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Pam kept herself from eyeing the clock by checking and rechecking her gloves and oils. The new client was twelve minutes late. From what she'd heard this should not be a surprise. There were bills to pay, however, and she could only afford to be so choosy.

While she waited she pulled on a pair of the stretchy disposable gloves, reinforced around the fingertips to accommodate her blunt claws and reaching halfway up her forearms. Disposable gloves for morphs got expensive, but as a human-shaped white dog with thick fur and strong muscles she certainly couldn't just get the generic pharmacy brand. And she sure as hell didn't want to spend ten minutes washing massage oil out of the fur on her hands. Her thick, fluffy tail swayed back and forth, like a pendulum counting the seconds, while she let the gloves warm up to match her hands.

Someone knocked at the door.

Finally.

She opened the door to find a pitch-black rabbit morph, about five inches shorter than her nearly-six-foot frame, unless you counted his ears. They stood up straight, with a slightly uneasy twitch. He wore a loose basketball jersey and matching shorts. Like a lot of morphs, Pam went barefoot, because off-the-rack shoes for nonhuman feet weren't profitable enough for companies to bother with, but the rabbit had shoes custom-made to fit his large feet. A pair of wraparound sunglasses clung to the sides of his head.

"You're Garrett Hart?" she asked, forcing a polite smile so as not to immediately jump on how late he was.

"Yeah, you're Pam..." He checked his phone. "...Koszta? Doctor Banks sent me?"

She nodded and waved him in.

He looked around the efficiency apartment where she worked. Not her actual home, of course, but it was cheaper than renting a proper office and the doctors who often referred her either didn't have the space, budget, or legality to employ her in-house. So she rented a plain apartment with her massage table, bathroom and shower facilities, and a couch for the occasional nap or overly long wait or to give someone's ride a place to relax.

"Alright, so how's this work?" He took off the sunglasses and set them on the arm of the couch as the HUD inside the lenses clicked off. "Never done one of these for rehab before," he said with a smirk.

She bit her tongue and patted the table. "Take off your shirt and have a seat, please. I need to check a few things before we get started."

Garrett pulled the shirt off and hopped up onto the table. He was a little unsteady, which was also in line with her expectations. His upper body carried a pretty decent tone, the sort commonly associated with someone who put just enough effort into their appearance to get laid without actually becoming an athlete. If Pam didn't see bodies pretty much every day, she might be more impressed. There was also the fact that she knew his body had been literally paid for and 'built' to specs.

She probed at his shoulders and arms with her touch, testing the muscle density. She nodded and 'hmmed' to herself as she noted that the Conversion process that turned Garrett into a humanoid rabbit had held without difficulties. Her glove-padded fingertips checked his pecs and back. He squirmed, but she pressed harder to make sure everything felt like it should.

"This is more like a doctor's appointment than a massage," he commented.

"This is massage therapy," Pam said, keeping her voice even. "It's for medical purposes. And according to Doctor Banks, you finished your Conversion a week ago. So I need to make sure your muscles are holding together before I dig into them. Raise your arms."

"Did you have to do this?"

He raised his arms obediently and she went over them again and felt over his sides. She held back a pointed look and smartass remark.

"I'm second-generation. I was born this way. My parents Converted back when that was the only way to treat the Genehack Plague."

"Oh." His ears twitched. "Do you know if they had to do this?"

Now she gave him a look, but held her tongue.

"How are your ears holding up?" she asked instead of giving him grief. "No pun intended."

"Still getting used to them."

"Mind if I check them?"

He shrugged assent.

Pam's fingers worked over his scalp and the base of the ears, feeling his head through the thicker fur on top that was supposed to serve as an analogue for human hair but rarely got it quite right. He shuddered and winced, squirming on the table some more until his leg began kicking and she had to stop.

He gripped the edge of the massage table and caught his breath. He shifted a bit like he was trying to get more comfy and not at all hide the erection her prodding provoked.

"And that's why I asked first," she said. "I'll give you a couple of minutes to collect yourself. Then get your shorts and shoes off and lay down." She tossed him a towel and turned away to compose a quick text to Garrett's doctor letting her know that the exam went okay.

