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Mike stood in the corner, trying to feel pretty.

For the first time today, he had allowed the makeup artist to work him over. They had started by scrubbing away all the dry saliva and crusted streaks of cum. Next, there was concealer on his bites, followed by a moisturizer for his cheeks. Foundation cemented over the bags beneath his eyes. For good measure, the parakeet had also combed his hair, trimmed his eyebrows, and put a subtle gloss on his lips. It tasted like strawberry.

If he looked in a mirror, Mike was sure that he wouldn't look like a caked up slut. At least, he was sure it wouldn't look that way on camera.

Even still, he felt like a slut.

Across the studio, the Smash Queen crew were in full wrap, packing equipment, spooling wires, reviewing the raw footage, and drafting the next day's shots. Mike and the yeens had blocked for some close-ups, rattled off the pre-orgy dialogue that no one really cared about, and promptly been told they would be contacted in the next few weeks for re-shoots, if the editors thought it was necessary.

He scanned the crowd.

Charlotte was standing over by the set, taking a call on her phone. If he had to guess, she was reporting a completed shoot to one of the producers, which had been below budget and ahead of schedule. Her tail swished like she was getting a bonus.

Mike took a breath.

He made his way across the congested traffic of the studio, moving between the crew with his head down and his posture subdued. He stood on the edge of the set. He watched Charlotte pace on her phone. He acted silent and embarrassed.

Her heels clicked on the concrete.

“Oh, yes," the tigress said, turning around. When she noticed him, her eyes grew lidded and soft. “I'd say so."

She waggled her fingers in greeting. Mike gave an awkward wave, like he just needed to talk. She raised a single claw, focusing back on her phone.

“No, certainly not."

There was a pause.

“A stunning lack of professionalism, frankly," Charlotte said. “Very unreliable."

Another pause.

“I think we could leverage it. Definitely, at least, we can take their bonus. All they'd have is small claims court, and. . . ."

A shorter pause.

“Exactly," Charlotte said, very pleased.

A long pause. The tigress kept stealing glances at Mike. When he flinched, her tail swished against her skirt.

“Thank you, ma'am. In fact, I'll try that right now."

Charlotte settled her gaze on him.

“Goodbye."

She slid her phone into an inner breast pocket. She watched him over the stained white covers of a king-sized bed, where he had been pounded for hours.

“Something I can do for you, Major?"

Mike pretended to reconsider whatever he'd been thinking. “Well, I was . . . I mean, no. Sorry. Never mind." He turned away. “I should go."

“Come here."

“Well, I—"

She curled a finger. Mike continued to hesitate. His naked fear seemed to trigger an instinct. When he didn't move, Charlotte slunk around the bed, her movements fluid, her eyes never leaving his face, like he was a young buck that had been separated from his mother, and now represented an easy, delicious meal.

“What's wrong, kitten?"

Mike stammered at her approaching legs. “I just—um—you know, the yeens. They left. I think they . . . forgot about me. I need. . . ."

“You need a ride?" Charlotte asked, looming above him.

“I mean, a cab. Just a cab. You wouldn't have to. . . ."

“Calling a cab's expensive, sugar. Out here?" She gave a slow, thoughtful hum. “Then again, I suppose you can't afford it."

He shrugged, helplessly.

“And we wouldn't want you walking on the highway," Charlotte said. “Late at night. All alone. That's just asking for trouble."

“Yeah, haha."

With a very lazy confidence, she pressed a claw into the soft flesh below his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were large and green. The pupils were tightly focused.

“Did they really just leave you here?" Charlotte asked.

Mike looked away, trying to appear desperate. “W-well, um—you know, they never treat me—I just, I'm not really part of the pack, so they never . . . uh. . . ."

He looked at her again, hoping to see that she was buying the act, but he discovered that Charlotte was ignoring him entirely—instead, she was using her impressive height to peer over his head and scan the rest of the studio. She hunted for the yeens. She didn't seem to find them. As far as things looked, they really had abandoned him here.

Outside the studio, the rain was coming down hard.

“Hey, Randy," Charlotte said.

About twenty feet away, a male grizzly bear paused in the middle of folding a reflector. “What's up, boss?"

“You seen the talent?"

“Thought they took off."

“Be a good boy and check for me, please."

He glanced out the open shutters of the studio, where the rain was collecting in sheets and streams. “You sure—"

“Take a peak," Charlotte said. “It's a Panda Civet. Silver paint. License plate 9R7Y524."

Mike felt a chill down his spine. He had a sudden, inescapable feeling that he was out of his depth, that Charlotte was actually a competent, powerful woman, and she wouldn't know the exact specs of Austin's car unless she planned on doing something with it. How petty did she want her revenge to be?

This was a dangerous game he was playing.

“Y-you don't have to—"

Charlotte shifted her claw from his chin to his lips, shushing him.

Randy glanced at the tigress, decided it wasn't worth arguing about, and got up to look. He paced across the studio. He roamed out into the rain. There was nearly a full minute of uncomfortable silence, where Charlotte refused to meet his gaze. Mike felt the seconds ticking away.

Eventually, the grizzly bear reappeared, shaking the rain off his fur. “They're gone."

“You sure?" Charlotte asked.

“Pretty sure, boss."

“Hm. Thanks."

The bear returned to his work. Charlotte glanced around the studio one more time before lowering her gaze to Mike, her tail swishing behind her skirt.

Mike felt a stab of both worry and relief.

“Major, Major, Major," Charlotte said, drawing out the syllables as she looked him over. “Mr. Manly. M and M."

“That's, uh—that's me."

“You're red."

“What?"

“Like an M&M."

