FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 5

"It's a little hard to explain," Tigre said, reflecting. "Having a woman under you, afraid of you, suffering -- it's like riding a horse. And then if you can make her come as well, while she's suffering -- there's nothing more satisfying. It's not just about the sex, you know. Ultimately, it's about dominating her so completely there's nothing in her mind but pleasing you. If she consented, really consented, when she's tamed, then it's not as much fun. Then, fortunately, Master buys someone new." Tigre kissed Firefox gently, rubbing her shoulders with a towel. The shower had been nice and hot, and Firefox was brushing out her hair, trying not to let her horror show. Firefox noticed a bottle of black hair dye, and wondered if Tigre touched up her stripes. A lot of chimera with patterns did that.

"What if he stops buying more women?" Firefox asked, tightly, trying to stay relaxed and natural.

"You don't understand how a penis thinks," Tigre answered seriously. "A penis doesn't lean back and go, 'Well, two hundred women, that's enough for one a day every six months, more than enough variety for this penis.' No indeed. A penis is more ambitious than that. A penis is not unlike Alexander. A penis is imbued with a spirit of adventure and exploration. A penis bears twixt snow and ice a banner with the strange device, 'Excelsior.'"

Firefox's chuckle was genuine. For a moment, she forgot they were talking about serial rape.

"More seriously, Blue Diamond is expanding its services. Blue Jade is under construction off Vladivostok. Blue Diamond must be quite profitable. I know that Master's been offered three million for Anne Keller."

Firefox stretched out as sharp tiger teeth nibbled under her chin, below the jaw, where the fur grew thick. She drowsed, only semi conscious, but couldn't suppress a smile as arms wrapped around her.

"Breakfast?" Tigre asked.

"After we fuck," Firefox said, kissing her nose.

"That's my girl," Tigre said.

Tigre went for Firefox's breasts first, rough tongue making Firefox flinch, sharp teeth nibbling lightly at her nipples even as she sucked them hard and stiff, the unpredictable mix of pleasure and pain making her moan and yelp softly. Tigre hesitated for a moment, guiltily. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should have kissed you more first. It's just that I really like your breasts."

"They really like you," Firefox returned. "I love having them played with." They went to Tigre's bed.

They said very little as they suckled each other, and then spread their legs and touched one another while their mouths clung and a rough feline tongue played with a long, canid one. It was as though they were each caught in a strange fantasy neither would admit out loud: they were each pretending they were lovers and sharing pleasure with a friend, that they had no secrets from the other and there were no collars and leashes and whips.

They spent too long in bed, and they had to rush through breakfast. Tigre allowed Firefox to share her water and hold her plate in her hand. Firefox ate reluctantly, although she was hungry.

Tigre finished first. "I suppose I better get dressed," she said, with regret.

"Do you have an outfit in mind?" Firefox asked at random.

Tigre chuckled. "I can't decide. I don't know if I should wear the black leather with chrome buckles, or the black leather with chrome chains, or maybe the black spandex with chrome highlights. Perhaps I should toss all caution to the wind and wear the chrome chains with black cotton."

Firefox looked away. Even that was more choice than she had. Tigre silently dressed, each article of clothing transforming her a little more, turning her bit by bit from a woman into the distilled and incarnate cruelty of Blue Diamond. The fantasy was over.

She looked at Firefox's nakedness for a long moment, and Firefox looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

There was a knock at the door. Tigre threw the deadbolt and opened it.

A tiny mouse chimera wearing a maid's costume with black collar stood there. She held a silver dish with folded lingerie.

"Ma'am," she said respectfully, "you ordered clothes."

"Yes," Tigre agreed. She took the underwear in one hand and pointed to the floor with the other. Immediately, the mouse knelt down and licked her foot. Tigre touched her ear.

"Does my lady want service?" the mouse asked, staring at the floor.

"Huh? Oh, not today. Go."

There was no mistaking the relief in her voice. "Thank you, ma'am." She scampered off.

"Any of the guards use you between the legs yet?" Tigre asked Firefox.

Firefox gritted her teeth. Apart from one guard masturbating between her breasts, the only man to rape her had been Master himself. Honest answer or lie? Was gang rape another rite of passage for a slave, along with licking Master's feet and touching her breasts to the floor? Lying would provoke another round of questions -- who had done it, where, when -- and Firefox suspected these things were logged.

"No." Tigre's eyes narrowed, slightly. "No, ma'am," Firefox corrected herself.

Tigre tossed her the panties wordlessly. Rust brown panties, frilled, cut low in the back to slide under a tail. "Master wants to keep your snatch from wearing out."

"Thank you, ma'am," Firefox replied, sincere for once.

"Thank me properly," Tigre ordered, pointing to the floor in front of her. When Firefox hesitated, she touched the riding crop on her hip.

What is this, Firefox thought, defiantly. Half an hour ago, you were making love to me as seriously as I was making love to you. What am I? Your lover or your pet? She didn't ask out loud, because she knew what the answer was. Naked, she touched her breasts to the floor before her, kissed her feet, came to a kneeling position and kissed Tigre's mons through her panties. Tigre touched her ear, allowing her to come to her feet.

"And remember that I am only obeying Master in this. Thank him when you see him."

"Yes, ma'am."

Firefox pulled the panties on, and smiled at the sensation of being covered again. It was extraordinary how a small patch of fabric could so completely change how she felt: even though she was still topless, she no longer felt like a naked animal on display. She could still remember the guests' eyes on her, the gaze of dozens of men appraising her as a sexual partner, who didn't care if she was repulsed by that because her consent ultimately meant nothing. Wordlessly, Tigre tossed her a matching bra.

"Stand and turn around," Tigre ordered. "And cross your wrists." Firefox looked into her eyes, and amazingly, Tigre's gaze slid off hers, uncomfortable and maybe even ashamed.

Tigre led her through the concrete halls, back to the Panopticon. The first guard they met was the blond who had tormented Firefox in solitary. He glanced at Firefox and did a double-take, looking at her panties.

"You keeping that cunt for yourself, Tigre?" he asked.

Tigre paused and looked at him. "Permission to use the women and the dress codes used to indicate their status is not to be discussed in front of the slaves, sir," Tigre said. "Respectfully suggest that Guard Tiomkin reread the relevant passages in Part Four of the manual, sir."

Tiomkin, Firefox thought to herself, staring silently at his face. Tiomkin, I am your death. There was very little emotion in the thought, merely a quiet resolve. He had insulted her, belittled her, tied her down and had jerked off between her tits. Others might do worse, but he was first and had earned a special place in her heart. Oddly, or perhaps not so oddly, it was the mockery more than the physical abuse that had made her resolve to kill him.

"Like there's a bitch in the Panopticon who doesn't know what panties or a red collar mean."

Red collars meant something? Firefox thought they were just color coordinating with her and Technofox's fur. Silverfox had black... wait, wasn't Shadowfox's red?

"Perhaps you have failed to consider, sir," Tigre said tonelessly.

"That you're a butch dyke who takes the boss up the ass so you can keep your pets to yourself," Tiomkin said.

"Respectfully, it would be a mistake to assume a woman's a lesbian because she prefers some cocks over...others, sir," Tigre replied.

Tiomkin, you ass, Firefox thought. Junior officers shouldn't piss off top sergeants.

Tigre seemed to consider for a moment, and then turned, tugging on Firefox's leash. She was towing Firefox back to her cell. When they were out of earshot, Firefox couldn't resist any longer. She leaned forward to Tigre's ear and whispered, "But then again, you are fairly butch."

Tigre actually suppressed laughter.

The women they passed were silent, either trying not to draw Tigre's attention, or kneeling silently with bowed heads, too afraid to let her pass without acknowledgment.

"Ma'am," came a voice, uncertain. Then, with more confidence, "With respect, ma'am, a moment of your time."

