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Crossroads

Geno drifted around and around the brass pole in the centre of the stage to the tune of a song that had been popular on French radio in the sixties. As she spun the flashing coloured lights picked out faces in the audience. She kept her eye out for any that seemed eager and flush with cash. Young and rich was good. Old and rich was better. But middle-aged with the Christmas bonus money would do.

As she went around again for perhaps the hundredth time that night she wondered how she had come to be in this place after a life that had started with so much promise. The long slow spiral downward had all started some five years ago, that day in the alley behind the Video store she supposed. Dancing by rote, she allowed her mind to drift back.

* * * * * * * * *

Geno leaned against the wall of the alley behind the video store where she worked part time and puffed on her cigarette; it was turning out to be a bastard of a day. Already 15 DVD returns with the wrong disc inside, and the manager was blaming her, like she'd gone to their houses and deliberately switched them. The prick was just pissed because she'd refused to have sex with him. Honestly, she thought as she idly rubbed one breast through the opening in her top, why does everyone think I'm easy?

Geno was a cheetah. She was taller than average for a female, and full figured, very full in some people's opinion. Her fur was bright orange with dark brown spots, except on her belly, chest chin, knees and elbows, where it was white. The hair on her head was yellow and she wore it long most of the time. She thought that it helped set off her emerald green eyes. At twenty five she was still working her way through university, although after failing a few courses and changing majors several times she was nowhere near graduating.

She was dressed in her usual outfit; jeans with the legs cut off so short that only the seam held them together and a short top that was cut low and had a large oval opening in the front. For decoration she had added crossed belts with silver buckles under her breasts and a single silk sleeve held by a leather strap on her left arm. There was a scrap of another silk strapped to her right bicep. She had three silver rings in one ear, one in her brow, and a large silver bead in her naval. A large silver cross hung between her breasts. Her lipstick, nail polish, and eye-makeup were all in the same vibrant violet shade as the silk.

She lit up another cigarette, trying to stretch her break out before going back in to face the wrath of the Doberman. A noise came from down the alley and she looked over to see two alley rats rummaging through one of the dumpsters. Fine by her, as long as they didn't leave a mess; in his current mood, the manager would probably make her clean the alley if they did.

The two rats weren't dressed like your typical dumpster divers, she noticed. Their clothes looked store-bought, or at least store-stolen. The larger of the two wore a long coat over canvas pants and a muscle shirt. The short, slim one had on clean jeans and a hoodie. Both wore oversize leather boots with large shiny buckles instead of laces. They had moved to the dumpster closest to the video store's rear entrance, and were casually looking inside.

Geno's feline instincts started to tingle; maybe she should go back in the store. She reached behind her and found the knob. It wouldn't turn; someone had locked it from the inside! The prick of a manager probably forgot she was out here. Facing the door she toyed with the cross that hung between her breasts. What to do now? The service bell hadn't worked for years, and if he was in front he'd never hear her pounding on the door ... but the rats would. Don't panic, she cautioned herself, I've got to appear to be in control. I'll just saunter up the alley to the street, and go in the front door.

She turned back to the alley and froze. Both rats stood facing her only a few feet away, blocking her escape. The short one grinned evilly and spat on the pavement, the big one just grinned.

"Well, well." The short one said. "What do we have here, Lenny?"

The large one looked confused for a moment. "A kitty, George?" he ventured.

"Nah, Lenny." he said as he stared at her breasts. "Kitties is little. This pussy's all growed up."

Geno could feel his eyes travel over her, taking in the ample bosom through the opening in her top. They slid down over her bare midriff to linger on the cut-off jeans that seemed to disappear between her legs. For once Geno wished that she'd cut them a little bit longer. The big one, Lenny, was all grins again, and seemed fascinated by the violet sleeve she wore on her left arm, and the straps that held it there.

"Okay boys," she ventured, "Store entrance is around the front. Here, let me show you." She stepped off the landing and went to go around them, but the small rat grabbed her arm as she passed.

"Where you think you're going lady? Sheesh Lenny, you'd think she doesn't want our company."

"We got a company, George?" Lenny looked confused again. "I thought you said we got a gang, George? Just you 'n me, you said, a gang of two."

"Relax Lenny, before your brain overheats again." He spun Geno around to face Lenny. "Grab her."

Lenny obliged. His huge paws dug into Geno's arms, squeezing the straps on her biceps. She struggled to free herself, but Lenny's grip was like iron and she couldn't do more than wiggle.

"Pretty." Lenny said, looking down on her. "Can I pet her George? Just a little bit?"

"Sure Lenny. You can pet her head like I showed you in a minute, just give me a second here." Geno heard the sound of a zipper and the slump of material falling. Suddenly there were arms around her waist, paws fumbling with her belt buckle. George hooked his thumbs in her shorts and pulled both them and her panties down to her knees. He put one of his legs between hers so that the shorts were behind his knee.

"Okay Lenny, back up a couple a feet and you can start petting her." Lenny stepped back, pulling Geno's shoulders down so that her ass was up and her head was level with his crotch. Her tail twitched in fear and anger. Should she scream? Would anyone notice in this part of the city? Would anyone care? George grabbed her tail and held it up out of his way. Something hard, hot, and fleshy brushed one ass-cheek. She struggled harder.