He stared up at her.

“You're blushing," Charlotte said.

“Oh. Sorry."

She purred. “No trouble at all. In fact, I can't wait to . . ." she tapped a claw against his chin “. . . pop you in my mouth. Just like candy."

“Well," Mike said, now very much feeling like a slut, “actually, I think I'm more of a Coke man, myself."

Her purring stopped.

“You know," Mike said, gesturing, “because my dick is red. And big. Like a can."

She looked down at him.

“It'll quench your thirst."

“Hmm."

“It'll really pop in your mouth."

“Very clever."

“Yeah, well. You know."

They looked at each other.

Mike hesitated. “So . . . you've watched my vids?"

She broke into a chuckle. She seemed more amused than ever. “More like, I've heard good reviews. And once you hear about good food, you want to taste it for yourself."

Mike tried to reply, but Charlotte began to trace the edge of his lip with her claw, pressing just firmly enough that it threatened to scratch. He settled on an awkward murmur.

She started to purr.

And as he stood alone with the production manager of an entire studio lot, Mike realized, all of a sudden, that tigers can't purr. All this time, she had been putting on a fake purr, the same way that one of her actors would pretend to moan for the camera.

Oh, God, this chick was crazy.

“C'mere, kitten."

Another paw met his shoulder, and Mike found himself pulled forward, his face pressed into the bosom of her button-down shirt. Before he could even think to resist, Charlotte had sat on the king-sized bed, pulling him snugly into her lap. She turned the paw on his shoulder into an arm wrapping around his back.

Her face loomed above, whiskered and striped. His feet no longer touched the floor.

Play it up, Mike.

Play it up.

“You know, sweetmeat," Charlotte said, every word tinged with a purr. “I think I'll keep you around."

“Uh—"

She stuck her face into his neck, licking across the skin, scraping dozens of sharp little bristles. Mike hissed between his teeth. He acted like putty in her arms.

Her purr morphed into a growl.

“Oh, I could just do whatever I want with you."

“Uh, ma'am. Charlotte. I—"

“Shhhhhh."

She explored his neck with a combination of licks and mouthing bites. The first few were soft, as if to acquire a taste, and the next ones after were almost painfully sharp, as if she wanted to tease out his reaction. Mike squirmed in her lap.

“Oh, you like this," Charlotte said, low and throaty.

Mike put a hand on her shoulder, weakly pushing.

“You're just a dumb slut, aren't you?"

“Y-yeah."

“Moan for me. Give me a moan."

Another lick. The bristles on her tongue were turning his neck into a fresh fillet. Still, through the pain, Mike leaned into her affections, as if he really wanted nothing more.

“Ohhhhh," he said.

“Come on, bitch."

Teeth on his shoulder. Fur on his neck.

“Ohhh, oh God. Shit. Uhhhhh—"

“Yeah," Charlotte said. “Yeah. That's right."

“Ooooooouuuuugggghhhhh!"

The tigress chuffed. She pulled back, licking drops of blood from her chops. She folded him so firmly against her tits that he had to look straight up at her face. In a sort of dissociative haze, Mike realized that Charlotte was molesting him in the exact same way that Austin liked to do on camera. Even the dialogue was similar.

This bitch really was fucking crazy.

“You want this," Charlotte said, her voice flushed and growling. “Tell me you want this."

You've filmed too many goddamn pornos, you big dumb stupid bitch.

Out loud, he said: “Yes."

She prodded his lip with a claw. “Yes, ma'am."

“Y-yes, ma'am."

“Good boy." She sniffed his hair, pressing a cold nose against his temple. Her fake purr deepened. “Oh, you smell like them. But we'll fix that. I'll fix you just right."

She shifted him deeper into her lap, wiping her furry cheek across his face. Mike giggled like a slut who just couldn't help himself.

He really hoped Austin was already filming.

“Tell you what, kitten," Charlotte said. “Let's negotiate a new contract."

“O-okay."

“You'll give me a private show." She emphasized her next words with squeezes of his ass. “A deep, exclusive look."

Mike turned red.

“And, maybe, I'll call you a cab."

“M-maybe?"

“You might just stay the night."

She mouthed a quick bite, purring again.

Mike pretended to swallow. “At—at double rate, right? What you said?"

“That offer is off the table."

“But—but you—"

“Business 101, sugar." She bounced him on her lap. “Always negotiate from a position of strength."

He gave a shy, awkward laugh.

“Do we have a deal?" Charlotte asked, like she already knew the answer.

Mike looked up into her face, taking note of the orange fur, the short feline jaw, and the green, focused eyes. The fear in his expression was not entirely fake. “D-deal."

“Oh, you're so easy." She squeezed his ass. “Good boy."

“Just, uh," Mike began.

“What's that, kitten?"

“Just. . . ."

“Spit it out."

He met her eye. “You're sitting in my cum."

Charlotte blinked. Her expression took a moment to change. When it did, she let out a yowl of disgust, nearly flinging Mike from her lap as she jumped away from the bed.

“Oh, my fucking God!"

She began to curse and stomp. As she turned her back to him, Mike saw several wet stains slashing across her skirt, like someone had aimed the perfect money shot. He tried very hard not to snicker.

“I fucking hate hyenas," Charlotte hissed. “Goddamn carcass breath. Fucking bitch!" She swiped her paws across the cum, which only transferred some stickiness to her paws, which she poorly wiped back onto the sheets. “Shit. Did I get it all?"

There was a rope of cum dangling from her tail, swamping into the fur.

“Yeah," Mike said.

She growled, swiped again, made a disgusted face, and gave up entirely. “Whatever. Occupational hazard."

