FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The car hummed as she drove along the freeway, bag containing a change of clothes and several combinations of lingerie in the back seat. Molly turned off at the exit and proceeded along the smaller road towards club Violetta. The mid-day sun bounced harmlessly off of the pair of polarised shades she wore; the sweeping vista of the countryside rushing past as flickering images on the opaque lenses.

Pulling into a parking space, she turned off the engine and checked her phone. A text from Cade, who had been working non-stop the last few days, lay waiting for her:

Meet again soon?

She replied, her hard-capped fingers making loud tapping sounds on the screen.

Have some date ideas. Tell you more later.

The whooshing sound of her message soon changed pitch to announce an incoming follow-up...

You ever gonna tell me when I can visit you at work?

Molly smiled. She had been teasing Cade with it for a while now.

Not yet. I want it to be special.

Unsatisfied with the vagueness of her answer, Molly could tell her boyfriend grew impatient. This was clear in his reply:

Don't go holding out on me!

She chuckled, and sent him a handful of emojis that summarised her stance on the matter. Playful banter, in pictographic form. The antelope sighed, and lifted her hooves from the pedals, the sensation of controlling a vehicle never quite the same as when she was human. Her proportions placed an extra challenge on such a daily occurrance. She got used to it, like many other things.

* * *

A trip to the gym adjacent to Violetta was in order. Molly brought with her a saddlebag of spare clothes for her workout, along with her gear for tonight. She picked a quiet time to go through her stretches and initial routine — no-one was at the gym around noon, as the other dancers wouldn't show up 'til closer to evening-time, and clients who didn't know of or didn't partake in the business of exotic dancing held up the place in the wee hours of the morning before work.

With this serenity all to herself, Molly moved on to lunges, alternating legs as she proceeded. The gym mat laid out at her feet depressed and expanded as she moved over it, her weight bearing on its blue, slightly rubbery material. She felt the strain as her circuit of exercises completed.

“Ah," she sighed, her jaw hanging loose as the vowels made their escape. “Limber up. Nice an' steady."

Afterwards, saddlebag underarm, the antelope visited the locker room of the gym. To her surprise, she heard some people coming her way. Going about her business, she paid very little attention to the voices echoing down the corridor. Opening her locker, and exchanging toiletries, she wandered back in the general direction of the gym complex, but took a detour in favour of the incoming clients once she heard familiar voices.

Turning the corner, she saw just past a row of stacked lockers a handful of the dancers from Violetta. A small group — male and female voices present. Molly started walking towards them, the others still oblivious to her presence. She saw three of the male performers: Mark, Derek, and Jace. The first two she knew — a zebra and dalmatian. Mark was dressed in a clean shirt and pants combo with a gym bag slung underarm. His hooves clopped loudly on the tiled floor. Derek was similarly clad, but with a much higher-cut bottom half; shorts that rode dangerously close to indecent territory, and a sneaky bulge could be made out among the shifting folds of fabric. A spotted tail, same pattern as the rest of him, hovered behind.

The third, however, Molly did not yet know. She was a fair distance from the group, but even still she could see him clearly. Jace was a stag. A big one. For those who thought bovine or equine hybrids ranked largest (as no-one had dared try an elk or moose as their base species), Jace put them in their place. The tawny male outshone Mark with his stature, but retained a regal elegance. Where the zebra had bulky muscles and a frame closer to that of a bodybuilder but not as obscene, Jace had a slender, svelte-muscular constitution. The fur on his body was short and neat, and furthermore to differentiate himself from his male companions, he went topless — only a pair of cargo shorts holding back 'buck' nakedness.

But the interesting part, at least for Molly, were the antlers. Huge, broad and looking very brittle (though such looks were deceiving, as in their stiffness was a steely substance, the product of enhanced gene therapy), they cast shade on all around him. With a turn of his head they swung over the tops of everyone else's. If he were unfortunate, maybe Mark's ears would get clipped accidentally, but Jace was careful with his motions.

Just as she added Rylan the horse, Sammy the rabbit, Emily the lioness, Angelica the sparrowhawk, the aforementioned Derek and Mark (and many more besides — Rebecca, Hannah, Heather...the list was endless); Molly inscribed the look of Jace into her memory. Another fact of hybrid life and the wondrous variety it beheld.

The trio of males were in conversation with their female counterparts. Four, to be precise. Molly saw Rebecca among them, but the other three she had no recognition of. That was to be expected — Violetta was a big establishment, not every dancer went on every night. Perhaps it was her neophyte status, but Molly was always taken aback by newcomers (as she saw them).

As she approached, she saw them split up. The guys turned tail and sauntered back the way they came, towards the men's lockers. The four girls regrouped, ready to resume the march to the their own area...

“MOLLY!"

Until, of course, an ecstatic Rebecca noticed Molly. Ears perked, and tail wagging, she rushed over. The three females with her walked slowly, but all had smiles on their faces.

“Girls, come say hi to Molly!" the collie yipped, her voice light and cheerful.

Molly smiled at those approaching and gave her favourite dog a hug.

She could always rely on Rebecca. Their collaboration formed a connection point between her and rest of the sensual cast. Naturally a part of the collie's duties at work — managing others — but Molly couldn't help but feel a friendship develop between them. It was cute, and the only minor hindrance was the faint sensation she felt when up close and personal with a carnivorous hybrid — vestigial instincts nibbling at the edge of her consciousness, inserting a sliver of timidity to events.

She didn't have it too bad, though. Word was that many years ago the science of hybrid behaviour was not as well understood, especially when the technology was underground — bubbling in vats hidden from the prying eyes of public society. Times change, and so do treatments. Modern anthromorphing was a safe process, with minimal mental alteration (unless desired). The sinister days of Bovinex, M.R.G. Consolidated, and Kal-Hi Genomics forgotten. Their contributions remain, but the dark side of their machinations fortunately do not.

It wasn't extinct, however. The natural tendencies of her species spilled over the barrier on occasion. The feeling of belonging with herbivores like her. Maybe that's why she gelled with Rylan so quickly? Fellow herd animals, growing closer in camaraderie...

“You just missed the guys — they were with us."

“I saw."