"That's right lady. Wiggle that ass. That's what I wanna see."

Lenny released one arm and fumbled at his own pants. He started rubbing her ears with his other massive paw, pulling her head closer.

"Nice kitty. Pretty kitty. You let Lenny pet you now, and no biting! Lenny gets mad if you bite, and George says that that's a bad thing." His paw momentarily tightened on her skull, making her eyes bulge and leaving her dizzy. She looked down and gulped for air. The silver cross swung into view. Mother superior was right, she thought, I should never have left the convent.

Behind her she could feel George poking at her, searching for an opening. All her muscles tightened in resistance; this was going to hurt. Suddenly the poking stopped.

She heard a noise like someone slapping a carpet and realized that the rat was searching his coat for something. "Where did I put that ... Ah! Here we goes." There was a splash of warm liquid on her butt, and a smell that reminded her of her father`s hair lotion. Suddenly she forgot all about her father as her ass erupted in fiery pain. The bastard had stuck a digit up her tailhole!

"More useful for startinfires than lubing up the ol bung hole, but it`ll do the trick." George said as he swished his digit around inside. Geno opened her mouth to protest but as soon as she did Lennie filled it with a cock that was shorter than average but twice as thick as any she had ever seen, and she had seen a few. She struggled to spit it out but the larger of the two rats dug his digits into the nerve bundles at the hinge of her jaw and she was forced to open wider.

The one called George pulled his digit out and poked her again with something thicker and blunter. Finding the spot he wanted he grabbed her hips and forced his way into her. She tried to scream as her anus stretched but she couldn't, not with Lenny's digits digging into her jaw.

The pain eased somewhat, turning to numbness as the rat behind her began franticly pumping her ass. The one in front was rocking his hips gently back and forth while he petted her head with one massive paw and maintained his grip on her jawbone with the other. "That's a good kitty." He kept repeating as Geno desperately sucked air through her snout while she choked on his stubby rod. "That's a good, good kitty."

It did not last long. After a few dozen strokes she felt George stiffen and then there was a new heat inside her. "Oh yeah." He grunted. "That's what I'm talking 'bout. Who needs a twat anyway, eh Lennie?"

"Not me George." The big one giggled gleefully as his hips began to move faster. "I just like to hold them, and pet them, and feed them, like you promised I could."

"Yeah, yeah, give it to her Lennie."

Lennie groaned as his cock pistoned in and out of Geno's mouth. She had given a hummer or two and she knew when one of these was about to go off. She tried again to pull her head back, only to feel those monster paws squeezing her skull again. "Now kitty's gotta eat." Lennie said reproachfully and he held her head so firmly that she was afraid her eyes would pop out. Through the ringing in her ears she thought she heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Probably one of the other tenants on the block had come out to dump their garbage and retreated at the sight of the two rats humping the local Video shop clerk, she supposed.

Then she was drowning as the big rat came. He came in buckets, pouring an endless stream of molten spooge down her throat as she fought for air. There was no respite until his cock went limp and dropped from her. She spat and coughed up a pint or so of milky fluid, being careful not to get any on the rat's trousers in case he got mad again.

Thank God that's over, she thought as she saw George step around and pull up his pants. He held her arm as she retched so that Lennie could zip up too. When he was done the other rat took up position on the opposite side of her and grabbed her other arm. Before she could ask why they were holding her like that George pulled out a band of cloth and slipped it over her head.

She was baffled. _ A blindfold? What the hell was the point of blindfolding her after she had already seen their faces? This is one fucked up gang._

Then she felt a third presence behind her. "Hold her tight, Lennie." She heard George say beside her. "She's ready for ya boss. One unplumbed pussy, just like ya ordered."

Both rats clamped down on her arms, forcing her to lean forward and spread her legs for balance. That was all the invitation that whoever it was back there needed. A paw wet with some kind of gel fumbled at her twat, spreading the cool lubricant. Then she felt a cock being rubbed against the entrance, forcing its way between lips that were not welcoming. He didn't care, obviously, he just wiggled around until there was enough of him inside to remove his paw and then he drove it in, hard.

There was no cock in her mouth to stop the scream this time, but Lennie clamped her jaws shut with one paw least her cries bring unwanted attention. "Now, now, kitty." He cautioned. "Be a nice kitty and be quiet while George and Lennie's boss ... ugh ... George? What is it he's doing to her called again George?"

"Just shaddup and watch." The smaller rat said, breathing hard as she enjoyed the show.

Geno could not see anything, but she could smell and she could feel. The usual alley odour of rotting garbage mingled with that of the spooge dripping off her and the oil George had used on her tailhole. There was another smell too, a musky smell that seemed vaguely familiar, but she was too distracted by the pain in the many spots that had been stretched out of shape today to concentrate on it. Right now the most predominant of those was the pull and thrust on the walls of her cunt and the slap of dangling testicles against her clit as bony hips slammed against her ass.

Geno could hear too, but the alley was quiet. The rats and their recent activities had scared off the scavenger birds that usually hung out by the dumpsters and the turns in the alley muffled the sound of traffic from the street. Even the creature behind her was going about his dastardly business in silence, just the occasional grunt escaping from his lips. She wondered who the rat's boss was and how he had gotten in behind her without her seeing him come up the alley.