“Yes, ma'am."

She snapped her fingers. “My office. Come on."

Mike hesitated. They were supposed to stay in the studio. That was the plan. If he went to a second location. . . .

She noticed his lack of response.

“Uh—" Mike began.

Charlotte took a step toward him, glaring hard, as if she could hear him laughing in his mind. Her body language changed so quickly that Mike realized it had always been a façade, that all her attempts to charm and seduce him were only a thin mask of friendliness. Right now, there was something deeply unpleasant behind her eyes.

He was in danger.

Shit.

Shit.

“Y-yes ma'am," he stammered out.

She looked at him a moment longer, her expression akin to someone who had sat for a delicious meal, only for a bird to come and shit in the bowl. “I always get what I want, Manly. You remember that."

She grabbed his arm, dragging him into the rain.

---

Her office was about what he expected.

It was a small filing cabinet of a room that squatted in the middle of the studio warehouses, detached from the rest of the movie magic. There was a cheaply made desk, an off-grey carpet, a foam-tiled ceiling, books on the shelves, a dying plant in the corner, a futon sofa wrapped around a coffee table. Orange light slanted through the blinds. Awards hung from the wall.

It was the kind of office someone would have to work hard to get, but not a place they would want to stay.

Mike thought it explained a lot.

“Come on, kitten."

He stepped through the door, avoiding Charlotte. The air in her office was stuffy. It felt slightly damp. Mike shivered from the rain on his clothes, and the licked-open wounds on his neck, and ended up standing awkwardly in place, having no idea where to put himself.

The door clicked shut behind him. He heard a rattle of keys.

“Alone at last," Charlotte said.

Mike tried to glance through the shuddered blinds, hoping to find some kind of movement outside. He saw nothing but swollen gutters. And if he saw nothing, that probably meant no one had seen him, either.

That meant no witnesses.

That meant. . . .

Fuck.

He trusted Austin. He trusted all the girls. Even if the plan was veering off course, and he was now locked in a room with a high-functioning sociopath, he trusted the fact that the yeens would not let him down. They would do their best to help.

All at once, he remembered the way Austin had almost told him something, deep in the walls of the studio. He felt a spike of sudden, immeasurable guilt.

“Get comfortable," Charlotte said, prowling through the office. A key ring dangled above her skirt, right on the edge of her hip. They glinted beneath the slanted light of the blinds.

Mike tried to focus.

Eventually, the tigress flopped into the chair behind her desk, reaching down to dig through the drawers. Silverware rattled. Bottles clinked. Gridded light shined upon her fur. When she sat up, she held a small mirror in one paw, and a baggy of cocaine in the other, looking at him from across the dimly lit office.

“Get comfortable."

Mike looked at the dusty futon in the corner. “Uh—"

“Are you stupid? Take it off."

He blinked.

“Get naked," Charlotte said.

Shivering from the rain, Mike began to strip off his clothes. Charlotte watched him with as much passion as a camera lens. In order to break the tension, he started to bend and sway, teasing himself out of the clothes, like he was a stripper at a private show, and very much worth the money. He had enough experience to know what looked good for an audience.

But, after a certain point, he glanced back at Charlotte, only to discover that she was now chopping out a line of coke, and not paying him any attention. Mike frowned, tearing off his pants without any fanfare.

Do it for the yeens, Mike.

“Can I, uh—" He gestured. “Can I turn on the lights?"

Charlotte snorted a line. The suction was very loud in the tiny office. When it was gone, she snapped up, neck muscles taut, wiping her snout with the back of a paw. “I can see just fine."

“Well, I can't."

“Hm. That's too bad." She snapped her fingers, blinking and sniffing. “C'mere."

Naked and shivering, Mike tried to saunter around the desk, moving with all the grace of a slab of beef on a conveyor belt. Charlotte reclined in her seat.

“Uh-huh. Right there."

Mike stopped in front of the desk. “Here?"

“I hope finding a cue isn't too hard for you, kitten."

“Oh, geez. I hope so, too."

“Hm." She began to chop another line on the mirror. “Dance for me."

“I'm sorry?"

“Did I stutter?"

Mike looked between her, the half-empty bag of coke, and the dull gray carpet beneath his feet. “Oh. You actually wanted a show. A private show."

“He's learning," Charlotte said, grimacing through the coke currently dripping down her throat. “How adorable." She waved a paw. “Go on. Dance. I'll tell you when to stop."

“Can I at least do some drugs first?"

“Good boys earn their candy."

He was really starting to hate this woman.

With a combination of fear, annoyance, and humiliation, Mike began to dance for the tigress, doing anything and everything he could think of to be sexy. He strutted on his toes, waggled his hips, rubbed hands across his body. He straddled the edge of her desk. He pretended to thrust his hips. When he was really desperate for moves, he tried to mimic some of the bodybuilding poses Daisy had taught him, showing off a very amateur amount of muscle.

In the darkness, he couldn't quite tell if Charlotte was enjoying his dance, or smirking at his expense. It was probably a little of both.

The seconds ticked on.

He cycled through various poses. He tried to fight a feeling of awkwardness. Due to the cold, his dick now resembled a shriveled up caterpillar, flopping around his groin like a sausage in a dryer.

Charlotte laughed.

Mike stopped. He concentrated very hard. And with all the training of a professional pornstar, he forced his limp dick into a sturdy erection, using nothing but willpower, desperation, and a tiny bit of hatred. He was ready to rock within seconds. Slowly, he began to stroke himself, giving a sultry wink across the desk.

Instead of a purr, Charlotte snorted another line. The sound of her sucking up booger sugar threatened to kill his boner.