"Do you mind if I use oil?" she asked, still looking away to give him some privacy as she heard rustling clothes. "It might feel strange in your fur but it makes this a little easier and gives you a bit of a shine."

"Go for it." A moment later she heard him climb up onto the table and lie down.

Pam turned around to where Garrett stretched out on the table, face-down, his muzzle through the massage table's face-hole. He was nude, except for the towel around his waist that came up to just under his stubby, fluffy tail. While she'd long since stopped being impressed by gene-modded bodies, she had to respect that the doctor's bodyswap tank had done a good job with this one. If he'd made a better impression, in a different setting...

Pam applied oil to her gloved hands and began to work it into the fur of his upper back. Her sensitive canine nose twitched at the scent, but it helped drown out the aroma of her customers, so she didn't mind in the grand scheme of things. Strong fingers traced the contours of his muscles, kneading them, working out some of the stiffness and any kinks they'd developed. Garrett, formerly human, had paid well to have his body transformed into a rabbit morph, so these muscles were practically new.

Beneath her touch, he shivered and squirmed. Her gloved fingers ran through oil-slickened fur as she worked her way down his spine. From past experience with other rich kids who'd undergone Conversion, she knew where to move when he tensed, where to lean in a little more and when to let up. His ears drooped as he felt tense muscles worked into putty.

"Hey," he asked, voice muffled by the table. "After the rehab appointments are done, can I keep seeing you?" His ears perked up and swiveled to better hear her, and she had to wonder if he even knew he was doing it.

"I only do medical cases. Nothing personal." The response was both automatic and sincere as she moved to rub along his arms, feeling them go limp under her ministrations.

"I'm sure I can afford to make it worth your while."

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"What is it you do again?" she asked.

"I'm getting set up as a DJ, but 'till that happens I've got a sweet trust fund."

"Gotcha. Appreciate the offer. I'll pass." Her hands worked down lower, kneading at his hips and lower back. He writhed under the touch again, tail twitching, probably trying to relieve pressure on his dick.

"I could probably get a doctor to prescribe more rehab visits," he said after a moment.

"You probably could. But I'm not a coin-operated robot, and I don't have to take your case." She applied more oil to her gloves and moved her hands to his legs, spreading them slightly and working at his thighs.

"Then a date. A drink. A movie. Something. Once we're past the doctor-patient relationship, maybe."

She didn't dignify that with a response and instead moved on to rub one of his calves and then the other. He wiggled a bit as her fingertips worked the muscles. He'd clearly not fully gotten the hang of walking on his new feet, and it showed in the stiffness in his legs. Or maybe it was the likely-expensive shoes he'd had made.

"Do you not date outside your species?" he asked.

"Okay, look," she groaned with annoyance as she rubbed her thumbs into the soles of his feet. "Garrett, answer something for me. Why did you go to Dr. Banks for Conversion?"

"Because I thought it would be cool. Thought it would make me..." He fumbled for a word. "Different." He sounded unsure about that articulation.

"That's understandable. It's what the tech was for, originally. The next step up from expensive tattoos and piercings. Something for the upper class to blow money on... before someone found out it was the best way to treat the Plague, and people who couldn't afford fancy hospitals had it forced on them. I can only give you so much grief over that." She let go of him for fear of pinching or tweaking something in her annoyance and moved onto smoothing down his oiled fur with a soft brush. "But that's not exactly what I asked. Why did you go to an underground doctor with a custom-built bodyswap tank instead of laying out the cash to have it done in a proper hospital with all the bells and whistles?"

He was quiet for several moments. If not for the sound of his breathing, she'd suspect he'd fallen asleep from the massage.

"I've got my reasons." His voice was slightly hushed, and even less sure than it was a moment ago. Had she hit a nerve?

"Roll over," she sighed as she decided not to chase that one down.

Garrett got up and rolled onto his back as she applied a little more oil and worked it into his chest. He stared at the ceiling, trying very hard not to look at Pam, in part because of the conspicuous tent formed in the towel around his waist. He remained quiet, his breathing steady as he relaxed under her touch.

