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The Groomer

Marie Caniche was a pure white French poodle, the only daughter of a rich couple that lived in a mansion on the trendy west side of the city. She was used to having the best of everything – the best schools, the best clothes, the best that society had to offer.

She also went to all the best parties, and when she did, she made sure that her dress was of the latest fashion, one that she had never worn it out before. She also went to great lengths so that her jewelry was the most expensive and noticeable pieces available from the best jewelers. Most especially, she wanted her fur to be freshly groomed in the latest style, without a hair out of place.

Such social dominance took a lot of organization, and she had become the master of the digital calendar. She had developed her own system of rating an event, routinely deconflicting less desirable invitations in favour of those with the best social advantages. Once she had confirmed the software’s choice, it automatically adjusted her schedule, setting appointments at the dress shop, the jewelers and the groomer’s far enough ahead to ensure that her outfit would be ready, her jewelry would be beyond compare, and her coiffure would be as fresh as possible.

That was why she was a bit taken aback when her current best friend called to ask her what she was going to wear to the Charity Ball that evening.

“Whatever are you talking about, Zahra?” Marie asked after quickly checking her calendar. She had been lounging by the pool, but she was never far from her scheduler. “The Charity Ball is next week.”

“No, it’s tonight. Check their webpage.” Zahra countered, a note of excitement in her voice. She had never imagined that Marie might be caught unprepared. What a scandal it would be if the great Marie Caniche showed up wearing a dress that she had worn to a previous event, in jewelry that had been recycled, or – God forbid – with a pedestrian hair style whipped together by one of her maids! She could not wait to tell all the other girls.

Marie sighed and checked the site where the details of the ball were listed. What she saw made the breath freeze in her throat. The ball was that evening! She must have entered the wrong date in her calendar.

“Oh, yes.” She said into the phone as nonchalantly as possible. “I forgot. I was wondering why I had ordered my dress and new jewelry so early. I see that my reminder to get dressed and order the car is already set for tonight so I wouldn’t have missed it, but thank you for reminding me anyway. I’ll see you there, I suppose?”

Zahra was confused. Marie was not one to forget a major social event like the annual Charity Ball. Maybe she should hold off calling the girls … but if Marie showed up anything less than one-hundred percent fresh, all bets were off.

After another minute of exchanging trivialities Marie closed the call. She appeared outwardly calm, but her mind was churning furiously, and her blood pressure had gone up significantly.

She assessed the situation. The ball started at eight. She could show up fashionably late between eight-thirty and nine. It was now ten in the morning. That gave her just over ten hours to get a dress and find some unique jewelry that complimented it. Those would be no problem, she thought.

She had scheduled the final fitting of the black gown she had ordered for later in the day. She could call the dress shop and have them send the tailor along to make the final adjustments on the spot. She knew they would comply not only because she spent so much money there but because their business increased every time she appeared in one of their creations.

The Jeweller would be equally eager to accommodate her, and for the same reasons. She had heard that they had some new pieces in. She would demand that they bring along a selection of the best and she could compare them in her long mirror while wearing the finished dress just before leaving for the Ball.

Then she looked down along her toned body, mostly exposed in the tinniest of gold bikinis, and swore.

The Charity Ball was the first big event of the season, and she had been letting her fur grow out so that it would be long enough to sculpt in the latest cut. All the best saloons, however, would be booked solid as debutants and society matrons alike would have scheduled their appointments as close as possible to the event itself, just as she had thought to do, except her appointment was a week hence. How was she going to get groomed on such short notice?

Just then a tabby on an electric bike that had a large colourful cargo box on the back came up the driveway. It was from a popular delivery service called ‘Skip the Fishes’. They had started out as a seafood delivery service but now one could order anything from alfalfa to zucchini delivered.

“Missus Caniche?” The cat called over to Marie as it hefted a plastic bag that clinked when he held it up.

Mother must have run out of vodka again, Marie thought.

“Just drop it off by the front door.” Marie called back. Right beside the box with Father’s edibles that came in by courier, she added to herself. Really, one could get anything delivered these days, she mused, and that gave her an idea.

Grabbing her tablet, she opened the page for the search engine, Gooble, and entered the words ‘high end mobile grooming service in my area’ and pressed enter.

The little turkey logo strutted around for a few seconds before the screen cleared and a list of mobile groomers appeared, arranged closest to farthest away.

Marie frowned. There was only one listed anywhere close to her, an establishment called Scruffy’s. The name was not familiar to her, and the address was not in the uptown area where most of the best saloons were, but closer to downtown, if her memory served her right. She had heard, though, that there were a few upscale salons downtown catering to the females among the elite of the business world, targeting female executives who were too busy to spare a few hours to go uptown for a grooming.

