FSE

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About 9,500 words

Short Staffed

By Televassi

I stare at the curtain's stitching as I wait to start. Marie's silk curtain. My silk curtain. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it's stubborn.

Shadow dancing isn't my job. I'm a bartender - but when Keith 'asks', you do. I'm not silly enough to be the second person to show him up; no ride out of town is fast enough.

Fuck you, Marie.

I don't really hate her, but it helps me settle myself. It's a small victory not to swear in Russian.

If Marie hadn't vanished I wouldn't be standing here; admittedly with my stallionhood taped back and somehow crammed inside a skimpy pair of silk lingerie - finding myself strangely liking it - giddy with anticipation - wobbly-legged like a newborn foal.

I remembered Keith's words as he taped me up. "You might look the part." He smirked, running his hands across my thin hips. "But even a skinny girl's shadow has no bulge down there." The fox laughed.

I thought about my parents on the other side of the ocean. If they could see me now they'd never call me a stallion again - I have to be strong and sturdy-legged, bulging muscle around every limb, but I've always kept my doubts buried. The gymnastics coaches and the party officials drilled the desire to win medals into my head. I was to beat the Americans, to showcase the USSR; a triumph for the people. I actually believed it too.

When I sat in my solitude upon the roiling Atlantic, I thought the waves lashing at my porthole were the people; the white-foam their outstretched, open jaws. I betrayed them. I had left. I pulled at my mane, I tied my tail into tight knots. I tried to forget what I'd done to escape. When loneliness replaced the guilt, I felt some sweet relief. No one on the ship spoke Russian (or wanted to speak to me), and being alone forced me to finally look back at myself. What did I want? What I'd done was taboo, but it made me shiver. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I realised I found the taste of a man delightful.

I've been trying to figure that out for five years since. It doesn't matter that Keith forced me into this - because this, for once, feels like a step towards me, even if it is still what someone else wanted from me.

"Two minutes!" comes the warning call. I toss my mane from over my face.

My ears flick towards every minute sound; the click of the light switches, the crackle of the speakers, every time someone beyond the curtain mentioned 'girl'. If only they knew, and the thought just makes me-

My nostrils start to flare as I feel my loins swell.

I pace about, trying to find a way to make the tape not pull, but it's like being held in a pair of firm hands. I need to calm down, so I focus on my routine.

I've always envied the dancers. I'd watch them from the darkness behind the bar, haloed in the spotlight like a revelation, casting everyone under their spell of swaying hips. Back home their husbands wouldn't let them have as much as a word. It's quite something; the power to reduce people to hormonal beasts, all by one person on the stage. That's why I emigrated as soon as the wall came down - as much as I was taught to disdain the West, its focus on the individual is intoxicating.

I can be what I want to be.

A pulse of blood rushes through my loins again.

The red lights flicker as they warm up. A bead of sweat trickles down my flank, the heat rising as they reach full strength, casting my silhouette upon the silk screen with a sultry crimson tone. I've seen the routine before; from the other side the screen seemed so thick, but now I'm standing behind it, naked except for the lingerie, noticing the rays of light shining through the curtain's threads in the smoky air?

I feel naked - and so alive.

The music begins with a soft flutter; gentle, classical, unlike the tracks that'll follow. I begin, keeping my movements delicate, fluid, like Marie used to. Remembering the quiet evenings performing to my flat's peeling walls, I keep rotating my hips in a circle, arching my tail behind me like a fakir's charm as I glide across the stage, showing off my legs with long, arcing kicks. I'm going to win gold for this.

I stretch my body out, mimicking a dog's play-bow, flicking my tail around my waist as I bend my spine in an impossible arc. I was never the strongest, but I was the most flexible. I continue, trying to ignore how the silk rubbing against my captive sheath, my cock beginning to swell and throb as it strains against my panties. Every time I turn, the silk catches and rubs against me, teasing me with every move I make.

The rush of blood past my ears leaves me deaf to everything but my own heartbeat.

Dropping onto the ground, I raise one leg high, lying on my back as I twirl it about, the shadows showing a slim, dainty figure. Improvising, rolling over, wrapping my arms around my chest as if tussling with an invisible lover who bends me over, on my knees, lifting my tail, swaying-

I hear a whistle beyond the curtain -

I close my eyes, imagining a big wolf grabbing my hips firmly, growling as his pleasure dripped from his tongue. I'm dancing for him now, surrendering myself to him - and every whistle, every guttural sound, every animalistic scent only pushes me further - because - finally - I'm the centre of attention. I'm no longer the slight, skinny, girly colt in the locker room that all the other well-muscled stallions laughed at.

Now I can at least pretend the studs want me.

A loud, abrupt crackle from the speakers rips me from my dream. The lights dim as the feedback buzzes loudly, killing the mood. I can almost see my disappointment trail out of my muzzle as I sigh; a swimmer thrilled to dive deeper than ever before, wrenched back up because he has to breathe.

I lie there in the dark, imagining to my applause - it would sound like raindrops on the roof during a thunderstorm. Beyond the curtain, I hear the gentle bubble of conversation flow on by. You can drink the mood in, the anger, the laughter. I know someone else fucked up the sound, but still, I feel guilty.

This time swearing in English doesn't help.

I feel dirty, used, that I was a fool to think I could do this. A real dancer carries on. The coaches were right, as ever. Too weak, too timid - not brave enough to make it.

I smell Keith as soon as he walks in. At least he gives me a moment to steady my breathing before he starts. Just a moment though.

"Get up Ruski. We're on a tight schedule. A real girl's up next."

