The Grey Woman
The wolf sighed to herself as she went about her work, ferrying dirty dishes to the kitchens to be washed and returning with fresh ones. This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she'd applied for the 'chef's assistant' position. Margie had only been working at the small pizzeria for a couple of weeks, but it already seemed like a chore. She had vaguely enjoyed the last place she'd worked, at a waffle restaurant on the other side of town. Now, she had to commute a half hour every day through one of the worst neighbourhoods in the city.
I must be crazy to do this, she thought, though she knew that it had been her only choice for employment after she had left on such bad terms with the waffle joint's boss. Not my fault, Margie thought as she bustled through the old-style swinging doors into the tight kitchen. I couldn't live with that asshole at my tail every damn day. So, she had left. Her notice of resignation had been on the boss' desk, signed, sealed and delivered in all the legality her part-time employment demanded. She had even left her apron there, though the business had made her buy it herself. At least someone'll get some use out of it.
A sneaked glance at the clock above the counter while she was serving some customers told Margie that it was close to her knock-off time. It had been a long time in coming, nearly an 8 hour shift. The patrons in that part of town didn't make those hours fly past any easier, either. When they weren't stumbling into the store to demand pizza, drunk off their heads, they were pinching her ass when she bent down to pick up the cutlery their unruliness threw to the floor. It's a living, though, was her consolation as she washed up her last pile of dishes for the evening. She waved a quick farewell to the other gals still on shift and hurried out of the diner, bracing herself against the cold lap of wind that greeted her.
Turning up the collar of her coat, Margie dashed to the bus stop, only to be met with the pair of receding tail lights that meant she'd missed the last bus for the night. Fuck. It was the third time that week. The result of this was, of course, that she had to walk to the city bus port; a trek of several kilometres through dimly lit streets in what was possibly the worst part of town.
"Shit!" she yelped, the momentum slamming her against the wall of the alleyway. She peeled herself away from the cold bricks, stumbled slightly, her low heels slipping on the slick ground. Her coat was hanging off her shoulder and the male grabbed at it, catching and twisting his paw in the material to stifle her struggling. He pulled her in close to him, his arm held tightly around her waist to keep her pressed tight to his menacing form. "What a pretty female," he whispered against her ear, even as she strained to keep her face away from him, every part of him, her look of pure terror widening the whites of her eyes. He slavered and licked her cheek roughly, his arm holding her hips against his, forcing her to recognise the firming sheath that pressed against her pubic bone.
"You shouldn't have run, my dear," he said with the sound of a smirk in his voice that she couldn't see in the darkness. The wolf again struggled against him, but the badger's arms held fast and he let out a snarling laugh. "Struggle all you want, my pretty wolf. There is no one here to hear you." Leaning in, he captured her mouth in a kiss that made her moan in fear, his tongue forcing past her teeth to taste of her. She made as if to bite him and he growled, his paw rising immediately to her throat and then to her muzzle, gripping around it and twisting forcefully to the side. With her neck thus exposed, he bent his head and inhaled a deep breath of her scent. Previously smelling faintly of soap and the diner, her fur now held the acrid scent of sweat and the more ethereal one of pure, animalistic fear.
He man-handled her over to the wall of the alley, in one motion pulling her skirt up and her underwear down. Roughly positioning himself in between her legs, he pushed himself up against her naked sex. "Do you feel that, wolf? It's all for you. Wouldn't you like that?" The paw holding her muzzle shut kept her from screaming, instead having her produce only a strangled whine as she tried to shake her head. "Of course you do, my dear. You may deny it, but I feel how needy you are." He bent his head to hers again, his teeth sinking into her neck ruff to hold her steady as his paw darted down to swiftly unbuckle and unzip his trousers.