This Scruffy’s, which sounded like a very avant-garde name now that she thought about it, probably dispatched groomers right to the corporate offices so the CEO’s and COOs of the Fortune 500 companies could waste as little time as possible maintaining their looks.

She pressed the link to visit their website. The banner reading ‘Book a mobile appointment now!’ caught her eye and she clicked it without perusing the rest of the page. The scheduler it revealed was arranged in four-hour blocks, and there was an opening at noon. Plenty of time for the groomer to get to her from downtown, she thought, and they would be done and gone before her fitting.

Perfect, she thought as she entered her information in the online calendar and confirmed the appointment. She even had time to finish sunbathing and grab some brunch before the appointment, but just a light one, she reminded herself. After all, a girl had to watch her figure.

* * * * * * * *

On the fiftieth floor of a high-rise office building, several of the male financial consultants from one of the city’s largest investment firms were admiring the new ewe, Betty Merino.

Her wool, what they could see of it, was a brilliant white. They couldn’t see much else though because Betty, always professional in appearance, usually wore a black pantsuit over a white blouse that was done up to the neck, so only the wool around her ankles, her wrists and on her head was visible. Her wool was clipped in a stylish but conservative manner, as befitted her position as a junior financial analyst. Her male counterparts wondered though, how much of the prominent bulges on her chest and backside were due to wool and how much was solid flesh. Many bets had been placed, but as she never dressed down or took off her jacket, even the hottest days, no one had collected yet.

Betty did not even take her outer layers off in front of her few female colleagues. She never used the company gym, the change room or the showers. She even went in and out of the bathroom stalls fully dressed. Her co-workers wondered if she had something to hide.

She did.

Betty had been living with her boyfriend, a grey wolf, for over a year, ever since graduating from Madam Mouflon’s Academy. Her boyfriend went by the name Scruffy, and he owned a tattoo, piercing and extreme grooming salon, the kind that the goths and the punks went to be teased, gelled, shaved, dyed and marked in ways guaranteed to drive their parents nuts.

They had met when Betty went to his seedy basement saloon to get sheared sheer all over at the request of a ram with a skin fetish that she was going out with at the time. The sensation of Scruffy’s razor on her bare flesh had proved to be much more alluring than a ram that could not find her clit if it smacked him in the face. Scruffy found it though, repeatedly, and since then she had smacked him in the snout with it quite often.

Betty now kept most of her hide shaved clean, a vast expanse of skin where Scruffy could practice his tattoo designs and perfect his piercings. Under her pantsuit she had upwards of fifty tattoos and over a dozen piercings, a colourful canvas of butterflies and beasts, flowers and religious symbols, and about half a kilo of silver and gold studs, bars and rings. She longed to show off her body art body art, but she did not dare.

Scruffy was the best in the biz, but there was not much money in servicing the fringe members of society, so Betty had to work to help pay the bills. She had found work in in the prestigious investment firm through her qualifications from Madam Mouflon’s and her family connections, but if her colleagues found out what was beneath her conservative clothing they would have been shocked, and she would likely be let go. As long as she avoided changing in public, and metal detectors, they would be none the wiser.

She dreamed of one day being able to drop the pretense and become a living model for her wolf lover, but in order to do that she would have to maneuver Scruffy into the mainstream. To that end she had helped him build a website to advertise his creative abilities. She had also suggested that he start a mobile service.

“You can easily carry all your grooming, tattooing and piercing tools in the saddlebags of your motorcycle.” She told him. “Look, I’ve even built an online appointment system on the website so that you’ll know when you’re free to take on remote clients.”

Scruffy had reluctantly agreed, but even though the website had been up for several months it had yet to attract any new clients.

Until today.

Betty was not surprised when a message to call Scruffy came in on her personal phone. She had told him not to call her at her work number because the firm tracked all outside calls for follow-up with potential clients. There was also a fair chance that he would catch her in a team meeting or with a manager, so when he wanted to talk he sent a text and waited for her to call him back.

At it happened she was alone in her small interior office when his text arrived, so she called him right back.

“Hey Babe.” She said when they connected.

“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be in the shop over lunch.” Scruffy told her. The basement saloon was a converted apartment unit and Scruffy operated his business in what was once the front room while using the better part of the kitchen for the storage, cleaning and maintenance of his tools. That left a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom for them to live in. Since the shop was only a couple of blocks away from the business district Betty often went there to have lunch with him and occasionally engage in a quick bit of afternoon delight before returning to the office.