He throws a towel over me, growling as he taps his foot, coiling his red tail about like a vexed snake.

"Please don't be angry - don't kick me out - I did my best." It's the best I can come up with; at least I stifle the whiny.

"Stupid boy." He shakes his head, mane flapping softly as he flicks through a wad of bills. "I'm whatever they are," he tilts his ears towards the audience, throwing a fifty my way. He laughs as I snatch at it, enjoying nurturing a little capitalist seed as I clutch my takings against my chest. It's more than I'd ever seen back home, more than I make in a night - and the shift's not even half done.

"Even Commies love getting dollar," he grunts. "Get up kid, I don't decide to keep a new harem girl on one dance alone. Same time tomorrow filly, and bring something new - I get tired of the same thing much quicker than they do," he mutters, pausing for a moment to admire his handiwork. He grins, doubtless enjoying the power he had over me - but then again, that was nothing new. Back home it was just someone with the hammer and sickle pinned to their chest.

"Take those panties off now. You look ridiculous."

He slaps my rump before walking off into the soundbooth. Even with the door shut, I can hear him shouting and cursing. At least in this case, I'm pretty sure they deserve it.

I get to my feet, keeping the towel wrapped around me, feeling self-conscious now the excitement is over. Money helps, so does the satisfaction of the dance, but they don't shake off guilt. I shouldn't get excited by wearing a smooth pair of girl's pants, should I?

The booth door opens.

"Don't make me throw you out, filly!" Keith shouts.

Instead of risking his wrath, I quickly slip into my pair of skinny black jeans, surprised at how easily the silk slides up against the denim. Tail still crammed inside, I dart out from the stage, seeking to adjust it out there only to walk muzzle-first into a tall vixen. She has bubble-gum pink highlights to her hair, tied together in a ponytail so long it stopped just at the base of her actual tail. Evie pushes me back, pinching my arm as she starts yapping.

"Keith going to throw your useless ass out yet? Just wait till I tell him how bad that looked from out here," she says, nipping me again. Quite frankly, I let her - I don't feel anything under my thick coat, and it's not like I could do anything about her anyway. She has the first big show, after all.

"He liked my show." I reply neutrally. "Perhaps you should figure out how to make yours exciting, rather than just giving everyone a free view." I hold my tongue about the rest - she was the trailer garbage the coaches told me to mock.

"Liked? You're so cute! Did he slip you that fifty and pat you on the ass? Liked doesn't keep you kid, doesn't give them what they want," she snaps, pointing beyond the stage. "They love the real goods, not whatever... this is meant to be," she laughs poking me in the stomach.

"Evie, quit fucking around, you're on in five!" Keith's voice booms through the wall behind me.

"Fuck." She snaps, rushing off. "You fucking prick."

He barges in through the door just before I can slip away backstage.

"You're not just a dancer! Bar's rammed - get out there! Wear this and I'll turn a blind eye on tips." He snaps his teeth together, throwing a black fishnet shirt at me. "What? I don't believe for a second they're all straight out there - and I'd be an idiot to not capitalise on those new overturned sodomy laws - so get out there and give the closet queers something to get hard about," he grunts, pulling me back along the corridor and pushing me out onto the floor.

There's no expense spared out here. Unlike the taped together electricals and peeling paint backstage, the lounge is covered in plush red carpets, gilded chairs, golden fixtures - all mimicking the aesthetic of an opera house - much like the stage the Bolshoi* performed on back home. Round circle after circle of polished tables sit in the conclaves, people in sharp suits and immaculate ties puffing cigars, draining glasses; their fingers slick between the legs of the night's company.

I find their deference to all else but pleasure intoxicating.

The smell is what hits you - a room full of the heady, potent scent of horny men - mostly. There were a couple of women too - their lighter, delicate scent a teasing glimpse among the rest. They're there likely as escorts rather than genuine spectators; their act as apparent as the bulges in the pants of the guys they tease. It doesn't stop me envying the fruit of their work though, though both parties didn't mention the truth, they still enjoyed it.

I wander through, weaving between the darkened tables attracting one or two drunken gropes from handsome men that are too far gone to register that the lithe body is in fact a guy. I brush them off gently, clutching at their fingers as they curl through my own. There's no such thing as no here, but honestly, the way I saw it, if one of them wants they can have me - it would scratch an itch I've yet been able to fulfil.

And give me more in the pocket.

By the time I make it to the bar, the swell for drinks has died; everyone has taken their seats now Evie's due to start, which means time to catch up on the glasses piled high in the sink. Keith still hasn't bothered to fix the dishwasher. 'Too much money.'

Capitalist pig.

"Hey, Colt!" a snow leopard shouts, thumping her arm against the bar. I put the glass back down, letting the cigarette float about inside.

"Drink." She winks, fluttering her eyes like a bird's wings as she changes tone, coiling her tail about behind her.

"Yvetta, you know I-"

"Vodka would be a start."

"Keith will be angry if he finds out you've been tapping out from the bar again."

"Do you really think so? He can hire as many Evies as he wants, he can't ever replace me."

Yvetta was the envy of every dancer. Ex-Bolshoi, emigrated or fled to the US depending on who you talk to, and either killed someone, or had someone try to kill her. The story changes every time it's told, and if you ever ask her, she spins some fanciful tale about ex-KGB and a lover high up in the Kremlin. You could see it in her eyes - people were a game, and she never stopped being off stage. Why should she? With a wink and a flick of her perfect white hair, she could get anyone to do what she wanted.

"When I escaped from that gulag in Siberia, I had-"

"Save me," I groan, pouring her a drink. "I'm telling Keith you snatched it when he finds out."