Tigre blinked her surprise, and stopped. "Yes, Alice?" she asked.

It was the Alsatian chimera, the one who bunked with Victoria. "Ma'am, Victoria was moved to a different cell."

Tigre pursed her lips before continuing. "And you're questioning the order? Master's will isn't a sufficient reason for you?"

Alice immediately knelt and bowed her head. "I meant no disrespect, ma'am."

"Then why ask?"

"I want to know if I should pack her things for her, ma'am."

"Yes," Tigre said. "Do that."

Alice nodded. She stifled a sob, and her eyes went moist. "We're close, ma'am," she said sadly.

Tigre hesitated, and put her hand on Alice's head. "That's unwise," she said gently.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tigre jerked the leash and they went on. There was none of the enthusiasm, faked or genuine, that had been shown to Master. Nothing but cold fear, and perhaps surprise that Firefox could still walk.

Her friends could see her coming; their eyes and ears tracked her alertly as they walked around the level towards them: Technofox and Silverfox gripping the bars, Shadowfox, still handcuffed, leaning against them. As they drew closer, Silverfox undid her bra and lowered herself to the floor.

"Ma'am, with humble respect," Silverfox said, "Shadowfox is handcuffed -- as she deserves for her insolence," she hastened to add. "Please leave Firefox in this cell, so we can take care of her. You are merciful and will not let Firefox suffer when you cannot enjoy watching her, ma'am." She pushed her snout through the bars to lick Tigre's foot, and gave Technofox a dirty look. Technofox knelt submissively.

Well, Firefox thought, they really couldn't tell. Firefox's hands were restrained, her hobble would conceal any limp, and her fur would cover any bruises. "I'm okay," she said.

"She doesn't need your help," Tigre dismissed them. "Black dog -- against the far wall."

Tigre opened the door, and closed it behind Firefox. She removed her wrist and ankle chains, and then her muzzle. They spent a moment looking at one another, steadily through the bars, both standing. Firefox could see Tigre considering some final humiliation, deciding against it. Instead, the tiger took a small silver coin out of a pouch and handed it to her silently before walking away.

It was a dime. Firefox tossed it into the little basket of change. The dime mingled with nickels, dimes, quarters -- Firefox knew now what Shadowfox had gone through to earn those, and she tried not to think of how every coin represented a man shoving his dick down her friend's throat.

Agitated, Shadowfox almost bowled Firefox over. Silverfox and Technofox desperately reached through the bars, trying to catch her.

"Are you okay?" Shadowfox asked. "What did she do to you?"

It was mortifying to have someone who suffered as much as Shadowfox so concerned about her. It felt like an undeserved medal.

"Nothing. Really. I'm fine," Firefox hugged Shadowfox to settle her down.

They looked at one another, obviously disbelieving.

"Really," Firefox repeated. "She didn't hit me, flog me, slap me around, or anything."

"Why not?" Technofox asked, perplexed. If the question had been about any other woman, it would have sounded insane.

"Well," Firefox said, and hesitated. Could she really call it rape? Compared to what Shadowfox had gone through? Firefox shrugged. "I distracted her with my personal charm."

Firefox touched her ear to remind them they were probably being listened to.

"Maybe this is the day of the month she isn't on the rag."

Very few chimeras were fertile, and even fewer actually menstruated, so they laughed. Firefox put her head near Technofox's ear. "Can you fix our implants?" she whispered.

Technofox was silent for a moment. "I'd need tools. Jeweler's screwdrivers, tweezers. Watch making tool set, maybe. Yes, and a micro welder. Also, I'd have to cut into someone's scalp. The implants aren't deep; they're on the outside of the skull with wires going in. Razor and alcohol in a pinch, and superglue to seal the incision. Ideally, scalpel, topical anesthetic -- field medic kit. It might not work. But maybe."

"Tigre has a neural interface computer in her room," Firefox whispered.

Immediately, Technofox got it. She looked at Shadowfox. Shadowfox's jaw dropped.

"No, no," the black fox whispered. "No, please don't ask me."

"Shad, you're the only one with intrusion firmware," Technofox whispered.

"Tech, hush," Firefox whispered. She turned her back on the other two and took Shadowfox across the cell to the other cot. If she got too jittery, her voice would raise. Her body was trembling. Firefox kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm afraid of her," Shadowfox said, guiltily. "She's pain and fear to me."

"It's okay," Firefox whispered back. "I'll go. I don't think she'll hurt me."

"Why not?" Shadowfox asked, challenging her.

Firefox hesitated. "I don't know. I think she has a thing for a client I screwed. She's fucking him through me."

Shadowfox hesitated. "You don't have the right firmware. I'll go." She looked at Firefox steadily. "I'm sorry. I panicked. I'm okay now."

Firefox heaved an internal sigh of relief.

Okay, things were coming together, at last. She'd have to talk to Technofox, find out exactly what tools would be needed, and ... she hadn't asked about the red collars, but that could wait.

And, of course, they'd need to figure out what the point was.

There was no reason to cut open Shadowfox's scalp unless doing it would help them get out. There was no guarantee that Tigre's desktop computer was connected in any way to something that would be helpful.

Still, their experience in the past had been that very few organizations took computer security seriously enough. Proper security was always a pain, with keys users lost or biometrics that didn't work or passwords people forgot.

After Blue Diamond specifically sabotaged Shadowfox's implant, they wouldn't expect her to have the ability to sit leashed to a bed and access a computer across the room while Tigre had sex with her.

The baldness of the image made Firefox tremble with horror, this time directed at herself.

What was she asking from Shadowfox?

She looked at her friend. Shadowfox nestled against her. For an instant, it seemed she sensed that it was Firefox who needed comfort and reassurance. I'll be okay, she seemed to say. I'm a soldier.

Firefox kissed her. Shadowfox warmed, flowed into the kiss. Her eyes closed, and her breasts moved against Firefox.

"Can we make love?" Shadowfox asked, uncertainly. "It's okay if you say no. But I know you want me."

"But -- I thought you were straight," Firefox replied. It seemed crass, and she regretted it.

"Firefox," Shadowfox said. She looked away. "I'm not. I never was. None of us are. Tigre was telling the truth. We're modified pleasure models. All of us."

Firefox felt something inside her drop away.

She was a light combat chimera. She knew that as strongly as she knew her own name.

"Shad," she said softly, "Don't you remember before we were Foxforce? The boot camp? 'I am an enhanced combat chimera. I accept that I am expected to work and fight harder. I will adapt, I will improvise, and I will overcome.'"

"They gave us personality overlays on top of the standard pleasure model package, before they took us out of the wombs," Shadowfox said. "The boot camp never happened, not really."

"But we're enhanced," Firefox said. "We are faster and stronger than humans."

"We're the top of the bell curve for pleasure models," Shadowfox explained. "Chimera aren't machines. Pleasure models are derived from combat models."

"How do you know this about us?"

"I needed to retain the pleasure slave training. I'm the team whore," she stated.

"We never think of you that way," Firefox said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Men and women keep documents in their bedrooms. They talk after sex. I tried to get away from it because -- because I don't know why, I like to pretend that's not what I really am. Going down on a client, that's one thing. Having Master in you and knowing every part of you craves it -- " She chuckled. "Tigre's right. We're all whores."

"No," Firefox said firmly, although she was shaken. "We're Foxforce. You're Shadowfox. And you're a woman. You're nobody's tool, you're nobody's toy. Neither am I." She kissed Shadowfox lightly.

Aren't I? Firefox asked herself. In a way, it was comforting -- the intense desire and pleasure she had been feeling were designed into her. But was she any less a slut because she was intentionally designed to be one?

She didn't want to deal with this now.

Shadowfox glanced at the front of the cell. Firefox hadn't noticed: a guard was approaching. He looked in, considered. "You. The red one. Come with me."

