FSE

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Most of the dorm towers had at least one bar in them. The social benefits of a communal watering hole on a community as large as the towers were well documented. As dense as the towers tended to be, there was a paradoxical need for private space and a dependence on communal spaces. The former accomplished by each individual or family unit having a private bedroom and living area, a few hundred square feet, and the latter by having whole floors of the towers designated for various communal spaces. Laundry rooms, sauna and bathing facilities, exercise and library, huge communal kitchens and dining areas.

And bars. There was something ancient about the need to gather around a drink (alcohol or otherwise) to socialize and reintegrate with your tribe. There was a deliberate effort not to have the tribes be too integrated, though. So every bar had a polite little butler bot who would steer you to your friends over there, but the next stretch of bar would be folks from a different floor, or different tower altogether.

Alessia was not from this tower. Nor any tower at all, technically. Her official place of residence was the eleventh floor of the Finest facility, her place of employment as well as primary social gathering spot. But it was part of her career to get out, socialize, see new people and, as it were, advertise.

She was very hard to miss, and even harder to mistake. At eight and a half feet tall, white with golden stripes, and built like an amazon goddess, she was almost always the largest thing in a given room. And tended to dress as her Mistress directed, in virtually nothing save the bare minimums that decency demanded. In this case, a long flowing skirt that was only a few degrees more opaque than nothing, and a long strip of silk in a halter top, only opaque enough to matter because of the layers.

Decent bar hopping clothes, and she'd passed through two others this evening. All big enough for several hundred people gathered around various tables, service stations, and games. This one was even larger, and the main hall of it was somewhere over forty-thousand square feet, two story ceilings, and lots of spaces. Big dance floor, and if it looked like there was someone her size who'd want to do some dancing, she might wind up there, someone had a punk/swing band playing and it was some curious blend of blazing energy and barely-kept rhythm. Might be hard to dance to, but if they could keep a beat she was sure she could come up with something.

The crowd was maybe two thirds morphs, about right for this tower, and one of the bots rolled up to her, chirped for attention, then led her somewhere further in. The music got louder as she went past the floor and stage. The guitarist was notable, if not for skill then for enthusiasm and size. Scrawny white tiger boy, ginger mane and raucous chords as he shredded along with the drummer and singer. Some ancient song, but the good ones tended to be, something about a ballroom blitz and the audience going for violence as opposed to other forms of expression.

The bot led her through to one of the service bars, one with a variety of sizes in stool and counter heights. Accommodations that suited her.

There were a couple other folks at the counter, a few pairs and trios, and a broad-shouldered wolverine with a glass in hand. Scrubs. A doctor maybe?

"What'll it be, tall, gold and sexy?" The bartender was a baseline human, but the smooth modulation in his voice was almost certainly augmented in some way.

"Do you serve anything in my size?"

"Probably can. Mass?"

"Two-twenty kilos. High metabolism too. Mimosa?"

"Yeah, I can do one to scale. Two shakes, LLP gorgeous." True to his word, he was back in a few minutes with a novelty-size champagne flute-- the sort one might see at a bachelorette party-- full of fruity goodness. A sip confirmed that he'd heard the metabolism bit, there was an additional bite that just wine couldn't have produced. Probably brandy as well.

"Acromegaly?" The unfamiliar voice came from the broad-shouldered wolverine. "Thought we'd solved that one."

"Similar effects, but just something in the genetic mixes, no disorders in particular. I did all my growing at the normal times, I just did it at a much faster rate than my peers."

"That must have been rough. And still no idea what it was about?"

"Genetic fluke. They've offered corrective therapies, but..."

"Yeah, spending a few years going through an exceptionally unpleasant combination of puberty and cancer is daunting when there's no risk to staying as you are anymore. Sorry, long shift, I'm being rude. Most folks just call me Doc Wolverine, but you can call me glad to be at eye level." He offered a big hand, and she took it in her larger one. "Damn, I am really not used to someone having bigger mitts than me."

"I wouldn't have assumed the medical field without the scrubs, honestly. Perhaps an athlete. Or are you on the way to a costume party?"

"Like I said, long shift. Full moon brings out the stupid in some people, so we try to have some extra human eyes to watch the medical bots. Never know, there might be some sort of catastrophe where I have to do surgery by hand or something instead of cross-checking the synth-doc and confirming that yes, patient in triage three really did stuff four pounds of potatoes into their anus."

"Oh no, is Harris at it again? We told him to just come see us the next time he wants that oviposition fetish tended to! It saves him a lot of explaining and discomfort."