United at last, Molly was finally able to get a decent picture of the strangers with Rebecca. Now that Jace had sauntered his taut ass out of view, she was no longer drinking in a fellow herbivore. No, three meat-eaters, all sharp smiles and pointed claws, greeted her. Unlike the guys, they were already in gym clothes — sports bras, breathable mesh and stretchy fabric. Short shorts and shorter midriffs.

Rebecca handled introductions. First was Esper, a cat with a light blended colouration of grey and grey-blue. Standard height, so probably not much changed between her human and anthro bodies — that is, if she wasn't born a hybrid. Molly found no need to be hasty and ask. Her eyes twinkled when Rebecca explained Molly's superb debut several nights ago. “I was the same," she said, “hit it off on my first show. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Molly nodded. “Really takes the pressure off of performing if you know you've got it in the bag."

“Well...all I can say is, well done. And keep it up!"

Next was Katlyn. A fox. No prizes for guessing her stage name...

“Venus — this is Vixen," Rebecca said. After a pause she gave their real names.

Katlyn was shorter than Molly. Much shorter. A petite frame, that held up a rich orange, white, and black hottie with striking eyes. It was cliché to expect all strippers to have plenty of curves, and to hell with those without stacks of soft, bilious tissue to show off; but Katlyn presented exquisitely. Small, slender, and with enough on her bones to satisfy any prejudiced customer, curves be damned!

Dasha was the direct opposite: a large, gorgeously plump bear with cords of muscle hidden beneath her unassuming shape. Rich, chocolate-brown fur — so sensual you could taste it — covered her from head-to-toe. Her strong Ruskayan accent dominated her speech, domineering yet feminine. Equal parts menacing and motherly.

“Good to meet you," she rumbled. Molly reached out to shake her large paw. Dasha's fingers wrapped tightly around her hand, pads rubbing against her fur. They locked eyes, and were caught in them. The bear had a striking visage. The largest jaws she'd seen in a hybrid. Emily (a.k.a. Savannah) the lioness came close, with her leonine heritage, but this was something else. Something entirely more...impactful...

Impressions aside, Molly followed the group as they prepared for their exercise routines. The lockers were split by a partition between male and female, with visibility mostly obscured. Sound, however, could travel. Rebecca and the others were quick to store their belongings and were ready to leave for the main gym when the commotion on the men's side could no longer be ignored.

The collie shuffled close to Molly and listened with her friend and co-worker.

Rowdy shouts were heard as the three guys changed into their gym-wear. Molly could make out the voices of Mark and Derek, who she'd heard speak before, and the third — a soft, yet deep and confident timbre — obviously belonged to Jace.

The rest of the girls kept quiet and giggled at the noise — brash shit-talk on some random topic. Very jokey, very dudebro-ey. Performative, with each sculpted male egging the others on to reach higher levels of absurdity. The loud crack of an ass-slap echoed through the room, followed by cursing and laughter.

Rebecca looked at Molly and tried to contain herself. The antelope felt the same way. Desperation gave way to bargaining, as she grabbed Molly's hands and secured them tight around her muzzle — a thumbs up her only intelligible instruction. Molly knew what she meant, and kept her friend's mouth shut until she could get the infectious laughter out of her system.

“There," she said, “all better?"

Rebecca removed herself from Molly's grip and agreed.

Movement visible at the tip of the divider caught her attention. Like peering over the crest of a hill Molly saw a large pair of antlers flit in front of the lights. She listened to the stag reprimand one of the others for something — perhaps their antics had gone too far and were losing sight of why they'd come to the gym. Maybe? She wasn't paying much heed to the words being said, just watching the tops of the guys' heads move emphatically with muffled argument.

Molly touched her own head, feeling around for the horns that protruded from her skull. They had grown some length since her transformation. Initially nothing but stubs; now they rose and swept back next to her eyes, six inches and dark black with a fat base and narrow, jagged tip. They coiled slightly, twisting as one travelled along their length, with a rippled, ridged texture. An oily sheen covered each.

“Thank God you don't have ones as big as his!" Rebecca remarked, noticing her self-check.

“Think mine are done growing," Molly replied, “doctors said they would finish a couple of weeks after the gene therapy. I haven't hit my head against anything yet, but I'm sure I'll lose that virginity at some point."

She was interrupted — or rather, distracted — by another spate of stifled laughter and whispering between some of the other females. The cat and the fox were sharing a lot of chitter-chatter.

Rebecca spoke: “probably some gossip. Don't look like that!" she said indignantly, as if Molly were passing judgement on gender stereotypes. “Guys do it too! Bet Rylan has filled your head with loads of the juiciest news."

“If he has, I'm not telling."

“Aw," the collie whined, “no fun." Her head swung back to staring at the divider between the womens' and mens' lockers. “They still touching each other?"

“Don't know...wait, are they usually so handsy?"

“Oh they're close to fucking alright."

“You sure?"

“Yeah, totally fucking! C'mon Molly...imagine it: the hot predator sandwiched between two big, buff prey animals..."

Molly's mind went wild with picturing Derek stuck between the zebra and deer. Squished between two taut chests, fighting it with his own bulk. Grinding against the studs surrounding him...

“...bending over..."

Molly's ear flicked. She glanced at Rebecca, who stared at her knowingly. She paused.

Rebecca helpfully informed her: “your mouth was moving. Like you were saying stuff. Very hot stuff. Get off on day-dreaming, do ya?"

“Shut up...can't we make fun of shipping the guys instead of me?"

“Well, okay. Say, you know what about carnivores? They're supposed to like eating meat. Derek is probably hungry for a big, thick—"

“That's enough I think," Molly sighed, breaking into a sparse laugh at the end. “Stopping giving me bad thoughts before showtime."

“Ugh, you're right," Rebecca groaned, “job comes first, yadda-yadda..."

“Hey girls, sorry for intruding."

Jace's voice startled them. The stag walked around the corner, preoccupied with his own thoughts before almost knocking into them. Molly stepped back and smiled, whilst Rebecca got all up in the stag's grill, beaming. “Hi Jace, what's up?"

The tall cervine rubbed his neck. His broad...strong neck. Molly noticed his distinct lack of clothing. Only a thin, straining thong held back his full nakedness. The strings swept high around his hips, far above the waist, and terminated in a tight 'V' between his tail and butt cheeks — a complete view of which was given to Molly when he turned to face an energetic Rebecca.