I just got back, and I'm busy. No, that would not be smart. Firefox got up and walked towards him, wondering what was going on. They hadn't overheard them, had they? Would he order her to do something sexual? What would she do if he did? Go along, she realized with some distaste.

The work day was just starting, she realized. Whatever it was, it wouldn't take long. The others looked at her, worried. "What's going on, sir?"

He frowned. "A slave bitch is wasting my time with backtalk."

Well, that was ominous. Quickly, he had her leashed and chained and marched her to the down elevator.

He took her out of the Panopticon to EXERCISE 410. Well, "Exercise" at least wasn't a euphemism: the rooms for beating were labeled TORMENT. So, Firefox wasn't too concerned when she went in.

Victoria and six other women were in the room, each collared and leashed to a different post. Their hands and feet were free, but the leashes were too short for them to sit. Firefox's guard leashed her to the only unused post, undid her feet and hands, squeezed her breast and left. Firefox recognized the other women, but Victoria was the only name she knew. Apart from Victoria, they were all furs; tails twitching nervously. Victoria looked at her, and smiled hesitantly. Her elongated canines flashed in her deathly pale face. Firefox forced herself to smile in return. She found herself wondering if there were really enough vampire fetishists to justify a model like Victoria. Well, they supported a genre of books, games, and films, so probably.

"Anyone know what's happening?" Firefox called out. She forced her tail still, flew it at half mast instead of allowing it to droop between her legs. She tried to look more confident and relaxed than she felt, so her own fear wouldn't spread.

The puma girl who had once licked her nipples shrugged, giving no sign that she recognized Firefox. "Rrr. Won't be long," she said in a cracked voice. It was a common felid accent. "They won't leave us here, rarrr." Either she exaggerated her accent, or she had speech problems. Either happened a lot with felids; Tigre's own deep, clear tones were unusual.

Firefox nodded thoughtfully, as though that were important intelligence. She wondered if it were some punishment detail. Tigre had said she was leaning on Victoria. What did that mean? She couldn't say it out loud; the crowd might decide it was all Victoria's fault for some idiotic reason.

The door opened and Tigre walked in. She looked around. The women bowed as well as they could, averting their eyes. There was a frightened, subvocal murmur of "Ma'am" from the slaves. A cheetah woman licked her finger, lifted her skirt, and slipped it inside of her, as though trying to imply she was so happy to see Tigre she had to spontaneously masturbate. Tigre's eyes rested on Firefox and she blinked. The tiger wasn't expecting her to be there, so Firefox relaxed. It probably was just a random selection. Odd that they would pick seven furs and one skin, since the slave population was skewed the other way, if anything.

"Your being here is a mistake," Tigre said, pointing at Firefox. "This doesn't apply to you." Tigre walked over to her and gave her leash extra slack, so she could sit down if she wanted. Firefox remained standing, wondering why she was exempt from whatever it was.

Tigre went to the middle of the room, in front of a gymnast's vaulting horse. She addressed them. "We're short one flogging for tonight's shows," Tigre said without preamble. She paused. The women shifted, sick with fear.

"One of you is getting ten on stage tonight. That fox --" Tigre pointed at Firefox "-- is exempt because she's on a daily ration of ten strokes, so don't go wishing you were in her collar."

Firefox's heart sank. She had hoped, irrationally, that yesterday's ten-stroke spanking had been the last of the ten strokes a day. It had been a forlorn hope. The other women looked at her curiously and sympathetically, as though wondering what she had done to deserve treatment that rough. I wish I knew, Firefox thought.

"So," Tigre continued lightly, "we're going to have a little contest here. Loser dances for me."

As Firefox wasn't involved -- or because she had already lost, if you thought of it that way -- she could look at this objectively. The bastards, she thought, because she didn't doubt for one instant that this had been planned, and that Victoria was going to "lose."

Set the slaves against one another, keep them at one anothers' throat, have them scrambling for the lifeboats knowing some other girl was going to get left behind. Sympathy for another slave was the enemy. And the worst part was that she suspected she might be with them, if she had the option. What was Victoria to her?

Without another word, Tigre stepped over to Victoria, undid her leash from the post and held it. With the extra slack available, Victoria immediately dropped to the floor and kissed Tigre's foot, as though that enthusiastic display would make any difference. Tigre looked at her impassively, allowed her to finish, and jerked the leash.

Victoria was led to a piece of exercise equipment in the middle of the posts. At first, Firefox had assumed it was a gymnastic horse; now she saw the thick dildo jutting up at a slight angle. Victoria saw it, lifted her skirt and started fingering herself for lubrication. Tigre shoved her towards it. "Go ahead. Show us how tight you can squeeze."

There was a moment of disbelief in the slaves, because it was so obviously and hopelessly rigged. Even Firefox, who had no memory of slave training, knew that. The muscle used to contract the vagina was the same muscle used to wag a tail. Victoria had no more chance to win than Technofox could beat Firefox lifting weights. Victoria paled, somehow. Firefox was shaken to see the other furs relax, sigh, even smile in relief. They weren't going to lose, so to hell with Victoria.

"It's not fair, ma'am," Victoria said, without thinking.

Tigre blinked, feigning astonishment. "What's not fair? Should skin bitches get special consideration?"

"No, ma'am, of course not," Victoria said, obviously regretting opening her mouth. In the chimera community, emotions ran high over skin / fur issues. "Ma'am, I don't have a tail."

"If you have a design flaw, it is your responsibility to compensate for it by extra work and exercise," Tigre said patiently. "Do you want to complain to Master?"

"No, ma'am," Victoria said so promptly that Firefox guessed a failed appeal was itself a flogging offence.

"Then stop wasting time. Mount up." Tigre made fussy little hand gestures.

The other furs were masturbating. They'd have time to work up some lube. Victoria mounted the horse, awkwardly brought it inside of her, obviously finding it uncomfortable. Firefox watched Tigre, convinced she was about to impale Victoria on it, and grateful when the tiger let her slip it in on her own.

Tigre padded over to the wall and turned a switch: a numerical display came on, reading 08.7. She moved back next to Victoria. "Any time," she said with false jocularity.

Victoria turned away from Tigre and her eyes flashed with pure hate. For a moment, Firefox thought she would start swearing at the tiger, and who could blame her? Instead, she gritted her teeth and rested her palms on the horse. The readout quickly went up to 43.4. For a moment, Firefox wondered what units were used to measure vaginal strength. Imperial or Metric? What was the human average? Technofox was a role-player; she probably knew.

This was insane. Tigre was even letting the other women know what number they had to beat, yet another advantage. She might as well just say, "Sorry, Victoria, you lose!" and get it over with.

"Okay," Tigre said. "Get up."

"Ma'am, may I try again?" Victoria asked, tightly.

"No, you're wasting time."

The farce continued. The puma girl was next, and with a smile Firefox wanted to slap, scored a 72.0 without making a visible effort. That was about average between the others, nobody scoring below 60. They even found it easier to mount the sensor, since they had more time to prepare themselves and the erection was made slick by the women who preceded them.

Tigre ordered other women into a coffle, which Tigre took to the door. She looked at Firefox and Victoria for a moment, hesitated between them. Finally, she slipped Victoria's leash. "Lick that up," she ordered, pointing at the horse. "Then use the antiseptic wipes in the first aid kit."

"Ma'am," Victoria said, prostrating herself again and kissing.

Tigre looked at Firefox. "You luck out today. You're in for VR training. They'll be collecting you in a bit." She then left with the coffle.

Victoria waited until Tigre was gone. "Bitch," she spat at the closed door. "Bitch cunt overseer and her furball slave twats." She looked at Firefox, actually alarmed. "No offence."

"None taken." Firefox shrugged. "I know you skins are all bigots. Comes from being able to pass for human."