The doctor didn't bat an eyelash. "I can't, of course, confirm or deny that this patient was trying to get his rocks off that way, but did I hear you right? You do that kind of fetish play?"

"Well, not me, specifically. Depending on the preferences of the customer, we have a few experts. Why, do you want to get held down and have a queen stuff you full of her eggs?"

"I'll pass, thanks. I just stopped in for a couple of ounces of the hard stuff before I head upstairs. Fourteen hours on my feet, I should really get off them."

"Well, if you are ever in the need of some very specialized attention, you'll find us pleased to attend to your every need and desire."

"I'll bite, then. What's your specialty?"

"Whatever Mistress tells me it ought to be. Mostly helping to play out fantasies that involve an amazon, or someone who needs a lot of physical struggle to get their juices flowing. It can be hard for some folks to find a partner that they can really go wall-to-wall with."

"True that. My boyfriend ain't built to wrestle too hard. Not usually a problem, I'm a cuddler, not an amateur wrestler."

The music shifted. Briefly, anyway. Something loud and chaotic with breathlessly shouted lyrics that were all but incomprehensible behind guitar feedback and frantic drumming.

Then someone threw a bottle. Bio-plastic, no one used glass bottles for this exact reason. Someone else threw a bottle back at the first person. Fifteen seconds later the brawl had spilled over off the dance floor into the bar proper, and was accelerating. Most folks were busy getting out of the way but enough were drunk enough to react without considering whether an accidental jostle warranted a right hook.

"I'm not nearly drunk enough for this," muttered the wolverine, then downed his glass, turned toward the brawl and walked in. Not to fight, apparently, but to separate tusslers and knock them on their asses long enough to reconsider their options. A decent choice, Alessia followed along to do the same, and between his width and her general size, most of the fighters decided staying down or taking off would be a wiser choice.

Most.

The central core of the fight was at the stage, the guitarist had half of his guitar in one hand, blood on his muzzle and hands, and two guys on the ground in front of him, with three more trying to decide if rushing him was a good idea. They'd probably assume yes if the rhino made up her mind, there wasn't much chance of a broken guitar dissuading her. A broad paw grabbing her horn, yanking it down and sideways, and pivoting her face toward the floor did the job, though, and Doc glowered at the other two until they reconsidered their life choices and ran the heck off.

Security would be along soon, and a medical team with them, but most folks would be nursing bruises at worst. In the meantime, the ginger-topped tiger seemed to be unsure what to do. There was an element of defiance still there, a prickly uncertainty that he hadn't skipped out of a frying pan and into a fire.

"You're not cops or security. Who the hell are you?" The Jersey accent was almost too thick to be real, even if he looked like at least a quarter of his genes came from Ireland. Two hundred years of progress meant that the hair was a personal choice, either his or inherited, but the look was as authentic as his attitude and ancient denim jacket.

Doc grinned. "We're the brute squad." The kid took another look and noticed he scrubs. "How much of that blood is yours?"

"Enough that I probably ought to sit down but the adrenaline disagrees. Anyone who takes offense to Dead Kennedys deserves the ass kicking that follows, but being right doesn't make it hurt less."

"I have a way of calming jangled nerves," Alessia interjected, and rather than explain she just stepped up and hugged the gingertop into her cleavage. Proportionally small, objectively massive, and well known for their soothing powers on most people. The tiger was not an exception, and visibly lost the edge of adrenaline.

Doc looked up at her. "Hey, if I said you had a hell of a body, would you hold it against me? No? Damn, that line never works. Alright, lemme take a look at him." The wolverine poked and prodded a little bit, while the security folks showed up, took statements, and so on.

"Well, the bad news is he's going to live to sing another day, and probably get in more fights, but hey, job security I guess?" A tired old joke that barely made sense in an era of universal income and post-scarcity, but somehow survived purely out of irony, and often in fields where job security was undesirable. An end to people injuring themselves through sheer bull-headed stupidity wouldn't make anyone, especially the medical profession, unhappy.

"I'm not that bad," he protested, but followup was muffled by Alessia hugging a little tighter and burying his muzzle in bare cleavage again.

"Should I mouth off a little to get that treatment? Looks comfy in there." She rolled her eyes at the doctor, then shrugged.

"Would not your boyfriend have something to say about that?"

"Nah. We're open. Actually, most of the time he's way more horny than I can keep up with, I'm just on the tag end of a bunch of adrenaline and you're easy on the eyes. So's he, actually in a weird, scrawny, haphazard way."

There was a brief attempt by the smaller tiger to disengage enough to say something dumb, but Alessia just didn't let go, and there was no breaking that grip. No stopping her when she just picked him up and started walking.