She downs it in one, pinging the glass back across the bar at me. I catch it just before it slides over the edge.

"Hey! I gave you what you wanted - breakages come out of my salary!"

"Please, whinny for me." She huffs. I grind my teeth, nostrils flaring. "It's so cute as you try to play stallion."

"Just take the damn bottle Yvetta and be done with it."

"Wasn't so hard! You're getting easy." She smiles, playing the femme-fatale as she flicks her hair from her forehead. But, if you look closely, you can catch it in her eyes - hurt. There's one story told about her; a wolf she fell in love with. They married, and that's when things soured. He did something to her.

"Come on Colt." She whispers gently. "You're not like the rest of them here."

I hold my tongue. But while you may be irreplaceable, I'm not.

The cat turns away, looking round at the latest performance. "Speaking of losing jobs, I give Evie six months before she goes."

"You think Evie is a bad dancer?"

"Don't make me call you an idiot," the leopard snorts, the fine white fur on her chest rising in indignation as she spits out a mouthful. "She's a pretty young bit of trailer trash, and as soon as she's lifted her tail for every single client here, Keith won't have any use for her." She takes another drink.

"Do you think the same of all the dancers?" I ask, hoping to pry some nugget of information from her about my own dance. If I can get something out of her, then I might just be able to get Keith to keep me on... I feel myself stir, straining against the silk.

Yvetta shrugs, flexing her shoulders as if about to box me. She turns around, blowing bubbles into her drink with a straw (I have no idea how she got it, I didn't give her one) as she watches the show. The vixen starts her routine, a single spotlight centred on her. The light changes, shifting from blue to warmer colours; pink, orange, red, until she's panting, with each colour changing another article of clothing falling to the floor...

"She dances like a whore. Heavy, laboured - just like the rest of them," Yvetta growls, turning back around to me, picking at her teeth with the cocktail stick. She meets my eyes - a rare thing that makes my neck tingle - as she flicks the stick into my chest. "Why should I tell you what I think of you?"

I don't even hear the whistling when it comes to the part where Evie's bra flies off. Or see her silk panties follow, thrown into the chest of a wolf nearby. In spite of all the clamour Yvetta keeps staring at me, a smirk flickering across her face that was full of pride - she knows, and she knows that gives her power over me.

I don't say anything. Not because the denial would rebuke her, but because there's no point to going through the pleading. Blackmail was just another way they got control, and if you didn't resist, it wasn't so bad. I learnt that lesson quickly back home. I mean, Evie knows already, so this comes as no surprise, but - fuck - what will she do? It's not like an overturned law suddenly makes being queer safe.

"Please, don't."

"Don't what?" She smiles again. Zaebis, shit, it's scary to see it - she's being genuine.

"Do whatever it is you're thinking."

"You don't even begin to know it," she purrs, that tail again coiling about behind her. I don't know why, but it reminds me how deadly creatures covered themselves in bright colours as a warning.

Evie's routine comes to a close behind the leopard, a flourish of ones and fives fluttering about her, which she scoops up and takes off stage.

"I'm up next," Yvetta winks, melting into the next wave of orders that flood the bar. I keep mulling over her words, mixing orders as fast as my brain would allow. I winced, almost dropping two glasses, and getting one order wrong - not my fault the dog mumbled, but it didn't help me avoid a few sharp glances from my colleagues. When the rush died down as Yvetta began, I took a moment to take some deep breaths and try to calm myself.

"Martini," the wolf demands, snapping me back from my thoughts. He still has Evie's panties, tucked like a handkerchief into his jacket pocket. As I turn to make the drinks, he goes on. "I saw you talking to her a while ago," he gestures to the stage. "Terrific dancer, isn't she? Nothing quite like her here." He pulls the pants out of his pocket and testing them with his claws.

"She makes all the other girls envious," I reply.

"I bet," he says, lighting a cigarette, the orange glow gleaming as it caught the yellow tint of his eyes. "She was better than this, once."

I hold my tongue.

"Do you know her?" He continues, leaning towards me with the manner of camaraderie guys have when they fancy a girl; that sort of cajoling smirk that asks, 'help a fellow guy get some.'

"No."

He frowns, ebony brows wrinkling and creasing roughly. I can see his top lip twitch, pulling back across his teeth.

"You were talking to her just ten minutes ago."

"She wanted a drink, just like everyone else." I pause. "She was just trying to get it for free."

"And did she?" He sniffs, black snout glistening, catching the dim light as it quivered against the currents on the air.

"I'm just a bartender. I don't have much say in things around here," I shrug, hoping that'd get this guy off my back as I slide his glass towards him.

Without further comment, he slaps a note on the table, walking off before I can give change. For some reason, the note smells weird. I can't put a finger on it, but I don't have the nose to solve it. I keep an eye on him as he slips through the crowd - but a large order for a table of baying dogs forces me to take my eye off, and when I'm done, he isn't anywhere to be seen.

***

I was about to take off from the locker room when Keith catches me again by the scruff of my mane.

"Where are you off to?"

"Home?" It's already half past two. "The bar's cleared and cleaned, see for yourself."

"You think I'd let you leave if it wasn't? Just because the public has fucked off doesn't mean the rooms haven't, and I've got one that wants company," the fox grunted.

"You kidding me?" I snap. My eyes are already sagging, my flanks covered in a thin sheen of dried sweat. "You never get me to do rooms, and I-"

"Don't give me crap," Keith snaps. "You know the rules, client comes first. He asked for the skinny girly boy, and that ain't anyone but you."