At one point, he looked like he was about to say something about his prick outlined by the towel. Maybe even an attempt to regain control over the conversation. But he clearly thought better of it, from the way he opened and then just closed his mouth.

Without the awkward conversation, the rest of the massage didn't take as long. She deftly avoided his erection as she worked downwards -- even if a doctor had recommended he 'get that function tested,' she'd refer him to someone else before jerking him off -- and by the time she reached his feet again, he had indeed fallen asleep. Brushing him down didn't disturb him, either.

She took a few moments to dispose of the gloves. The oil had soaked into his fur, giving it a light sheen and showing off the tone of his body. She figured he'd fully appreciate that later.

"Mr. Hart, our time is up," she said as she knocked on the table next to his head.

He sat up, startled awake, ears swiveling, nose twitching.

"Go ahead and get dressed, and I'll see you next week," she said.

She started filling out the paperwork to properly bill him later, giving him the privacy to get dressed. She briefly considered apologizing for being short with him, but by the time she finished the form and turned to say something he'd already gone.

---

Pam's canine ears could make out the pounding rhythm of the club's music as she approached the door. Something about that reminder of the party atmosphere soothed her. Maybe it was the rhythm, or maybe it was the promise of a good time. Above the door, the name 'Moreytown' was painted in phosphorescent streaks that resembled claw marks.

Like most nights, the crowd inside was mostly (but not exclusively) morphs, which certainly helped her mood. Not that she minded the alternative, but she'd grown up during a period where the early Converted and their kids had to stick together for protection and support. Eric, a human with cat eyes that shone under the club lights, stood in the DJ booth next to a red squirrel literally running the show. He and Pam gave each other a wave when he spotted her.

She made a beeline for the bar, where she knew Dr. Banks would be holding court. Doctor Dorothy Banks was one of the owners of the club, using the back room as an unofficial office for her street-doc practice and the club itself as a revenue stream to treat those in need of assistance. Sure enough, there she was.

Her dark skin glistened with sweat under the lights at the bar as she laughed with an otter morph. Her curly hair was tied back, and she wore a halter top with subtle patterns that shimmered under the special lighting in the club. Her conversation partner was slim and androgynous, wearing just a leather vest and shorts.

"Knock knock," Pam said just loud enough to be heard as she came up, getting Dorothy's attention.

"Pam, glad you made it out!" Dorothy said with a bright smile. The otter backed off to focus on their drink.

Pam's sensitive nose could pick up two or three drinks, very fruity, on Dorothy's breath. She suddenly regretted not doing something to deaden her sense of smell, but a chiding inner voice told her she knew what she was getting into when she decided to hit the club. Without being asked, the bartender dropped off a beer for Pam.

"Garrett's last check cleared; I'm celebrating," Dorothy said.

"Okay?" Pam raised an eyebrow. A small but significant percentage of their patients were one-percenters coming to a street-doc to be all edgy and 'black market.' Overcharging them for the pretension is also how they financed medical care for folks having trouble making ends meet. She wasn't sure what the big deal was.

"He threw in a little extra." Dorothy leaned over and whispered a number in Pam's suddenly-perked ear.

The canine's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I'll be able to afford that bone printer, and we can start doing limb replacement. Which means more work for you."

"I guess so." Pam took a swig of her beer.

"I might even have a chance at an affordable gene-mixer for the mixed-species couples wanting kids," Dorothy said as she eyed her drink and pondered a refill. "Garrett's help might wind up being a turning point."

"He didn't say anything about it earlier," Pam said. "He was all swagger, for most of it. I might've given him a hard time. But he didn't brag about that."

"He is the swagger-y type. I mean, the guy had shoes custom-made." Dorothy shrugged. "He probably did it so he could impress people. The ultimate in slumming it, I bet. 'Yeah, I spent a small fortune to make sure poor people can get medical care, I'm awesome.' Like a billionaire getting a hospital wing built in his name." She paused for a moment. "You think he'll want me to rename the club after him?"

Dorothy made a show of looking serious but busted out giggling after a few moments.