Victoria looked at Firefox steadily, then her face split in a smile. Her long teeth shone. "You're okay," she said finally. Then she looked serious, even defensive. "I don't like doing this," she explained. "But there's probably a camera."

"And probably a microphone," Firefox observed, amazed at Victoria's boldness.

Victoria shrugged. "If I did it in front of her or a guard, or where an asslick twat heard me and complained, then it's a flogging offence. I mean 'asslick' figuratively, of course. We're all that, literally. I don't think a ten stroke girl is going to tattle on me. Worst can happen is I get on her shit list. And I kind of think I'm there already." She laughed ruefully.

That was a good point. With a look of distaste, Victoria kneeled next to the horse and got to work. Firefox wanted to look away, but couldn't; the sight of the lovely girl licking the juices of herself and six other women off the sensor was fascinating, and oddly arousing. She had wondered why they didn't simply put a lubricated condom over the sensor for each woman; but now she understood. Part of the point was to make a mess Victoria would clean with her tongue. Firefox wondered at herself, silently cursing whatever part of her mind was enjoying Victoria's humiliation.

When the albino was finished, she went to a water cooler, rinsed her mouth and spat, and then opened the first aid kit.

"As long as I've got this open," she asked Firefox, "you want anything? Got a headache, or what they like to call localized soreness, or monthly puffy feeling, or open wounds or something?"

"No, thanks. They have pills for monthly puffy feeling? Do any of the women here get a monthly puffy feeling?"

"Just guests and staff. I saw one of the women guards take one once. And there was a rumor you could get high by overdosing on the pills. For a month they couldn't keep the first aid boxes stocked. They finally had to define it as contraband unless you could actually get a period."

Victoria looked mildly annoyed at Firefox. Not an angry expression, more a slight frustration. She had expected Firefox to do something, but she hadn't. "Actually," Firefox said slowly, "I'm not entirely clear on the localized soreness. Is there an over-the-counter medicine for that?" She had figured it out. Victoria wanted an excuse to get close to her, so they could talk softly without being picked up by microphones.

Victoria grinned slightly, rummaged in the box and took something out. She walked towards Firefox while unwrapping it. "It's sort of a suppository and a topical anesthetic," she said. "There's an antiseptic coating on it for any scrapes. It feels very weird, and uncomfortable at first, but it really does help with soreness and lubing up. You can take one before a rough session to help keep the juices flowing or just after one to help with any discomfort and to prevent yeast infections. It's also a big help before anal work. It's not FDA approved, so it's only legal to use on chimera. You are a chimera, right?" she asked with a twisted grin.

"No, I just have a lot of body hair," the fox replied. "I'm legally human in Massachusetts, though. Self-owning and everything."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not really. There's an examination, and a filing fee. You have to prove you weren't conditioned to vote for any political party. And you have to get title to yourself, which means loans. Once the paperwork's out of the way, though, it's pretty sweet."

"Yeah, but California has the weather." She looked wistful for a moment. Firefox wondered what the girl really understood about being free, if she had ever taken care of herself, or paid a mortgage on herself, or if she had vague imaginings of something defined only in negatives: no chains, no collars, no clients, no Tigre.

Victoria came closer. She was holding a blue capsule, in a blister pack. There was a small string protruding from it. "You might want to get lower for a better look." Firefox sat down.

"You activate it opening the blister pack," Victoria explained. "That lets the chemicals mix, and it starts dissolving. If the pack is opened, don't use it." She slit the foil side with a fingernail and took the capsule out.

Her pubic hair was thick and the same pale blonde straw color as on her head. Her mound was covered, concealed, mysterious. Firefox stared at it, felt her own groin stir. She had always been excited by human pubic hair patterns, so strangely different from her own and those of other furry chimera. Apart from Silverfox and Tigre, all her women lovers had been human --

She was thinking of Tigre as a lover?

Victoria pushed the capsule up inside of her. It should have been a purely medical thing, and perhaps if Firefox had ever needed tampons she would have been less affected. As it was, watching the pretty vampire girl insert something into herself was exotic and exciting.

"You move it up where it hurts, and let it sit there." Victoria matched her actions to her words. "If you dissolve one in water you can douche with it between clients. They let us use some sort of mix after the last client for the night. The water tastes better than the mix."

Firefox leaned forward slightly, and wordlessly licked her.

"Oh my," Victoria laughed. "I didn't see that coming."

She dropped down to Firefox's level. Firefox was shocked at herself. She hadn't seen it coming either. Victoria ran her tongue lightly on Firefox's lip, nibbled her cheek lightly, and slipped a hand under her bra.

"Thanks for the assist on the Floor," she whispered, stroking her nipple. It was bizarre. Firefox was beginning to wonder how much of the slave-on-slave sex she had seen in other cells was just to cover surreptitious conversations. Most of them, probably.

"No problem." That was a lie. It had taken an effort to pretend to fall. It had been hard to expose herself in any way, for a slave she didn't know. And Firefox knew that was wrong; they needed a slaves - against - guards attitude instead of what she had just seen in this room.

"Do you want me to screw you? Or I can give you some money."

"No, that's okay. Why are you in trouble?"

Victoria tensed. "I don't know, I really don't," she said, troubled. "I dreamed I bit Master's throat out. I must have said something in my sleep. But even that doesn't make sense. I can't figure it out, though. Master's not angry at me, but that bitch --"

She was, Firefox realized, lying. Her cellmate Alice had been frightened the day Victoria had gone to Master. That meant Victoria had told Alice she intended to do something. Whatever it was, it was premeditated, and it was something she shared with her friend.

Yes, Victoria's teeth could tear out a man's throat. Had she chickened out and dreamt she had done the deed? It wasn't impossible. It wasn't even unlikely. It was easy to imagine her screaming in her sleep, having a dream so vivid they shot her up and threw her into the infirmary.

Firefox wondered if she should tell Victoria she was being moved to a different cell. No. She couldn't bear to give news like that.

Firefox felt physically sick when she realized that eventually, they would split up Foxforce. They were only together this long because they wanted her and her friends to believe they could live in Blue Diamond. But in the long run, it would simply be too dangerous to have them so close to one another.

It was absurd, but Firefox felt the need to defend Tigre. "Master knows she's leaning on you," Firefox said coldly. "She's under orders."

"Son of a bitch," Victoria whispered. "So he's making it look like it's Tigre's idea?"

"That's what she's there for. She's a lightning rod."

Firefox didn't know what to make of all this. Victoria had just confirmed she intended to hurt Master, but Firefox had seen Master uninjured right after, but she had smelt blood on Victoria's breath ...

Firefox's eyes widened.

Lightning rod.

The door popped open, and Tiomkin came in. He smiled at Firefox, as though reminding her he had at least molested her once.

They scrambled to their feet, and Victoria went to her knees so quickly that Firefox followed suit without thinking. The guard slapped Victoria's head. "'Clean the equipment' does not mean 'fuck the fox,'" he said. Firefox was beginning to see the advantage of lowering your head submissively. It made it harder to slap your face.

"No, sir," Victoria agreed immediately.

Tiomkin held a muzzle with a ball gag and a blindfold, and two short lengths of chain. "Put these on the bitch," he ordered. He looked at Firefox again. "You're going to love what goes down today," he promised. "You're going to love it."

Firefox collapsed slowly against the floor as the heated, neutral-buoyancy fluid flowed out of the VR tube. She had been taught to relax while undergoing VR training, and it was hard to fight that reflex.

She was wearing a modified helmet, like the one she had worn a thousand times before, but this one had a special attachment which, when the simulation required it, had pistoned brutally in and out of her mouth, forcing itself against her throat, somehow stopping before she gagged or vomited. Another attachment ran swatches of fabric or rubber across her tongue as she had "licked" different surfaces. Another two dildos had violated her anus and vagina; both were sore from use. Clamps had pinched and vibrated her nipples and clitoris, never letting her reach climax.