"But I can't-"

"Oh come on, don't be such a wimp. Do you think they actually get to fuck you? This is a strip club, not a brothel, and I don't intend on losing this place over it." He pauses, letting go of me, shaking his head as I massage my neck. "You stand there, you pour them drinks. If they want you to sit on their lap, you sit. If they want you to strip, you strip. And if they want a collar on you, you let them - because, filly, their tips come with at least two zeros on the end of them."

I nod, regretting the silky feel of the panties I've kept on.

"Besides, I thought you'd jump at the chance of getting at a man." He pauses to light up a smoke with one hand as he fishes about in his jacket pocket with the other.

"Here's the key. Room 3. Don't keep them waiting," he mutters, pushing me forward, "or I'll see you do nothing but wash glasses."

Great.

I climb the rest of the stairs, not quickly, but not slowly either. The floors are laid with a plush red velvet, soft and delicate on my hooves, with a golden trim, and shining lamps that hang from the walls, filling the hallway with a pleasant light. The doors sit in ornate wooden frames, carved with the shapes of coiling beasts. Door number three has that of a creeping wolf slunk across the top, the vertical frames made into twisted branches and spiky leaves.

The booth is dark. I make out one silhouette, sitting upright, intently watching the performance of a thin vixen I don't recognise from behind a glass screen. From the scent, I can tell it's a he, a wolf, from downstairs, totally disinterested in the girl in front of him.

"Pour yourself a drink," he commands, waving his hand in the air in that laissez-faire, capitalist way.

"And you?"

"I didn't ask for anything." His tone is entirely neutral.

I fiddle behind the bar, squinting at the labels of the bottles as they clink together. None of this is anything like downstairs; they're fine wines, exquisite gins in alchemist's bottles. I pull open a bottle of whisky - 25-year Dalmore - and pour myself a healthy amount. After all, I need some courage, and he is paying for the booth after all.

"Hey, boy." The wolf pats the seat next to him. "Come, sit. Enjoy the show." He mouths, leaning back to watch the display. His amber eyes catch the drink in my hand. I can't disguise how the ice cubes rattle as I hold the glass.

"Drink up," he commands, turning to face me.

"What do you want from me?"

He smiles, leaning forward to touch my arm lightly with his paw. My heart twitches, my groin tingles. I've been thinking about this for so long, wishing-

"I'll forgive you for that question, only because it lets me cut to the matter of things. But you should know I'll be the one asking the questions." His hackles rise, even though his voice remains calm. He feels deceptive, like the flat waters of a deep lake. "What do you think of her?" he replies, pointing at the woman dancing around the pole. She's a husky-alsatian mix that was particularly 'popular' with the dogs - she looks so much like a wolf, wolves themselves being relatively few and far between.

"She's pretty," I reply, taking a mouthful. All I can think is how I am screwing this up. How many times I'd dreamed for a wolf to show me some interest, and now that he might even want me to ride him, I just can't hold my nerve.

Just surrender to what you want. For once. Don't think about what others would think. My quick breath comes out like a hiss. You're not home anymore. You can be who you want here.

"Is that all?" he huffs, tilting his head.

I nod. His disappointment is instant.

"I want you to think carefully about what you tell me. Otherwise things will get very difficult. Tell me again. What do you think of her?"

I sigh. "I don't find her interesting at all."

The dog leers at me, resting his muzzle on his hand as he grins, biting at the nail.

"You think so?" I can hear his fur bristle against the seat's fabric, sending a shiver down my flanks, my mind running wild with the thought of that pelt doubled back against me, brushing, bucking, grinding -

"There's no effort to what she's doing, it's clear she's done the same thing a thousand times."

The wolf casts an amber eye over me, but says nothing. He holds his breath, prompting me to go on.

"I'm not that interested in the girls - I work with them, not want to fuck them," I add quickly.

The canine grins, teeth gleaming even in the dull light, his eyes catching a fragment of the glittering lights beyond. To have him hold my neck with them as he... He leans over to the side, pulling a silk tassel and thick curtains either side swing shut. Only then does he walk over and pour himself a drink.

"You can be honest with me," he shrugs, curling his tail up tightly behind him. "I'm not that interested in the girls either," he replies, trailing his eyes over me as I stiffen a bit in my seat. "Besides, I hear they legalised it in this state not too long ago."

"I think I know what you want for me."

The wolf pauses, cocking his head.

"No offence kid, you're not my type," he said, picking at the claw he'd been biting with another. But why bring me to a private room, ask me to drink, and draw the curtains, and do all that 'I ask the questions' act?

"If I had the time, then maybe I'd take interest in getting you to the point where you'd want to bob up and down against my knot." He huffs, reaching forward to touch me under my neck. "There's something about breaking a stallion in for the first time..." he closed his eyes, sighing. "You present an opportunity to me, however. You're staff here. The girls know you, and as you said, know you don't want to fuck them. So you are my way in."

I hold my tongue from asking why. It'd just be easier to let him explain.

"The Siberian leopard, you call her Yvetta. For whatever reason, she's decided to come close to you. It's been noted, how you talk at the bar, and it's obvious, how she looks at you. You might not be interested kid, but she's taken one in you. And you should know," he went on, snout quivering as he breathed in my scent, "she's not who she says she is."

"What I need, and need alone from you, is her passport, more specifically, something with her real name and signature on it. That's all. Do this, and I'll make sure this pony gets his reward," he sighed, sitting up against me so his groin rubs against my own.

He picks up on that with those sharp eyes, leaning back in his chair, sighing like a teacher frustrated with his students. Clearly, he expected my buy-in.