So far, every one of the guys she had encountered working at Violetta belonged to some category of hunk. The women, sure, were pretty. Gorgeous even. But something about Violet's taste in hiring male strippers had Molly complimenting her old friend's instincts. Vi, you dog! she chuckled to herself.

“Yeah, do you happen to have a spare key-strap? Derek's broke."

“Uhhh, maybe...not me though — try the others." Rebecca pointed to the trio of Esper, Katlyn, and Dasha, who were walking away. Jace thanked her and rushed after them, moving from a brisk walk to a short jog in order to catch up. Molly watched him depart, and waited for Rebecca to very obviously say something 'gossipy':

“Aww, he's taking care of his friend...what a cutie."

Molly bade her own farewell and left the gym. She was slowly starting to learn the cast. Who's who. Okay, she didn't remember everyone's name, but that's easily forgiven. As she strolled from the gym to the club next door, a deep feeling of excitement grew. Another night, another blitz of passion and perfect moves. 'Venus' would strut her stuff again.

* * *

The private booths of Stage Three, lining the perimeter of the room, were alive with passion. Male and female dancers escorted their clients in-and-out for twenty-minute periods of up-close-and-personal action. For those with a deeper need, a more...ravenous appetite, they gradually found their way upstairs, wandering amid the plush silk and soft bedding of Stages Four and Five — meeting those performers who offered 'companionship' as well as their usual services.

Light flickered, hi-fi system's thrummed with music, and patrons entered into impromptu bidding wars for time alone with their favourites.

Molly tended bar for the first hour on-duty, then moved around the room, posing for customers, blowing kisses to those she passed by...eventually, by roughly nine o'clock, she provided support for the main dancers by backing them onstage. Her and a few others gyrated in the background of the two mains: Mark and Derek. The two monochrome males swayed and stripped to great admiration from the crowd. Molly glimpsed taut buttocks and thick muscles whenever she twirled in their direction, before coiling around her pole and sliding along its length in a series of smooth, well-choreographed motions.

As the night aged, the show evolved. Derek had stripped completely, and struck out among the audience. Those at the tables he passed cheered as the Dalmatian swung his cock and balls in their faces, money passing quickly 'round and ending up tucked beneath the lone strap of fabric clinging to his thigh. Mark, alternately, was still in the process of wooing the audience with his solo moves onstage. The zebra's heavy hooves clopped as he leapt from pole to pole, a tight thong pinching his cheeks and forming a meaty cleft between his buttocks. A broad, bushy tail swirled, hiding the goods from full view. He turned away from the crowd, bend over, and spread his legs into an inverted 'V'. Arcing his back, the striped male curled upwards, running a hand through his mane and glancing over his shoulder at the ravenous faces trapped in adoration of this hybrid Adonais.

Molly and Rebecca, a short distance from the main event, synchronised their motion around their own poles. Mirroring one another. The collie wore a purple ensemble with suspenders. Her tights ended at her foot-paws, but opened up to free her canine pads and clawed toes. Only a strip of stocking made its way around the arch of her foot, allowing her to strut and soar without dirtying her costume. Her tail had several clips on it, ringing it from the base to a third of its length. These decorations flowed with the long fur, accentuating its movement with shimmering brilliance. The collie's bust was well-adorned, her bra bouncing with the gravity of her breasts threatening to burst free if enough effort were expended. On her head, beside her one floppy ear, a decorative flower made of precious metal and crystal dazzled those looking at her; and an inked pattern of calligraphic curls ran across her muzzle and down her neck. During moments of intensity, her mouth parted and revealed pristine rows of white teeth — fangs and all — daring one to imaging coming close to that capable maw. Daring one to dream of encountering her alone, the soft shadow of the night-time clothing her more so than what she wore...daring one to approach, to hold, to kiss...

Molly wore something similar, adapted for her own species. As Venus she'd returned, drenched in luxurious red. Together, the two females danced to the rhythmic pounding of the club's soundscape.

Herself, Rebecca, Derek, and Mark entertained the room with their routines. Once enough time had passed, a shift change swept the theatrics away in a haze of audience participation. The four dancers mingled with the clientele, exchanging pleasantries with their customers. A thrust, a hip sway, or a bout of self-caressing was on the cards for anyone willing to tip. Mark and Derek swallowed up the bulk of the demand, but Molly did have fun entertaining a couple of tables — her top half bare, breasts receiving plenty of attention as she slid her palms over her chest.

Another set of performers took their positions. Esper and Dasha among them. Molly left the stage area to retire and change costume. After a brief rest, she returned to Stage Three in a simple bra and panties with some decorative lace on the fringes and began taking offers for private dances. Her rates had gone up, as they had the last few times she was live. That seemed not to dissuade anyone.

She brought a human or two into a booth and danced, each time proving as good as the last. Once they'd left, satisfied, she took a moment to put her lingerie back on. Her body buzzed with excitement. The night was young. She could do this forever!

Her next client in the booth was a repeat customer. The shy serval she'd so exquisitely teased her first night here had discovered her again. She smiled, hiding her mirth from him while her back was turned. Molly swayed her hips side-to-side, and met his gaze.

“Hi there," she said in a deep, sultry tone.

The serval's ears went red. He stammered a quick 'hello' before stumbling over whatever else he had wanted to say. Molly beamed.

Turning around, she continued her gradual approach, moving her body in long, sensual motions. “I remember you coming to see me before," she said, studying his tensed form for any way to ease him out of his nervousness.

A fifty dollar bill found its way from his wallet to the string of Molly's thong. “Payday?" she teased, seeing him blush. The tips of his pointed feline ears, unkempt tufts jutting from the thin ends, tried their best to hide the crimson shade of blood filling them. He squirmed as she got closer.

Aww, I have a fan. That stray thought made her dance all the sweeter.

Straddling him, she placed her legs around his — knees flanking thighs. Arcing her back, Molly began low and swept her upper body along his chest and head. Large breasts shook right in front of his eyes, widening them to comical proportions. “You like them?" she asked, playing the part of the seductress.

He nodded. A meek whimper escaped him.

“You wanna feel them, don't you?"