A few seconds later, a shadow fell cross his skin. When he looked to the side, several figures were roaming on the other side of the blinds, their forms indistinct through the gloom and rain. One of them tried to peek inside.

The yeens.

Shit.

Mike glanced at the key ring on Charlotte's skirt. He felt a very strong urge to dash forward, grab the keys, and sprint for the exit.

But he needed more evidence. She hadn't actually hurt him yet.

At the window, the shadows disappeared.

Charlotte pinched her nose, swallowing the drip. When she returned her gaze to him, her pupils had dilated wide. Her tail was whapping like a balloon. Sensing the full weight of her attention, he made the particularly lewd decision to expose the soft edges of his neck, where she had already licked him to ribbons. It drove some predators wild.

The tigress licked her fangs.

“You from around here, sugar?"

Mike lost his rhythm. He hadn't expected conversation. He stroked his dick faster, trying to stay hard. “Uh."

“That's not an answer."

“Yeah, no, I'm from—up the coast. A couple hours away. Most of my family's there."

In the shade, he saw the edge of a smirk. Her eyes glimmered bright. “You came here to be a star, didn't you?"

“Well, no. I. . . ." He stumbled on the words. “I wanted to be an architect."

She snickered to herself. Mike gyrated his ass in her direction, just so he could turn his face away.

“That's enough," Charlotte said, as if she was bored.

He turned back. She was rattling through her desk again. By the time he stepped around the side, she was already pouring the contents of a generic prescription bottle into her paw. He saw several white pills.

“Oxy?" Mike asked.

Charlotte leaned into her chair, crossing the black and white stripes of her legs. “You know them, huh?"

“I had a phase in college."

“A phase?" She snickered again. “College?"

He decided that he really hated this bitch.

Still laughing, Charlotte dropped the pills on her desk. She grabbed a paperweight. She crushed them into dust. She organized lines. By the time she was done, the first dose of powder was about as long as his thumbnail.

She sat back in her chair, jittery and alert, staring at him with an undisguised hunger. “Go on."

Mike glanced at the shuddered window. He saw no sign of movement.

“You first," he said.

“Worried it's cut?" Charlotte asked, her eyes glinting in the dark. “Benzo? Fent?"

“A little, yeah."

“I'm not paying you to be smart."

He folded his arms, his erection still throbbing hard.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine."

She bent down and snorted. It did not go as well as the coke. She got halfway down the line, flinched, snarled, and shot back so hard in her chair that she nearly toppled to the side, her paw clawing hard at her nose. With how poorly she had crushed the pills, Mike imagined it had felt like snorting gravel.

He hesitated.

The tigress kicked the back of his leg.

“Get in there, slut!"

Mike stumbled against her desk, knees on the floor, his breath shuddering through the lines of powder. On one side of his face, there was a plowed field of cocaine. On the other, there was a rock quarry of oxycodone.

He chose the cocaine.

He bent down, snorting fast, sucking down the entire line. A fire roared into his brain. His veins flooded wide. In seconds, all his pain was drowned beneath a surge of energy. He felt like he could fuck a hundred women at once.

Holy shit, he loved cocaine.

Fuck.

Fuck!

“Fuck!" Charlotte yelled.

She yanked him from the desk, slashing her claws. He fell on his ass. The light from the blinds spun in waves.

“I told you to do the Oxy!"

Mike started laughing.

She grabbed a pawful of his hair, twisting his neck to the side. At the same time, she kicked off her high heels and leaned back in her chair, which gave him a very close look at the panties hiding beneath her skirt. They were red and very lacy.

Mike laughed even harder.

“You're gonna lick off that debt!"

She shoved his face between her legs. There was a confusion of fabric. A tail swung at his face. Mike pushed through her skirt, trying to bite at the hem of her panties, but he found himself actively stifled by Charlotte herself, who wouldn't stop berating him.

“Do you have any idea how expensive an eight ball is?"

“I ate your balls," Mike replied, giggling.

“You stupid slut!"

She locked a knee behind his head. With all the blissful confidence of a man on drugs, Mike burrowed his face through the cage of legs and fur, managing to part the hem of Charlotte's panties with a few teething nibbles. He licked blindly at her pussy, trying to show his apology.

Up above, Charlotte huffed.

Slowly, she relaxed.

Eventually, she let out a weary sigh, giving him a few short inches to breathe. He was allowed to eat her pussy without comment.

Now she becomes a good director, Mike thought to himself.

He settled her into a rhythm. He let her grow distracted. After nearly a minute of gentle loving tongues, he felt bold enough to wrap his hands around her waist, fumbling for the key ring. He found it on the fourth pass. The keys jangled. They could rip right off the cord. Charlotte was clearly too strung out to notice.

If he could get this to the yeens. . . .

“Let me tell you something," the tigress said.

Mike returned to licking her vulva, digging trenches through the inner folds. He acted dutiful and patient.

“I'm gonna fuck over your friends."

He stopped. Cocaine sputtered from his thoughts. Before he could lift his face, she squeezed her knee behind his head, sealing him inside.

“That's how it works, kitten," Charlotte said, as if she wasn't really talking to him, but just speaking out loud. “They didn't play ball. In this business, that's stupid. A raised nail gets the hammer. The squeaky wheel—" She drifted off, mumbling. “Whatever. You get it."

Mike's heart was pounding. The cocaine spun through his mind, fast and wild.

“Did I tell you to stop?"

With an obvious reluctance, he started eating her pussy again, tracing a thin circle around the outer lips. There was a contented sigh above.