There was a slickness to the badger's harsh voice that scared her more than anything else. His tone was sickly sweet with bad intent, and as he pressed his cock to the furrow of her nether regions, Margie let out a whimper through her muffled muzzle. The honey was gone from the badger's voice as he snarled, 'Shut it,' and let out an animalistic grunt, pushing inside of her roughly and forcing her against the brick behind her. Even through her thick, winter coat the wolf's skin was being rubbed raw, and her clothes were surely ruined. She would have laughed at the irony of being worried about her clothing in a situation like this if she were in a position to do so.
She was paralyzed. The stranger seemed to realise this, loosening his grip on her closed jaws, even going so far as to let go of her arm and tear open the front of Margie's work dress. Absently she stared at one of the buttons that had popped off at that force, the mother-of-pearl reflective in the distant light of the street-lamp. She felt the filthy paw of the badger squeeze her breast roughly, felt his claws break through her skin, but she didn't feel as if she were the owner of the body to which that was happening. Her captor let out another grunt and thrust into her a final time, and Margie absently wondered if it were blood or semen she felt staining her thighs. She realised that it was amusing to her that she would prefer if it were the latter; bloodstains were so much more difficult to get out.
The badger let out a harsh laugh and threw her to the ground, and she heard the sound of his zip as the side of her head hit the filthy concrete. A globule of spit hit the ground beside her and he delivered a sharp kick to her stomach before the wolf watched his feet retreat out of her field of view. The scent of vomit filled the stifling air in front of her nose, and it took her a moment to realise that it was her own.
'Jonathan, I need you to come and pick me up.' Margie hoped that he didn't notice the tremor in her voice as she spoke quietly into the public phone. 'Where are you, sweetie?' She gave him the directions to where she had ended up after wandering away from the alley. Barely ten minutes later, his dented old two-door drew up to the curb. The wolf guiltily stuffed the bloodied cardigan she had used to dry between her legs into her bag and climbed into the car. As Jonathan, a cheerful young otter of about twenty, nattered away peaceably, she simply stared out of the windscreen at the swift-passing shifts of light thrown by the streetlamps.
'We're here, sweets,' Jonathan's decidedly male voice whispered into her ear. She awoke with a startled bark and cringed away from him, before she had even realised who he was or that she had fallen asleep. 'Are we..'
'Your house. I don't think you were fit to spend the night by yourself. What's upset you, anyway?'
'Oh, I... I missed the bus.' Margie dodged his question with practised ease. Even as he nodded understandingly, she hated herself for lying to him. He was as close as a lover to her, even if he was 'only' a friend.
He didn't help her up the stairs, though he watched her consistently as she made her own way. Her paws shook as she reached into her bag for the keys, and the crusted stain on her cardigan made her cringe away from digging deeper into her bag. Jonathan saw her struggle and slipped his own key past her and into the lock. The canine sighed gratefully and eased herself inside, the male a quiet shadow behind her. 'I'll put the kettle on,' he suggested, and she inclined her head in a nod while she made her way into the bathroom in the dark.
Though she spent at least twice as long as she should have standing under the spray of the shower, Margie could still smell the sour scent of fear and the tang of copper in her fur. An added pawful of shampoo did its best to mask the stink, and she hoped that Jonathan wouldn't probe her further about it. Her nose was probably better than his was, in any case. She didn't want to touch herself down there, to feel what she knew had been done, but she knew that she had to; if not to clean, at least to take stock. A sigh was the only visible sign she gave as she soaped herself, washed, then turned off the taps and stood in front of the fogged mirror.
Her clouded reflection made her look as she felt. Ethereal and unfounded, she was barely able to make out where she ended and the grey towels and tiles began. Staring blankly at where she assumed were her eyes, then down at her chest, the wolf felt wrinkles in places she knew she hadn't had them before. She bared her teeth and gave a soft growl, then again sighed. Fighting now was pointless. She slipped into her bathrobe and turned off the fan as she left the bathroom.