A new sensation was building inside her, one that she could not believe was happening. Deep in her twat the tissues were swelling and the muscles were contracting as if she was getting excited, but she couldn't be having an orgasm, could she? Not while she was getting raped! But here was no denying it. It was not the kind she got from rubbing her clit or the kind some of her more durable boyfriends gave her by teasing her G spot with their talented cocks. No this was deeper, up by her cervix, the entrance to her womb, but it was undeniably an orgasm in the making.

The creature behind her gasped as her cunt began to squeeze and suck on its rod of its own volition. Geno too was gasping as greedy tissue pulled at the cock that was violating her until her insides were tingling. He pounded her faster to match the pace of her voracious cunt. Her traitorous twat responded by sucking harder and faster, adding its own fluids to ease the hot rod`s passage.

He came with a groan that was drowned out by her own muffled scream, a scream that was torn from her unwilling throat. But down below her twat was not so reluctant as it sought to draw in every ounce of his seed. When he pulled his cock from her cunt it tried to hold him back, but deflated and slippery with fluids that both of them had contributed it managed to escape.

Something in her died then, some sense of self or of worth. She shed a single tear at its passage.

The stranger was gone, where she did not know. She did not hear him walking down the alley, and he could not have gotten far anyways before George took the blindfold off her. "Take care Girly." The rat called as he and his large friend strolled down the alley in the direction of the street. "Maybe we'll come visit ya again, eh Lennie?"

"Yeah, George. Maybe we'll come by and Lennie will pet the little kitty again, and love it and feed it, and ..."

"Come on ya big lummox. I got to get ya home before your Ma tans my hide."

Geno was left alone in the alley, fumbling for her scanty clothes and wondering how she would explain the mess she was in to her manager.

The back door was unlocked when she tried it. Maybe she had panicked and turned it the wrong way earlier. She slipped inside and was relieved to see the Doberman's silhouette through the glass of the door that separated his office from the stock room. Geno quickly went to the washroom and soaked some paper towels in hot water to sponge off her crusty fur. When she had gotten all the dried cum off, and rinsed as much of the spooge out of her holes as she could, she snuck back into the front of the shop, where the other clerk, a bandy bandicoot that worked full time because he had nothing better to do when he was not playing games on line, gave her a dirty look for taking such a long break.

* * * * * * * * *

In the days that followed Geno kept away from the alley, taking the trash out front to a public bin on the corner. She did not see the rats again, but she smelled that musky odour she remembered several times. She smelled it whenever the manager got close to her.

She realized by then that he had been the silent creature that had taken her while she was blindfolded. He must have waited by the back door until the rats had their fun before coming out. That's why she had not heard or seen him in the alley. She knew that she should call the police and report him, but she had not called them after the rape, she had not even gone to the hospital. She was too ashamed, believing that they would know that she had an orgasm after examining her, and laugh off her story. For the same reason she kept quiet and pretended that she did not know it was him.

At first he seemed to be avoiding her. Then he started getting in her way and making her squeeze around him in the stock room. When she did not complain he grew bolder, groping her when she was stacking DVDs, goosing her when she bent over to refill the popcorn machine. Geno was afraid to retaliate, but worried that if she didn't he might just rape her on his own one night after they had locked up. And that made her afraid, afraid that her body would betray her again and that would encourage him to take her again, and again, and again.

A rape counselor, if she had bothered to consult one, could have told her that the kind of orgasm she experienced happens in a fairly high percentage of rapes, especially when there were multiple attackers over a prolonged period. It harkened back to the Stone Age, when barely sentient creatures like them did not mate for life, and most impregnation was by force. The vaginal passage reacted to suck the semen in because pregnant females gave off a phoneme that made males docile and protective, and less horny. But she remained ignorant of that fact, and went on believing that she must be some kind of deviant, to enjoy sex so much that she came even under such brutal circumstances.

Eventually the Doberman did take her, from behind again, pressing her down on the sorting table as he had his way with her. When he was done she just lay there, so she did not see the worried look come over his face. He was not too concerned about the police, she had not resisted enough for the bruising that usually accompanied a rape and he could claim that she had consented, but his wife was another matter. She did not rely on proof beyond a reasonable doubt to declare him guilty, not after catching him twice before with the staff engaged, so to speak. He left her alone for a week, and then he fired her.

Geno was at a loss. She had dropped her classes after the incident in the alley because she could not bring herself to go back to the university where everyone would stare at her, as she was sure they would. But she still needed money to pay her share of the apartment she shared with her friend, a promising young archeology student that she had known most of her life. Instead of telling her roommate that she was unemployed Geno went to the gym where she worked out at the same time she usually went to work. Maybe one of the regulars there would know of an opening somewhere.

One of them, a tall artificially blond lop-eared rabbit with massive breast implants had a suggestion.

"You come to the club I dance in tonight, Sugar." She told Geno, slipping a card into her paw. "You're just the type the boss is looking for."

"I can't dance." Geno mumbled as she read the name of the club on the card. She had thought that all the Go-Go bars had closed in the seventies. But maybe this was part of the retro movement, like the resurgence of disco and big hair.

"Don't worry about the dancing." The doe laughed. "We have on-job training. Just be there at eight."

