[b][u][center]Greta’s Work Night
For Mizzukat
By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]
 
 
 
 
 



“What makes you think that we’ll let some rando perform for us?”

The raccoons’ question was expected; the twin brothers ran a club in the underground part of the city – literally, underground, off an abandoned subway line – and were very suspicious of any new performers. Considering the clientele that used their club, they were touchy about anyone that might kill the vibe, or start a riot, or cause any other problems that they’d have to deal with. Cops weren’t coming down here; anything that happened underground had to be solved by the people there.

The white wolf smiled as she leaned back in her chair, looking across the small booth at the brothers. They were dressed in rough leather vests and jeans, barefoot and rough-looking. Smelled, too, a little sweaty and oily, little musky. Probably hadn’t seen a shower in a day or two, strong-enough smelling to twinge at her nose. Nothing bad, but enough for her to notice at this point.

She was completely different. White-furred, wrapped in a trench-coat, one leg in fishnet stockings laying over the other, she painted a picture of someone that had been walking for a while, and had just come to their resting place for the night. The guitar seated beside her didn’t have a case, but it didn’t need one; the shimmering purple body reflected the low light of the underground club, and she could feel it twinkling along her arm, warmer than it should be.

“I think you’ll want the side benefits that you’ll get from me putting on a show,” she said.

“Heh, what, you packing some couple thousands that’ll pay the bills?” one of the brothers asked.

“I’m thinking you’ve been lonely for a while. Why don’t we cut a deal? You let me play, I’ll let you have some fun.”

“We got bitches that’ll do that already,” the other brother, with a scar over his muzzle, said with a shake of his head. “I doubt that you’re better.”

“Really?”

“Seriously. Doubt that you got the tits or the mouth.”

“Well, I imagine that your bitch doesn’t have something like this.”

Greta smiled, sticking out her tongue. It was long, as most canine tongues were, and she showed off the full length of it, sticking it as far from her muzzle as it would go. It wasn’t just the length that she was showing off, of course, but the tongue stud that was pierced through it. The little gem-topped stud was almost right in the middle of her tongue, guaranteed to make oral quite a bit more interesting if they were to get down to that.

The two brothers blinked, staring, and Greta took advantage of that to undo the front of her coat. She pulled it off to the side, and the two raccoons stared all the harder as she revealed that she had come down with very little on under the coat, too.

“Like what you see?” she asked.

When the brothers didn’t immediately respond, she reached up to her breasts, idly pushing up from beneath. They were quite heavy, though she was used to them these days. She still remembered how hard it had been for teenage her to get used to the feeling of such a large pair. Oh, what a girl she’d been back then.

The cross-bone piercings through her nipples were a little tender – new style, new stretch – but they made the dark nipples stand out all the more as she fondled herself. They were big, pushing the nipples out a little more than usual, and the stiffness and sensitivity that followed had her all kinds of riled up.

“You wearing anything under that coat?” the scarred brother asked.

“Just the fishnets,” Greta said, letting her breasts fall to her chest.

“…Prove it.”

“Give me the stage tonight, and I’ll do just that.”

Once the brothers looked at each other, she knew that she had them. The temptation of getting someone that was obviously kinky rather than some bitch on payroll that was going to suck ‘em off without complaint was too much. They probably had to deal with all kinds of sluts coming in and out of the club, showing off without them ever getting a piece. Someone like her, going naked save for her coat and stockings, would be too much for them to resist.

People like this were idiots, but they were useful idiots.

“Fine,” the unscarred one said. “But stand up and show us what we’re getting later.”

“Heh, as you wish.”

Greta shrugged her way out of the coat, leaving it in her seat. As she stood up from the booth, she let it fall off her shoulders and stepped away, her rounded rump pushed back toward the boys. She tilted her head back, her arms over her head, and she stretched, showing off all her muscles in her back and hips, then leaned forward little by little. The weight of her breasts pulled her forward, and she let her legs spread a little bit, showing off the chain that hung from her clit.

“Holy fuck, that’s kinky.”

“You’re not kidding. I bet she – holy – what the fuck is that?”