A mug of steaming hot coffee waited for her on the table in front of Jonathan, who was resting uneasily on the couch. 'White and sweet, just how you like it.' She nodded in acceptance and settled herself in one of the armchairs before reaching forward and grasping the cup tight to ease the shaking in her paws. The otter rested back on the couch opposite her and she sensed him simply watching her as she stared into the clouded surface of her coffee. 'What happened, doll?' he probed her again, and she just shook her head and looked up at him. Her heart twisted with the disappointment on his face at her refusal to share her thoughts. 'I'm sorry, Jon. I just really don't want to talk about it.' He didn't look satisfied at her placation, but then, she hadn't expected him to be.
'How was work?' He always had been good at changing the subject. 'Same as usual. Had me drooling out the corner of my mouth in boredom only 20 minutes in.' The shewolf gave a noncommittal shrug and looked over at her mantle-piece, to the crystal ballerina given to her by her aunt. It had belonged to her grandmother. Aunt Clarice got it when the old woman died, but decided she had no practical use for it and Margie had barely saved it from being pawned. The room was dusty. So were her ears, it seemed. Jon was giving her an odd look as he waited for her to reply to a question he'd asked. Pity I can't remember what it was. She gave a shrug in reply and left it at that.
' 'I should get goi-...'
'I'm sor-...' They both started talking at once. The otter smiled kindly at her and she managed an expression that didn't look quite like a grimace. He stood up and she did the same, then followed him down the hallway to the front door. Margie shoved her paws into the pockets of her robe and gave a slight shake of her head, scattering droplets of water from her headfur over the hall table. He laughed and raised a paw in mock defense against the hail.
'Come here, sweetie.' She winced at the pet name, her friend's warm tenor replaced in her mind for a moment by a harsh growl that burned into her. Paying the twitch no heed, if he'd even seen it, her friend embraced her and though she cringed away from him, the otter held her tight to his chest. 'Jonathan...'
'Shhh...' he whispered, drawing back from her, and pressed his forehead against hers. He gave the shewolf another tight squeeze, then relaxed his arms' hold on her.
His paw moved to her chin and tilted her gaze up to meet his own brown eyes. 'Why won't you tell me what's wrong? I'm worried, honey.' She looked away and he brushed the paw of his webbed thumb over her chin. 'Okay. I can wait. Tell me when you're ready.' The disappointment in his voice was evident, and her stomach dropped at the tone. Rolling her eyes up to look into his pleadingly, she seemed to say, You have no idea how much I want to tell you.
Jonathan began to rock her gently in his arms, swaying to some gentle beat that was contained within his own head. She was stiff at first, then began to move with him, leaning forward to rest her cheek on his shoulder. Her eyes closed, and she almost slept. The otter sensed this and scooped her up with warm familiarity, nudging her arms around his neck and walking with carefully measured steps into her bedroom. The covers were drawn back and she was placed onto the soft sheets.
You are a beautiful woman, Jonathan thought as he stood by his friend's bed. He hadn't yet replaced the covers over her lightly slumbering form. There was a ridge of frown at her forehead that hadn't shifted all night. Despite this, the grey-furred face was shaped on the attractive side of plain. It was her gentility and soft heart which had the otter wishing to give her more than just his long-standing friendship.
He hadn't a forceful bone in his body, except when it came to urging her off to bed or to the kitchen to make coffee. Even then, it was only in faux dramatics. Most minutes he spent around her, he ached to touch her, to hold her, with more than comfort in the embrace. She suspected nothing, he thought. I probably make it so goddamn obvious that she'd be blind if she didn't know, the otter's mind ran in convolution.
The shewolf shifted and mumbled something in her sleep. She rolled partly onto her side, and the bathrobe she wore slipped. The shoulder of the flannel moved down, her breast exposed in indecency. Jonathan had seen her nude several times, but this was different. It was... intimate. Forbidden.
He tried to look away, or to move forward and fix the robe, but he was transfixed by this new moment of beauty. His heart ached with it. There was a soft whimper that came from the shewolf's mouth and broke his dreamlike state. He moved forward, touch gentle as he pulled the robe back to hide her chest fur from view. The otter went through her apartment, turning off the lights he'd lit and placing the coffee cups in her sink, then quietly closed the door behind him as he left her to her restless dreaming.