"Colt, I doubt you want to spend your life here. You know this is a lie to call it work." He stands up abruptly, opening the curtains - the husky girl's still going about her business, this time without her bra. "It'll eat you up, then spit you out as soon as you're no longer pretty. Where do you think you'll go then? This is a capitalist country, you've not got the money to make it. Help me, and I'll give you a way out of this world."

With that he walks past me, curling his tail behind him.

"And if you don't, I'll make life very... unpleasant for you. You don't seriously think overturning some law means you're free overnight, do you?"

"How would I know who to give it to?"

"I said, no questions." He laughs, striding out the door, the only memory of his presence the trail of cigarette smoke he left in his wake.

At that moment Keith enters, smirking as he grabs me by the scruff of my mane, pulling the whisky from my grasp and turfing me out of the room.

"Now you can go home," he laughs.

Honestly, I wish the wolf had just wanted to fuck me, but then I think about it. He actually has.

***

I stand among the midnight blues, watching as the sky begins to lighten behind the halo of the bus sign. I shiver. I'm not cold, I'd known winters far worse than this - to the point where ice froze fast my mane. I'm tired - it hangs like a mist at my eyelids, tangles my tail, sucks out the spark in my fingertips.

I try to mull over what has happened, but I want to sleep. I want the 6:07 bus now. I glance at my watch. 5:19am. I groan and sit down on the curb, trying to swallow the acrid taste at the back of my throat. I don't know what to do.

I watch as lights begin to switch on, curtains twitching. A cat drives past, placing bottles of milk down at doorsteps; poor sod must hate his job, but at least it doesn't involve stealing passports for suspicious wolves from duplicitous leopards.

A car drives by. It stops, then reverses, pulling up next to me. I open my eyes as the door pops open, seeing Yvetta curling her finger at me.

"Get in." She smiles, still looking beautiful despite the time.

So I do. She's still dressed from her last routine, which yes, involved so few clothes that it's a mistake to call her dressed at all. God, I wish I had a body like hers - thin, lithe, with taut fibres of muscle beneath. She blinks, flicking her white hair from off her face.

"You look a mess. What happened?" I hear the soft whoosh of air as she takes a sharp breath, that cute little pink button of a nose twitching softly.

"Long night." I close my eyes.

"Longer than usual," she replies.

"Private bar." I manage, taking a deep breath. The cool morning air feels divine after a night of humid, sweaty air.

"You're not made for this colt," Yvetta stated, her silky fur brushing against me as she leans over to buckle me in. I don't even think as I hear her sigh, the engine rumbling into life as she switches into first gear.

***

2:34PM

I read the time, waiting for things to come back. They drip through the haze that surrounds my thoughts like water drops, reminding me of the days spent in grandmare's cabin, watching as the past melted from around the window pane.

"Good morning," Yvetta smirks, handing me coffee in a pink cup with cartoon cats on it. "You were so gone last night I didn't think I'd bother to ask you for an address." I flick my ears. I've never heard her speak like this before - in the club she was always heavy, sultry. This was gentle, caring - and though it sounds endearing, it puts me on edge.

I remember the wolf last night. 'She's not who she says she is.'

"I hope you don't mind," she mumbles, curling her tail across her lap as she sits at my feet. "I thought it was better to let you sleep," she continues, her eyes following mine as I look around her flat. It's spacious and well-fitted, the blinds drawn so I can't figure out where we are, but the smart fittings and granite counters - how could she afford them on a stripper's salary? "Besides, I thought you might like it, even." She turns away as I try to catch her gaze.

"Why?"

"I was thinking about what you asked - teaching you. And at first, I thought I shouldn't. But then I smelt it on you - that confusion, that elation." She sighs, her eyes fluttering up towards the heavens. "I remember being young, confused and excited by it all... I don't want you to make the same mistakes."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I'll explain," she sniffs, her nose twitching as she holds her tongue. "But I think I can teach you something."

"You don't help anyone," I retort. She has to want something from me. The wolf was right, that's how the world works. Capitalist, communist, whatever side of the wall, it was the same. It's all about people trying to get what they want at the expense of others.

"Honey, you're a cute bitch. The rest of them are just bitches," she shrugs, flicking her long white hair over her shoulder. "You're cute when you get money thrown at you," she huffs, hunching her shoulders, her usual tone kicking in.

I don't exactly know what she's proposing, but I'm not going to say no. It'll help me get what the wolf wants; maybe even shed some light on what this all is about.

"Fine," I breathe, trying not to appear too keen. Yvetta just smiles and wiggles a finger under the fluff of my chin, murmuring something in Russian that even I couldn't catch.

"Good." The leopard replies with a dangerous smirk. "Let's begin."

***

"I demand your respect," Yvetta commands, pulling off my shirt as she leads me into an empty, windowless room filled with mirrors. "Total obedience," she pauses, holding me back at the door. "That is what I want. You want to know one thing about me? I never give up."

I listen, looking around the room. It is strange, closeted away by a small door next to the bedroom, the walls covered with mirrors, as well as the ceiling and floor. Though there are no windows, the daylight seems to find its way inside. It's small, fitting the two of us just about, with enough space for me to pace about while Yvetta leans against the wall. Fitted between the gaps in the ceiling is a system of hooks and pulleys, all wound with different coloured sheets of silk that somehow manage to reach the centre without a single one getting caught up in another.

"If you will not do as I say, then I cannot teach you. Understood?" I nod meekly. She sniffs in reply, her nose wrinkling as if my scent offends her. "We shall see." I can tell that she knows I have questions, but she flicks them away.