“It's easy," she said, slurring her words. “Deny the completion bonus. Sue for the advance. Threaten beers—years in court. Force them to settle." She blew her nose, quietly hissing. “Best part—a few phone calls, and they'll never work industry again. Oh, you wouldn't believe how easy it is."

He flattened his tongue, dragging a heavy wave across her slit. He waited for a moment to strike.

“It's nature. It's business." She paused. “It's nature, I mean. We're all animals. Predators in suits." She began to play with his hair, like he was a pet sitting in her lap. “Devour to survive."

He teased a sharp lick against her opening.

“Hm. Good boy."

He roamed up to her clit, applying a gentle kiss to the rosy bud. At the same time, he took a firm grasp of her keys.

“Oh, I love this," Charlotte said. “Best part of the fucking job."

He sealed his lips around her hood. He gave a gentle, longing suck.

“Look at you. Look at this."

She laughed to herself, wiggling her pussy against his face. Mike tested the strength of the cord. He braced himself to rip.

Charlotte began to grow wet.

“Do you want me to fuck your friends? Huh? Is that why you're still sucking my cunt?" She thrusted up, smearing her arousal over his nose. “They deserve it, right?"

Mike kissed her vulva. In response, her pussy grew flushed. Arousal oozed from the slit.

“What a good slut. Don't even answer."

She laughed again.

“I don't even care. You know that? I don't care at all. There's hundreds just like them."

Her tail wagged.

“Fucking easy."

Her thighs locked together.

“Eat my cunt, you stupid slut."

With his face buried in sticky fur, Mike returned his mouth to her clit, making sure he had a good seal. He gave a hard lick. Up above, Charlotte released an inarticulate groan, arching her back against the chair. She clenched and breathed and laughed.

He bit the clit.

Charlotte's moan became a scream.

Everything went fast. Mike ripped the keys, and Charlotte kicked him back, and the darkness became a blur of claws, blood, and yells. He fell back. The office spun. A chair went skittering past his legs.

“You bitch!"

Mike attempted to scramble up, throwing the keys blindly toward the door. Charlotte slapped him across the face. The world went red. He spun, collapsing. The pain breathed and roared.

“Fucking bite me? Huh?"

She kicked him in the gut. Mike bent and squirmed, rolling on the floor.

“Who do you think you are, you little shit?"

She readied another kick. Mike flinched, gasping for air. Instead of hitting him again, Charlotte growled, sniffed her nose, and readjusted the hem of her skirt. A trail of arousal glistened on her thigh.

“You know what?" Charlotte said. “Doesn't even matter. Doesn't change shit."

She spat in his face. Her loogie was marbled white.

Mike winced, breathing hard.

She walked back to her desk, kicking the fallen chair. She snorted the last line of coke. She rummaged through the drawers. He heard the clinking of glass. As Mike shakily rose to an elbow, he gazed across the length of the office, and he saw a pair of fingers scrabbling beneath the gap in the front door. The keys had landed right on the edge of their grasp. After a few more swipes, the fingers found purchase, and the keys disappeared beneath the door.

The yeens had him.

Everything was fine.

When he looked back at Charlotte, she was slamming two glasses onto her desk, angrily uncorking a bottle of top-shelf whiskey.

Time for the money shot.

“Let me go," Mike said.

Charlotte glanced at him, sniffed her nose, and poured several fingers into each glass.

He reached up and pulled on the window blinds, clumsily rising to his feet. “I want to leave. Let me out."

“Don't talk," the tigress said. “I don't care."

“I don't care," Mike said, “about your goddamn malfunction, you fucking bitch. I'll walk home. I'll do whatever I have to. But I'm not gonna spend a second longer taking your shit." He pointed at the door, making sure to speak loud and clear. “Let me out of this room."

Charlotte raised the glass of whiskey. On the other side of the door, he heard a faint sound of rattling keys.

“Let me out," Mike said.

The tigress smirked. She slugged down the glass. With a grimace and a cough, she slammed the glass down, letting her fangs slide into view. “You know what? Fair enough. I've had my fun." A snicker bubbled between her teeth. “You'll remember me."

“You really are a goddamn psycho, you know that?"

“One thing, though."

“What?"

“I'll let you go," Charlotte said, “if you finish this drink."

She raised the second glass. Mahagony liquid swirled between her fingers. Behind the door, he heard shuffling and whispers.

“What?" Mike asked, nonplussed. “No. Fuck you. Probably slipped me a roofie."

“You watched me pour it, you stupid slut."

“I still don't trust you."

“Fine. I'll take a sip."

She raised the glass, tipped him a salute, and made a show of sipping off the rim. She made eye contact. She took several gulps. For good measure, she grabbed the bottle and poured more inside, diluting the mixture.

“See?" Charlotte asked. “It's not that hard to play ball."

Mike barely heard her. Instead, he was staring intently at the glass itself. He had seen something pass from her tongue. Even if the office was a little too dark for him to see, he could've sworn something was now swirling among the mahogany fluid, dissolving in a flurry of bubbles. And he realized, all of a sudden, that Charlotte had stolen his orange juice earlier, and she had taken a long sip from his cup, and the only difference from then to now was that Austin had slapped the first drink from his hand, before he could actually swallow.

This bitch was trying to drug him.

“I saw that," Mike said. “You just slipped me a pill."

Charlotte lowered the glass.

“If you think I'm stupid enough—"

She threw the glass at his face.

Mike ducked. The glass shattered on the wall. Charlotte leaped over the desk, moving very fast. Mike tried to run, tripped over his scattered clothes, lost his balance, and was just about to throw a punch when Charlotte tackled him onto the office coffee table, snapping the panel clean in half. They went sprawling to the floor.

“You think you're fucking clever?" Charlotte yelled.