"But nah, seriously, he's not that bad," she continued. "Not perfect, but he's not inherently a Bad Person just because of his financial situation."

Pam just took another drink with a thoughtful furrow of her white-furred brow. Just as she opened her muzzle to say something the otter came back, slipped their arms around Dorothy, and whisked her out to the dance floor with barely any warning. Pam closed her muzzle and took another drink.

If he wanted to impress people with it, why didn't he say anything? she wanted to ask.

---

When Pam stepped into the 'Coast of Java' coffee shop for lunch a couple of days later, her sharp nose immediately latched onto a recognizable scent even through the coffee aromas. She smelled a familiar male rabbit with hints of the fur-friendly massage oil she used lacing his scent. It usually lasted through a few showers.

Her ears perked, listening for Garret's voice as she tried to find a source on that scent. Was he still here, or was she just picking up traces of an earlier visit? Ah, there.

Garrett sat at a table with his back to the wall, wearing a t-shirt for some band she hadn't heard of and a pair of jean shorts. He scribbled something on a legal pad while animatedly chatting up a pair of girls. One girl was human, bleach-blonde and spray-on tan, judging from the scent. The other was a domestic cat morph with Siamese-style seal point markings. Pam idly wondered if she was born like that or had her fur recolored; there were treatments that could do that.

Rather than interrupt them, Pam went to order a coffee and tried not to listen in on the conversation. He was excited and boastful, talking about doing a DJ gig at Moreytown in a couple of days. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw he was all bombastic arm gestures. At one point he swiveled an ear towards her, and she turned her full focus to the barista.

By the time she got her coffee and turned around, the girls were gone, and Garrett waved from the table. Pam considered just waving back and taking her drink to her own table, but on a whim she decided to join him. As she walked, she became aware that her tail was swaying, nearly wagging, with her steps, like she was glad to see him. She was also aware of the fact that he was eyeing her up, feeling a little too casual in her black tank top and matching shorts.

The top sheet on the legal pad was covered in scribbled song lists. A corner had been torn off, likely to share a phone number with his recent companions.

"How are you feeling, Garrett?" she asked with a polite smile, trying to hide the fact that she was brewing up an awkward question to ask. Up close, she could more clearly smell what was left of the oil she'd used on him.

"Really good, actually. I think the massage the other day really helped me loosen up." He stretched his arms over his head as if that would demonstrate something. "Could work out pretty well if those girls call me, if you know what I mean." He winked.

The polite smile faded. Eyes rolled. Her tail, which had been lightly thumping the chair, stilled.

"Hey Garrett, why didn't you tell me how much you paid Dorothy for your Conversion?"

"Wait, what?" He jerked into sitting up straight as an arrow, eyes wide with surprise and ears ramrod-straight. Or maybe fear?

"I just paid her like normal," he said after a second.

She could smell it clearly now. Just a bit of fear.

Pam shook her head. "She and I talked about you. You wrote her a check for a few times what she usually charges. She's got a standard rate."

"Hey, that's doctor-client privilege."

"Well, first off, she's a street-doc. Try finding a lawyer who'd give a crap. Second, technically this isn't about your treatment itself, just the accounting. Third? My work is part of your treatment." Pam tried to sound like she hadn't rehearsed that in her head.

"I just... I know what work she does. I wanted to do my part. I wanted to help. I know people who know people." His confidence grew as he talked, but the look in his eye suggested he wasn't saying something. "I know she needs money, and I wanted to do a good thing."

"A good thing for who? For Dorothy's patients? The morphs she helps? The poor street folk who occasionally need a doctor and can't pay for it? Who'd you do it for? I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to understand."

Pam's tone sounded like a teacher trying to figure out why one of her students scratched a horrible word into a desk top. She didn't like that, but the need to figure out Garrett's puzzle was just too great. She wasn't sure she liked that, either.

"Look, I grew up with money. And I... I just wanted to do something good with it. For the community. Morphs and all that."

"You just joined the community."

"Well, maybe I wanted to come in on good terms."

She raised an eyebrow at that.

"So it is about you," she said. "Making a big entrance."

