit.

“Y-you know you’re not supposed to be naked under those!” Jack balked, eyes moving up and down her body but focusing especially on the tender hump of her nethers between her legs.

“Shhh. Jack. You know I love danger, and I love you. Why don’t we have a little fun while we wait for our way out?” Skye asked, tilting her head inquisitively and cocking her hips as if to quietly tell Jack to refrain from saying no.

“Skye, there’s no time! Can’t you hear that alarm?! We—“


“Well. I suppose we do have enough time.” Jack said, his tone shifting to one of flat realization.

He reached up to undo his tie, but Skye stopped him.

“No. Leave it on, Agent Savage…” She cooed, whispering into his ear as she pressed her delicate against his. He could smell her scent against the salt of the sea, her pheromones rising from her depths to fill his head with all sorts of ideas for positions and acts. But with only eight minutes…

“Right. Oral with a bit of missionary to cap off, then.” Jack said affirmatively, adjusting the cuffs of his suit coat.

Skye nodded, and leaned down to gingerly undo his pants and slide his cock out from the fabric. It was already had, and sprang into her paws as eagerly as ever.

“Ooh, Jack… Have you grown?” Skye chuckled, stroking her paws along his cock, able to fit it in just one of her paws. It wasn’t mean to be a hurtful remark – she was more than pleased by a man of his size.

Jack sank against the metal platform beneath him and spread his legs. He saw Skye’s tail swish behind her, and she readily went down on him. She was an excellent diver, after all.

He felt a soft puff of her breath on the end of his cock, then her lips. They were heavenly. He gazed at her affectionately as her gentle tongue gingerly helped guide him into her mouth. Once his cock was pressing against her cheek on the inside, she began to suck. Jack threw his head back, ears brushing the floor behind him. Skye was good, too good, and he had been longing for her touch for months. To finally have it here, now, while both their lives were endangered was…


“Nngh, bloody hell, Skye, go easy on me or I’ll cum before I’m even inside you. We have to be quick but not that quick.” Jack’s words were interrupted by his own groans and grunts of pleasure.

Skye kept sucking, but her eyes lifted up to look at him. The view was perfection. Her head down, eyes up as she tasted his bunny cock. It had been a long time for her too, and she was so pleased to re-experience his flavor.

“Alright, Jack, get to work…” Skye urged as she moved her mouth away from his cock. A strand of saliva kept her lips and his tip connected for a moment, then she rolled onto her back and fondled her chest, thumbs brushing against her blush-pink nipples.

Jack rolled over onto her without hesitation.


“Skye… If we don’t get out of this, I’ll at least have pleasured you again.” Jack said, his eyes soft as he hilted inside her and began to thrust. He could feel her tender folds, no doubt glistening with her natural lubrication, scented like the vixen he craved ever since he met her in the field six years ago. It had been a six-year lust-affair.

“Nnngh, Jack, surely they call you Savage for a reason? Can’t you fuck me a little harder?” Skye said, her voice lilting.

Jack opened one eye to see her grinning teasingly at him, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile. He bucked his hips harder, his legs straddled over her and his paws firm against the metal beneath her to keep his thrusts long and powerful. He rocked with her, sweat and fluids mingling as he reached the edge of his tolerance. He could tell Skye was nearing hers as well, because she had gotten quiet save for her rapid panting and lustful whimpers.

As his own personal countdown began in his head, he could hear the countdown of the self-destruct system. The voice was all around them, and the numbers were growing smaller as his orgasm grew nearer.

“Skye… Skye!” He screamed her name, knowing this might be their last liaison.

Skye reached up, taking him by the neck and pulling him close. The crashing waves of the ocean and the thundering blare of the klaxon filled their ears, and she wanted him to be able to hear her.

“Jack…” She began, nuzzling his ear.

“The bomb!” He groaned, desperate to cum… But he wanted Skye to finish first. It would be ungentlemanly otherwise.

Skye’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Jack’s crazed, panicked stare. The detonation timer reached its end.




“I already disarmed it.”

Jack and Skye came in unison as the timer reached zero. He stayed in her as he flooded her with his cum, and she felt her body growing weak, her hips shivering in the debilitating bliss that overcame her. Behind them, they could hear the sound of her submersible popping up from under the waves. The facility had gone silent. All they had left to do was clean up, and escape.


“Jack.” They were in the submersible, panting and sweating as Skye programmed in the course to Zootopia’s harbors.

“Yes, Agent Steppefurd?” Jack closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. He flinched as he felt Skye’s mouth again, this time around one of his toes.

“Is this… whiskey?” She stifled a giggle, glancing up at him incredulously.

Jack wiggled his toes in response. “Oh… Yes, that. Nasty bit of business back there. But don’t worry. I’ll buy you a fresh bottle when we get back to Zootopia.”