CeCe let the vibrations of the car nuzzle the side of her head that rested against the window. She wasn’t so much watching the events outside as she was giving her eyes a direction to look at. Anything to avoid the white stallion in the black suit sitting across from her. She considered opening the window to let the thick cigar smoke out but dared not touch the controls. Fear of reprimand was bondage enough when she lacked restraints. The country was sick. Equines ruled it with an iron fist and reminded everyone daily. Even amongst them, there was a hierarchy, but not of money like any so-called ‘civilized’ country. Here, despite their economic power, they still believed in eugenics. Horses reigned supreme, donkey’s second, with mixed breeds of the two coming in third. They were all first class citizens though, unlike her. A slave that could be paraded freely without care for shame or comfort. Like now she witnessed a zebra man walking side-by-side with who she assumed was his wife from the matching extravagance of golden necklaces and silver dress to his Rolex and collared shirt. Three feet behind them walked a naked lion, his balls tethered to a leash wrapped around the zebra’s fingers while he was busy carrying shopping bags of various expensive brands. In her home country, this would have caused alarm and questions if there were some strange porno being shot. Here, it was one of many sights she’d grown far used to as the norm. Now all she thought of upon seeing them was how thankful she was to have clothes. Not good clothes by any stretch of the imagination. Her top was a size too small, better to emphasize her breasts, and she might as well have been wearing a thong for how much her hotpants covered. She pretended they offered some dignity. “Look at me.” The stallion commanded. CeCe did without question, holding his gaze while he looked her up and down. One of his many rituals was a signifier of the power he held over her. As if the collar around her neck wasn’t enough. “You’re going to one of our whorehouses today. Do well and I won’t leave you there.” CeCe bowed her head. “Yes, sir.” Her masters were cruel but they offered her benefits above a slave. A private room, a bed with sheets and a blanket, even a personal bathroom. Brothel whores had to share these unless they were top earners, and CeCe did not wish to be a top earner. If she had to service two stallions she hated to keep what little privileges she had, and the dog would do it without question. She smirked, reminding herself she had done so on numerous occasions. Not even the public space of a cafe was safe. His face soured. “Don’t smile. It’ll age your face faster.” She dropped the expression. “Yes, sir. Apologies.” CeCe reminded herself to keep her emotions minimal outside of sex. If she could, she’d have killed them altogether. They refused to die. They sifted through the sands of despair with bleeding fingertips reaching for handholds. Their car stopped. “Get out,” her owner commanded. The first thing CeCe noticed about the establishment was the neon sign. In pink it outlined two predator shapes, a feline and a canine fur, and between them, a thick horsecock being worshiped. She gulped and kept her head down, stepping forward so as not to be pushed along. The smell of sex stung her nostrils inside the building. Muffled moans from closed doors filled the air, mixing with pop music and flashing lights. A donkey woman in tight shapely purple robes approached her and her master, bowing with subservience as she spoke. “Welcome, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?” The stallion ignored her, looking around until pointing to a stripper pole with his cigar. “Do you know how to dance?” CeCe nodded. “Go put on a show then, I have to talk business with the lady.” Eyes followed her up the steps to the polished pole. CeCe held her breath, releasing slowly to ease her tension from the crowd. Stallions of various breeds and fur colors watched, leaning forward with hungry eyes. Some watched her for a moment before returning their gaze to another performer, a dark-furred lioness with golden bangles and a matching collar, her braided hair bundled up into a ball. She spun with her pole, balancing with impressive leg strength that allowed her to maneuver up it without her hands. She struggled to remember when exactly she’d last poledanced. It may have been for a friend, or in an instructional class. CeCe pumped the pole once as she recollected the night practicing. She knew to puff her chest out and swayed her ass as the pole acted as her base, her foundation. None caught interest, save for the stallion that brought her. He looked on with a glare, ignoring the donkey woman’s words. CeCe held her shudder, trying not to panic at the thought of what he’d do if she didn’t draw in anyone. The lioness pulled her out of it. Her soft hands clutched the same bar as her dark red eyes shared an understanding look with the wild dog. For a moment CeCe felt her sadness, her despair, and regret at the situation. A sister in enslavement. Then the lioness leaned in with a kiss, not one of a lover but one to show off as the hoots and hollers rose from the crowd. “Follow my lead,” the lioness whispered. CeCe nodded, biting her lips as the lioness twisted around and pulled her back to the pole, locking her in place. Declawed hands dragged over her top then yanked it over CeCe’s head, blinding her as the denizens watched her breasts flop out to the open air. Her paws kneaded the canine’s tits, pinching and twisting her nipples until they were hard and tight. Teeth nipped at her neck as she moaned, locking her in place for the crowd to watch in glee. The blush across her face made her thankful for the impromptu hood, not wanting anyone to see her enjoy the treatment. It was one thing to