He averted his gaze. Molly brought a finger to his jawline and traced the bone from joint to snout. “Sorry baby, but looking's all you're gonna get..."

Last time he was satisfied with her teasing him this way. In fact, many of her clients up 'til now had all responded positively to her style. It wasn't anything special — this was a huge club, and many dancers cribbed the best techniques from their colleagues. But she felt that she could do better. It wasn't the customer driving her, it was her inner perfectionist.

“Why don't I make this a little more...exciting..."

An awkward half-smile, suppressed by nerves, rippled across the serval's face.

She breathed softly and went to his ear, nibbling the air until she got her lips in position. They pursed, and uttered heavenly words: “why don't I bring a friend over to say hi?"

She heard him gulp over the din of the club's music system.

Molly lifted her chest and head away, and slowly slid off of the seat, leaving her customer sitting alone. The distance between them grew, her hips swaying the entire walk to the booth entrance. Knocking on the door, she whispered loud enough from him to hear. Though he didn't pick up on what she had said, any questions were quashed when another gorgeous hybrid slipped inside.

“This," Molly said, caressing the other female, “is Becca." Using her abbreviated stage name was weird — this was the first time she'd spoken the collie's aloud. “Becca, well...she's going to help me make your night extra special!"

Rebecca, a.k.a. 'Becca', joined Molly in her advance towards the serval. Thoroughly hot under the collar, he inched back slowly on the black leather seat — that plump matte which ringed the whole booth. With the door closed, the light from the main room became a melange of sifting shades once again: orange, red, purple...rich colours painting the booth with their vibrancy through frosted glass.

The pair, giggling for effect, laid themselves on either side and writhed. Double-teaming the poor guy. Molly took the left, and unclipped her bra — revealing the swell of her furry breasts and dark chocolate nipples protruding. Her skin had darkened over the weeks, at least the exposed parts. From a raw pink, fresh from gene therapy, to a brown colour. Darker in some parts then others. The only parts retaining any pinkness were the insides of her ears, where thin flesh glowed with the flush of blood when in a sensual or embarrassed mood. Much like her friend here, squirming beneath the pair's onslaught.

Molly let the dark nubs wobble for him, her top half freed from the tyranny of clothing. Rebecca followed suit, popping off her top and letting a pretty pair of tits escape, complete with a poof of fluff between them, gathering mostly where her cleavage began its descent. Her nipples were a mix of beige flesh and pink swelling. Their boobs encroached on either side. Nearer and nearer. The serval was close to creaming his pants with the sheer sexual energy radiating from the girls. Possibly even close to fainting. This only encouraged them to keep going.

They started to move more and more, the gyrating pair sucking the cash from his wallet and leaving a simmering ecstasy in its place.

* * *

Behind the closed doors of changing rooms, Rebecca and Molly chatted.

“Good idea pairing up! Best part was when we smooshed our booties together!"

Molly sighed happily and let the canine keep talking as she stripped down to her fur. Debriefing their last dance with a private customer filled the time left between sessions, with the two of them catching a much-needed break from physical exertion.

“You were right," the collie continued, “he was adorable!"

“Well," Molly hummed, “he was transfixed when you came in. Maybe you appeal more to him up close than me." She put away her bra and thong and retrieved a t-shirt and less-than-slutty panties to wear from her clothes bag. Running her hands over her sides and legs, pinching sore joints, Molly groaned. She worked out a couple of bad knots as Rebecca clothed herself.

“Yeah. I wouldn't mind if he bought a dance with just me."

“Got a thing for kitty cats?"

“Nope," she said — sounding dismissive, but Molly found it hard to read her. “Got a thing for big spenders, silly!"

“Was he? I didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary."

The collie turned to her and stuck out her tongue. “Suppose I just get stuck with cheapskates..."

Molly brushed off her jokey mood. The fact remained that her latest customer did indeed seem drawn to Rebecca. Wait! Was that a pang of jealousy? Of anger about losing a potential favourite? No, Molly told herself, an odd mood, that's all.

No...regardless of what she thought in the moment, Molly had cultivated many desiring clients. Male and female. Human and hybrid.

Before leaving to spend their precious free time however they liked, two others showed up. Juni was first to present themselves, her bovine body bound in a voluptuous green two-piece — the most immediate sight on first viewing being her huge, motherly breasts. A sight common to her kind, often desperate for milking. Beside the cow was Katlyn, the fox Molly had met earlier. Poking their heads into the changing room — Juni's formidable snout eclipsing Molly's similar form by a country mile — they checked in on the pair.

“Hi girls," Juni said, “Katlyn and I are headed to Stage Three. We'll be live soon — is there anything you need us to get you before your next dances?"

“A drink...or something..." the vixen added.

“No thanks," Rebecca answered for both of them. “All good here." The collie lifted one leg and cautiously guided it into a leg of a pair of tights, biting her lip as her clawed toes tried to hold themselves back from slicing chunks out of them.

“Need a hand?" one of the visitors asked.

“No way! I got this..." Teetering, as her balance wavered, she succeeded in plunging her foot all the way through, with no damage.

Her foot-paw settled on the bench in the middle of the room, long enough for two people to use as a seat or to prop themselves up. The fine grey mesh of the stockings made her leg from the ankle-up opaque, with no sign of fur or fur colour along their length. Satisfied, and following a successful repeat with the other leg, Rebecca moved off the bench. A set of rubber paw-protectors, moulded to fit her pads, went on next. They were attached like sandals, and made an audible squeak when bent or flexed.

Molly looked from her friend's choice footwear back to her own lower half. She stared down at the split-hooves that sat like little polished stones on the brightly-lit floor. What a hassle it would have to be to walk with paws — accumulating all that dirt and dust that wouldn't simply wash off with a quick rinse under a faucet. And worse still: mud, muck, spills...how did Rebecca manage?

Well, she answered her own question by just reminding herself of what she saw. However, as Juni and Katlyn were just about done hanging around offering help, Rebecca asked them a question: “is there a copy of the roster outside?"

“Yes, there is," Juni said, “need to check?"