"No, that's..." Garrett shook his head. "Does it matter? Why I did what I did?"

"Maybe on behalf of the community, I'm worried about someone trying to buy social credit. Leveraging advantages he has to make sure he's the big fish right off, 'cause it might be easier here than in the human social circles. Not as many morph DJs to compete with."

Garrett rubbed his face with both hands, shaking his head.

"It's not that," he mumbled into his hands.

Pam sighed. "Then what is it, Garrett?"

He just lowered his hands, grabbed the legal pad, and left.

"Fuck," Pam muttered into her cup of coffee, now feeling pretty shitty.

---

Later that evening, just as she was finishing up with the day's last client, Pam's phone beeped with a voice mail from Dorothy. She picked up the phone, showed out the client -- a badger with a back problem -- and listened to the message.

"Hey Pam, I know this is about the end of your day, but do you think you could swing by the office when you wrap up your last client? Garrett Hart's asked me to try and find him a new massage therapist, and I need you to help me sort out the paperwork and figure out a recommendation."

She sounded grumpy. Given what likely spurred this, Pam couldn't blame her. She wasn't sure what paperwork was needed, exactly, but then this was the first time someone had dumped her in the middle of a treatment regimen.

The club was just a few blocks from Pam's office, so once she made sure she had the efficiency apartment squared away, she grabbed her stuff and headed out. It was a quick enough jog over there that she was barely panting by the time she arrived at the club. It was closed, the evening sun shining on what just looked like an old dirty warehouse. The 'Moreytown' name over the door, in the daylight, looked like stenciled graffiti.

Pam went inside and headed straight for the back without actually paying attention to the open space that, in a couple of hours, would be packed with throbbing music and throbbing bodies. Right now, it looked abandoned and sad, and she didn't want to dwell on that. She was already in a bad enough mood.

She opened the unmarked door that she knew led to the couple of rooms that Dorothy used as her office. The first was an exam room of sorts, which had a door that led to where she actually kept the vaguely-legal bodyswap equipment she used to perform Conversions and other medical procedures.

Dr. Banks was in there, wearing a lab coat over a t-shirt and slacks. Garrett sat on the table, legs swinging, the rabbit going barefoot today. He looked up when Pam came in, a little surprised to see her. She was sure she had the same expression on her face.

"Okay, now look. We're going to sort this out," Dorothy said.

"What, because he shelled out enough to--"

"Pam, drop it," the doctor interrupted. "We're going to have a calm, rational discussion about this clash between you two." She pointed to Garrett. "You start by telling her everything, while I go get some coffee."

Dorothy headed for the door leading out to the rest of the club. As she got to the door, Pam realized what she was about to do, and tried to rush to the door to stop her.

"Don't lock us--" she growled.

The door closed and clicked.

"--in here." Pam pounded on the door once with a frown.

"Did she actually just lock us in here to work this out ourselves?" Garrett asked with a groan, ears laying back.

"Yup."

"Is there any other way out?" He gestured to the other door.

"That just leads to the bodyswap tank. Only way out from there has to be opened from the outside." Pam shot a glare at the door Dorothy had locked as if that was going to somehow get them out.

"Well, we're stuck in here to talk this out," Garrett sighed. "I may as well start."

"Yes, what is this 'everything' Dorothy was getting at?" Pam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"So my family's rich. You know that. When I was a kid, we had a housekeeper who was a Convert. First generation, went into the tank to treat the Genehack Plague like your folks. She was a tan rabbit. We got along well; she basically helped raise me for more than a few years. She's got a son my age." He paused and picked his words carefully before continuing, any of his earlier confidence or indignation melting away the longer he spoke. "There was an accident with her son, and she asked my folks for some help, or even an advance, to help cover the medical costs. They fired her, and told me she quit to focus on her son." Garrett hopped off the table, pulled a chair away from the doctor's desk, and sat down.

"I ran into them a year ago. Got her side of the story. Saw that she was having some recent health issues, stuff they think might be linked to the Conversion process, but they're still sorting all that out."

Pam just nodded and listened, her ears drooping. That sort of thing, sadly, wasn't news lately.