She was dazed and confused, as was normal after a non-interactive VR session. It was an experience not unlike a dream where you were helpless to act, instead you merely performed, like a trained animal. It had been a gang bang scenario, with a number of men -- she wasn't even sure how many there were. They had not so much made love to her as they had copulated -- pushing it into her mouth or her cunny or her ass, thrusting once or twice, and exploding into her, walking away, and being replaced by someone else. And she had squirmed on the ground, thanking them for their attentions, begging to be of service to them, clamping her breasts on their erections before pulling them into her mouth, less a woman than a thing for them to climax into and discard, while an IV drip insured she loved every moment. Over and over and over. She shivered.

And despite that, she had to work to remember that it wasn't real. The illusion was so good that part of her was genuinely shocked at her own wantonness, even though the rational part of her mind was firmly repeating You did not do that. It did not happen. It wasn't even your dream. It was a simulation imposed on you. Not your own will.

And she knew, as she knew from dozens of VR sessions in the past, that the memory was in her and that parts of it would become lodged in her memory, and that from time to time she'd puzzle over why she had chosen that phrasing -- Thank you, sir, thank you, shower me with your seed -- and why she had voluntarily chosen to take part in such a bizarre and demeaning game, before she remembered that it was forced on her in an act as abusive as rape, and perhaps potentially even more shattering to her self image, because she would remember participating enthusiastically.

Every act, every moment of humiliation, had released an incredible flood of pleasure and a sense of well-being so overwhelming she knew she must have been drugged or tasped. She had looked forward to the next violation, wanted him to come quick so she could have another.

She felt motor control beginning to return to her, and she felt her hands reach between her legs, to be frustrated by the belt that held the dildo poised to thrust into her loins. She worked at the belt, fought the buckles and snaps to get it off her so she could dig at her crotch and finally come. This was more important than standing.

Weight was returning to her, and she knew she was lying against the door, because it suddenly opened. She fell to the floor in a heap, suddenly shivering with cold. Hands pulled her out onto the floor, rolled her over onto her front, and bound her wrists together behind her. She struggled, not because she was being bound, but because she knew she wouldn't be able to touch herself. She was too weak to roll over, so he moved her. Her helmet came off, and Tiomkin tossed it aside. Her ears flattened, and she drew away from him.

He smiled down at her, stared at her breasts. "Just you and me, baby," he said. "I think I'll leave those clamps on. They're kind of pretty."

He knelt and got the belt off her. Firefox tried to swear, but speech was beyond her; she growled and snapped and then -- most embarrassing of all -- she yiffed. She wanted, no, needed to touch herself, and he wasn't letting her. This meant more than her hatred for him. She was on her back, her legs open.

He undid his belt. She squirmed for a better look.

He had a nice dick, and she knew she wanted it. What should she say? Favor me, sir. He pointed it at her and waited expectantly. She realized, abruptly, that he was going to piss on her. Her teeth went on edge. She was very still -- she could barely move anyway -- and relaxed when she saw he was too erect to urinate.

His attempt was actually a good thing. The disgust she felt took the edge off the desperate, even painful, desire she had felt. There was no denying it -- she wanted it inside her, still, but the need was endurable. She knew she could live without it.

"Want it, honey?" he purred.

She wondered if an honest reply or a lie would excite him more.

"No," she wheezed, weakly.

This was it, she knew. He was going to fuck her. She'd be another notch in his rape belt, he'd be another man "she had pleasured as a slave." She was horrified and, yes, she was excited by it, excited by the prospect of having another man plant his seed in her womb.

Still, she repeated herself. "No."

"You're saying 'no,' slave girl."

"'M not a slave," she said as clearly as she could. It was exhausting.

The floor felt good. She wished she could just lie down against it and be left alone, and play with herself. If he'd only decide he'd rather watch her touch herself and uncuff her.

The door opened again, and she heard a familiar footfall. Tiomkin looked up, guilty. Not guilty like a man who was about to assault a woman, guilty like a man stealing office supplies. When he saw who it was, he didn't bother to zip up.

"Sir," Tigre said mildly, "you know she's exempt."

"I don't know that. You see panties on her?" He nudged Firefox with his foot, not quite a kick.

"That won't fly, sir," Tigre replied, firmly. "I know you know her."

He looked at Tigre for a long moment, unbelieving. "Damn. You'd report me for that?"

"Let's hope it won't come to that, sir," she said impassively.

Firefox squirmed. She still couldn't sit up. For an instant, she had a flashback; Tiomkin was one of the men from the simulation, and she knew she had to get him inside her before he came, or he'd come outside of her. And that would be a waste.

He looked sly. "Well, I've got this problem here." He pointed at his erection. "This swelling that won't fit in my pants. I was going to get the vixen to do something for it. If you'd rather take over, I'm okay with that."

Tigre shrugged. "Sure," she agreed, and stepped forward over Firefox, putting out her hand. Tigre made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, and snapped his penis as though shooting a marble. There was a sharp sound as the back of her claw hit flesh. Even Firefox flinched.

His eyes watered, and he staggered, a welt already showing livid. His penis retreated for safety, as though deflating. Tigre watched, fascinated; perhaps she had rarely, if ever, hit a man before and took a professional interest. Firefox laughed so weakly it was inaudible.

"If I can help you with that again, sir, please don't hesitate to let me know," Tigre said calmly.

"You fucking bitch," he hissed. "Do that again and I'll fucking kill you."

"An individual's value to an organization is proportional to the difficulty of replacing him," Tigre replied. "Don't you think so?"

Tiomkin stared at Tigre, glanced down at Firefox. He seemed to consider kicking her, hard, out of frustration, but instead he zipped up his pants and stormed out. Tigre watched for a moment, and then knelt to Firefox. She attached a leash to her collar, hesitated, and propped her up into a sitting position, looked Firefox directly in the eyes.

"I'm taking you to a stage," she said. "I'm going to beat you."

"I know," Firefox said.

There was a pause. "I'm going to play with you here first," Tigre said.

Firefox couldn't answer right away, because the gratitude in her felt like it would make her burst. She knew that Tigre had kept her from violation because it was an order from Master; not because she was a friend. Still, letting her come, here and now, privately, instead of making her beg for it on stage was an act of kindness; perhaps the only kindness Tigre would ever show.

Tigre looped the leash over her neck and pulled Firefox's head over her shoulder. Holding the leash there, she used her other hand to yank the clamp off Firefox's clitoris -- Firefox yelped with pain. Then, gently, the tiger began to touch and feel all around her labia, pressing lightly, exploring. Helplessly, Firefox moaned her pleasure, and then Tigre touched inside of her to make her fingertip slick. Firefox turned her head, kissed and licked Tigre desperately, shamelessly, and sincerely.

After Tigre satisfied her, Firefox felt stronger, able to stand. Tigre didn't offer her clothes and Firefox didn't ask. Still, Tigre held her by her upper arm, ready to take her weight if she stumbled. Firefox felt time telescoping; it was all right, she didn't have to be afraid, there was plenty of time before they reached the stage, all right, they were in the hotel now, but there were minutes to go, all the time in the world, this wasn't so bad -- a bizarre attempt on the part of her own brain to minimize the panic she should have been feeling, but which would have been utterly pointless in any event.

A chestnut door opened, and men were standing and applauding. The sound was warm, even friendly, but Firefox knew what they were anticipating. She wondered if she would ever be able to hear applause again without being reminded of this moment. Next to her, Tigre bowed politely, accepting the homage to her artistry. Nobody looked at Firefox, not at first; she was an object, not part of the act. What had they called her earlier? A prop.

This was a room she hadn't seen before; it reminded her of films about elegant 19th Century men's clubs, with evening dress, cigars, about fifteen guests. There were gaming tables, neatly stacked decks of cards ready to be unsealed. She half expected Phileas Fogg to appear. Instead, one of the guests was Walton, from the day before.