She was on top, pinning him down, clawing and ripping at whatever she could reach. All Mike could do was brace his arms and stop her from tearing out his throat.

“You should've been a good fucking slut!"

She yanked one of his arms, lurching down, biting deep into his shoulder, tearing so hard into the meat that only the numbness of cocaine prevented Mike from screaming. Through it all, Charlotte's other hand was fumbling for his dick, aiming his manhood squarely between her legs.

“I'll fucking break you!" the tigress roared, coating his face in spittle, blood, and breath. She bashed his dick into the slick hot folds of her pussy. “I own you! I own your contract! I own your dick, you stupid shit! You don't fuck me! I fuck you!" She thrusted down, spearing him to the hilt. Her growl was horny and furious. “I'll fuck you, oh, believe me, I'll fuck the shit outta you, I'll fuck you till your goddamn carcass breath friends go bankrupt! You hear me? You fucking hear me, you stupid slut?"

The office door swung open.

“I hear you," Austin said.

Charlotte reeled back. Several lights shined in her face, all of which were clipped to different cameras. In the sudden brightness, her face was slobbered, slack-jawed, wide-eyed, completely dumb with surprise. A trickle of cocaine leaked through her nose.

Mike thought of a circus tiger backed into its cage, suddenly fearing the whip.

“Smile!" Veronica called.

“Oh, come on," Summer added, getting a wide angle. “Don't you like stealing the shot?"

Charlotte stayed completely still, like a deer in headlights.

“Who has the stupid dialogue now?" Daisy asked.

Charlotte scrambled off Mike, up to her feet, back from the shattered coffee table. Mike's dick exited her pussy with an audible pop! As the tiger retreated, the yeens shifted their attention.

“Holy shit!"

“Mike!"

“Get the kit!"

Summer, Daisy, and Veronica all rushed for Mike, trying to lift him out of the wreckage. He was very dizzy. There were a lot of scratches. The bite on his shoulder, in particular, was bleeding so profusely that he would have looked completely at home on the set of a slasher flick. As Daisy and Summer applied pressure to the bite, Veronica pulled out an old tin container, which was covered in stickers, hearts, and cute cartoon hyenas. On the lid, Daisy had long ago written the words: Mike's Oopsie Kit.

He managed to laugh.

Deeper in the office, Charlotte had backed up to her desk, trying to wipe the blood and slabber from her jaw. Austin closed the gap, a handheld camera slung low in her palm.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the tigress asked.

“I could ask you the same," the hyena replied.

“I'm—I—" Charlotte struggled for words, blinking fast. “I was just—having fun! With a coworker!" She threw a desperate paw. “I'm just celebrating! Is a wrap party illegal now?"

Austin snorted, dryly amused. “Illegal."

“You have no idea—"

“That's a fun word. Illegal. I'm glad you said it first."

“You're not supposed to be here! You just broke into my fucking office!" Charlotte wiped her face, sniffed her nose, adjusted her jacket. Her usual manager persona was returning by the second. “I could have you arrested!"

Austin shrugged. “Alright. Call the cops."

Charlotte paused.

“Go ahead. Call the cops."

The room was very silent. Outside, the rain pattered and poured.

“Actually," Austin said, pulling out her phone, “you know what, I think I'll call them myself. Just to save you the trouble."

“No, no, no," Charlotte said, chancing a step forward, “actually, no, that's—don't do that. That's not necessary."

“Oh, what? No?"

“No! No, no. That's—no. There's no need to bring them here."

“Are you sure?"

Charlotte began to answer, looking pleading and desperate. But just as the words were about to leave her mouth, the tone in Austin's voice seemed to catch in her ear, and her expression of terror almost instantly morphed into a cauldron of rage, spite, and loathing. It slipped so easily onto her face that Mike was quietly terrified at having been locked in a room with her.

He felt very glad the yeens were here.

“Okay," Austin said, casually, sliding her phone back into her jean pocket. “Well, in that case, let me tell you exactly what's going to happen now, you crazy psycho bitch."

“Fuck you," Charlotte said.

“First, we have evidence—"

“Fuck you! Get out of my office!"

Austin looked at the tigress. There was a moment of silence. Slowly, over her shoulder, she called: “Hey, Summ, can you get the mic off Mike's shirt?"

Summer nodded, gave Mike a reassuring squeeze, and loped over to his fallen clothes, which were buried under the shattered wood of the coffee table. She dug around and untaped the small, ear-shaped microphone that had been hiding under the collar of his shirt.

Charlotte flicked her ears, sniveling.

“So, let's see," Austin said. “We have a lot of audio capture. We have some video footage. We have multiple eyewitness accounts of you harassing the star of your production. We can prove that you coerced him, that you locked him in a room, that you forced him to do drugs, that you clawed and bit the shit out of him after he asked you to stop." The tomboy let her words sink in. “Do you know what all that adds to?"

Charlotte glared at the cameras.

“Harassment," Austin said. “Battery. Assault. Kidnapping. Substance abuse coercion. We could throw an attempted murder in there, just to be fun. And, oh, let's not forget: rape in the first degree." She gave a low whistle. “I mean, geez, do you know how much time you might do for that? The minimum sentencing alone—"

“Eat shit," Charlotte said. “You think I don't have my own lawyers?"

“You think they can do shit about this?"

“This is inadmissible! You don't have permission to record me!"

“One-party consent state," Austin replied. “Surprised you don't know that."

“You're using studio equipment! Whatever you recorded is our property!"

“This gear is all ours. Why do you think we left?"