"I didn't know you had a suite in this building, lady." The doc turned as the door closed behind the three of them. "I figure I'd have seen you at least once in passing."

"I don't. This belongs to a friend who's out of town and doesn't mind me using it when there's need." Which was true enough, even if Natasha had made it very clear that using her place came with a very steep and painful price. Alessia was looking forward to paying it, though she'd never willingly admit that.

"There was some talk on the elevator of dealing with our various adrenaline aftereffects in "useful manners" so why don't we just see what we're working with and-" she got that far before the doctor pushed her against the wall and leaned up to kiss her.

"Shut up, beautiful, you have much better things to do with that undoubtedly nimble tongue." Points for confidence and assertiveness. Given her own preference for being on the submissive side of things, she folded easily when pushed. He pushed, she went to her knees, and the scrubs came off. Muscled guy, clearly worked out. Or had to wrangle exceptionally unruly patients on the regular. "That's better. Oh aren't you excited down there. A professional you said. Mistress, you said. So if the boy and I were to, say, tie you down and fuck you until the sun comes up, is there a charge for that?"

Alessia considered. Technically, there ought to be. But this hadn't been done through the company, she wasn't actually on the clock, and she had standing orders from Madame to be as free with her affections as she could be. And she was, really, in the mood for some good fun. "Two hundred bucks, but I'll give a hundred buck discount for each one of you that spanks me." Negotiating was important, after all, and the exchanged look the two guys managed was worth a giggle.

"She for real?" The tiger had stripped as well, as lanky as the wolverine was stout, and... well, that was an impressive bit of flesh standing up there. That would be nice and comfortable.

"Pretty sure. I think we ought to tie her up first, though. For the aesthetics. Your absent friend keep some materials for that handy? Or should we just use your clothes?"

"Well, I'd rather you not tear my skirt to strips. Natasha keeps her supplies right over there." Alessia gestured to a door on the east wall. "If we break anything, she'll take it out on me, in ways she will certainly enjoy, so don't be," she paused to look at the oher tiger, "ginger about it."

Both of the men glared at her for the pun. Mike, the tiger, chuckled. "She wants her ass beat. She's asking for it. Literally asking to- holy shit!" He'd opened the door and flipped on the light, and stopped there. "Doc? Doc I don't know what the hell half of this is. It's all black and chrome. I thought there was gonna be rope or something."

The wolverine paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Maws you're young. Alright, alright, we're on our way over." We? Alessia had just a second to realize what was going on before he had a grip on the back of her neck and was "dragging" her toward the door. Convenient, since the other side of the door was Natasha's little home dungeon.

Little, roughly a hundred square feet, but a nice high ceiling and neatly organized. Furniture against the east wall, south and north wall dominated by racks and shelves of equipment, which left a decent amount of floor space in the center of things. Not that the bunny usually stayed in the dungeon. She liked to do her thing as close to public as possible.

Mike was busy looking through the collection of implements and gear, most of which wasn't sized to Alessia, unfortunately. Being half again the size, and many times the strength, of most of the rabbits playmates had serious disadvantages when it came to getting really worked over, still...

"Hey, these ought to do, at least as long as she's not fighting us too much?" It was phrased as a question, and Doc was looking directly at her, holding a big pair of zip cuffs. Plastic, had a central swivel, and really were universal sized. Could really hurt someone who was fighting too much, but she judged it unlikely either of them was going to be able to push her hard enough to make that concern necessary.

"Well, there's struggling for real and there's struggling for the show and the rush of it. Grab a second pair and I'll show you a good way to use them on me. Variety in position without having to undo and redo them, and good at "helpless while still able to struggle" kinds of things."

She didn't see what Mike was grabbing, but it didn't really seem to matter, as Doc had that same grip on the back of her neck and was pushing her to the living room again. She walked the wolverine through wrapping one part of each cuff around her thigh, the other around her wrist, and how tight to pull them to keep them secure without any danger.

"Yeh, that's pretty handy. You can even walk, sort of, but you can't put your hands anywhere relevant. Pretty hot stuff. Going to have to remember that next time someone's feeling uppity. Meanwhile, you said there was a discount for- oh, nice, perfect timing kid, thanks." Lifetime experience let her identify what she was getting hit with pretty quickly, and either the kid knew way better than she thought, or he'd lucked into the single nastiest item in Natasha's impact play inventory, a heavy tawse. A split piece of thick synthetic leather, but some quirk made it far more painful to be hit with than a belt or strap.

So of course she yelped and jerked. "No-no-no-no-no, not that one please!" Another stroke didn't come immediately. "Thank you. That one HURTS and not in a good way."