Geno showed up at the back door right at eight, dressed in what she hoped was an appropriate style. For someone who needed a dictionary to define 'appropriate' she came pretty close. Her revealing clothes and natural curves looked right in place among the other girls that were wandering about the dressing room. Heels and lingerie predominated, with the occasional feathered boa and short shorts thrown on for good measure. At least the girls that went out the door into club were dressed like Geno. The ones coming back in were all naked.

"Trixie," she asked her rabbit friend as she sat waiting for the boss to show up, "is this a strip club?"

"It's an Exotic Dance Club, Sugar."

Just then the boss came in. He was a weasel with shifty eyes and nervous paws. He was accompanied by the bouncer, a bull with a chest almost a metre across and sharp curving horns. The boss took one look at Geno and her natural assets and nodded his head with satisfaction. "You ever get in trouble with the law?" He asked. "Got a record? Felonies, prostitution, that kind of thing?"

"No!" Geno replied, shocked."

"Good. You're hired. Trixie will show you the ropes and explain how we split the tips around here." And with that he spun on his heel and left, the bouncer trailing after.

Trixie did indeed show Geno the ropes, or the poles rather. It was a fairly simple routine. Dancers went on at their set times and did three songs. They peeled off their tops during the first song, which was usually a lively one, and their bottoms during the second. The Third song, which was always a long slow one, was where they teased the audience by writhing on a rug on the stage or hanging from the pole like a gymnast, a naked gymnast. The object was to show off the assets and get the poor slobs to cough up ten bucks per song for a table dance or twenty for the "Champagne Room". There was no champagne in the little open cubicles in the back where the bouncer was stationed but enough money changed paws back there to buy a few bottles of the best.

"We don't get paid to be here," Trixie explained, "and your drinks ain't free either. You can get the guys to buy you a drink in exchange for a few minutes of talk, but don't hang around too long or none of the rest will buy a dance. When you dance the boss records how many songs you were on the table or in the back room for. You pay fifty percent of the take to him, and he counts partial songs against what you owe too, so don't stay back there too long. Get the money, do your thing and get out quick. Bruno, the bouncer, will take care of any unhappy customers."

"Do we wait tables too?" Geno asked, seeing a few older females with trays weaving through the sea of tables.

"Naw, that's for girls that can't dance no more." One of them passed close by and Geno could see the lines in her face and the way her body sagged under the waitress outfit. "They couldn't get anyone to pay to see them nude even after a dozen beers." Trixie laughed cruelly. "That's why I put some aside to keep the girls looking good." She added as she lifted her artificially enhanced breasts for Geno to inspect. "You will too if you know what's good for you."

Trixie passed on a few more things, like what the guys were allowed to touch and what they weren't, and how the bar could lose its licence if any of the girls got caught hooking on the premises or if any were found to be convicted prostitutes.

"What about the dancing?" Geno asked. "When are you going to show me the dancing?"

Trixie laughed. "Oh, Geno, you are so sweet. Just treat that pole like the biggest dong you ever saw and play with it. Put on your bedroom face and make eye contact with the guys in the audience, especially the first row, they're the desperate ones. And don't forget to flash that pussy to all sides of the stage; guys get mad if you favour the other sides and that's not good for business.

Geno's dancing was nothing to write home about that first week, but no one seemed to notice as soon as she top her top off, and when she lay on her back and spread her legs a few times their eyes were glued to her twat. After her first set a fight erupted between two tables over who would get to hire her for a private dance. The bouncer pushed the antagonists apart. The boss smiled and rubbed his paws as he promised them both a turn with their newest attraction. This one was going to make a lot of money, for him anyway. Maybe for her too if she kept of the drugs and followed the rules.

Geno did do well, developing a steady stream of regulars and even a couple of offers to tour other clubs. But she preferred to stay in Ottawa, where her parents thought she was still going to university and where she was comfortable in the apartment she shared with the often absent grad student. As for the work, she did follow the rules and didn't take any fooling around from anyone ... at first.

It was with one of her regulars, a racoon named Bert that worked for the postal service, that she first slipped up. Bert would come in every second Wednesday, payday for Government workers, and have a few beers while he watched the girls dance. But he saved his private dance money for Geno, and usually sprang for three dances in one of the cubicles before he wandered off home around ten. He was good guy, Geno thought, and that meant one who paid up front and never let his paws wander where they should not go. Of course, bad guys never came back, not after having their face inverted by a bull's fist.

One evening a few months after she had joined the club she was in one of the cubicles with Bert. He had paid up front for five dances tonight, and she was resting between the second and third song while the DJ introduced another dancer to the stage. She was of course naked and she was squatting on the little platform that she had pulled up between the racoon's legs. Bert was leaning back in a leather easy chair, chatting idly while he waited for the music to start again and for Geno to begin rubbing herself on him. He was dressed in an ultra-thin cotton tee-shirt and slacks for the occasion, the better to feel her firm, warm body against his.

Bruno wandered past the entrance to the cubicle but disappeared again as the music started. Geno stood up and leaned forward, rubbing her tits on Bert's face. Then she turned around and sat on his lap, ignoring the bulge of his erection through the cotton, and leaned back against his chest so he could run his paws over her torso. She wiggled her ass to encourage him, ready to jump up if he came in his pants, least it leak through the thin material and dampen her fur. But as she rolled her hips something did not feel right. Wondering what it was, she returned to her stool, turned to face him, and looked down.