The more Charlotte heard, the angrier she became. “Smash Queen will fucking bury you alive! Pre-trial motions! Fucking—continuation requests! This shit will never pass discovery! Talk about a hostile takeover, you dumb spotted bitch, we'll have you drowning in civil suits! I hope you enjoy watching SQ split your LLC with an unlubed dildo, you carcass cunt!"

Austin shrugged. “I think you're bluffing. You know how this'll look to a jury."

Charlotte seemed right on the edge of pouncing.

“That's what I thought," Austin said.

“Fuck you!" the tigress screamed, lashing out, getting right in the hyena's face. “Try me! Hit me! Let's settle this, right now!"

Charlotte bared her fangs and claws. There was rustling fur, roaring snarls, raking sounds of fury, the equivalent of a nuclear nation firing all their missiles at once.

Austin didn't react.

“Come on! Hit me!"

“No thanks," Austin replied.

“Do it! Hit me! Bitch!"

“Yeah, nice try." She turned away from the snarling tiger. “Mike, you good?"

By now, Mike was being cradled between Daisy and Veronica, letting them apply disinfectant and gauze to the worst of his injuries. He managed a very shaky thumbs up.

“Great," Austin said. “That's all I care about."

Charlotte snarled again, doing everything she possibly could to look threatening without actually taking the first strike. As her snarls died against the office walls, and her display received no response, she balled her paws like an angry child. She turned and kicked her desk. It toppled over, the wood chipping with splinters. Multiple glasses shattered.

In the resulting silence, she stood with her back turned, her tail and skirt still crusted with Mike's old cum. She thrashed the air with breath.

Outside, the rain was starting to die.

“Are you done?" Austin asked.

The tigress swiveled back around. “You have no idea who you've fucked with."

“Yeah, alright. Whatever." Austin cleared her throat, motioning for the cameras. All three were turned off. “I'll spell it out. We're blackmailing you. If you fuck with us, we send this to the cops. If you deny our bonus, we send this to the local news. If your dying studio tries to sue us for breaking contract, we'll mail it off for national syndication. If we get even the tiniest suspicion that you're trying to be a coy little bitch again, your career is over. Capiche?"

Charlotte did not respond.

“Oh, yeah," Austin said, hooking a thumb toward Mike, “and if you ever—ever—touch a hair on his head, we'll make sure that the only drug you have is toilet wine from your padded cell, you psycho junkie bitch."

“Yeah!" Daisy shouted.

“Here, here!" Veronica added.

Summer whistled loudly.

Charlotte shook her head with a dry snort, like this had all become something silly and ridiculous.

“Alright," Austin said, beginning to turn. “We're done here. Have a good night, boss."

“This isn't over," the tigress said.

Austin turned her back.

“This isn't over! Mark my words! You've made an enemy tonight, you understand?"

“Mike," Austin said, strolling up. “Good to walk?"

Daisy and Veronica hauled him to his feet. When he tried to stand on his own, his knees became wobbly and loose. “Yeah, yeah," he said. “Mostly."

Austin raised an arm, opening her side. “Lean on me, dude."

“Just, uh—one sec."

He stumbled across the office, ignoring Charlotte's glare. With a less than dignified lurch, he leaned over the fallen desk and scavenged through the contents spilled oo the ground. Seconds later, he came back up with the baggy of cocaine clutched between two fingers. He dangled it in front of the tiger.

“I'm taking your coke," Mike said. “Learn to share, bitch."

Charlotte looked seconds away from mauling him. He flipped her off, opened the bag, snorted, got more powder on his lip than actually in his nostril, and walked back over to the yeens with a new resurgence in strength. His eyes were wide. Most of his pain was already fading away.

When he leaned into Austin's side, she gave him a lingering glance. He looked up at her. She wrinkled her nose, wrapping an arm around his back.

“This isn't over!" Charlotte shouted. “You hear me?"

They tossed her keys on the floor, closing the door behind them. As they walked out into the rain, they heard the tigress continue to scream and yell, completely alone in her office.

By the time they reached the parking lot, the rain had stopped completely.

---

They celebrated the entire drive home.

They giggled and gossiped, laughing until it hurt. They jostled their seats. They pounded the car roof. Summer kept retelling the story. Veronica mimicked the dialogue. Daisy lowered her window and howled into the night. The entire time, Austin drove her car at nearly thirty over the speed limit, swerving back and forth on the empty highway. They all screamed like little kids.

They put on music. They sang off-key. The mood was completely wild. Mike laughed and shouted until his throat was raw, until he had to sit back and gasp for air.

He felt very, very alive.

Eventually, they reached the city, and the traffic started, and the adrenaline began to fade, and the mood in the car settled to a reasonable volume, though it never fully died. All it took was one person mimicking Charlotte's voice, or just randomly cracking up to themselves, and the mirth would spread like fire, and they would all be laughing and shouting again.

After a while, Mike stared over the concrete lip of the freeway, out into the urban sprawl of the city. He felt more happy to see it than he had in a long, long time.

Suddenly, in the middle of a cackling fit, Summer shouted: “Ice cream?"

Veronica took up the call. “Ice cream!"

“Ice cream! Ice cream!"

They shot down the freeway off-ramp, pulling into the first ice cream parlor they saw. It was a lonely store, in an empty strip mall, somewhere on the far edge of town, surrounded only by an empty ocean of parking lot. The five of them were, by far, the liveliest people around.

“No, no, no," Austin said, crunching the stick into park. She slapped Mike's shoulder. “You stay in the car."

“Why?" he asked.

“You look like shit, dude."

“We got you, Mikey," Veronica added.

“Whaddya want?" Summer asked, leaning over his seat.

He shrugged. “I dunno. Mint chocolate chip?"

