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Chapter one - Open casket.

Mike was always a prick. One of those self-indulged guys that always cared about what he wanted and never for anyone else. But, of course, good ol' Mike always had an escape plan to get away from his loansharks. Too bad he never figured they'd hire assassins in the form of beautiful vixens.

Mike was gunned out with his pants down, red cheeks, and dick wet.

They all sat there at his open casket funeral, saying our good-byes, shedding tears. Now, when I say "they" I mean the idiots that cared for Mike. Everyone except me. The entire funeral home was designed almost like a church. They served red, white and black wine, which was strange for a funeral, especially for Mike. He almost never drank.

The preist bowed his head and opened the good book, preaching words of faith for Mike. The preist was odd, a short, simple arctic fox. I flashed my eyes wide open, but ducked my head, and read the old preists' mind. I can read peoples' minds like books, but the one thing I wanted from the Preist was his darkest secret: Sexual fantasy. I didn't want his phone number, his bank codes, little white lies, no. I wanted to see his deepest darkest desires. I've seen things that you've only seen in nightmares that turn people on. Besides, reading peoples' fantasies is fun.

This particular preist was way into bloodplay, the good old sanguinarian way of saying, "This is sexy". Cute.

Everyone gave a moment of silence to Mike. Everyone dressed in their fine black suits and dresses. One of Mikes friends, a lean and tall black panther named Sheena, practically shook her ass at me walking down the hall, her tail swishing as she moved. I shook my head at her.

The preist, a rather odd man of faith, patted my shoulder, "Mr. Clifton?" He said with a kind smile. Almost like a rapists smile. It was creepy. "Micheal left something for you. Its a slip of employment and a letter. It concerns his downtown dance club and bar."

I took a sip of my red wine, some of it accidently spilling onto my black fur. I stared at the preist with bright, yellow eyes. Curious down to my feline heart, I asked, almost concerned, "Erm...Which club?" The preist smiled again and gave me a paper, then whispered to me, "The Black Labda. You start work tomorow."

Then he walked away, greeting other relatives of Mike, his long robe scraping the floor. I went to the bathroom to clean my fur up. I stared at myself in the mirror, hearing small whispers and moans coming from the wall next to the Ladies' room. I pressed my feline ear against it Sheena was most likley going down on one of Mike's relatives to "ease the pain".

I sighed. My sex drive had long been burned out ever since I lost my last lover.

I sat in a stall and closed the door, looking down at the bulge in my crotch. I smirked at it. It taunted me, begged to be pulled.

My only source of pleasure was my paw. I shook my head, "Not a good place."

However, I wasn't going to walk away from this. Or at least I thought I wasn't. Soon, I found myself focusing my psychic energy all at one front, then shot it through the wall at the guy in the next room.

At first, all I could see was black. The cold inlays of the bathroom walls was peaceful, quiet and calm. But that wasn't what I wanted. I focused my energy more and more, peircing through the other side of the wall and blasting it into Sheena's head by accident. My aim was off, but it was fine for now, being a bisexual, I'll take what comes. No longer was I in my body. Or, kinda, I was. My body was acting like its normal self, but my mind was now "stealthed" in Sheena's mind. I saw what she saw, what she tasted and felt. Like a movie playing, but your the star still sitting in the movie seats.

My vision was blurred. I could tell Sheena had been deepthroating his rock-hard wolf cock. She bobbed her head, slowly, patiently, like a hunter after her prey. She seemed to be having trouble getting the whole thing into her throat. She immediatly pulled and gasped, small strips of precum dripping from her mouth down between her breasts, which she casually looked by and smiled at the tall, muscular grey wolf sitting on the toilet seat with her on her knees. Sheena wrapped a warm paw around his cock, which was almost like an animal itself as it throbbed gently in her hand, "Gonna cum soon, babe?" She said with a grin on her face, unbuttoning her blouse and exposing two large purple-nippled breasts, sliding the wet wolf member between them. He nodded down at her, showing his fangs in satisfaction. He slid his paws downward and pinched her nipples, which let a small moan escape her body. She immediatly showed her gratitude by placing her tongue on his member and began shifting up and down, only to be soon met with small growls and murrs coming from above her. This was soon met by hot, think ropes of cum flooding into her mouth. She didn't notice the wolf paw clutching tightly on her hair, almost tearing bits of it off.

Her head moved back. She swallowed and smiled, looking up at him. He looked back at her.

Before the two could engage in a kiss, I pulled my psychie out back into my head.

My body was left leaning against the bathroom stall, relaxed, dazed and a tad confused. By pure instinct, my tongue felt around my mouth and lips. No sign or taste of cum. This made me more relaxed, but the slightest more upset at the fact that all I felt was dick in my mouth. It wasn't the fact that I missed my target, but I didn't feel the passion or the climax, which left a powerful sting in my heart. But that's what I believe my psychic power was built for: Charging sexual experience.

I headed outside the funeral parlor's large glass doors, silhouettes of Mike's family leaving behind me in the glass blurr. Alarge pack of coyotes, all of Mike's relations. Sheena left with the grey wolf. She nodded at me. I nodded at her, chuckling to myself. Opening the door to my car, I sat down baking in the sunlight that peirced the windshield. I sat for awhile, sweating.

Finally, there was no longer a wait to it. Sighing, I took Mike's paper out and read it.

"Dear Aaron

I know we haven't had a lot of buisness success in the past, but if your reading this, I'm most likely dead due to hitmen, loansharks or suicide. I left an open job for you at my down-town club, The Black Labda. Remember when we said we would open a club? Well, I did, but couldn't ask for you help in time. I need you to take care of it while I'm gone. Dont worry. You'll do fine!

Mike Williams

P.S. There's more to the club than it seems."

The Black Labda was one of downtown New Yorks' most popular dance clubs. The name was a mystery, but word on the street was that whatever happens in the Black Labda, stays there, and some pretty powerful stuff happens there. Not like, gang violance, murders, drug deals, but rumor has it that the Black Labda has new state-of-the-art orgasm-drive machines. Those costs around 60,000 plates each. From what I read about them, the machine slides a helmet onto you and stimulates your brain. What helps about it is the fact that the machine levatates you at the same time, spins you around and works your naughty bits.

I let the note drop from my hands and sighed.

Just the thought of the machines made me shudder in a mix of delight and fear.

More baking in the sunlight lead from staying in the car from 10:00 AM to 2:30 PM. It was nice. The sun's heat provided me with comfort. I almost thought that it was going to cure my sex drive, but realised: You cant fuck the sun.

The radio turned itself on and blasted Industrial Rock, and a smile grew on my face. Industrial Rock was the best. The radio clock flicked 2:47 PM back at me. Letting out a deep breath, I decided that tonight was the night I started working at the Black Labda. Sleep all day. Party all night.

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket, rubbing against my groin. I immediatly sat up with a "HOLY CRAP!" look on my face, removed the phone from my pocket and hit the green button. "This is Aaron, hello?" I said, yawning and rubbing my eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Clifton?" A rather feminane voice responded to me, "This is Zoe Bluin from the Black Labda, I'm just checking to make sure that-" "I got the letter from Mike, yes, thank you." She sounded almost upset at me on the other line, "Well, come by tonight if you want, its two bucks a beer night." Then she hung up. No good-bye, no nothing. Just a click.

"Pssh." I whispered to myself, throwing my cellphone in the passanger seat. The radio set itself to ambiance music, the seat clicked and lowered itself, a pillow swelling from the headrest. Sleepytime 'till 7:00.