Bert's cock was sticking up out his fly. She had been rubbing it with her bare ass, and maybe a bit of twat too.

"Jesus Christ Bert! Put that away before Bruno sees you. You want to get me kicked out of here?"

"Oh come on Geno. Just touch it. I'll give you twenty bucks."

"Forget it. You know the rules, no face or paw to genital contact, and that includes yours."

"Then don't use your paws, use your tits. Just wrap them around it so I can feel how warm they are ... for fifty bucks?"

"No." Geno hissed, afraid all the talk would attract the bouncer.

"Just for a minute?" He held up an orange tinted $100 note. "We have time; Bruno never comes by while the music is playing."

Geno was about to stand up, grab her clothes and go, but Bert had paid for five songs already, a cool hundred, of which she could only keep fifty. Another hundred would be enough for a new smart phone, one with a touch screen. "Okay." She whispered, snatching the bill and sticking it in her purse. She sat on the edge of the platform and wrapped her large breasts around his skinny shaft. "But just for a minute. Just until the song ends."

"That will be plenty of time." Bert sighed as he put his paws on hers and used them to roll her breasts around on his cock. "Plenty of time."

"Just don't you dare ..." Her whisper was cut off as a fountain of white leapt into the air and splashed on her face. "Why you son of a bitch I'll ..."

"What's going on in there? This guy giving you any trouble Geno?"

She quickly leaned forward to cover up the exposed penis and kept her face away turned away as she answered. "N- no, Bruno. No trouble. Bert here was just telling me a real howler. The punch line was a real surprise. I was just saying 'you got me, you son of a bitch'." A growl crept into her voice on the last few words as she glared at the racoon.

The bull snorted, but he turned and left them alone. Geno jumped down from the chair and waved her paws in front of her face.

"I am going to kill you Bert! Look at this! How the hell am I supposed to get back to the dressing room with this shit all over my face?"

"Most of the other girls carry tissues when we come back here." Bert said apologetically as he wiped his prick with a cocktail napkin. He passed another to her.

"Other girls?" She asked as she tried to wipe off the sticky spooge with the small square of paper.

"Sure. You're not the first I've done this with, although you drove the price up pretty high just for a tit job. Ah, but it was worth it. All natural, warm, and so smooth. Not like Trixie's cold, scarred, silicon jugs." The forth song was just ending by the time he was zipped up. "Hey, keep the money for the fifth song as a tip." He said as he stepped around her and left the cubicle area. "See you in two weeks."

Geno pulled her clothes on and went to follow the racoon to tell him never to show his perverted face in the club again but her path was blocked by Bruno. He stood there like a solid wall holding his paw out.

"Bruno? What the fu- ..."

"Fifty." He declared, snapping his digits impatiently. "And next time you pay up front if you don't want to be disturbed. I'm not a friggin' mind reader."

Geno passed over two twenties and a ten. No one argued with Bruno unless they had a really good dental plan, one that included jaw reconstructions. Back in the dressing room she got Trixie to fill in the blanks."

"Bruno works for the owners, not for the weasel." The doe explained. "You give him twenty if you have a good prospect and he leaves you alone. You can get forty for a paw job, eighty or a hundred for a tit job, and one-fifty for a blow job it you're lucky. You pay half of the take to Bruno, but don't try to cheat him. He hears everything that goes on back there and he'll know how much they paid you." She absently rubbed a small scar on her jaw as she finished. "And don't offer full service. The cops raid the place and catch you with a pecker up your quim or a used condom in your purse and we're all out of work."

Soon Geno was making twice as much money and she was more popular than ever before. Trips to the champagne rooms were frequent. She specialized in tit jobs, but did paw jobs for those on a budget and would rub her ass on a bare cock for just twenty more. She drew the line at blow jobs though; she did not dare carry condoms in case the place was raided and she had swallowed enough cum that day in the alley to last a lifetime. Folks still asked her to do it though, and she had learned to let them down gently.

Occasionally one of the guys would ask her if she would yiff them, usually ones she had never seen before. When she explained that she didn't do that kind of thing here some would drop it while others would offer to get a hotel room for them after she got off. She turned them all down. Too many of the girls in the business had been found dead after taking someone up on that kind of offer.

Geno was making money, money that she was putting away, just as Trixie had advised, but it was a lonely life. She didn't have any real friends anymore. Her roommate had taken a position at the University of Alexandria and all of her family was back in Poland. The other dancers either had mates or kids of their own to go home to or like Trixie they partied until they were burned out. Geno liked to party, but not with folks she worked with. But because she worked when the bars were open she never met anyone else or got invited to party.

So when one of her regulars, a buff beagle that only ever wanted the dance, not the extras, asked if she would like to go to party she broke down and accepted. "When's it start?" She asked.

"One am." The canine answered. "I'm meeting a few guys outside then."

One was early for a Friday night in this business, but Geno didn't have to dance after midnight and she could leave as soon as she paid off the boss. "I'll join you," she told the beagle, "but not out front. Meet me in the alley." Dating customers was against the rules, and she did not want the guy who collected the cover charge at the door to report her to the weasel.