“Mint choco?" Austin asked, like she was personally offended. “Just get vanilla, then, you pansy ass."

“Yeah? What're you guys getting?"

“Bonemeal," they said, in unison.

Mike made a face.

“You should try it," Veronica said, smirking. “Join the pack."

“One of us!" Daisy chanted. “One of us!"

“No, no," Mike said, “I'm not gonna lick marrow. God." He paused. After a moment, he waved a hand. “Aw, fuck it. Why not?"

They all giggled in victory. In the store, a teenage raccoon glanced up from his phone, clearly dreading their arrival.

“One sec, actually," Austin said, glancing at Mike. “Be there in a bit."

The other yeens paused halfway out the door. They glanced at each other. All at once, they began to laugh and coo. Summer blew a kiss at Mike. Veronica and Daisy pretended to make out together.

“Fuck off!" Austin yelled. “Get outta my car!"

They slammed the doors, still making lovey-dovey faces. Veronica tried to schlick through her jeans. Austin honked the horn. They entered the store, cackling aloud.

When their voices died away, Austin said: “Buncha savages."

“I heard they sucked thirty seven dicks," Mike said.

“Yeah, yeah, in a row, etcetera." She flicked a thumb across the steering wheel, glancing his way. It was a moment before she spoke. “You good?"

He shifted in the passenger seat. “Yeah. You know. The, uh—the coke helps."

“Oh, yeah. I bet."

“Daisy can stitch me up. I'll take it easy." He patted his pocket, feeling the small baggie. “Medicate a bit."

“Sure. Alright. Just no hospitals. No legal records. You know?"

“Yeah, no. Makes sense." He cleared his throat, swallowing the drip at the back of his tongue. “Couldn't afford it, anyway."

She nodded, looking at her lap.

There was a brief silence. Both of them played with their hands. Outside the car, the night was cool and deep.

“So," Mike said, “actually, I had a thought."

Austin turned to him, a little quickly. “Yeah?"

“It's about our shoot."

“. . . yeah?"

“It's not an orgy."

“What?"

“Yeah, you know. Orgies are a bunch of people fucking each other. This was four on one. You know, a gangbang."

Austin gestured over the center divider. “Who cares?"

“I care."

“Shut the fuck up, dude."

They looked at each other. Mike snickered. Austin couldn't suppress a snort. Pretty soon, they broke into grins and chuckles, eventually slapping each other across the seats. A car freshener danced above their warring blows.

“Yeah, whatever, nerd," Austin said, slipping her keys into her bra. “Eat my ass."

Mike spoke in a robotic, nasally tone. “By legal definition—"

“I'll legally define your nuts, bitch." She opened the door, got halfway out, stopped, twitched her ears, glanced back. Her tone quickly softened. “Yeah, so—I just wanted to check. With you." She watched him. “You good?"

“Doing alright," Mike said, sincerely.

“Cool." She gestured toward the store. “Be right back."

There was a slight pause. Austin lingered a moment, letting the night air drift over her shoulder. Eye contact was made and lost.

Shit.

“Actually," he said.

She cocked her ears.

“I, um . . . I got evicted from my apartment. This morning."

She nodded, blinking.

“And, uh," Mike said, beginning to blush, “you know, I got seven days, to get out, and I don't have a lot of money, like always, so . . . I need. . . ."

“A place to stay," Austin finished.

“Yeah."

“Yeah. Okay. Sure. You wanna . . . sleep on my couch?"

“Yes. That'd be—thanks."

“No worries."

“I can pay rent. Groceries. I dunno."

“No, no, it's fine."

“I don't wanna freeload."

“It's not a big deal, dude."

“It kinda is."

“Well, just don't worry about it, then."

“Yeah, okay. Thanks."

They stared at each other. Outside the car, the only movement was the other yeens strolling along the ice cream bar, and a cloud of moths buzzing beneath a distant, lonely light.

“Alright," Mike said. “That's it. That's . . . all it was."

Austin gave a slow nod. “Okay. Thanks for telling me."

The tension grew painful.

“Aw, fuck," Mike said, lunging across the car.

He kissed Austin on the front of her snout. Her fur went bristled, her breath surprised. He pressed their lips together for a few long seconds before quickly darting away, awkwardly balanced between the steering wheel and the center divider.

She blinked several times, still halfway out the car.

“I like you," Mike said, quietly. “And . . . thanks. For being with me."

Austin blew out a breath, grabbed the front of his shirt, and lunged in reply.

“Wait, shit, no—"

She kissed him back, opening her mouth, giving tongue, sliding through his lips, waiting until he reciprocated the affection before diving straight ahead. For a long minute, they made out in the front seat of her car, softly groping, carelessly swapping spit. They fumbled and breathed. It would have looked completely awful for a camera.

Through it all, Mike felt a deep fluttering in his chest.

Eventually, Austin pulled away, slowly letting go of his shirt. She was panting very hard.

“I like you, too," she said.

Mike's cheeks were burning red. “I figured."

“Sure you did. Idiot."

“Yeah, okay."

“You fucking stupid person. Holy shit. Fuck you."

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch."

“Skinnie."

“Bone breath."

“Flat nose."

“Piss fur."

They looked at each other. The night air drifted through, borne from a gentle wind, carrying the smell of fresh rain.

“So," Mike said. “Ice cream?"

Austin nodded. “Ice cream."

“Can I join you?"

“I'd like that."

Both of them looked away, smiling.

They got out of the car. They roamed around the sides, joining together at the front, where the sidewalk began. Rain pattered from the strip mall roof, and the air smelled like concrete.

By the time they entered the store, they were already holding hands.