"What do you think makes a great dancer? Heart?" She asks, prodding my chest. "Mind?" She pokes my head. "Answer - whole body. All of you must be in motion, working together as one," she says. "In Bolshoi, you learn one single mistake breaks the performance. All people are predators, if they see weakness, they exploit it, and it's all they'll see."

She snickers, taking pleasure as she unzips my jeans and brings them down to my knees in one fluid motion. "If you want to dance well, you won't need these either," she orders, repeating the same gesture with my briefs. "You won't be wearing any of this when you're up on stage, so you won't here either."

I flinch, trying to cover myself but she just throws back her head and laughs softly.

"It's not funny!" I snap, indignantly.

"But it is. You want me to teach you how to dance naked in front of a crowd, but you won't do so for me. It's not like you like girls even." She rolls her eyes, giggling.

"That's not true!" I cry, stamping my hoof.

"Then show me?"

I snort, curling my tail around my groin as I bend over, fumbling about with the clothes down by my legs.

"You must not fear their eyes, you must not fear me, you must not fear your body." She turns to the back of the room, returning with various lengths of ribbon dotted high and low from all corners. "I've seen too many dancers fail about on the stage thinking it's sexy to expose as much of themselves as they can," she continues, bringing the ribbons to my feet. "At the end of the day, we all look the same down there, and if you show it off all the time, you'll never be able to give any more. Your audience are like wolves; they love the thrill of the hunt, and so you must play the part of canny prey, taking them on a winding chase across your body until you decide it's time." As she speaks, she paces around me, tying the ribbons tightly, around my arms, my wrists, my tail.

"And this is going to help how?" I try to disguise the anxiety in my voice. She just leans forwards and gives me a kiss on the back of my neck.

"You want to know how I learnt? This is how. When you dance, I'll be watching - pulling here and there, tweaking your movements, showing you how things must be. I'm not asking you, I'm demanding you do as I say - for this is how you shall have to be with your audience, you must dance in tune with their demands," she grins, giving an experimental tug on the blue ribbon - pulling my tail up and exposing my rump.

"Hey!" I bark, but it's a pretty futile squeak if I'm honest.

"You've forgotten something," she smirks, tossing a pair of lace lingerie - complete with bra too. "You're still pretending to be a girl, after all," she shrugs, slackening my ties so I can put them on. I can't help but feel the fur on the back of my neck prickle as I feel her watching me squeeze my sheath and balls inside the delicate fabric - smooth, soft, but so taboo. Mind you, it does make me feel slightly less naked, even if it is embarrassing. When it comes to the bra though, it seems Yvetta has other ideas. Coming up behind me, she snaps the ties together, making it so I couldn't slip out, even if I wanted to.

"Now," she croons, licking my ear, "doesn't that feel better?" I feel her fingers trail delicately down my back, becoming lighter and lighter until I can't tell whether she's reached my tail or not.

"Here's the deal my girl," she commands, coming to stand beside me. She has this steely, icy glare to her, that was both fearsome and beautiful at the same time. "If you dance well, if you do your lessons well, then I'll let you free. But if you are stubborn, if you are obstinate, then I won't loosen the reins until you do - no matter how long it takes." She grins, pulling the blue ribbons round my ankles sharply, forcing me to fall forward. The other ties hold, catching me, suspending me in the air. "I'll take that as a yes," she says, chuckling to herself. I shoot Yvetta a sour look, but she just shakes her head, shushing me quietly.

"Filly, I want you to know you're safe too. Be as bold as you want, try without fear. Show me that joy you took from it that night," she smiles. "I'm here to help you."

I nod, twisting my hands round the ties on my arms as I regain my balance. Yvetta gives me a moment to clear my head, to think about how I'll go about this. I'm nervous, but I think I'll tell a story.

My dance begins slowly, gently pulling against my ties, keeping the lines taut as I move about, my arms clutched firmly against my chest, hands curled up against my heart.

I turn to the front, keeping my gaze submissive just underneath her own. Slowly, I extend an arm, curling my fingers outwards, and at the last moment, I flick my eyes up to meet hers, before snatching my hand back; flinching as if stung. And moving slowly, rising to my feet, waving my hips back and forth, I pull my hands from my heart and arms half extended, offering it up to her on open palm.

She takes my cue, shaking her head as she tweaks the choreography. Pulling on my ties, she lifts my arms up above my head, and then with my left leg, makes me turn on the spot. Seeing the ribbons cross over, she grins, tying them together, doing the same for my arms and legs, leaving me hanging there, unable to struggle free.

"Yvetta..." I call her name anxiously, unable to do anything but feel the cuffs start to pull against my wrists.

"If you don't want it to hurt, let your limbs go slack," she says. "And you'd best tell me the truth." She bends down, kneeling as her head comes level with my hips, her blue eyes flickering up at me with that sharp, predatory gaze.

"What did the wolf last night ask you to do?" She sniffs. I shiver when she touches me, slowly clasping my balls, lifting them up, weighing them. The claw tip on her thumb teases the back of my sack, probing the dark, leathery skin.

I hesitate, squirming against my bonds.

"Think very carefully," she cautions, letting her sharp claw-tips catch against my skin. "You're not part of this. I won't have to hurt you if you're honest."

"How can I be sure?" I can't stifle the whiny this time; it wheezes out from my lips like some pathetic songbird's call.

"You can't," she sighs. "Call it a difference of philosophy between me and him though," she pauses, giving me a gentle squeeze, "but of course, I'm here and he isn't."