“Oh?” she replied. “What’s up?”

“I got one of those notifications you set up for the website.” He told her. “Looks like we finally got a client for the mobile service.”

“Hey, that’s great babe! What part of town?”

Scruffy read the address from the notification he had received, and Betty ran it through Gooble maps.

She gave a low whistle when the map centred on a neighbourhood of large mansions on larger acreages.

“Jesus, Babe. You make a good impression, and this could be your big breakthrough.”

“You think so” He asked.

“I know so. You should have time to get cleaned up and put on some decent clothes before heading over there.”

“Right.”

“See you after work, Babe.” She said, then disconnected.

Scruffy was left holding his phone in one paw and scratching his ear nervously with the other.

As usual he was wearing nothing but skin-tight black jeans, a lot of ink and about a kilo of metal sticking though various parts of his body. His chest skin was shaved to show the tattoos and piercings he had there, but at Betty’s insistence he had let the fur on his head and neck grow out, to cover some of his older, cruder tattoos, but it was still shaved on one side of his head and dyed bright green on the other.

Remembering her instructions for meeting well-off clients, he removed the larger more obvious studs, from his face, the ones ordinary citizens might find scary. He left the ones in his ears and snout, because everyone had a few piercings there these days. Everything else would be covered by his clothing, like the bars though his nipples, the rings implanted in his chest, the silver stud in his naval and the solid gold rings piercing the head of his cock and skin of his ball sack. Even his tongue stud, the one Betty liked him to tickle her clit with, would be invisible if he kept his mouth shut.

He had already taken a shower, and anything he did to his hair would be undone by the motorcycle helmet, so he just brushed it to one side and left it at that. But when it came to ‘dressing nice’ he had no idea what to wear.

“Fuck it.” He said, grabbing a fairly clean black tee-shirt and his motorcycle boots as he headed for the door. If they don’t like my looks, they won’t like my service any better, he told himself. They can just send me away, no skin off my snout. Besides, he thought, the client had already paid the basic fee, and that would more than cover the cost of gas.

* * * * * * * *

Marie was still by the pool in her gold bikini when she heard the sound of the motorcycle coming up the driveway. She pulled her Celine designer sunglasses down her long snout and watched the big black bike approach. She was wondering if the rider was lost or planning to rob the house. His tough luck either way; the butler was armed, knew how to use a gun, and didn’t take kindly to strangers at the door.

When the rider got off the bike, he made no attempt to approach the mansion. Instead, he took off his helmet, pulled out a phone and did something on the screen. A second later Marie’s phone chirped, and she lifted it to check her messages. A screen notification told her that her groomer had arrived. It was accompanied by a small image of a lanky grey wolf with green hair, the same wolf that was leaning on his motorcycle in her driveway.

Marie sighed, hoping that she had not made a huge mistake, and replied that he should come around the side toward the pool. She also texted the staff to let them know that the visitor was probably okay, and not to shoot him outright, unless they heard her screaming.

As the wolf approached, she could see that he was tall, lean and well muscled. He was dressed all in black with tight jeans but a loose tee-shirt, both of which looked like they had not seen the inside of a washing machine in some time, and oversized black boots with metal buckles. But hadn’t that Hungarian Director that was up for an Academy Award earlier that year worn something similar on the red carpet, she asked herself? Something by Rick Owens?

Marie followed the fashions from Paris and Milan slavishly. Europe was always a step ahead when it came to fashion trends, and she longed for the day when her allowance was increased enough for her to attend Paris Fashion Week and buy her dresses directly from the designers.

She could see though why the saloon called itself Scruffy’s and was glad to see that they had sent a groomer avant-garde enough to buck the usual fashion trends. She just hoped that his cutting-edge sense of fashion carried over to his styling skills because that was what she needed to impress her cohort on such short notice.

She continued to regard him over the rim of her designer shades, a move that usually intimidated clerks and servants of all ilk’s, but instead of acting anxious or terrified he just stood there with his weight on one leg and his leather saddlebags slung over his rather broad shoulders.

“You the client?” He asked, barely glancing at her.

Scruffy was not looking directly at Marie because the sight of the fit, well-built poodle in the tiny gold bikini was giving him an erection. Betty was usually in the room with him when he was working on female clients these days, partially to avoid bogus sexual assault claims but also to poke him hard between the ribs when he seemed to be enjoying the view a bit too much. She knew how he could get, because that was how they had gotten together, over an intense shearing job that had gotten out of control.

Marie did not interpret his aloofness that way.

Such distain, such snobbishness, she told herself, his services must really be in demand. It was infuriating, but intriguing at the same time.