"There's good ways?" God, that accent was thick.

"Absolutely are. You can work your way up from like... an open hand, to a ruler, to a hairbrush to a flogger. Warm my butt up and get me into a groove before you go for the big nasty stuff. As a basic rule, the further back you have to stand to use a thing, the more it's gonna hurt to get hit with."

"Huh. So this probably feels a lot better." The followup smack was pretty nice, just a hand on her ass. Then another, the other side. Doc had bigger mitts, and one on either side of her, they could get a pretty good beat going. Of course he was a musician, they got a rhythm that warmed her ass up pretty quick.

"That's probably enough for discounts, right?" Doc paused to feel up between her legs. "Huh. Given the way you asked for them, I kind of thought you'd be more turned on by this."

She squirmed at the intruding fingers, tugging at the zip cuffs. "Yeah, not that kind of masochist. Explaining why spanks equal discounts is way less fun than one of you putting tongue back there while I put tongue on the other one. So let's get this fucking show on the fucking road, yeah?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Mike muttered, right before burying his face under her tail, licking and lapping, more eager than skilled, not that she minded. She had bigger things to deal with, namely a wolver-peen bounced against her nose, which she obviously got right to sucking on. The noises he made for her tongue were plenty good, but she wasn't in any sort of hurry, and her mobility was limited. She had to let him be in charge, let him work his hips, set the pace. And of course she couldn't comment when the other tiger finished his tongue service and started to push into her, sinking bit by bit into her tunnel.

It was a good, slow fuck, none of them in a hurry, no one overpowered by their own lust or anything like that. Just a slow, lazy fuck on the living room floor.

"Hey! Hey Doc! Up high!"

"What the, oh! Right!" She heard the high five over top of her, and chuckled.

"Always wanted to do that!" He was already a bit out of breath, and his rhythm was no longer steady. She couldn't exactly grin or give advice, both were prevented by strong hands controlling her head and a nice, thick dick to suck on, too. Doc's boyfriend was lucky, there was good material there, and he didn't seem in a big hurry.

She figured out why he was being slow and lazy just a bit after she felt the kid lose control, buck and shudder, and empty into her. Hips slamming against recently heated ass reignited the sting, and she gasped. Soothed by petting over her ears and fingers curled under her chin.

"Got a proposition for you, Mike. Why don't you let her clean you off real good while I plow under your tail?"

"Wait, what? No! Maybe! That sounds like a plan!" Rapid shifting from declining to endorsement meant one of those was a default automatic and the other how he actually felt, once his brain caught up. The sequence was about normal for younger men who hadn't quite actually figured out where they wanted to fit in the sexuality spectra.

"Your friend had lube in there too, right?" Alessia nodded. And while the wolverine went to fetch it, she found herself nose to very messy dick with the other tiger. A glance up saw a very nervous and sheepish expression, which didn't actually get any less so when she just started sucking on the mess, cleaning him up. Sort of. Unless there was a very good reason not to, she was likely to get at least one more mess out of him. And she'd have help, too.

"This is where I'm supposed to make a joke about you taking my temperature or something, right?" Very nervous.

"Well, if you want to, but I'm usually the source of bad jokes in a given room, so you may want to just relax and let the lady make sure you can't think straight while I do my thing."

Alessia couldn't see, really, but she could feel the change in motion, hear the difference in moans from the musician when he stopped having his own pace and started being manipulated by the wolverine. Slowly, shallowly, probably a lot of lube. She knew he was pretty thick, that boy was getting a nice stretch. She might be a little envious, but that wasn't an issue.

She was very aware of when the good doctor got his pace and was able to really start going. More energetic, more forceful. The other tiger never stood a chance, but he clearly didn't know what to expect, but the orgasm that poured on her tongue wasn't the same as she usually got from sucking a guy off. Slower, deeper, she could tell the result of a deep stroke on a man's prostate. It sounded like Mike was figuring that out as well. She'd been told it was a novel and powerful experience.

Doc evidently got his, too, and shortly they were both panting and unsteady. Then came the fumbling while trying to get the zip cuffs undone (there was a key, of course, but it didn't work quite the same as most keys) so that Alessia could stretch and arch and move freely again.

"Have fun, you two?" The pair of guys were cleaning themselves up, finding discarded clothing. Doc yawned.

"Been up way longer than I ought to be. Mine's a couple floors up from here, I think. Anyone want to come crash for a nap? I've got a pillow pit instead of a bed, plenty of room.

The nap took a while, all three of them had been a long night, and in the morning, Alessia made a mental note to report her uses to Natasha. The rabbit's prices would be fun.