I'm not exactly going to lie with a set of claws around my balls, but honestly, I don't want to either. The maternal edge to her voice echoes with my childhood, when big, strong grandmare would take me up in her arms, squeeze me tight, and tell me how she'd sort everything out.

"I didn't want to - I didn't tell him anything."

"Of course, you don't have anything he needs to know." She lets her grip slacken. "Keep going."

"He didn't say much, just that he wanted your signature - your real one, from your passport, something, whatever and that if I helped him then he'd help me."

She lets go, giggling softly.

"Oh Dima," she chuckles with a throaty purr, "you're so predictable." She drops her shoulders, letting her grip go slack as she gently strokes me tenderly, like a kitten. "He's never going to get what he wants."

"Yvetta, please, whatever it is I haven't done anything - I hadn't decided it was all so fast."

"It's okay," she whispers, coaxing my folded ears back to life. "I know you're telling the truth."

"Look, please -"

"Shhh. It's okay. You don't have to worry," she licks her lips, looking back down at my crotch. "Seems such a shame, having to keep these all hidden away."

She ignores me as I mumble something in protest - I can't remember what, but really it doesn't matter, and she knows it. My mouth's running through any protest I could say, but my head's already overriding it with the sensations firing up my nerves from my groin. She continues exploring, brushing my taint, gently running the tips of her claws across my flanks.

"Please..." I recall that, at least. I'm lost, trying to process everything - the main overriding thought that comes from my tingling flesh is why. She could have anyone, why put me in the palm of her hand?

"No need," she replies, brushing my swollen sheath.

"But you-"

"This is part of your lesson. I like rewarding honesty. Don't spoil the moment, just enjoy the feeling of me on you, and I'll tell you later." She smiles, pressing her muzzle between my legs.

I lose track of time; the clock outside the door ticking at irregular intervals. My hips twitch, trying to buck against her warm muzzle, but every time I struggle to thrust forward, she just draws back, preventing me from gaining any greater satisfaction. For that disobedience, she breaks off, licking her lips in exaggeration, leaving me hanging there in the air, the cold draught making itself known as it sweeps across my trembling length; a wet bough in the autumn breeze.

"Now, you must behave if you're going to get your release," she purrs again, tugging at my silk restraints. Her eyes are sharp and flinty; she needs this too. "You're not a stallion, by any measure," she continues, running a claw down my chest. She tuts, shaking her head as she scratches my rump and squeezes my flaring head. "You're a filly with a cock," she groans, noticing how I can't help but shiver and strain against my silk bindings in excitement. "But don't worry, I'll make sure she's well looked after," she growls, leaning forward, placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Please - Yvetta!"

"If you want me -"

I bite my lip as her paw tickles my sensitive flare, running her claws round the meaty rim, trailing her fingertips in circles around my tip. I'm already leaking over her, slicking her fingers, the stray drops audibly striking the floor.

No one had done this to me - no one. The loss of control, hanging there suspended in mid-air, it only mirrors how I feel inside - my heart fluttering away, my nerves tingling, my head light and airy. Because I've spent my days trying to hide it, trying to be someone, something else. And this, what Yvetta's doing, she's peeling back all the lies I've clothed myself in - she knows, she revels in exploring it.

"No, please, keep going." I swallow, panting. "It's just - I've never - I wanted to-"

"Don't tie your tongue for me. Confession's is over now. Let me administer absolution." She smirks, dropping her gaze to my genitals - at full mast, swollen balls, sticking out the side of a pair of silk lingerie. "I think you're adorable." She kisses me again, stepping round behind me, nostrils flaring with each breath of my heavy equine scent, rubbing her pink nose down the crook of my back.

"I need to get a better inspection of this filly," she continues, resuming her commanding tone, pulling up the base of my tail and rubbing her hand round my ring, still slick from my excitement. "What a pretty rump this girl has," she sighs, pushing her thumb against me, waiting to see if I'd give. "I think it'd be the perfect pleasure for a strapping young stallion," she continues, slipping her thumb in and out while simultaneously fondling my balls.

"Don't tell-"

"I wouldn't," she replies, planting a warm kiss underneath my tail.

My mind's racing. Yvetta keeps working deeper inside me. Whenever I blink, I see behind my eyelids a thick member slowly grinding itself against my entrance. I hear another splatter as another drop falls to the floor from me, my breathing ragged. I desperately want to jerk myself off, to release the pressure building in my loins, but Yvetta's continued teasing only increases my frustrations without bringing any hope of release.

The need seems like insanity. Thoughts come in short bursts, accented with sights, sounds, smells. Words start to fall away - less talk, more sighs, groans, moans - even Yvetta begins to breathe deeper, faster. I give a soft whinny as she slips another finger in, the snow leopard smirking as she tries to find my elusive limit. Then there were no more fingers, just a hunger that rose through me as she massaged my insides.

"You know..." she pauses, listening to my frantic squirming as she toys with me, "it's a myth - being able to cum just by being the bottom."

The power she has over me hits home, a wave of realisation that washes through my ragged, frazzled brain. There is no way I can release myself, her hold over me is entire. But it's beautiful, a sensual abyss I lie in, where my mistress tends to me with her feathered touch.

For the first time, I don't feel I have to hide.

"Still with me?" she purrs, still so soft and tender with her filly.

"Yes, please," is all I can muster. She kisses me again, patting me on the head as she rubs her finger inside me.

"You're wonderful," she replies. "But I don't think you'll be able to stand much more teasing." It's true, not an unkind thing. A thick haze lies over my thoughts, my brain's foggy, and each flush of pleasure brings with it an exhaustion that fails to recede.