“So, where do you want to do this?” the wolf asked.

“I have a massage table set up in the pool house.” Marie answered as she swung her long, shapely legs to one side to sit up. “Will that work for you?”

“You got a plug-in near it?” Scruffy asked. “For the clippers?”

“Yes, it’s fully equipped.” She assured him.

She stood up, turned on one paw and headed toward a small white building on the other side of the pool. Scruffy followed, allowing himself a good look at her undulating backside as she strutted along the edge of the pool. His professional side noted that she had not been trimmed in quite a while, but that was a good thing, it gave him plenty of fur to work with. You could always cut away a bit more if you needed to, but you couldn’t get it to grow when there wasn’t enough to do what you wanted to do.

Reaching the pool house, Marie opened the double louvered doors to reveal a state-of-the art massage and relaxation room.

Scruffy let out a low whistle. It really was fully equipped. There was a shower, a sink with an indent to rest your neck while getting your head shampooed, a padded massage table with a hole in the end for one’s snout, blow dryers and even several heat lamps for days when it was too cold or cloudy outside for sunbathing. His hopes for a successful outcome went up.

Marie hopped up on the table and sat there looking at Scruffy.

“What kind of cut were you looking for?” He asked as he took his grooming tools from his saddlebags and laid them out on the counter by the sink.

“Some thing traditional, but new.” She told him. “Avant-garde but haute couture at the same time. Something that will impress the old dowagers as well as the debutants.”

Scruffy did not understand half of the words coming out of her mouth, but the bit about being new and impressive he was familiar with. Most of his clients wanted something new and shocking, bold enough to leave an impression on the other kids at the next rave or attract a temporary mate at the club. He better not get too bold though, he reminded himself, Betty will be pissed if I blow this opportunity by going hog wild on her fur.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He replied laconically.

Marie was delighted with her find. “Where do we start?”

“We start with you on your stomach.” Scruffy said as his trained eye roved up and down her. “I’ll clip off anything that we don’t need and trim the rest. Then if it looks good, I’ll use a razor to shave you down, so the skin makes a contrast with the furry areas before applying the dyes.”

Marie’s eyes had gone wide. She missed the part about the dyes completely because she had almost gone into shock when the wolf said that he was going to shave her … with a razor. She could see it sitting on the counter beside his electric clippers, a large straight razor with a bone handle.

The bones of one of his previous victims? Her mind shrieked. Maybe I should start screaming now.

Fighting to maintain her cool, she asked, “Are you sh- … sure that’s necessary?”

“Oh, yeah.” He answered, not really paying attention while he checked his clippers and selected the proper blades for the job. “Anything else will look cheap and fuzzy and just grow back too quick to make it worth the effort.”

Well, she thought, I certainly don’t want to look cheap, and there were several more important parties coming up in quick succession. She rolled around to lay full length on her stomach, sticking her snout through the hole provided.

“Mind if I take off my boots?”

“No.” God, I hope his paws don’t stink, she thought. Some of these bohemian stylists did not have the best hygiene habits.

Under Betty’s tutelage, however, Scruffy had come to shower and wash and change his socks regularly, so when he circled the table preparing his gear the only smell her sensitive nose picked up was the fait scent of laundry detergent.

He began to remove the fur from her back. The sensation of the clippers as they hummed against her was soothing. Scruffy kept his blades sharp so that they didn’t tug or jam, even in dense curly fur like hers. All in all, the sensation was like getting a vibrating massage, she thought.

The clippers went all over, up her sides, down her back, and inside her thighs. There were places where the buzzing blades went right down to skin level, but others where they did not cut as deep. Her skin tingled and she almost fell asleep to their hypnotic drone.

When he was mostly done her backside, though, he hooked a digit under the gold string that disappeared between her butt cheeks to lift it clear while he sheared her there. It startled her fully awake, and she tensed, believing that he might be assaulting her.

“Relax.” He told her. “If you’re too tense, I can’t get an even cut.”

He didn’t sound like a rapist, she thought, at least not a very enthusiastic one. Maybe he was gay? Most of the best stylists were, she believed.

Scruffy had been lost in his work for most of the procedure thus far, but clipping her long, shapely legs and now her round, firm buttocks was giving him an erection again. Fortunately, the client was face down and his tight jeans served to contain it, but it did threaten to peek out from under the waistband when he trimmed the fur around her pretty pink tailhole. Betty was always so sensitive there, and he usually licked the lingering bits of wool away …

… best to put such thoughts out of your mind, he reminded himself, going to the sink to clean the blades and splash cold water on his face before telling her to roll over.