Powerful but silent fans were whisking smoke away, and the armchairs were set up in a circular pattern around the platform in the center, and the waitstaff were women in skimpy maid's costumes, and Victoria was on the platform, tied onto a chair backwards, her chin on the headrest and her own back and buttocks exposed. She had been wearing a blank gothic / punk outfit, all that remained on her body were tatters of fishnet stockings and lace gloves. The first part of the show had probably involved stripping that away. Her eyes were unfocused, and she was breathing deeply, as though that would make it all go away. There was another chair, empty, just in front of her.

Tigre led Firefox around the platform. At the head, Firefox saw what she thought was a table, until she noticed carabineers on each corner, each attached to a retracting cable. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. The surface, she saw, was made up of hundreds of little bumps, like wide, blunt needles. It looked like some sort of odd massaging surface, except they were metal instead of rubber. It didn't look uncomfortable--

She looked at Victoria sharply. Unless you had just been flogged on the back and buttocks, and had the weight of a thrusting man on top of you. She felt faint.

"That's the struggle board?" Firefox asked.

Tigre glanced. "Yes." She looked away from it. And continued, reluctantly. "You're not getting that tonight. We have something else in mind for you. You'll love it."

For some reason, Firefox didn't find that particularly comforting.

Tigre led Firefox up onto the platform, cinched her leash off, and then attached and detached chains so that Firefox never had a single limb free. This caution was beginning to seem absurd: where would Firefox go, even unbound? It was beginning to feel normal to wear chains and cuffs, and to accept the direction Tigre gave her.

Her face was about even with Victoria's. The vampire girl looked at her unsteadily for a while, and then forced a slight smile. "We'll be okay," she said. "It's just a bad evening."

"Right," Firefox said, pretending to agree.

A lanky, small breasted cheetah woman in an evening dress -- Firefox was sure she had been at the selection earlier -- mounted onto the platform. She smiled widely and put up one hand for silence.

"Gentlemen," she said brightly, in a disarming voice. "We have two women being disciplined for you tonight, afterwards, we'll be breaking up into five games of poker. Winners will be enjoying Victoria on the struggle board."

Victoria flinched visibly, looked angrily at Tigre. Tigre met her gaze, impassively, and Victoria looked away.

"Gentlemen," Tigre said seriously, her voice simple and clear, without any of the histrionics of the mistress of ceremony's. "I am very pleased to be here tonight. I hope my work meets with your approval."

There was applause. Tigre's hand began to run lightly through Firefox's fur. Firefox started shaking, panting with fear.

There was a soft sound as the tip of the whip uncoiled to the floor.

Tigre stepped back.

Firefox's entire body jerked. Her ears flattened and eyes screwed shut. The sound of impact was muted, less sharp than it had been. Firefox blinked with astonishment. It hadn't hurt.

Well, it had hurt, but it hadn't been the fiery ripping anguish it had been before. It would leave a bruise, but not necessarily a welt.

The next blow landed parallel to the first, lower down. It didn't cross the first. Nevertheless, Firefox pretended to suppress a yelp, twisted against the bonds as though she was trying to tear them out. Firefox met Tigre's eyes fearfully; Tigre smiled grimly and lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Gratitude, undesired and uncontrollable, flowed out of Firefox and for an instant, only an instant, she would have died for the tiger.

The remaining eight were much the same, Tigre laying it on gently -- relatively -- and Firefox sobbing and squirming, and finally collapsing against the chair, pretending to be as exhausted as after the time she had taken on an entire football team -- no, wait, that was a VR session; it hadn't really happened.

Applause washed over them. Tigre patted her and smiled, -- Good girl, well acted -- and it took an effort not to respond. Something light hit Firefox; it bounced off and landed on the floor; a quarter. It was the first of a small rainstorm of coins. Firefox supposed it was all for Tigre; the audience didn't realize Firefox had been performing. Tigre smiled at the audience, fleetingly, and kept a hand stroking Firefox's head absently as she spoke again.

"I'd like to introduce an artist in her debut public performance," Tigre said lightly. "Her name is Alice and I hope she will meet with your approval."

Polite applause greeted the large Alsatian as she stepped up to the stage. Firefox was startled at first; but then again, it seemed unlikely that Tigre was the only one to carry Master's whip. Victoria heaved a tiny sigh of relief and smiled, reflexively, at Firefox.

Alice was dressed in leather; somehow, she didn't carry it off quite as well as Tigre. She raised an arm to the audience, clenched fist holding a coiled whip, and the applause crescendoed. She then knelt to the floor and put the coins in a rough pile for Tigre; there had to be at least three or four dollars there, Firefox thought sarcastically.

Alice stood and then lowered herself, resting with her free arm against the back of Firefox's chair, bringing her muzzle close to Victoria's ear. Firefox heard her, voice filled with all the venom a whisper could hold: "You filthy little cunt."

Victoria's eyes widened, with surprise and uncertainly.

The first blow drove her forward, closer to Firefox. Her face held a sort of blank astonishment, surprise. This changed to betrayal and confusion with the second, and with the third, everything human had been driven out of her face and replaced with pure, animal, pain.

When she was done, Tigre gave Alice a smile. Alice returned it, uncertainly.

"You liked that?" Tigre asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Alice said, sincerely. It was with obvious relief that Alice knelt and licked the tiger, grateful.

Victoria panted, helplessly.

Tigre patted Alice's shoulder, as coins were tossed onto the stage to thank Alice for her energetic and enthusiastic performance. Tigre handed Alice the dildo she wore on her belt. Alice bowed her head, accepting it. She ran her tongue across the length of the shaft, attached it to the harness she wore, and knelt behind Victoria.

Victoria cried out as Tigre unchained Firefox and stood her up. Tigre pointed to the small pile of coins. "Pick that up," she ordered.

Firefox obeyed, trying to ignore Victoria's pained gasps. Her hands were shaking as she held the coins; she was desperately afraid of what Tigre might do if she dropped one, even as she was still grateful that the tiger had taken it easy on her. Probably seeing the violence being done to Victoria had terrified her. No, it wasn't that. Alice had taken the bargain Tigre had offered to Firefox. And she was using Master's whip against a friend. Would Firefox do the same? She was now afraid that Technofox would be the first under her whip, and even more afraid that she might enjoy it as thoroughly as Alice seemed to be.

Tigre started walking away. The eyes that touched Firefox were even more frightening than Tigre was: at least she knew Tigre. Firefox followed after her, hands filled with coins. They were all quarters. For once, Tigre didn't need the leash. She went through an inconspicuous door.

They were on the Floor. It didn't seem to be open yet; there were no customers, and the staff walking about had a relaxed and informal air. Tigre took Firefox's leash in her hand, but it seemed to be a formality. Tigre towed her over to the bar.

"Evening, Tigre," Jeff said, looking up as he polished a glass. "Jack and Coke?"

"Thanks. She'll have a Coke," Tigre said, pointing at Firefox. She sat down and patted the stool next to her to indicate that Firefox was to sit. "Let's split the take," Tigre said.

Firefox blinked. "Split it?" she asked.

Tigre shook her head. "Sure. You earned a cut. No, wait -- I better hold it for a while anyway." She turned to Jeff. "I gave the girl love taps. She carried on like I was flaying her alive. Damn fine show."

"And what's the lady's name?" Jeff asked. He put a glass before each of them. Tigre sipped from hers before Firefox took a gulp.

"Firefox," Firefox said. "Jeff, is there any chance of getting a splash of rum for my coke?"

"Sorry, Firefox," he said apologetically. "No alcohol for the ... girls until after four in the morning."

"No depressants, until it's bedtime," Tigre explained. "Blue Diamond wants its women bright-eyed, energetic, and genki to a fault."