She paid off the boss after her last dance, claiming a headache. She was not one to take off sick so the weasel did not ride her for it, although he frowned at the thought of losing a couple of hundred in commissions. Geno took a shower and changed into street clothes, an outfit so skimpy that it rivalled the one she wore in the club. She grabbed her purse and headed out the back door at one exactly.

The exit let out on a dead-end alley. It was a quiet place, out of sight from the street. Geno and the other girls that smoked came out her for a puff when they were on their breaks. But from one until three in the morning was prime time for the Champagne rooms and table dancing, so there was no one else there now, nor would there be until the last customers had been kicked out. The door locked automatically so they had to prop it open with a brick, but she didn't bother because she was headed out for a rare night of fun. Thinking of that, Geno looked around for the beagle.

"Over here." He called as he stepped out of the shadows by the dumpster. "We've been waiting for you."

"We?"

Three more canines stepped out into the light cast by the bulb over the club's exit, a rottweiler, a doberman and a bulldog. They were all as big and as muscular as the one from the club. They wore matching shirts from a famous gym.

"Yeah. The guys I was going to meet, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I remember." She said, a little nervously as she descended the stairs from the landing. "Well, let's get going. Do we need a cab to get there?"

"Get there?" The beagle laughed as he reached out to take her arm. "The party's right here!"

Geno realized her mistake too late. She tried to break away from the floppy-eared dog but he had a firm grip on her arm. One of the others grabbed her other arm and the two of them marched her over to the dumpster and forced her up against it. The beagle changed places with a third and began to pull Geno's clothes off.

"Wait until you see this, guys. She has got the sweetest quim you ever come across." The pun earned him a few giggles from his buddies, but not from Geno.

"No ... wait ... I ..."

The beagle did not let her finish. He freed her tits from the tight revealing top she had on and used it as a gag. "That will do until we can get something else in there, eh boys?" More giggles. You would think that guys with eighteen inch biceps would have a deep male laugh, she thought, but no. She wondered what other symptoms the substances they were taking to build their physiques had. She had heard that too much steroids made your pecker shrink. I'll find out soon enough, she supposed as three of the four stepped back and began to undress. The forth stuck his paw in his pants and drooled.

Another myth busted, she observed as the first three, the beagle, the rottweiler and the bulldog approached with erections swinging before them. Not one was under eight inches and the sacks that dangled below them looked plump and filled with spooge. Great, just friggin' great.

Things moved quickly then.

They took turns, rotating around her and switching holes like some sort of sexual relay race. First the beagle was pounding her pussy while the bulldog, thrust down her throat. Then those two moved to the sides and put her paws on their cocks while the doberman crammed her cunt and the rottweiler tickled her tonsils. "Keep us hard." The beagle demanded, moving her paw on his cock. "Otherwise we'll have to find a couple more holes to use 'em on."

Geno complied, stroking whoever was in her paws as the four moved in a circle around her. She got so she could tell who was who by size and shape of their cocks. The beagle had a big knob on the end that made her pussy lips pop when he pulled it out and choked her when it was in her mouth. The bulldog's had a pronounced upward curve like a field hockey stick, and she could feel it rubbing the back of her passage or the top of her throat when he was inside her. The doberman's curved the other way, just a bit, but enough to drag on the sensitive patch of flesh in behind her clit and gag her when he shoved it all the way in her mouth. The rottweiler's was thick. Not as thick as Lennie the rat's had been, but thicker that the other three she had to contend with at the moment.

At one point they stood her up and two of them went at her at once, one up her ass the other in her twat. They were grunting and thrusting faster now as they neared orgasm. The other two were watching, pawing their own pricks for a change. Geno felt the old familiar rumbling inside her too as all her sweet spots became over stimulated. She was going to come again for the first time since the rats and her boss had raped her.

She came when the first two did. She threw her head back and howled, or tired to, but the gag had been replaced when her mouth became unoccupied. Then, eyes wide as waves of electric shock shot through her, she noticed something that she not before. The security camera over the door was pointing straight down at them, and the red light was glowing steadily, rather than blinking as it did when it automatically took a shot every few seconds. That meant that someone had put the camera on manual, someone was watching them, and she knew who that someone was.

The cameras monitor and its controls were in the weasel's office. Sometimes he used them to spy on the girls, when they were on their breaks, although why he wanted to watch them smoke and occasionally make out with each other clothed when he could see them naked and gyrating on the pole any night of the week baffled them. Trixie claimed he was frustrated because he wasn't allowed to touch the girls. If he did, she said, Bruno would break his arms and the owners would have a new boss there the next day, so he sat in his office watching them and pawing off, or so she said.

Geno was beginning to believe it, because the four dogs had been going at her for almost fifteen minutes and no one was coming to help. She closed her eyes as the shocks subsided and the two canines switched places with their buddies.

The renewed assault brought several more orgasms her way before they too came. By then the first two were ready for another go. It took longer than the first one, and in the end all four were gathered around her shooting spooge on her belly and buttocks and face and tits. She was exhausted by the time the four of them lay her slack body down on the warm pavement of the alley and gathered their clothes. They used hers to wipe the excess fluid off their cocks and tossed the sodden wads of material beside her.

