As far as Sin City attractions go, getting bound, gagged, and locked into a dark closet is probably low on most people's list.

Most people. This is Vegas, after all.

It was my fault, really. I thought the heat had died down after Atlantic City, after that thing down South with the riverboat -- which wasn't my fault. I thought the wig and moustache would be enough. I even practiced so I wouldn't sound like I was from Brooklyn.

Clearly, I thought wrong.

I was watching the latest episode of MacGyver when two gorillas persuaded me to leave my room, and escorted me down here through the employee halls. Said halls had employees in them, who all noticed something very interesting on the walls the second they saw me and my new pals.

It wasn't my first rodeo. I didn't bother to yell for help.

It's funny the things you noticed in these situations. The little details. Like that Patti Labelle song playing on the speakers. The one about her attitude.

Still, if I was lucky - again - I'd emerge from this ordeal without my clever little fingers smashed to pulp. And also without a nine-mil hole in my clever little head.

My new digs were a bit smaller than your usual broom closet. More like one of the girly booths for private shows. Shame. If it was an actual broom closet I'd have a pretty good chance of finding something that I could use to get my hands free, maybe pick the lock. But this bare, dark cell with one slippery wall didn't even have a doorknob on the inside.

Great. Now they were comparing notes.

I read somewhere that your average coffin has less than an hour of air. If the room was airtight, I could probably last, I dunno, six hours? Nine? It was a palace compared to some of the car trunks I've been stuffed into. This one time, me and my friend Quentin-

The door opened, and the room became a lot more cramped.

Now, in ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't begrudge a little female company. Especially if she was as, ah, well-padded as my new roommate was. But these weren't ordinary circumstances. For one, there was the smell. Something musky, but not entirely unpleasant. For another, there was the fur.

And last in our little list was the bulge in her skirt.

My mouth went dry.

The door shut behind it.

So, they had stuck me in a closet with a hermaphrodite. Or, to be pedantic, they had stuck a herm in a closet with me. Same difference; a serious problem if it started leaking.

I had managed to stay on my feet when it fell onto me, and I pushed off the wall and got both of us up. Then I tried to get as much daylight between us as possible.

Remember when I said we were in a closet?

No matter where I moved, some part of my body was in close contact with it. So I tried to stay as still as possible, so it wouldn't get excited.

"Oh, hi!"

I froze.

"What's your name?"

Oh, crap.

"Mmmph", I said through the gag.

"Pleased to meet you, Mmmph. I'm a coyote. From Texas." It laughed, her generous chest rubbing against mine. "Nah, I'm just funnin'. They put the gag on the normal way, so all I hadta do was just open my mouth, like so!"

If you've never heard a furry's big, sharp teeth click about a foot from your head, I don't recommend it.

"So whaddya in for?"

...Really?

"I swear, I went to the bathroom in the middle of dinner, and security thought I was skippin' out on the check! What happened to trust? I mean, sure, I've climbed out the bathroom window a few times, but those were all bad dates. I had to leave. And it was always before the appetizers."

She was remarkably cheerful, for someone locked in a box. Faking it?

"Did you sleep with the Boss's daughter? The Boss's...son? Both at once?" It laughed, and I could feel the vibrations, like tiny little aftershocks. "Ah, memories."

I heard about that one. Though that version was about a misunderstanding involving a masquerade ball, and they didn't mention the shemale part. Vegas grapevine, baby.

"Nuh huh."

"Thief?"

"Uhhhh..."

"Con-man? Card-counter?"

"Sehunh uh."

"Card counter. Did they give you a comp room? Oldest trick in the book; that's so they knew where to find you when they finished callin' around."

Wait a second. I thought they gave me the room and then they realized who I was.

"Were you watching MASH? Magnum? Miami Vice?"

"Uhh..."

"I like M. When I Changed, I took the name 'Missy'."

Missy. That was a nice name. A sexy name.

"Hey. Hey, gag guy! You with me?"

Hmm?

"Aw, crap-"

I just...kinda let myself slide to the floor, rubbed my body against hers on the way down. It smelt...it smelt like...

"Th-this really isn't the time."

I nuzzled her crotch. The tip was poking my cheek. A little more, a little more-

"Look, it's not that I don't mind having a little fun, but I don't even know your name!"

"Gordon."

She paused, for a second. Nothing but the sound of our heavy breathing. And down in my neck of the woods, the quiet little sound of her...everting? Is that the word? Whatever it's called when a dick slides out of a sheath. Inch by lovely smelling inch. Poking over the edge of her skirt.

"You can talk." No levity, now.

"Yeah."