Rebecca shook her head. “Molly might." She draped a coat over her shoulders, and passed her arms through each of its in turn. Her pink shirt embroidered with a sassy slogan soon disappeared from view beneath the rainproof garment. Facing a nearby mirror, the collie tugged and fluffed her tail, adjusting it so it hung well from the gap in the coat and the pair of high-cut pants she'd dragged over the stockings. Her tail, with its black-brown body and white tip, wagged expectantly. The piece of coat flanking it settled around where it was rooted above her butt, no longer moving or crumpling with the motion.

Molly, though busy studying her attire, was able to follow up on Rebecca's name-drop. “Might what?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Wait," she said, realising, “are you leaving?"

Rebecca buttoned up her coat and answered: “yeah. All my dances are finished."

Molly looked incredulous. “Already? It's only 10:00p.m.!"

The collie made an 'ehh' sound and replied: “We don't work fixed hours, Molly! Tips are where the money is. Yeesh...you should know that."

“I do know that, but what did you just say about being 'stuck with cheapskates', your words not mine."

“Hey, no fair! You wanna waste your whole night at the club then be my guest. I'm too much of a free spirit to be caged. I earn a living outside the club; I cam too!" she said, defending her choice to clock out early, “lotta money in online gigs."

The expression on the canine hybrid's face was one of 'done'. Done grinding away at the millstone despite the fun that could be had. Done working for the man (or woman, in Violet's case) for another night. One look into those pale aqua-tinged eyes spoke volumes. Liberation — no matter the cost.

Rebecca marched out of the room, gear in-hand, without another word. As she walked the corridor, her stride switched to a skip, and a beep from the card reader on the employee entrance accompanied her foray into the outside world.

Molly was dumbfounded. She only asked a question!

Juni and Katyln had just about snuck away when Rebecca's exit stalled them. Molly went to the pair, who read her like an open book.

“She does that, occasionally," Juni smiled, her voice feminine but deep — no, booming. “You'll get used to it."

“Okay..." remarked Molly, unsure of what to actually say. “Does she...just...go home, or something?"

Katlyn snorted. “Dressed like that? With those stockings? Babe, she's halfway towards dressing for a nightclub."

“Our Becca's a creature of impulse," Juni explained, “sometimes she wants to be the customer, not the waitress."

“Dancing's her passion. It's a lot of peoples' who work here," Katlyn said. Her black-tipped ears twitched and her warm orange muzzle scrunched up in an expression of endearment.

“You young 'uns," Molly chuckled, ageing her voice, “it's mine too, but I'm too old for clubbing, doncha think?"

“Bitch please," Katyln smirked, “you work in a strip club. That's way more outrageous!"

That's right Molls, her brain said, you're still thinking like you're older than thirty.

You got the body of a young 'un, albeit a different species. Quit bellyaching!

Molly lowered her head. “Guess next time I see her I'll join her. Could be fun."

Once Juni and Katlyn resumed their journey to Stage Three, Molly crept out of the changing room and approached a cork-board in the corridor. Aside from a handful of posters — mock-ups for potential acts or shows past and present — a printed set of sheets hung from their pins, beckoning her to read them.

Tonight's roster was outlined in full; and, true enough, Rebecca was no longer scheduled for any performances. Y'know, Molly thought, I should really start paying attention to who writes these. I could set aside a night or two with Cade.

Printed in sequence were the various Stages and their allocations. Stage One — used for grand, opulent burlesques — was closed, as per usual. Beneath that, the other listings were visible. She spotted herself:

STAGE TWO (Main): 9:00-9:30 — Mark/Derek, Molly/Rebecca (supporting)

And part of her timetable for private dances:

STAGE TWO (Booths): 9:30-10:00 -- Molly/Rebecca/Esper/Jace

But her next jaunt, upon reading the schedule, wasn't until quarter past eleven. Elated that she had more time off, her eyes scanned the other rosters. It appeared Rylan's schedule matched hers:

STAGE THREE (Main): 9:00-9:30 — Rylan (solo)

STAGE THREE (Booths): 9:30-10:00 — Rylan/Dasha/Emily

Shame, she thought, haven't seen him perform yet. Would be nice to get even, seeing as he's watched me strip. Would she tease? Would she critique his style? If only she had the opportunity.

Stages Four and Five were an assortment of names she didn't recognise: Vlad, Georgina, Karl, Leanne...names she probably wouldn't be able to keep in-memory. Place is big, super big. Never get used to that...

She skipped over the rest of the roster for now, knowing her own time and place was enough.

Oh well, I've got some free time now. That's nice.

More than I thought I had...

Molly wandered for a few minutes, picking up snacks from a vending machine on the second floor. A couple of dancers passed by — curt greetings were exchanged without speaking and then they were gone.

After they had left, who was it that she bumped into but Rylan? She stammered a 'hello' to the large equine as he walked into view, coming down a flight of stairs after an hour on-the-go.

“Hey Molls," he said, her nickname music to her ears, “watcha doing?"

“Watching the world go by. Got nothing else to do for an hour."

“Not stalking any of the dancers, eh?"

“If I was," she purred, “is that illegal?"

The horse gave a hearty laugh. “Not at all. It's what we're here for!"

“Care to join me then, and...stalk?"

“Not my thing either. But I wouldn't blame anyone who did. There's plenty of fine ass to go around," Rylan said.

“Mmm. Don't have to tell me twice."

An idea struck the horse. “Hey," he said, tapping Molly's shoulder, “seeing as you're on the bench for a while, why don't we give the others onstage our encouragement. You never know, might pick up some pointers for your own routine."

“Yeah, I've got nothing else going on."

* * *

Of course...

Molly caught sight of the white-furred form of Sammy, the young rabbit, from across the backstage area. He was busy applying the finishing touches to his costume; tugging at sequinned straps that bound his lithe body in all sorts of sexy ways.

Of course, she repeated to herself, he went to see his favourite twink and brought me along.

No sooner had she thought that when the lights changed colour and Sammy burst onto the scene, music couching his entrance in passionate beats pounding harsh and heavy. True to Rylan's word, gone was the cute nerdy bunny. A diva strode into view. His long, fluffy feet firm with a spring in his step. Announced to a wave of cheers, as thirsty men and women lusted over his slender figure wrapped in deep blue, Sammy flung himself at the first pole.