"Okay, cough it up. The beagle demanded of his comrades before they drifted away. All four pulled out their wallets and dug inside, producing a paw full of bills each. "Oh come on Edwin." The beagle chided the rottweiler. "Those are all fives. Show some charity for the poor girl." The rottweiler grunted and pulled out a bunch of green notes, twenties. He threw them on Geno and stomped off. "Cheap bastard." The beagle muttered as he dropped a couple of fifties on her. The other two followed suit and Geno found herself covered with twenties and fifties that were sticking to her fur.

"It's been fun." The beagle commented as he stepped over her to follow his pack out of the alley. "Let me know when you want to party some more."

* * * * * * * * *

The weasel never said anything about that night in the alley and neither did Geno. All told the canines had dropped over four hundred dollars on her. Word got around, as word does, and soon other jocks were showing up in the champagne room asking her if she wanted to party in the alley. At first she only took a few individual guys back there, being careful to keep her usual volume of business in the cubicles going to keep the boss and Bruno happy. Each time she was back there the red light on the surveillance camera came on, and she made sure to keep the action in its field of view.

But one night the beagle came back with his crew, and this time she was ready for them. She got her money up front, and then she let them take her in every way possible. The highlight was when they managed to stuff two cocks in her twat and two in her mouth at the same time. Geno though that she would rip apart but everything held and she had another set of earth-shaking orgasms.

After that she started taking pairs and then groups of customers into the alley at frequent intervals. Now she was making more money outside the club than in, and the other girls were getting jealous of the way she flaunted the rules.

"You better watch your ass." Trixie told her on the night that the worn-out doe was demoted to waiting tables. Her boob job had gone bad and she had to have the implants removed. The results did not bode well for her career as an exotic dancer. "The weasel doesn't make the rules, he just enforces them, and if the owners find out what he's letting you get away with it will be the end for him, and you. There are a lot of pretty girls out there and no one is irreplaceable." She choked back a tear as she picked up her drink tray. "No one."

Geno should have taken the warning seriously, but the sessions in the alley were more than a source of income, they were her outlet. Despite the shame she felt after each act, after each orgasm that those acts brought, she had no other release. She felt, in a way, as she lay in the dust covered with the cum of strangers, that this was what she deserved, a form of hell that she had brought on herself for all the wild things she had done in her youth. But it was a hell full of raw sensation and danger that she craved. A sensuous, menacing merry-go-round that she could not bring herself to jump off of, because who knows whether you'll land on the grass or the rocks?

One night, almost two years since becoming a dancer, Geno arrived to find the club dark and quiet. She glanced at her watch to see if she was early but it was fifteen minutes to opening time, and the place should have been bustling with bar staff, cleaners and dancers confirming their music with the DJ. Sensing danger, she backed up against the door and pushed, but it would not open. Something was blocking it from the outside. The only other exit was the back door to the alley, at the end of a short hallway behind the stage that was used to access the dressing room and the weasel's office.

She picked her way across the club carefully, she did not want to bump into a table and alert anyone of her presence if they did not already know that she was there. The stage was empty, as was the DJ booth behind it. Geno stopped before entering the hallway and assessed the situation. The door to the alley was closed, as it should be. So was the door to the dressing room, again, not unusual. But the door to the boss's office was wide open, and that was unusual. The light from inside lit up a wedge of the dim hallway, and it would be impossible to pass the door unseen. Then the light was suddenly cut off as someone passed between its source and the door. The room was not empty.

Geno was not sure whether to hide or make a run for the exit. Some part of her wanted to sneak down the hallway and eavesdrop on whoever it was inside. Maybe I can learn some valuable information, she thought, but it was more likely that she would overhear something that would get her deeper in trouble. No, it would not do to sneak or hide, or run for that matter. Her best bet was to feign ignorance and act like this was any other day at the club.

She sucked up her courage and strode down the short hallway, turning to look in the office with a smile and a raised paw as if she gave the boss a cheery wave every time she passed. What she saw made her freeze in her tracks and turned the smile into a grimace of horror.

The weasel was tied to a straight backed chair in the middle of the room. It had been placed in the middle of a plastic tarp. A fair amount of weasel now decorated that tarp. The rest of him was still oozing blood.

Bruno stood against the far wall. An almost identical bull came up behind her. He must have been the one blocking the front door. He pushed Geno into the office and followed her. A third bull, much older than the other two, was sitting in the weasel's padded chair behind the beat up desk. He was wearing an expensive suit but Geno recognized the tattoos on his face and ears as biker gang signs. Everyone knew that the different strip clubs were run by the gangs as a convenient place to launder money, but she had never expected to meet any of them. Most of their probation orders forbade their being in a place like that.

The older bull made a gesture and the one holding her arm dragged her over to a second straight backed chair and forced her down into it. He turned the chair to face the desk and stepped back. Geno was glad that he had not tied her down at first, but then she spied a second tarp sitting folded in the corner behind the desk. She swallowed hard and waited to find out what the bull wanted.

"You know what kind of trouble you're in?" The old bull had a slight French accent. Geno did not dare speak, she just nodded her head rapidly up and down. "You going to try to lie to me like your former supervisor did?" She shook her head from side to side. "You not going to sass me either I hope? I heard that you got quite a mouth on you." Again she shook her head no.