Marie flipped onto her back with practiced ease. Naturally athletic, she had excelled in gymnastics in school and her floor routine included several horizontal flips and turns. She could have gone from face-down into a paw stand, a split and a vault onto the pool house floor if she cared to. As it was, she merely pushed herself up, spun in midair, arched her back and stretched her arms out to catch the massage table to ease herself onto her back. It was a simple move but one that made her muscles stand out and her breasts thrust upward.

Scruffy turned and splashed more water on her face.

“Hot in here.” He said by way of an excuse.

“I don’t want to run the air conditioner with my skin exposed. Marie told him. “Take your shirt off if you need too.”

Scruffy did so, exposing some of his more elaborate tattoos and piercings.

Marie did not say anything, but she did swallow hard. The groomer looked like some of the male models the more daring designers used in their Paris showings - lean, mean and moody. She had no idea that his scowl was from trying to ignore the ache coming from his groin.

Scruffy set back to work. Her toned body had inspired him. His vision involved taking down most of her fur to skin level but leaving patches where a gladiator would be shielded; on one shoulder, the opposite chest, parts of the upper arms and lower legs, but asymmetric, with a downward diagonal bias, he told himself. He would tease and dye them later to resemble painted leather armour, leather with a layer of fur still attached, yes. Then he would cut the fur on her head to resemble some of the female warriors from the old Mad Max movies, with more diagonal slashes and maybe a bit of a lightning bolt pattern across one eye … wait, a little voice in the back of his mind chimed in … remember what Betty said, don’t get carried away.

Still, he thought, the gladiator idea had merit. He would just make it more subdued, more implied, and while he would lose the lightning bolt the diagonal layering would still work.

Scruffy was moving with a purpose now, and Marie could see that he was inspired. She bit her lip as her body tingled with excitement … this must be what it was like to be in the presence of the great designers when they were in the throes of creation, she imagined. The thought made her feel even warmer where the clippers were gliding over her body.

Scruffy had sheered most of the fur off her torso and legs, leaving just the diagonal streaks that he would trim and dye later. The only fur left untouched was the three small triangles covered by her gold bikini, and because she had not been groomed in several months it was thick and tangled.

She could see him staring and the expression on his face told her that he was struggling with something.

“I’ll leave those bits.” He said, turning red on the shaved side of his head when he saw that she had seen him staring. “They won’t show under a loose dress.”

“My dress won’t be loose.” Marie said, sitting up and reaching behind to undo the string on the bikini’s bra. “I want the full treatment.” She said as she lay back down, breasts jutting defiantly. “Clip away.”

Scruffy shrugged. He had tried to respect her privacy, but if this was the way she wanted it … He turned the clippers on again.

Marie felt them hum and vibrate against her breasts, and it felt good. She also felt his strong digits as they maneuvered her firm globes of flesh so that the clippers could get at all the fur under and in-between them. His paws felt good too.

Once her breasts were done he slid a digit under the string of her bikini bottom and tried to trim her pubic fur while holding the material up, but there was not enough room for the clippers.

“I’ll have to take these off.” He told her in a voice that was suddenly rough and raspy.

She swallowed and tried to look unconcerned.

“Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve seen one a thousand times before.”

Not quite a thousand, he told himself as he pulled the flimsy material down her legs and over her paws, but close.

He tried to work quickly, aware that his belt was losing the fight to keep his expanding cock contained, but dealing with the extra-thick pubic fur required a delicate touch. A touch that Marie was unfamiliar with. Her boyfriends had all been from the upper crust of society, over privileged and overly confident sons of rich fathers that had never needed to learn how to please a woman. They approached sex with the same competitive attitude that they took towards sports, seeking total domination and a quick victory.

They had been quick and clumsy, but what this groomer was doing was measured and skilled. His digits pulled her mound to one side, pressed it to the other, while his chiselled, painted and pierced torso leaned over her. Meanwhile the humming sheers, those dangerous blades, slid over and around and between … and didn’t the vibration just match that of her favourite sex toy.

Marie could feel the moisture building inside her, and it was all she could do to keep her twat from opening like an orchid releasing its pollen.

Scruffy was well aware of the effect it was having on her though, having seen it with Betty and a dozen other female customers. This was why she wanted to be there when he was doing full-body jobs, so that she could stop him and the client from getting carried away.

He took a deep breath and stepped back as soon as her groin was trimmed down to fuzz. This was his big break, and he did not want to disappoint Betty.

“On your stomach.” He managed to say. “I’ll shave your back- … backside … first.”