"Your face grew out of the gag already, didn't it?"

I gave her a lick, felt her shudder.

"Crap. Crapcrapcrap*crap!* Gordon, you need to-you need to listen to me, okay?"

I grabbed on the edge of the skirt, and pulled. It slid right off.

"You don't want this. It's just the pheromones, just my smell. As long as you don't finish, the changes just fade away. But once you're done, you're done for. So you need to stop."

It was maybe four inches at this point. Enough to get my mouth around it, so I could really get to work.

"You have to stop. You have to stop right no-ooh! Okay, you have to stop or you'll Change. You'll be like me!"

I stopped for a second, thought about it, then went faster. Her tip is slanted, tapered, no "bell-end", as the Brits say. There's a new smell in here, I'm drowning in it. Is it me?

"Hey! Anyone out there? This guy, he's -- he's Changing! Y'all need to get him outta here!"

And then she started throwing her shoulders at the wall, trying to make noise. Like that one music video. And that gave me an idea.

So I started sucking her to the tune of "Take on Me". There wasn't much room in there, but I made it work.

There was something going on with my teeth, my tongue. My claws came in, and I used them to slit the cloth or whatever they tied my hands with. My arms felt skinnier, but I felt stronger, more limber somehow. More flexible. That might've had something to do with the fact that the fat around my waist seemed to be moving south.

I am not in a line of work that lets you keep up on your Jazzercise.

One hand went to my equipment, the other went to her slit, the claw just barely pricking her. I like to think that she was biting her lip up there. I could feel her growl through our points of contact, feel when she caught herself, tried not to give in to her instinct.

"Stop!"

I went "don't wanna" around the cock in my mouth.

She tried to twist away. "If you keep doing this, your life is over!"

I spat her out.

"You think I like my life? I spend most of my time tryin' to stay a step ahead of people who really don't like bein' cheated. But cheatin's the only thing I'm good at, and it ain't been fun for a long time. About the only good thing, the only really good thing that's happened to me cause of my job is gettin' put in this box. With you."

She was quiet for a second.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, for-"

And that's when I jammed my tail into her.

"Oh! Oh my."

Her hands stroked the top of my head, pushing my hair back. I felt little pinpricks, something small and light, like a feather, landing on my shoulders.

Well.

At least I'd save on shampoo.

I grabbed her hips and pulled. My tongue snaked around her cock-

"Ohh!"

-and around the tip of my tail-

"Ohh!"

-and she squeezes my head as she comes down my throat.

There's a feeling you get, in my line of work. When the chips are down, the cards are played, and you take a risk that just falls into place, and you feel like it's what you were born to do.

I haven't felt like that in a while, even when things were going my way.

Until the tits pop out on my chest, and something opens up in my undercarriage.

And I felt right for the first time in a long time.

Missy traced little patterns on my head, over the little holes where my ears used to be.

"Good." She whispers. "Good girl." Then she stops.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"We're trapped in a box."

"I noticed."

"A very messy box."

"Sorry, I couldn't swallow it all."

"Most can't. My point is...what are they going to think when they let us out?"

"...That we had a really good time?"

There was a beat of silence, and then she started to giggle.

+++++

"Did we get it?" the Boss asked.

"Yessir," one of the flunkies said.

The little room was one of several which had been custom built at significant expense. It let people outside see in, but nobody inside could see out. The previous manager of the establishment had built it for some very special whales before being given a quiet, desert retirement when some financial irregularities were discovered.

Still, and then someone had hit on ways to turn it to even more profit than private dances, and solve other problems at the same time.

"All right," said the Boss. "Let Miss Cuddy and Mister-ah, Miss Gordon go."

He patted the video camera. The Family was gonna make a bundle on this. The slight curve on his lips would've been a wide grin on most men.

"Oh, and inform them that their debts have been paid in full."

"Rock the Box"

2016 Nequ CC By-SA-NC Fan stories welcome

---

Gordon turned into a Barred Tiger Salamander (Ambystoma mavortium), found around Vegas. Though they're usually not ten-foot long hermaphrodites.

I mean, as far as I know. I'm not an expert.

The main influences, for tone, were "The Dresden Files" and Martin Bracknell's "Black Jack Justice", though I'm sure both Jim Butcher and Gregg Taylor would be horrified to learn that. I also started reading some Chuck Palahniuk essays while I wrote this, so he might've crept in around the edges.

Setting inspired by NBC's "Las Vegas", especially that one 60s throwback episode. I'm pretty sure the Mob was more or less out of Vegas by the 80s, replaced by people who were even more ruthless and cold; Corporate America.