Molly was taken aback. She glanced over at Rylan, standing a few metres away, not saying a word. His eyes spoke volumes. His interest captured by the dancer on display. She looked to Sammy — gyrating with the pulse of the music. He moved fast, and darted from pole to pole. His legs blessed with lapine strength to launch him far, the bunny shot from one end of the stage to the other in a handful of bounds. His tight costume hugged his figure, stretching and squeezing where appropriate to accentuate his physical qualities. The little pom-pom tail — a mere puffball of soft white — wiggled in front of the crowd, flittering with the shake of his juicy ass.

All Molly could muster was a faint 'wow', endlessly appreciative of the transformation she'd just witnessed. Rylan made a look that she picked up on a few seconds too late, a silent gesture of 'see what I mean?' directed toward her.

Yeah, she muttered under-breath, yeah I see what you mean.

Sammy had scaled one of the poles (the leftmost), rising toward the gantry above. By now the crowd's attention had been stolen completely. Other dancers, twerking and gyrating at the centre of tables or in the sidelines, were left in the dust — their customers dwindling. Jealous eyes, envious eyes, hungry eyes...focused on the stage...

Nimble and lightweight. Those were the words Molly used to describe Sammy's physique. He suddenly braced high up on his pole. Determination oozed from the small bunny rabbit. Without hesitation, he sprang, catapulting himself to the rightmost pole. Catching it with both hands, he swung 'round like a gymnast, controlling his momentum to bring himself to a stable hold. His paws pressed against the thin metal pillar. She could see him gasp, catching a quick break before exerting himself further.

With only seconds lost to his respite, he returned to the routine. A band of cloth was discarded. It fell gently to the floor. Over time more would come off, in a manner he judged best to excite those watching. Oblivious to Molly and Rylan's admiration, he continued in his streak of daring. Sliding down the pole like a fireman, he coiled around its base and gave the audience a wink. His lapine features did form a wonderfully cute visage, which he used to expert effect. Big, soulful eyes. Button nose. Partially-exposed teeth. Soft, pudgy, round cheeks (on his face, pervert! Though...). Matched with his long, floppy ears they conjured scenes of storybook saccharine. The appearance that had once been viewed by Molly as shyly concealed — the same body that rocked its slender majesty without reservation in front of her right now — had morphed into something debauch.

Outrageous, wasn't it? Such an upstanding young man. Unassuming. Friendly. Polite. All phrases unsuited to the scandalous display occurring. And he, and everyone else, were loving it!

Another piece of cloth, most likely an arm- or leg-band, came loose. Sammy brushed one of his ears, letting it swing and settle as he turned. Walking with an air of power and confidence, he strode across the stage; the beat of the music matching his thumping feet perfectly. Tight shorts shone dazzling the crowd; glimmering specks of white among an ocean of blue. Behind them a skimpy thong, whose strings were visible rising up over the exposed portion of his hips. They rode high and wide, reuniting in a plunging crack masked by the sexy shorts. Many wondered when they'd get to see everything — so enthralling was the mystique of this young beauty.

Lost in the performance, Molly didn't notice Rylan approach. The horse tapped her on the shoulder, tearing her away from Sammy. “Check your phone. Boss lady wants you." With a snort (not of disgust, but reflexive habit) the equine hybrid waved his own in Molly's face.

A message from Violet asking if he'd seen Molly was on-screen. She fumbled around in the little bag she had slung around her waist for keeping valuables when there were no pockets on a costume, and found her own text waiting for her.

“Didn't hear it chime over the music," she said apologetically.

Rylan shrugged and began to leave her. “Hey, I'm not bustin' your balls or anything. Just a letting you know in case you missed it. Which you did, so thank me later!" A cheeky smile was the parting gift between them.

She chuckled. Taking one last view of Sammy's performance, she sighed. He was right about him. Hot damn!

Molly texted Vi: I'll be right there , and exited the backstage area.

* * *

“...and what does this asshole do? Pinch me and ask what the 'B' stands for!"

The indignant commentary came from around the corner, with Molly walking head-first into a complaint session between one of the 'Guard Dogs' with one arm propping her against the wall (Hannah, or Heather — she couldn't remember which) and a new face. Seems today would be one of fresh introductions, as Molly felt she hadn't yet scratched the surface of the club's staff.

“Go on," the burly canine asked, “what did he say?"

The other girl huffed. She was large, perhaps the opposite of Katlyn and orthogonal to Dasha in build. Pudgy instead of round. Behind her size was a resilience, hinted at by her tone and confidence when speaking. Her appearance was pig-like, porcine, but lacking the ugliness such an association brings to mind. Short fur speckled with black and pale pink coated her. She wore nothing but a long towel, wrapped around her chest and covering her to the knees. She tussled her ears and little tufts of fur around her head and neck, making drying motions. She'd obviously just showered, having finished her routine for the night.

The doberman leaned in expectantly, still waiting for the rest of the story. The pig hybrid indulged her further:

“He asked if it stood for 'bacon'," she snorted. Around her neck a thin chain held a series of jewellery pieces culminating in a small gold letter 'B' at the midpoint. Molly noticed it as she approached and her mind filled in the blanks. Someone brought it up during a dance, rudely.

“Oooh, honey..." the canine security guard laughed in sympathy with her colleague's predicament.

“I said 'nah, the B is for bodacious'. I told him if he was gonna tease me then say something charming. He said he'd rather watch a fat pig like me try to dance!"

“Uh-oh! Sounds like he picked you just to insult you."

“Feels like it, for sure. But I handled his ass nice an' good."

The doberman raised an eyebrow. “Handled...nice and good?"

“I slapped his face and told him to git before I whup his ass for real! He cursed and called me a bitch, and some other stuff I won't repeat 'cause you get it. The mouth on that asshole. And him calling me fat? Whoever heard of irony!? Made it clear he oughta leave before I sic one of you girls on him."

The canine hybrid smirked. “You could've called us earlier. Customers know if they harass the performers they get thrown out. Some need reminding before things get out of hand."

“No way — and lose a chance to show y'all I can take care of myself?"

Molly finally arrived in front of the pair, and greeted them with a wave and an amused 'oh, hi!'. The doberman pulled back from the wall and stood up straight, while her friend gave a weak smile and waved back to her. “Hey newbie," the dog, who on closer inspection Molly now realised was Hannah rather than Heather, said.