"But it made me realize a few things about my folks, about what sort of people they were. Made me think about what I was doing with my life, what I could be doing with the... advantages I had. And a part of me just wanted to throw money at it and be the hero."

"I'll be honest, Garrett: that's sort of the impression I'd gotten, myself. Or at least I assumed that's what you were doing. Dr. Banks gets a lot of folks with money wanting to Convert, or get gene-modded, and treat it like it's some great act of charity because they expect people to fall all over themselves in the rush to give them congratulatory blowjobs."

To his credit, Garrett winced at that rather than reflexively throwing up some counterargument. Pam pulled over a chair to sit next to him and offered an apologetic squeeze to the shoulder.

"So I ran the numbers," he continued. "Figured out how much I could afford, and found that there was a bunch of stuff that my parents put in my name to hide it from the IRS. And that they owned some stock in companies that profit off of morphs and so forth. I wanted... Well, saying I wanted to hurt them is a little strong. But I wanted to take enough that they'd notice. And I realized..." He thought for a moment. "And I realized they'd notice if I was gone. And even if I wasn't, they'd find some way to retaliate, so I decided to burn that bridge and become someone else entirely."

Pam's eyes widened. "So that's..."

"That's what I meant by Conversion making me 'different' the other day, yeah. It's why I didn't go to a hospital." His eyes glistened with tears from telling the story, but the grin he sported now was pure wickedness. "I liquidated everything they had in my name whether it was really 'mine' or not. Put a little bit of it into making sure I'd have a place to live for the moment and could get set up to make a living. The DJ-ing thing was absolutely true. The 'sweet trust fund?' Less so. The rest of the money?" He pointed at the room with the bodyswap tank.

"Why didn't you say anything when I was giving you all that shit?" Pam asked.

"Because even if I didn't want cookies and blowjobs for it, I couldn't think of a way to tell you without making it sound like that. Figured I'd err on the side of caution."

Pam looked down at the floor. "That's not a terrible instinct," she admitted. "But why all the posturing?"

"Stupid 'guy' thing," he sighed. "I didn't wanna seem..." He trailed off.

Pam put an arm around him and gave him an understanding squeeze. Her tail lightly swatted the side of his chair. He glanced down at it, and her ears blushed red at the giveaway. She leaned in to wrap both arms around him and properly hugged him at this point. She murmured apologies to him, not bothering to string together proper sentences. Maybe it was just the moment of vulnerability they'd shared, but seeing Garrett in this new light made her aware of an itch she wanted to scratch.

She took a deep breath, getting his scent. It had been long enough since his Conversion that his own natural scents were asserting themselves, and this close, even the disinfectant used in the doctor's office for privacy purposes didn't block him out entirely.

He smelled masculine, kinda woodsy. Overlaying his natural scent was some sort of cologne he'd applied a few day prior and remaining hints of that massage oil she'd used on him. She held him close in her arms and brushed her cheek against his, reminded that if you didn't count his ears she was the taller of them. His nose twitched, and she could tell he was sniffing her back, though his sense of smell wouldn't be anything like hers.

She stroked a hand over his upper back and lightly rubbed the back of his neck. He shivered a bit and leaned against her with his eyes closed. Acting on a sudden impulse, her fingers worked up along the back of his head to rub the bases of his ears like she had the other day. She adjusted the way she sat so her wagging tail stopped whacking his chair.

As Garrett shivered under her touch, Pam's mind ran through the arguments for and against what she was considering, most of them painfully obvious. She stopped playing with the bases of the rabbit's ears, and he gave her a questioning look. He was either asking permission or letting her take the lead, she wasn't sure which.

Pam answered the question by pulling him close and pressing her muzzle to his. Her broad tongue teased against his lips and pushed between them. His eyes widened with an almost comical 'in the headlights' expression before he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss.

Garrett wrapped his arms around her and got a grip on the back of her shirt, untucking it from the waistband of her shorts. He ran his fingers through the thick fur on her back, provoking a heated gasp from her. She leaned away from him and pulled off her tank top to toss it aside, bringing handful-sized breasts into view, capped with stiff black nipples standing out against the white fur.