The bull sat back. "Good. You been making quite a bit from the rubes in the champagne rooms, aint'cha?" Geno hesitated, but finally nodded her head slowly. "That ain't a problem. It provides a service, and the cash you kick back goes to pay folks that don't want receipts, if you get my meaning. But the stuff in the alley," he jerked a thumb at the security camera monitor, where a still shot of her and a group of beavers in town for a convention was displayed, "that shit just causes trouble."

Geno kept quiet. There was nothing that she could say to change the past or influence the future. She had broken the rules and been caught doing it, just like that night in the gym back in the convent where her parents had sent her to school. Now it was time to pay for her mistakes again, but she doubted that the bulls had the same kind of punishment in mind as Sister Ruffina had: a few extra laps and a scrubbing the floor would not cut it this time. She hung her head, resigned to her fate.

The bull continued to lecture her on the danger to their business and the awkward position it put up and coming members like Bruno in. Despite it prolonging what was sure to be a painful act of vengeance Geno began to wish that he would wrap it up and get on with it. Then he said something that made her lift her head in surprise.

"Wha- ... what did you just say?"

"I said that we have other venues more suitable for your talents, but not in this city. Ottawa is not called 'the city that fun forgot' for nothing. But you won't have to go too far, just down the road toward Montreal. We have a much more agreeable arrangement with the police in Quebec and the descendants of the French settlers do not have the same prudish view of your, uh, profession as their Anglo cousins do. Do you speak French?"

"No."

"No problem, English is, after all, the international language of business, and you will be giving them the business."

Geno frowned. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Just what you have been doing here," the bull laughed, "but for us. We have a club on the Ontario-Quebec border, called the Crossroads."

Geno had heard of the Crossroads. It was a big truck stop and strip joint with a fearsome reputation as a front for worse things. Yet it never seemed to get busted. Now she knew why. Her brow wrinkled as she stared at the bull and thought it over. "You don't want me to just dance, do you?"

Now the bull roared with laughter. "Of course not. We send the cute little college girls and the headline acts to the clubs downtown, and we do not tolerate any fooling around there. It's not a good career move." He jerked his massive chin toward the weasel to illustrate his point. "But there is a demand for your type, and the cops prefer that we keep it out of the city. At the Crossroads you dance to get them interested in you, and maybe they stick a ten in your garter, but the real money comes from the other thing they want to stick you with."

"You guys having such a hard time finding hookers that will work for you that you gotta scare a poor girl like me into it?"

"No. Seriously, if you were just another tramp who broke the rules you would be on a tarp with Cedric there." He pointed to the old boss. Geno had never known that his name was Cedric. "But," the bull continued, turning to regard the camera monitor, "you got a talent that we can exploit." He turned back to her. "A lot of guys like group action. Bowling teams after winning the championship, touring basketball players, hockey buddies, fraternity members after exams, lots of guys. But not so many of the girls want to take on groups like that, or can perform when they try. You got just the right combination of drop dead good looks and sluttiness they keeps the customers coming, pardon the pun." He stopped and stared hard at Geno for a minute before continuing. "What's it gonna be, kid? Fame and fortune in a demanding line of work or join Cedric under the latest road improvement project?"

There was no choice, really. "I'm your girl."

"Good." The bull stood up and started to peel off his shirt. On either side of her his goons did the same. "You start tonight. It's my boy Bruno's birthday and I promised him a treat."

* * * * * * * * *

That had been three years ago, and Geno had not looked back since, not until tonight.

The song ended and Geno rested for a moment against the pole while the DJ urged the audience to clap for her if they wanted to see some more. A few at the front did, but most of the ones in the rear of the room just stared at her hungrily. There was a young guy talking to one of the waitresses and pointing at her on the stage, obviously interested. But he was out of luck unless he wanted to wait a while, because a group of truckers driving in convoy had already reserved her for right after her last dance. They were big, hairy, scruffy lugs and they would probably want to do it out back in the parking lot rather than pay the extra for a room with a big bed, but that was okay with her. She got a bigger cut from the group action and doing it outside meant that she did not have to change sheets or clean the room up afterward so she could get right back to work.

Sure, she thought,it's not like I'm feeding the masses or educating little minds, but I'm offering a service and giving good value for their hard earned money. And because her needs were small she was putting a lot of money away herself. She may be a few rungs down on the ladder from the high class call girls that charged a grand an hour just to look at them, but she had plans. The work may have desensitized her to a lot of things but it had not taken her dreams from her, not yet. And she intended to get out before they did.

The music started again and Geno slid down to the stage and spread her legs so the chumps in front could get a good look at what they couldn't afford. She spread the lips below the tuft of blonde fur to let the pink show. Someone tossed a five dollar bill on the stage and she scooped it up as she rolled into the next position, the 'do me from behind' position where she mocked being humped as the bass line on the song that accompanied her boomed. Facing the back of the stage she regarded herself in the mirror and wondered how it would be when she finally made it home, to Poland.

Yes, she had dreams, dreams of success and acceptance. One day, she vowed, one day she would return to her homeland, and she would open the biggest, fanciest brothel in Europe. A brothel with strippers twenty four hours a day, and she would dance whenever she wanted because she would be the headliner, when she wasn't entertaining groups of well-heeled and well endowed clients of course.

Geno changed positions automatically as the tempo of the song changed, just as she put aside the past and thought of the future.