It wasn’t the way he usually did things, but at least it would hide the sight of those magnificent breasts and her beautiful pussy long enough for him to get control of himself, he thought.

Marie flipped over quickly, also struggling to control her reaction to the lean wolf with the sure paws. It would not do to succumb to wild desires with a member of the working class, she reminded herself.

Scruffy turned to the sink. He ran the water as hot as it would go then soaked a large towel in it, gingerly wringing it out before laying it on Marie from neck to ankle. The hot damp towel would soften the skin and fur, making it easier to shave. While the towel did its work, he used a small brush on a block of soap to work up a thin lather, then he opened his bone-handled razor and tested the edge.

Marie watched out of the corner of her eye as the wolf turned his wrist over and placed the razor against it. He drew it toward his elbow, and a tuft of coarse fur fell away, leaving a perfectly bare patch of skin. She could see his veins pulsing there. A drop of moisture escaped rom between her legs at the sight.

Pulling the towel away, Scruffy began to shave where he had clipped. He had done this a thousand times before and the razor moved fast and sure over her skin. Her neck, shoulders and back were no problem. Her legs were a little trickier, so was her butt, as it was softer and he had to go slower to avoid nicking the smooth, perfect twin globes, or the tender skin under her tail.

He managed to finish her backside, but he was beginning to sweat again, partially form concentrating on his work and partially from fighting to resist the urges welling up inside him. He had caught the scent of her excitement, and it was all he could do not to plunge his thumb deep into her tailhole while he slowly shaved the puckered patch of pink flesh around it.

The tip of his cock was peeking up from the waistband of his jeans again, and clear fluid was leaking from it. He poked it back and forced it to one side before ordering the poodle to roll over.

She rolled over without the showy moves she had used previously. She could smell the pre-cum that had stained the fur of his belly and she was keeping her thighs squeezed tightly together to prevent a similar secretion on her part.

Scruffy repeated the routine with the towel and the lather, but this time the razor caught on the skin of his forearm when he tested it, drawing a bead of bright, red blood. He sucked at the small wound while pulling his wide belt off. The bleeding staunched, he wrapped one end of the black leather band around a sturdy towel rack and stropped the blade against it several times before testing it again. Satisfied with the results he turned back to the table and removed the towel from Marie’s torso.

She was trembling, as clients often did when exposed to the cold air of his basement studio once the hot towels had been removed, but the pool house was not cold, or even cool. Her trembling came from another source. Scruffy just wanted to get through this part as soon as possible though and failed to recognize her excitement.

“Try to hold as still as possible.” He told her as he leaned in with the razor and began to shave parts of her neck, shoulder and torso down to the skin.

Marie tried, and with all the willpower that she could muster she succeeded in calming her tremors, but it was doing nothing to quell the surge of desire rising up inside her. She could feel the sharp edge of the razor gliding across her skin, could feel the fur separating from it, and she knew that the slightest slip could leave her scared for life. She should have been terrified, but instead found herself thrilled, more aware of her body than anytime before, and she never wanted it to stop.

Her skin was growing warmer, glowing with excitement as blood rushed to the surface in defiance of the blade. Her nipples hardened as the razor came perilously close to them, and stayed hard long after it moved on.

She tracked the progress of the razor down her torso, past her navel. Her groin tingled in anticipation but then it jumped to her ankles, shaving her less-sensitive shins before finishing her knees and moving on to her thighs. His strong digits pulled and poked as he completed the work he had started on her backside, growing ever closer to the swelling mound of flesh at their juncture.

She was still squeezing her thighs together desperately, clenching muscles she had only heard alluded to in the women’s magazines her mother favoured, but eventually the razor reached a point where there was no more fur exposed to shear, and the wolf had to force one paw between them in order to continue.

Marie gasped when she felt the rough edge of his paw against her mons. Her mouth hung open while his digits deftly pulled that mound of swollen flesh from one side to the other while the razor snicked away the last traces of fur. She could not control it anymore, and as soon as the razor was clear it flowered, exposing wet, pink petals and releasing its nectar over the digits that still lingered there.

Scruffy froze, the razor held up in one paw while the other was drenched with fluids that rang sharp and sweet in his sensitive nose. This was the part where Betty would step in and pull him away from the client, ordering him to prepare for the trim and dye phase while giving the evil eye to the female on the table … but Betty was not here.

Marie was there, though, more there than she had ever been in her life. And after the small involuntary orgasm that had soaked her groomer’s digits her own senses were dialled up to eleven.

She could feel the heat coming off his body, she could smell the sweat and the pre-cum coming off him, and she could see that removing his belt had allowed his raging cock to escape.