“Hi," Molly repeated. “You, uh, doing okay?"

Hannah chuckled. “Just keeping the peace. Brianna's been telling me about a problem customer." She gestured to the other hybrid.

“Yeah I heard you talking. Does that happen a lot?"

“On occasion, yes," Hannah replied, “but we have our ways of dealing with it. You can count me and Heather to have your back."

“I know, others have told me you do good work," Molly nodded, “wondering out loud mostly..."

The porcine dancer, who Molly now knew as Brianna, chatted with her for a while. They made small talk — the usual cordial banter between strangers in the same workplace. Molly moved on once their arsenals of conversation topics had depleted, and in such short a time. She said goodbye to Hannah and Brianna and continued to her destination: Violet's office.

She had been summoned. First time talking to Vi that wasn't over the phone in a week.

* * *

After a hug between old friends, Vi and Molly took their seats on different sides of Vi's desk. A small jumble of papers and tablet computers arrayed themselves across it, with the glow of her main monitor facing away from Molly and illuminating the human in an eerie white. Vi paused before speaking and got up to adjust the toggle-switch and increase the room's brightness. Happy that she wasn't straining her eyes on the computer screen she started tapping on her keyboard — typing a note about something relevant to their meeting.

“So Molls. Enjoying life as a genetically-modified being?" Vi shot her friend a subtle smile packaged with a slight curl of the corner of her mouth. Her devious gaze scoured Molly for any sign of discomfort.

“You bet. Things have been great so far."

“Wonderful. Better than wonderful, actually. Fucking awesome!" A schoolgirl-esque glee overcame Vi. In an instant she changed from demure and professional to enthusiastic fool. “You have no idea how much I wanted to see you flourish. And you really have! It's impressive how fast you took to the stage — I've got notes from a bunch of dancers who speak very highly of your skills. Coming from professionals like them, that means something."

“Well, I didn't come in as a fresh-faced nobody. You knew I had done this before, even if a long time ago."

“Mmm. And the body? How are you feeling?"

“Not a scratch on it, Vi. If you want details I suppose you'll have to ask Dr. Synyen or one of his nurses next time I get a physical."

“True, it's a bit pointless grilling you when all you can really say is you feel better than before you were a hybrid. That's just my mind ticking away...analysing the pros and cons of it for myself."

Molly paused, then spoke in a soft voice: “any thoughts on whether you'd go through it?"

Vi sighed. “Still working it out. Looking at you though, you're making a compelling case just from seeing you improve. Mind, body, and soul!"

“Oh c'mon. I wasn't a moody teenager before changing."

“No, no...I don't mean like that. Eh __r_ m..._ahem...I don't know...trying to put my thoughts into words is trickier than it should be."

“Well if you want a real heart-to-heart, let me know beforehand. I expected this to be about work," Molly said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes-yes-yes...it is. Sorry, let me...hang on..." Vi searched her desk for something, but abandoned her quest after a solid minute of rustling through clutter while mumbling. “Sorry," she said again, “you've been great since your first night. I want to gauge how receptive you might be to a duet."

“A duet?" Molly's left ear flicked, which was quickly becoming a tell — revealing an interest in the subject being discussed.

“Yeah it's what we call it in the business. My business, at least. Don't know if it's a stripper thing in general. Don't care. Not the point I'm making. I want you to team up with another dancer and put on a full performance. More than your solo debut, much more!"

“I take it this would a one of those 'shows' that Rylan keeps hinting about."

“Yeah. Another piece of lingo between us. Me and him mostly. Here at Violetta we love adding scale to the usual proceedings, and putting on a 'show' as it's called is our trump card. If our clientele aren't swayed by the exotic bodies on display, then one of these will seal the deal and turn a one-time curiosity into a lifelong obsession."

“Go on, sell it to me!" Molly joked.

Vi cleared her throat and made a happy, relaxed sigh. “Money not enough," she shot back, in good humour.

Molly leaned back in her chair and let out an exaggerated groan. “Just 'cause you're my boss..." she laughed.

“...I got you by the balls," Vi finished her friend's sentence.

“That's an old one," Molly remarked, “surprised you remembered it."

“Not hard to relive the glory days, Molls. How about 'don't bother planning for the weekend'?"

“...because you'll be too hungover to care..?"

Vi nodded. Molly continued: “that one was Angie's, wasn't it?"

“I think it was actually Kate Nemmith. She was in the same dorm complex as us and was friends with Angie."

“Maybe, yeah." Molly reminisced of good times past. However, she put those memories to one side to continue her line of questioning: “but you were saying about shows?"

“Yes. Molly, I think we need you to perform in our next big show on Stage One. You and one other."

“One?"

Vi waved her hand across Molly's vision. “To begin with; you can brainstorm ideas between yourselves. I want you to team up with Emily. You know her, right?"

“Emily? Sexy lioness, goes by 'Savannah' onstage?"

“That's her. I want the two of you to come up with a burlesque routine. Something glamorous, yet wild. I'm thinking predator and prey, which is perfect for your species. Antelope, lioness..."

“I'm beginning to see the picture," said Molly, looking to the side in thought.

“It's a simple one, but effective."

With this new striptease in mind, Molly was instructed to drop by Emily's changing room when she was free and give her the details. If she had been unsure of the idea before going to see her leonine partner any doubt was erased the moment the news left her lips. She was plucked from her post and dragged out of the changing room with speed.

* * *

“Called it!"

Molly smiled sheepishly as she was led into an empty room in the atrium of the shared building. Beneath her hooves the rumble of the club emerged from the sleek timber floor. Loud clacks announced her pace, a tentative hurry, to nearby ears. The lioness Emily stopped in the middle of the room.

“I knew she'd match us. We're made for it."

Molly looked at the somewhat cramped room, with stacked cabinets lining the walls, and joined her colleague. Emily stared into the distance, thinking hard.

“Can you feel it?" she said, turning at last to face the antelope hybrid. “Our forbidden coupling...?"

“Sounds skeevy," Molly replied, stepping closer, “but is it the right kind of skeevy?"

“Try this on for size: a predator and prey coming together. In secret. A rendezvous."

