7.

Guadalupe and Maxwell retired to the only operating restroom. 
Max led Guadalupe in, guiding the path dominantly. The goat-boy made no conscious efforts to retaliate or fight against Max. They burst through a pair of swinging double-doors into a urine-scented porcelain-tiled restroom, ridden with filth from years of misuse. Smudges of dirt were caked upon the tiling, the corners clumped with mounds of dust, mold, mildew and aged soapy grime. The left side of the bathroom held a long-stretching urinal bowl with scented pucks and slushy ice. Fresh scotch-scented vomit lay in a coagulated heap, sunken into a mound of ice. To the right of the restroom were two rusted sinks with dirt-smeared mirrors towering above them, one cracked in the center, spread out like a spider’s web. 
All three enclosed stalls, light beige in color, were unoccupied. A flood of graffiti coated each square inch of their surfaces: gang insignias, crudely drawn penises and vaginas, phone numbers for prostitutes and gangbangers, even a duct-taped glory hole crusted with a multitude of dry flaky aftermaths. Many men endured an overabundance of sloppy ejaculations through this small arm-width hole, pried through diligently. Max wondered if any guys may have lost their junk in the past due to an overexcited cocksucker with epilepsy or a treacherously vengeful ex-wife donning a filet blade or a pair of scissors, then cringed in reviled disgust at the thought and dropped it.
Hugging Lupe close between his hybrid arms and swirling his long canine tongue in figures of eight inside the kid's mouth, flicking and jerking, Maxwell seduced his informant. Lupe kept his hooven hand-paws cupped firmly around Max’s buttocks, tugging upward, caressing intimately in his grasp, gasping with erotic stupor. 
They entered the last stall in a dimly-lit corner and Max closed the door, locking the dead-bolt behind him. Lupe slid Max's jacket off his slender shoulders, causing the large denim article to fall to the ground in a ragged clump (along with the balloon of scag). Lupe licked at Max’s fur-tufted neck, remaining attached solidly to his body like a fly to sugar. Lupe’s brown-tanned goat-hoof hand slid from Max’s bulge and slowly maneuvered up his groin then traveled beneath his shirt, lifting it up gently as he rubbed his fingers-tips across Max’s revealed abs. Lupe knelt down and kissed at the shep-coon's chest, rubbing and embracing the anthro with unrepentant lust, practically unheard of. Max was worried about him noticing the gun harness strapped upon his belt, but luckily the little shit narrowly avoided it, paying more attention to unbuttoning and unzipping Max’s denim jeans. This little homo-slut simply won’t wait for another minute longer. My God, he’s wooing me over! I’ll have to show him his money’s worth – in more ways than one. First things first, however…
Lupe yanked down Max’s denim jeans and plaid boxers, jangling miniscule chain-links upon his belt, to expose a fresh musky canine erection, lube-slickened with pre. Lupe licked at his chapped lips, moistening them up a bit and looked up lovingly at Max, smiling and cocking an eyebrow with generous desire. Max bit down upon his lower lip and nodded, avidly excited expression affirming oral pleasure. 
As Max spread his fuzzy shep-coon thighs apart a bit wider for comfort and negotiable access, Lupe took all of Max’s thick baculum-knotted cock down his long goat-boy throat with incredible persistency. Max rolled his single brown eye back into his head and moaned enticingly as he clenched his grip down upon the head of this prick of a dope pusher, grabbing hold of his fuzzy, rough fur as the goat-pusher’s lips wrapped tightly around Max’s veiny shaft, dampening it with warm sticky vodka-drenched saliva. Quick lashings of Lupe’s bristly tongue against his canine cock tip and those maddening flurries of sheer illicit pleasure drove Max gut-wrenching insane with lust, twitching and panting with each sliding bob up and down, goat-face burying deeper into his exceptionally musky crotch. 
Max endured a swift squirting orgasm after a good ten-minute suck. He distended and as soon as he ejaculated down Lupe’s throat, rubbing the head of his penis against the roof of the boy’s mouth, feeling a slight presence of teeth scraping against his meaty knot, he felt his crotch draining, a velvety smooth sensation of sweet relief, of undeniable bliss, of unimaginable pleasure. Lupe practically choked while swallowing the spunk shot down his throat from Max's shep-coon dick. This clenching sensation enticed Max with a magnificent rebuttal, causing seminal fluid to protrude in small trickling globs down Lupe’s chin, dribbling slowly along the fur clumps adorning his neck, hand-soap texture and cloying with the scent of oysters and fresh pineapple.
As Max slid down to his knees to French-kiss Lupe and engage in a scrumptious sultry snowballing, he cautiously reached for his pistol, fastened securely to the belt buckle harness. With one hand-paw, Max gripped Lupe’s hair and locked muzzle to mouth, lapping up his own trickling jizz from the boy’s gaping maw, while his other free hand-paw grabbed hold of the pistol's handle, disengaging the safety and blindly cocking back the hammer. The boy heard this tiny clicking sound and peered over to his side. His eyes grew wide with shock and dismayed alarm. He reared his head back, eyelids frozen in place, jaw dropped down wide open and face flushed pale with fright. A small rope of Max’s semen trailed from the young kid's lip, dangling and swinging like a thin liquid string of ivory jump rope as he stared at the pistol’s barrel, a threatening and incredibly definitive black hollowed circle of doom and destruction pointed directly at his shivering face, loaded, armed and ready to fire, settling this entire absurdly stupid fucking botched drug exchange once and for all.
Maxwell remained ever-patient after all and he couldn’t have felt more suspended on cloud nine than he did right then and there, especially when his groin began to tingle relentlessly.

To be continued…