assume she wanted to be displayed and not that the lioness touched her in a way no stallion bothered. The stallions in the crowd cheered and whinnied, showing the stage with the wealth she spied from the gap in her shirt. The lioness pulled it back and made it an impromptu binding for CeCe’s arms just as someone’s hooves echoed across the stage. He was tall and wide, with a muscular chest and beer belly. He kicked his jeans off, letting his cock out to breathe and grow. She glanced at her owner, catching him nodding in her direction. The new stallion grabbed her skull to force her face toward him. His flat head was pushed to her lips, sinking in without care for her consent. No amount of training helped her grow used to horsecock size. It stretched her jaw and strangled her, thrusting in and out without mercy. Her sputtering gags urged him on, with the crowd cheering him on. “Fuck her throat!” One shouted. “Make her blackout!” Cried another. Heavy balls slapped her chin. His hips knocked her head into the pole. CeCe’s eyes rolled back behind her head, silently pleading to end it all. Then the stallion cried out. Hot seed spasmed in her throat then across her face as he pulled out. Caked in him, she didn’t notice the lioness until tongue deep, her maw filled with thick cum from another stallion that approached the stage. In pairs, they came. Each intended to bury themselves into the lioness or CeCe while the crowd grew to watch. Some took to her throat, giving her few moments to breathe that weren’t spent hacking loogies of seed to the floor, leaving her lungs burning and throat so sore she didn’t dare try to speak. Some didn’t like that, eager to make her cry out for their entertainment. Whether it be from slapping her tits and cunt, twisting her nipples, or even making her bark and beg like the filthy dog she was in their eyes. The lioness suffered alongside her, making their shared shame tolerable to her broken status. The worst was when they were forced together by their patrons. By ropes and chains, they were locked together on the same pole, their asses out for any to enjoy. Mouth to mouth the two breathed each other’s air as stallion rods sank into their backsides, with every wince and moan gnawing at the other’s lip. For her part the lioness tried to comfort CeCe, to make the experience as pleasurable as possible with an eager tongue and firm grip. But the stallions saw it as another part of the show. Maybe it was. CeCe lost sight of much with every spasm inside her. Rocked back to reality with each stinging slap left by a wayward stallion. When it was over CeCe felt her stomach threatened to burst. Her belly expanded a least half an inch outward, like an early pregnancy sign she couldn’t help but cradle as she kneeled to the floor. The stink of sex stained her nostrils, and drying cum covered her fur and hair. A shower would be a blessing, but she shuddered knowing the hose would come instead. In her haze of exhaustion, CeCe noticed a new stallion sitting at the edge of the stage. One in a white suit with black fur, opposite of his companion in a black suit with white fur. Mr. White’s fingers tapped his armrest, mulling in thought at the display as Mr. Black spoke up. “They certainly attracted an audience.” Mr. White’s grunt did not share whether it was in approval or not. He turned to the donkey behind them. She leaned against the wall, one leg slipping out of her dress as she smoked a cigarette from a long holder. “Miss Grey, what are the proceeds?” With a long wif the madame sucked smoke then blew it into a wide ring. At the snap of her fingers, a hamster girl ran up, jostling a small box stuffed to the brim with bills and jostling with coins. Leaning to the hamster’s level she listened to quick whispers, her face souring. “They could be better.” Mr. White sighed, rubbing his temple. “A defective product. I knew the deal was too good to be true.” CeCe struggled to breathe, as if the stallion’s words were a noose tightening around her neck. “Perhaps we should pass her off to one of our street handlers?” “You know that’s only for tourism and bribes.” Mr. Black argued, “The real money is in the brothels. If we want a return on our investment, she needs to work here. Besides, the exotic product works better behind closed doors. People pay more for non-mare cunt.” He glanced at Miss Grey, “No offense meant.” She shrugged, “None taken, sir.” Mr. White’s expression told CeCe he didn’t want to agree with his partner’s point but struggled to find a counter. “She could barely handle an impromptu orgy.” “With respect, Sir,” Miss Grey bowed before continuing, letting Mr. White signal for her to speak, “In a brothel, there is very little impromptu. If a client wants to turn his evening into an orgy midway, that costs extra and requires the property to agree.” Mr. White raised his brow at that. “If a working girl isn’t capable of doing an orgy because they expected one person, they can’t perform as well. Adaption is all well and good, but knowing what a client wants ahead of time means we can perform better. Better performance means more repeat clients. More whales to harpoon.” “Whale theory,” Mr. White groaned, “I hate whale theory. I’d rather we expand but…” he sighed again, slumping into his chair, defeated. “Fine. But you need to train her better.” Miss Grey nodded, then signaled the lioness. “I will have Cleo be her guide to how things work here. By the end of the month, she will be a profitable earner for the both of you.” CeCe found it hard to follow along when she struggled to stand. Cleo, the lioness who’d helped her this entire time, carried her to her feet and led the dog. “It gets easier,” the lioness whispered as they entered the bathroom. “Miss Grey is a fair mistress.” CeCe didn’t care. She was just happy for a shower.