Turning around, my mistress comes to face me again, holding my erect shaft in both her paws. She rubs the head slowly, another pulse of fluid oozing out from the tip, spreading it down across me entirely until it hangs there, glistening. Then she stands, licking her lips as she lowers me further down until my hooves just skim the floor. But instead of letting me touch it, she alters my position, until I hang parallel to the floor with the tip of my cock rather embarrassingly sliding up and down against the floor. Before I can ask, she crawls underneath me, my chest brushing against the plush fur of her back. She lifts her tail, guiding me underneath, brushing it against my groin as she uses my cock like a toy, rubbing my head against her heat - building the pressure, pulling me closer - until I slip into the warmth and wetness. I become aware of my jaw hanging open, but I can't find the will to close it.

"God." I whisper.

She rocks me back and forth - the only thing halting my swing the slap of my hips against her rump. I hear her steady breathing beneath me, feeling more like a stallion. Trailing my fingers through her fur, I tickle her as she swings me back and forth, each thrust punctuated with the heavy slap of my balls against her thighs.

The haze descends. My entire body tenses. It builds in my loins, rising and rising. I hear the blood roar as it rushes past my ears.

I hear my flare pop out from inside her, and the splatter of cum onto the floor.

Spent, I fall limp, hanging there, my wrists against straining against my bindings, my shoulders burning in their sockets. But soon it fades to numbness, creeping through my body, as if she's injected me with something.

Caught in a half-pant, half-purr, she crawls out from underneath me, lowering me down to the floor. I don't have the strength to stand - neither does she, forcing us to lie there in the bed we made for ourselves. I think I drift off to sleep, but when we wake I feel like some semblance of control had returned to my body, however that wonderful, relaxed sensation remains as well, sort of like that feeling after a relaxing massage.

"I should have realised earlier that this was nothing about dancing," I sigh, looking at the mirrors, the pulleys, the ribbons.

"Sorry for the deception," she shrugs. "It's not like there's much I need to actually teach you, you have that talent yourself," she pauses, "and the perfect body for it too. Besides, I figure this would be a great way of saying thank you."

"I never believed the rumours about you-"

"But they were true," she sighs.

"So that guy - Dima?"

"On paper, still my husband. You don't need to know why, but I'm punishing him the way it hurts him most. How do you think I can afford this place? Every month, he magically finds his bank account drained, and trust me, I was taught by the best on how to do that without leaving a trail."

"Then how did he find you in the club?"

"Beats me. Keith's no saint, he'll sell on any information, and if you're any good at my job, you know chatter pays." She lies back against me, stroking the fur on my chest as we watch the sunset creep over the city. "You know how Keith works. As soon as Dima offers more than I'm worth to him, I'm gone. Look at how quickly he had Marie's shoes filled."

I stiffen against her. "You do realise I'm screwed now?"

"Calm down. Keith doesn't have the good fortune to know where I live, so there's time," she snorts. "Can't say the same for you, can we?" She stands, throwing me a jacket as she leads me out to the balcony. "No matter, I can sort you out so you can skip town." From up here, no one could see, so we stand there, a smirk on her face as my long dick slowly recedes, still dripping from our climax. "I'm glad you were honest in the end, kid," she puffs, watching her breath blow away on the wind. "I didn't want to think you had that kind of thing in you."

"Well, I was tempted," I confess, "but I had a feeling you'd help me better get what I want."

She flicks her ears.

"Pretty stupid thing to do," she laughs, "you don't know anything about me."

"I know you dance well."

"Bolshoi was just another lie."

"You still dance well."

She smirked at that, fumbling in her, now my, jacket for a cigarette.

"And you truly let me be me." I coughed, trying to swallow in the lump in my throat.

"I do have a thing for effeminate boys..." she said, giggling as a drop of cum splatters out from between her legs onto the concrete floor. "Seeing a guy all tied up and helpless-"

"Yvetta. I'm saying I've seen enough to take that risk. Trusting you - you could have done anything to me back then."

She dips her head, taking a puff from her now lit cigarette. She tosses it to the floor, stamping on the glowing end with her paw.

"You're caught up in this now, because of me. I knew Keith put you up to something, if only I'd smelt it sooner I would've saved you the trouble and have been long gone."

"Why don't you go to the police?"

"Honey, do you really think the US will love an ex-KGB agent in their midst? And if you go, I wouldn't expect any help. Just because they've abolished that sodomy law doesn't mean attitudes will have changed. They'll beat you, then turn you over, because for some hating queers means more than borders."

"So then what?" I stumble, hoping that she'll articulate what I'm feeling, what I'm hoping. I silence the bit in my head that says I'm just riding the wave after the sex, but I don't believe it, I want to make this choice, take this chance.

I wait in silence, watching the last sliver of the sun slip below the horizon.

"Skip the town. And the next. Until there's somewhere we don't know the names or faces, where what we do is a dime a dozen, where they're so short-staffed they won't ask no questions." She sighs, allowing a ghost of a smile to flicker across her white muzzle.

"And if they follow us there?"

She stares out across the balcony, across the city.

"I've always wanted to go west."

I afford myself a smile too. I chuckle, remembering the coaches. I'd been a fool to think crossing a sea would give me the freedom I craved. Here they call it money, but the power is everywhere, pushing so many people down. What irony it is, that with Yvetta I can finally escape, finally be who I know I am meant to be.

"Fuck it. Me too. Somewhere where they're so short-staffed they won't care to ask any questions."

"That's my stallion."

I can't describe how it felt when she took my hand.