"Thanks anyway," Firefox smiled, and started nursing her Coke. It was obvious that Tigre could switch from dominatrix bitch to someone you could actually talk to at the drop of a hat. The trick was figuring out what made the hat fall. At the moment, Firefox suspected it was a matter of getting her alone, and for some reason, Jeff counted as "alone." Well, father-confessor was a venerable and recognized role for bartenders. It was odd; Firefox wasn't clothed, she was wearing a leash, and Jeff didn't make her feel uncomfortable. She guessed he wasn't gay -- she could scent interest there and she suspected he'd give her a tumble if she offered -- but he was being a gentleman.

"We need to hurry," Tigre warned her. "We have to get you dressed and set for the night."

"Set doing what?" Firefox asked, her voice iron.

"That's need to know only," Tigre said. "If we told you about bad assignments, then you'd fret about them beforehand. That brings on ulcers and stress illness. If we only told you about good assignments, you'd panic if we didn't tell you. Any assignment is Master's will and must be accepted with equal enthusiasm."

"Bullshit," Firefox muttered. Jeff heard her and twisted his lips, trying not to laugh. Tigre looked dark for a moment and Firefox and Jeff both looked solemn and impassive.

She put down her empty glass. "Let's go."

Firefox nodded, and finished hers, trying to ignore the tightness in her stomach. Her ears twitched and rotated. Master was walking towards them.

Tigre stood and bowed. Firefox went down to her knees.

"Master," she said humbly, "Thank you for favoring me and forbidding the guards to use me between the legs."

"Good girl," he said. "Maybe I want to save your sweetness for myself, and the guests. The guards would wear you out and I wouldn't get a penny for it."

Firefox touched her breasts to the floor, kissed his foot, kneeled and waited for him to touch her ear so she could stand. And it didn't bother her as much as it might have, because now she knew that he no more owned her than Tigre or Jeff did.

There was a remarkable variety of clothes in what had to be Central Costuming. The human woman there -- Ms. Ramirez -- quickly outfitted her with a sleek red one-piece dress, panties, and no bra. Despite all the chains and open crotch clothing on hangars, this reminded Firefox of something she might actually wear in public.

"What do you think?" Ramirez asked Firefox. "It's a little tight in the bust."

"That's alright," Tigre said. "But maybe something where the top comes off?"

"She can unzip it a little and push it down off her breasts," Ramirez said.

Even more satisfying, the seams looked solid -- it wasn't designed to be ripped off her. If it weren't for her collar and the bands on her wrists and ankles, she wouldn't have looked like a slave.

"High heels?" Ramirez asked.

"No," Tigre decided. "She's been barefoot too long. She'd wobble."

And it was Tigre who decided what Firefox would wear. Jewelry? Yes, a stud in the left nipple. A little perfume, behind the ears. A touch of mascara. Tigre was fussing over it, almost as though she were choosing clothes for herself, respectfully overruling Ramirez and barely acknowledging anything Firefox had to say. Even Ramirez seemed a little put off and bewildered.

Tigre took Firefox back into the hotel, and up the elevator. "You are to go to room 415 and knock. You are not to leave the guest's room until checkout tomorrow," she cautioned her. "Understand? I will be watching, right down the hall, until you go inside."

"Yes," Firefox said. "Yes, ma'am." Tigre stopped, and undid Firefox's leash. She pushed the fox on.

By now more puzzled than apprehensive, Firefox knocked on the door. From inside, she heard a man stand and step away from his desk. Her ears perked forward, and her tail raised, and wagged happily.

Jamison was wearing a Bronx Zoo T-Shirt; Firefox stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Hi, Milton," she said lightly. She closed the door behind her.

She had hoped to see him again; she really had. But face to face with him, she felt her affectionate anticipation crank up a notch, and transform itself into something sharper. I'd like to see him again instantly turned into if we start fucking now, then we'll fuck more often. She should be aggressive, because he was a little shy. This was followed by the realization that social norms required her to give him a blow job before taking pleasure from him. Slaves were supposed to do that, if the client had no preference. She blinked, confused. Where had that thought come from?

"Hello, Firefox," Milton said with a smile. He hugged her lightly and returned the kiss. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you." She looked around the room. He had an obvious camera bag, an overnight sack, and a compact but expensive laptop.

"Have you had dinner, yet?"

"No." She slid her hands down, cupped his butt, and pushed her groin lightly against his. He was already becoming hard. "I'd like something else first."

She kissed him, parted her lips, and slipped her tongue into his mouth. A moment later, they were on his bed. She pushed his T-Shirt up, kissed his belly -- not as hard and toned as the women of Blue Diamond, but at least he lacked any obvious flab. Her eyes kept sliding down to his belt.

Suddenly, with a flash of terror, she wondered if the desire to go down on him was hers, or if it had been put into her by Blue Diamond, or if it had been blocked by the men who had created Foxforce.

"Hey, hey," he whispered. "Please don't be afraid." He hesitated. "Do you want to go?"

"No," she said sharply, too sharply.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I mean, I'll sleep on the chair, give you a good evaluation and tip, and --"

"No," she repeated. She slid up against him, rested her muzzle against his face. "I'm not afraid of you. I didn't mean that."

"Are you sure?"

"I'd rather spend the night with you." She kissed him. "And I do want to make love with you."

He put his arm around her and drew her close.

"Did you ask for me?" she asked. "Me, specifically?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"Why?"

"Well," he said slowly, "I think it's because of my wife."

"Your ... wife?" she asked, tonelessly. She shouldn't have been surprised. Nice men wouldn't go to a slave whorehouse.

"Yes," he nodded. "You see, I lost her eighteen months ago. She was having a back operation and, uh, while she was under anesthesia she had a series of strokes."

Ouch. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. Anyway, since then there hasn't been another woman. Until you. I don't know. Somehow sleeping with you doesn't seem, well, seem as sleazy." He hesitated. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes, I think it does. I'm not trying to talk you out of it." She kissed him, on the forehead.

He pulled her head down, and his teeth clamped lightly on her neck, below the ear. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. Chimera tended to find mild biting, especially around the neck, intensely erotic and oddly relaxing at the same time. She felt it in her loins, tickling her lightly, knew the atavistic parts of her body were preparing themselves for mating. She had never been bitten that way by a human before; she felt any fear melt away, leaving nothing behind but a man, a bed, and a night that could last forever.

"Hifff..." she sighed.

"Would you like to see the pictures?" he asked.

Later, maybe. No, he was a hobbyist. Shutterbugs had to be indulged. "Sure." She hoped he wouldn't be getting up.

He picked up the remote on the nightstand, and pointed it at his laptop. It found the widescreen TV on the ceiling, and switched to use it as its display, bringing up Jamison's desktop. He selected a slide show program, and brought it to full screen.

Firefox blinked. Technofox was kneeling, touching herself, while a nude and shadowy fantasy lover embraced her, nibbling her neck as Technofox writhed in pleasure.

"That's ... me," Firefox said, stunned.

"Yes."

"But I'm beautiful," she said, amazed.

"You didn't know?" he chuckled.

"Well, people always say that when they're trying to get in your pants," she explained. "But --" she stopped, knowing she must sound like an idiot.

"The management of Blue Diamond was very happy with the pictures," he said. "And the story that went with them. They're on the website. They changed your names in the credits, I'm afraid. Technofox is Candi, with an 'i'."

She looked away, disappointed. "Not with an 'i'," she said, pained. "What did they name me?"

"Chili. Also with an 'i', I regret to say."

"Let me guess. It's because I'm red and hot?"

"Regrettably."

"May the patron saint of chimeras strike them down," she said softly.

"Saint David?" he asked.

She looked over. "You knew that?"