The rabbit pulled off his own shirt, needing a moment to get it around his ears, and he tossed it to join hers. He leaned in to nuzzle and kiss at her breasts, lips teasing her nipples. His fingers moved downwards through the thick fur on her tummy to the top of her shorts, undoing them with nimble fingers. She grabbed the waistband of the shorts to help him get them down off her hips, at which point he pulled away to focus on removing them to reveal plain black panties.

Pam leaned in to kiss him again, panting into it, and reached down to give a bulge in his shorts a squeeze. She opened his shorts and realized he'd gone commando, from the way his shaft pressed directly into her fingers. With his shorts open her nose twitched as she could smell more of his arousal. He was stiff and warm under her fingers, and she tried not to think of how long it had been since she'd felt a man -- morph or otherwise -- against her like this.

She rubbed her thumbpad against the underside of the head and felt the drizzle of preseed on her thumb. She broke the kiss, panting and leaning in to nibble and lick at the rabbit's neck. He shivered and placed his hands carefully on her hips. Between his vulnerable moment a minute ago and Pam's larger frame, Garrett let her take the lead.

Pam slowly stroked his cock, fingers squeezing and gripping his length. She wasn't that type of therapist, but she still knew how to make his nerves and pleasure centers light up. Her free hand traced over his pecs, blunt clawtips drawing little paths through his fur on the way to take hold of his shoulder.

Garrett grew bolder, hands tracing up over her sides and feeling just how solid the white dog was. He cupped and kneaded her breasts and circled one of her nipples with a thumbtip. She let out a satisfying gasp against his ear when he gave it a tweak, and he felt her move to straddle his lap in response.

Pam released the rabbit's cock and tugged her panties to the side, guiding the head of his cock to her wet pussy and easing down onto him. She whimpered, feeling suddenly very full, as that thick length spread open her snug cunt like she hadn't been filled in some time. She wriggled her hips like she was getting comfortable to buy herself a moment to adjust before impaling herself further onto him.

Garrett leaned in to groan right into the fur of her shoulder. His hands moved back to her hips, and he ground his body against hers. He buried his pre-dripping length deep into her tight, welcoming pussy. Her hands squeezed encouragement into his shoulders, and she moved with him, gasping each time she felt her clit grind against the base of his cock.

The chair creaked under their weight, holding them both up with the occasional squeak of objection when Pam's thighs squeezed the sides of it. Neither of them noticed the noise as Pam moved faster in Garrett's lap, or when he pumped his hips back against hers. His body made light but audible smacks against her as her body met his, and his hands moved from her hips to knead her firm backside and rub her tailbase.

Pam leaned her head back and groaned at the sudden stimulation, wriggling against him and pressing hard back against his thrusts. She felt his heavy, full sack against her backside each time he hilted. His moans grew in pitch, and she herself let out yips of ecstasy.

She gasped and whispered something utterly incoherent, but might've been "ohshitohshitOHSHIT" as every muscle in her body locked up at once for a short, eternal moment. She put her full weight on Garrett's lap, jerking as if electrified, only dimly aware of his own climax. A wave of heat rushed into her as he unloaded into her spasming cunt, balls tightening and flooding her.

She let out a squeal and all but collapsed against him, panting, tongue lolling out of her mouth. The rabbit wrapped his arms around her to help hold her up. He looked up at her as she wriggled against his lap, coming to grips with what just happened.

"Okay, that was..." She licked her lips and shivered and gave him a goofy endorphin smile.

"Probably a mistake, right?" he asked with a nervous chuckle.

"Kinda..."

"I can find another therapist--"

"Don't you dare," she hissed, squeezing him with every muscle she had in contact with him. "Just... No more of this 'till treatment's done."

"Deal."

Pam got a grip on the back of the chair and slowly eased up off of him with a gasp, looking around for something to clean up the mess. Garrett's ear perked, and a moment later she became aware of noise from outside. She turned around to see the door to the office slightly cracked open. Nobody was visible through it, but she knew, just knew, that Dorothy would never let her live this down.