Without thinking, her paw reached out and flicked the button on the waistband open. The jeans parted slightly, exposing the brass pull on the zipper. Her digits grasped it and pulled it down.

The force of his erection, unrestrained because of his distain of underwear, aided her efforts. The zipper slid down as his cock sprang forth, quivering at a forty-five degree angle as the knot at its base thickened.

Holding onto the waistband of his jeans, she pulled him closer. Then, grasping his throbbing member, she brought the tip to her mouth. A bead of pre-cum slid from the end to land on her lip. She licked it off. It tasted sweet … and wild. She opened her mouth and took him inside her.

Scruffy carefully wiped the razor on the ass of his jeans before closing it and putting it down on a nearby table. The paw he had been using to push and pull her sex aside so he could shave her properly was already working her sodden cunt, his digits sinking inside, their passage eased by the juices that had spewed forth a moment before. They knew just where to find the sensitive spot inside her when they probed deeply, and just how to excite her clit when he drew them out again.

Her orgasm had been a sudden, unexpected one, but not the deep, body wracking climax that she could give herself with the right toys, so she was ready for more. Meanwhile, she sucked at his cock greedily, rolling onto her side and leaning on one elbow while lifting one finely muscled leg to give his paw room to work.

It did not take Scruffy lone to cum. Betty had been busy at work these last few days, and he didn’t have any casual sex partners to take out his frustrations with since she moved in. He announced the immanent explosion with a series of ever-louder grunts and a few involuntary thrusts of his hips to drive his cock deep down her throat. Rather than pull her head away though, the posh poodle reached around and grabbed a paw full of his ass. Then she pulled him hard against her snout, trapping his pulsating penis inside.

She gagged when he came and let a little of the creamy white spooge escape from the corner of her mouth, but she managed to swallow the bulk of it.

“Jesus.” Was all that Scruffy could manage when she released his cock and looked up at him, licking her lips with a satisfied, toothy grin on her face.

His paw was still massaging her twat, but Marie wanted more.

“You’re still hard.” She observed.

“Yeah.” He admitted. “The first one usually comes quick but doesn’t drain me.”

Marie cocked an eyebrow. “The ‘first’ one?”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “I can usually get in at least three before I need a break.”

Marie rolled onto her back on the massage table.

“Get your jeans off and get up here.” She demanded.

Scruffy looked at the narrow table skeptically. “What’s the weight load for this thing?”

“It’s professional quality. You could massage an elephant on it.”

“Maybe next time.” He mumbled as he stepped out of his jeans and leapt on top of her.

* * * * * * * *

He was good for two more, and probably could have managed a fourth, but the third ended with a knotting that made her toes cramp from the force of her orgasm. It also took a while to subside enough for him to pull out, and Marie was beginning to worry about being stuck on him when the dress fitters showed up.

As it was, Scruffy was able to finish trimming and dying her with practiced ease in record time. He joined her in the shower as soon as the dye was set then towel dried her before using the air dryer on her. The scrubbing, rubbing and sensual flow of hot air over her newly shaved skin felt almost as good as what they had been doing before, and Marie had to fight to keep her paws off the big wolf.

Finally, he allowed her to see the finished work in a full-length mirror. At first Marie was shocked, but then she saw how the cut accentuated her full, lean figure, and how the colours complimented the pink glow of bare skin and the blue of her eyes. And if she had been shocked at first so would everyone at the Charity Ball … and that would be perfect.

“What do you think?” Scruffy asked, fighting to keep a nervous note out of his voice.

Marie turned on her toes, admiring herself from all angles in the mirror.

“I think I just found my new regular groomer.” Then she turned to him with that same toothy grin that only poodles have perfected. “Now, just one more thing. Well, several things, actually …”

* * * * * * * *

The Charity ball was held, as always, in the lobby of the city’s Opera house, a large oval space, with a long bar between the doors to the theatre and a temporary band stand at one end. It was below street level, at the bottom of a wide set of stairs.

Because of this particular architecture, anyone arriving could be seen by everyone on the floor, especially if they arrived late, and alone.

This was the case for Marie, who had sat in her limousine a block away for an extra fifteen minutes until the line-up at the entrance had dissipated. That way she was able to make sure that all eyes were on her when she stopped at the head of the staircase and removed the cloak that covered her, revealing her new dress, her new jewelry and her new cut all at once.

There was an audible gasp when she dropped to cloak to the floor for an attendant to retrieve. It was one of shock from the females, and one of pleasure from the males present.