Emily's brainstorming begun in earnest at this moment. Her brain was afire with suggestion, bouncing each in turn off of Molly's tastes. “No...close...close, but not what we need...something hotter...much hotter...something..."

Molly offered her own opinion, but was quickly rebuked with a wave of Emily's hand. “NO! Not yet, give me a moment please. I'm thinking, I'm thinking...bear with me..."

She moved back, watching the lioness at work. Emily paced the room, fingers pressed on her cheeks and temples. Ideas formed like bubbles, bursting inside her. One swore you could hear them pop.

In this shuffling quiet, Molly allowed herself to think again. Vi wanted a spectacle. Planned. Choreographed. Lit luxuriously. Executed flawlessly. Her and Emily were up to the task, once the inspiration was there. Forbidden love didn't appeal to the lioness, but did tickle her fancy. Alas, it had been struck down in a jumble of words and breathy pauses. But Molly trusted her colleagues instinct, just like her own. Instinct...the very concept was on her mind. Troubling her? Perhaps, but she dismissed such emotion.

No, this was the first time she'd been alone with a strong, capable creature such as Emily. 'Savannah' — the embodiment of arid scrubland, dotted with rough trees whose canopies barely hid you from the harsh sun. The soul of the plains. A mortal enemy to her chosen species. She sensed it. Deep in her subconscious. The fear, and the thrill...

Emily faced her. In a single expression she'd resolved their quandary. Her lips pulled back, forming a toothy grin. Daggers shone — milk-white and bared for reasons beyond hunger, though it was a powerful impulse. Glee, sending shivers down Molly's spine. Terror suppressed. Excitement elevated...

“Something like...a hunt."

Molly trembled. Her body knew those words. Knew them well. Encoded in every fibre of her being was an order: RUN. She scoffed, her mind secure. She was no animal — she was greater; civilisation had wrought her into a formidable beast, equal sides wild and tempered. Control was the key. Always had been. She challenged Emily's grin with her own devious look.

“Ooh," she cooed, “you wanna hunt me?"

The lioness nodded, her fangs still on glorious display. “I'm built for it h __o_ n_."

She approached. Molly stood her ground, feelings surging from below. Those pearly whites grew closer, and closer — now at her collar, then her neck. Finally, resting next to her head. Whispering. “It's what nature intended."

Emily brushed against Molly. A nip — followed by a longer nibble — tickled her cheek. Molly exhaled; her breath crossed the slim gap between hybrids, blowing over short golden fur. She slipped from Emily's grasp and breathed her next sentence, the rush of air carrying the message loud and clear:

“I love it!"

Vi, you did it again. Molly remarked on her situation. As the other woman left her, un-savaged, she focused on the task at hand. Predator, and prey...a hunt.

“There's so much we can do with this," she said, seeing Emily eagerly agree she continued: “Venus and Savannah. Prey fearing for her life. Predator pursuing. Our clothes can be ragged, tribal. Like prehistoric man and woman—woman and woman," she corrected herself. “You chase me, I try to run. Hunter and hunted. We clash. Our clothes are torn."

“Torn off?"

Molly felt a blush of colour in her ears. “Later then — first we tease."

“Then break apart," Emily took up the torch and ran with it, “we play this game until the audience has reached fever pitch. Then," she snarled, grabbing Molly and holding her close, “we reveal the twist of the hunt."

“There's a twist?"

“Oh yes, Molly. There has to be one."

She leaned in. “What is it?"

A pause followed. Then a chuckle. “Well, a __h_ e_m...I don't have one yet," Emily answered. “But I'm sure with some time we can come up with one."

Together, they formulated the skeleton of the stage-work necessary to pull off a sensual hunt. Initial moves were discussed, notes on the fluidity of their motion traded hands. Positioning and blocking were a concern, as this was Molly's first foray into the next level. Swinging on a pole for a time was one thing, easily learned but hard to master. All she had to worry about was maintaining the sexual allure of her performance. This, however, would require more skill to begin with. More practice. She was assured by Emily that she was in safe hands as their conversation developed.

“So glad I'm a theatre major — stuff like this is second nature," the lioness pridefully announced while showing Molly how to refine her footing.

“Quit boasting."

Emily stuck out her tongue in defiance.

“So that's how it's gonna be," Molly laughed, “gonna use that tongue on me?"

As they spoke, the idea coalesced. Emily was eager to try out Violetta's newest member — put her through her paces, as the lioness was typically in charge of burlesque choreography. On occasion Rylan elbowed her out of the way to have full control over an all-male show, but the big horse could hold his own when directing and producing too. “Just be glad you're not trapped between four huge guys swinging their dicks at you!"

“Sounds like a fun night."

“It is. At first. Then rehearsals turn the whole charade into an exhausting clusterfuck, and everyone wants to go back to the tried-and-true pole."

“You make it sound like people don't like performing in these shows."

“Do anything for a long period of time in one sitting and you'll get sick of it. I wouldn't think too much about the whys of it. You step out, and feel the rush. Nerves included. You know what I mean."

Molly replied that she did. “But it's different when it's a show show," Emily continued, “you're not just coming out as a hot stripper — you're coming out as a...as a...work of fiction, not just a work of art."

“Got it. The goal is to watch it for the plot."

Emily giggled, an uncanny sound for such a commanding voice like hers. “You're funny. I like that."

“I'm not that funny, I'm just new to your world. An idiot tourist. Better means with which to break the ice!" She sighed. “Heh..."

They hung around and workshopped the hunt performance further. After approximately an hour they decided they'd had enough and scheduled a follow-up engagement to build on the idea. Molly parted ways with Emily and returned to Violet's office, letting her friend and boss know that her suggestion, once again, worked. From bringing her into the fold, to transforming her, Vi had been on-point about how Molly would feel. The well-honed skill of an old friend, able to sense exactly what was needed.

She left the club in high spirits.

Standing outside, away from the main entrance where patrons continued to filter in-and-out, Molly tapped her phone. Another text to Cade before she wrapped up for the night. Her heart fluttered with newborn excitement. Soon she could share that same feeling with him.

Hey, remember my offer? Well there's a particular show I'm part of that you need to come see. Call me tomorrow for the details, if I don't see you before work.