"I've got some chimera friends. I used to be a cop, in Boston. There's a lot of chimera out there, because it's easy to become legally human. Always wondered if it's David Brin or David Pulver."

"Both, actually. You used to be a cop?"

"Five years ago. Retired with a pension. Saffron -- my wife -- she got me interested in working with zoo animals, and photography."

Firefox nodded. He was young to retire -- it had to be a disability pension. But he didn't seem obviously disabled, so it was probably psychological. Well, it was a tough job. Firefox was a corporate mercenary, but that was always going in to perform a mission and extracting. It wasn't walking streets for days at a time and having to suddenly run towards armed men. Yes, it could break people. She didn't envy police.

He brought up another picture, Technofox with the mop. "She's very cute," Firefox said. "I hope they paid you for this."

"Well, sort of." He hesitated. "You see, I went in with my portfolio, and this was my audition. I didn't have to pay for you, and Blue Diamond got the first publication rights to the pictures. I'm negotiating for another portfolio, and in the meantime, they're giving me a freelancers' discount."

"Can I be in the shoot? With the other three?" she asked. "We liked working with you."

"Three?" he asked.

"Technofox, Shadowfox, and Silverfox."

"I assume they're your friends," he said dryly. "The names are a bit of a tip-off."

"Well, I wouldn't care to share you with someone I didn't know."

"Fair enough. That means we're discussing the shoot. I get to write this off as a business trip."

"Remember to deduct my tip," Firefox said wryly. "Can we see more of your pictures?"

He started paging through the other shots. Of course, he had taken hundreds, but had only kept the ones he liked (although he kept one where Technofox happened to look like the victim of a botched lobotomy for laughs). Then he brought up a web browser and went to the website.

She hoped he wouldn't look for other pictures of her, pictures of her in solitary. Seeing those would be ugly; but they had shared his photo shoot as they had shared their bodies and somehow it disturbed her less.

As he paged through, slowly, Firefox nestled closer to him. Her hand fell on his groin, and she unconsciously started rubbing him through his pants, barely aware of what she was doing to him. His hand slipped down, lifted her skirt, and rested gently on her camel toe. She sighed as he started stroking her gently.

With the last page on screen, he set the remote down and turned to her. He reached behind her, lowered the zipper, and wordlessly uncovered her breasts. She rolled over onto her back and let him suckle at her, his lips moving from one nipple to the other as she stared at the ceiling through half-closed eyes, content.

After some minutes, she silently rose to a sitting position, and slowly bared herself for him. As he watched, she undid his belt, freeing his erection, staring down at it.

This was proper. She was naked for him, except for the collar and binds that reminded her of her station. He was clothed, and now she should take him, quickly, into her mouth, giving pleasure and receiving none.

No!

He was taking his shirt off, so she didn't see her flinch. She was glad of that. She took off his shoes and socks, licking the flesh she bared, and then helped him off with his pants, so he was even more nude than she was. She then took his shaft in her hand, and impaled herself upon it, and he would never know that by stripping him and mounting him she was rebelling against the will of Master.

He caressed her as she worked at him, playing with him, squeezing him tightly as he was deep inside her and relaxing her grip as she slipped upwards.

It was strange. She wanted this to be all her work, wouldn't let him thrust or shift position. She wanted this to be her gift to him, in gratitude for treating her like a woman instead of using her like a slave. She wanted to be in control, even if it was only over the pacing of his cock sliding in and out of her.

Oh, God, he was pinching her nipples, already hard and erect from his play with them. The pleasure and almost-pain was intoxicating, so much that she had to lay down against him. He bit her neck lightly, making her growl with pleasure. He had chimera friends, yes, she believed it. And more than just friends, she was sure of that.

He clasped her to him, so she couldn't raise. Lying down had been a mistake. His scent filled her nostrils, his arms crossed over the slightly sore welts Tigre had left earlier, and somehow, even that was exciting; as though they were sharing her through the pain she felt, the tiger with the whip and the gentle man under her, as though she were at the point where cruelty and kindness met, and with that thought, she abruptly climaxed.

A slave shouldn't come first, she thought with foreboding.

She looked at him, and he smiled. I am not a slave.

"Are you ready?" he whispered.

She nodded, knowing what was coming.

He rolled her tenderly onto her back, onto the smooth silk sheets. She held him as he thrust into her. She couldn't prevent herself from speaking.

"Harder, please. Faster."

She caressed him, squeezing him and releasing rhythmically. She was staring at the ceiling when he came, and felt him splashing into her. She smiled, and hugged him.

"You're so beautiful."

She couldn't remember who said it. It didn't matter.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked.

"For what?" she asked. "For renting me? I like you."

"No, not for renting you. For making love to you."

She laughed, and kissed his fingers. "I swear to you, I would make love to you even if I were a free chimera in Boston."

He kissed her, his face sad.

"Can you recognize people in pictures? Other chimera, humans? A lot of chimera have trouble with that. They use scent or hearing instead."

"Yes," Firefox said, without elaborating. She had been trained for that specially, because she had to ID people in her rifle's scope. She wondered if she should tell her -- no, she'd sound like she was having fantasies of power and respect. Crazy little whore, pretending she was a mercenary.

"I knew a chimera who could recognize people by appearance. He was a SWAT sniper."

"Snipers are trained for that," she said vaguely.

"You really are Firefox, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, knowing what he meant.

"I mean you're one of Foxforce," he said. "A mercenary covert operations team registered in Boston."

It felt good to hear that. Hearing it out of someone else's mouth stiffened her spine and reminded her of who she was. It had been hard, very hard. "Yes," she said finally, proudly. "You know about us?"

"I was a cop in Boston. Are you on a mission? Or are you here against your will?"

She actually felt angry at him for a moment -- but how could he possibly understand how bad it was, and how they got there? "Against our will, all of us." She sat up and folded her arms over her breasts, wondering if naked in bed was a bad bargaining position or a really good one. "Will you help us out? We'll pay you."

"Yes."

Firefox felt an enormous weight lift from her. Active, outside help would turn escape from a desperate longshot to a very real probability. Even if Jamison did nothing but carry messages. Pay him how? She honestly didn't care. There wasn't anything she owned she wouldn't hand over to him. Not even herself.

"But first," he said, "can I show you some pictures, and can you tell me if you recognize them?"

"Sure." She was starting to feel alarmed. What would he ask for? She couldn't imagine anything she wouldn't do, but could he?

He brought up his slide show again. The first picture was a scanned playing card, a nude, leashed tiger, looking uncertainly at the camera. Five of spades.

"That's Tigre," Firefox said.

He didn't nod or shake his head: he brought up another picture. "The chimera," he said. There were two in this picture. A human woman was wearing an erotic spoof of a lion tamer costume, one that showed her breasts and crotch. Next to her, a nude tiger woman pressed affectionately against her; the human cradled the tiger's head. The tiger's hair was a light caramel color.

"I don't recognize her," Firefox said.

"She looks a lot like Tigre, doesn't she?" he asked.

"Yes. She's the same model and probably gene line. She's probably Tigre's clone sister. They look a lot alike. It would be easy to confuse the two."

"Yes. And her?"

A third picture, again of a Brandon Biotech tiger, with long caramel hair. She wore filthy cargo pants, dusty black boots, a T-shirt with a photographer's vest, and a bucket hat, brim turned up so the sun would light her face for the picture. She leaned against a civilian version of a military transport, a Super Hummer, with triplex wheels. In the background, scrub trees, dirt -- Firefox barely noticed. The tiger smiled, wearily, at the camera. Firefox had hear the phrase "the camera is your lover" but she had never seen it so perfectly illustrated. The tiger's gentle face positively glowed with love.

Firefox's voice was strangled. She could barely speak.

"That's ... Tigre," she said, disbelievingly. "Her hair is dyed, but it's Tigre."

"No," Jamison said curtly. "That's Saffron, my wife."