Her dress hung on her in a manner that only the absence of fur could explain. It was clingy in places, loose in others, and sheer enough to reveal all the contours of her finely sculpted body. Sheer enough to show the outlines of had to be nipple piercings … and was that a flash of silver on her tongue? It was scandalous, but not as scandalous as what she done to her fur. The left side of her head was shaved and dyed in shades of pink and blue, providing dynamic contrast the traditionally fluffy clip on the left side. Her mostly exposed body was worse, or better, depending on one’s point of view. It was shaved clean except for a few dramatic streaks of dense fur, which were also dyed in bold colours.

The matrons were outraged. Her fellow debutants were green with envy. Their male escorts … and their fathers … experienced a sudden rise in the room’s temperature. The band stopped playing. No one said a word.

Marie walked slowly down the stairs in the sudden silence.

Her current best friend, Zahra, and Afghan hound who had spent four hours getting her long fur combed, steamed and straightened only to look only half as good as Marie, was waiting for her at the base of the stairs. She was struggling to keep a cordial smile on her face. She noticed something on Marie’s ankle when the poodle’s feet were level wither her head, but she said nothing until Marie was standing before her.

“Well?” Marie said. “What do you think?”

Still in shock, Zahra answered truthfully. “It’s like something from Hollywood … or Paris.” And she suddenly realised why she was jealous. It was like something that you only saw on red carpets or Fashion House runways, and the satisfied smile on Marie’s face told her that it was exactly what the poodle wanted to hear.

“Thank you, Dear.” Marie said as she took Zahra by the arm and steered her toward the bar.

Oh well, Zahra told herself as she gauged the reaction of the room to Marie’s new look. If you can’t beat ‘em, you can still leech off their popularity.

She curled her arm around Marie’s and turned her smile up by a few hundred watts.

“Say.” Zahra said, turning her head to regard Marie. “Was that a wolf head tattoo I saw on your ankle when you came down the stairs? What’s up with that? Some sort of political statement?”

“No.” Marie replied, showing her teeth in a grin. “More like an artist’s signature.” But she refused to say more as the crowd, suddenly freed from their spell, closed in on them.

Marie was soon engulfed six-deep in admirers and jealous rivals. Most of the comments on her look were cautiously complimentary, but some were snarky and cleverly critical, and as far as Marie was concerned those were the best kind. It proved that her gamble had paid off. If she had failed to produce a new, talk-worthy look they would have just wrinkled their snouts and ignored her. Now she knew that all her friends and half her enemies would be begging her for the name of jeweller, her dress maker … and her groomer. She licked her lips in anticipation – Scruffy was about to be discovered. She hoped he was ready for it.

* * * * * * * *

Betty got home late in the evening from work, something that was happening more often lately as she climbed the corporate ladder. She was hoping, though, that one day Scruffy would hit it big, then she could become his full-time manager and assistant and drop the nine-to-five-and-later routine and the sexism that came along with it.

Scruffy was already there in the apartment/shop, cleaning his grooming tools in a strangely deliberate manner, making her suspect that maybe things had not gone well.

“How did the mobile appointment go?” She asked, standing in front of the door she had just closed.

“Okay.” He shrugged. “It was a complicated cut, but the client wanted the … uh … the works.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Gave me a good tip, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Betty was still suspicious, so she slid into the padded chair behind the computer she had bought to modernize his business and accessed the admin side of their website.

Her brows went up into the curly wool on her head.

“Wow!” She said, seeing the amount of the bill and the substantial tip the client had added to it. “And a five-star rating too! You must have gone all out.”

“All in, actually.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, I’m just worn out … from all that work.”

Betty got up and hugged him from behind, letting her paws roam over his lean torso.

“Mmmmm … maybe you deserve a little break.” She said in a low voice as she nibbled on his ear, but before she could elaborate, she was interrupted by an intermittent pinging from the still open computer behind her. Turning around she studied the screen.

“My God! Look at all these appointment requests for your mobile service! All from young females on the posh side of town .... and not just for grooming either; half of them are for piercings, and tats too.” She said with amazement.

“Marie … I mean, Miss Caniche, must be spreading the word about my, uh, services.”

Betty closed the website and shut off the computer so that they wouldn’t be interrupted. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start scheduling Scruffy’s appointments.

“See,” she said as she hugged him again, “I told you advertising on the internet would get you more … more business.”

“You got that right.” Scruffy replied as he set down the last of his tools.

“Now come here.” She said as she pulled him to his feet and toward the bedroom, adding with a giggle, “Mama needs a good trimming.”

Scruffy sighed wearily as he reached for his razor.

“A groomer’s work is never done.”