“Bitch, you’re feral?” the scarred one hissed.

“Heh, partly.”

She spread her legs a bit further, showing off the sheer puffiness of her sex. Unlike what most anthros had, she was a bit of a throwback, the feral ancestry of her bloodline showing in a more canine sex between her legs. The flesh pushed out in an almost pillowy fashion, creating a spade or a cookie, however one wanted to describe it, between her legs. She patted it, feeling the blood-filled flesh sink in just a bit before puffing out again.

“Still just as hot as any slit that you’ve had.”

“Fuck,” the scarred one muttered, shaking his head. “I didn’t think –”

“We really want to stick it in feral?” the plain-faced one asked.

“Shut up. She’s willing.”

“But –”

“Feral or not, it’s pussy,” the scarred one said, shaking his head. “You get three hours on stage. After that, you come to the back rooms. If you don’t show up, we’ll come after you and get what we want the hard way, understand?”

“Oh, I understand.”

Greta stood up, biting back a small huff from the weight of the chain swinging around as she reached for her guitar and her coat. She tossed them both over her shoulder, not bothering to dress again, and rested one hand on her hip.

“Show me to the dressing room?”

#

Greta didn’t take long to get prepped. The brothers had ‘suggested’ that they wanted her to stay clothed down here to keep from starting a riot. She knew that they were deadly worried about someone stealing their little piece of tail from them or starting some sort of fight in the pit, but Greta didn’t really give a shit about what they wanted.

She leaned against the tattered wall backstage, looking out through the crack in the curtain at the club itself. She hadn’t seen much in the early hours, back when the lights were mostly off and the brothers were getting ready for the night ahead, but she’d been able to tell that it wasn’t exactly a high-rent place. The wolf would be surprised if there was more than two bouncers for the whole place, and if there was any security beyond the basic camera over the front door, she’d be downright astonished.

It was the perfect place for an act like hers. If the clients that came down here were going to throw a fit –

[i]Easy, easy,[/i] she thought, shaking her head as she pushed down the petty, judgmental child-voice that had been part of her ever since she got that first piercing and began a life of telling society to fuck off. [i]They’re right about not causing a fight. Let’s be smart about this. Fun, but smart.[/i]

The white wolf smiled to herself as she leaned back, her coat hanging over her shoulders and barely hiding her breasts, and certainly doing nothing to hide the puffy black flesh of her spade and the piercing that went through her clit that anchored the chain that ran down. She was probably leaving a dusty footprint on the wall with her bare feet, but she couldn’t care less about the whole thing.

Greta took a deep breath, taking a moment to pull herself away from the whole ‘devil may care’ attitude that had carried her this far to think a little more carefully in the way of a more mature adult. It had taken her years to get over the sheer level of hate for the ‘system’ that had allowed her to survive her abusive, controlling parents, but it was the only thing that kept her out of prison more often than her friend, Gus, was. She preferred to live her life outside of a jail cell, thanks.

But at the same time, living the way that she wanted meant risking that almost every night. She had to be careful, had to think things through, had to make sure that she had a plan instead of just leaping into things and improvising from start to finish. That had been the hardest thing to learn.

But learn she had, and it served her well.

[i]Heh, you could play me a song that would keep them all calm and collected, couldn’t you?[/i] Greta thought, stroking the neck of the guitar. It warmed beneath her fingers, and she chuckled. [i]Course you could. But can you do it so that they still like seeing me naked, instead of just missing the point?[/i]

That was a little bit less clear, but the guitar was still warm beneath her fingers, warmer than just the heat of her body could have explained. The white wolf nodded, swinging the guitar around her body so that the strap rested between her breasts. She shrugged the coat back a bit further, sliding her arms out of the sleeves so that it could be left behind at the right moment, and waited for her call.

It didn’t take long. One of the brothers walked in front of the curtain and slapped the mic repeatedly. The crowd went quiet as he started talking.

“Alright, gentlemen and gentleladies, bums and bastards. We got a new show for you tonight. And before you start throwing your trash at the stage, lemme tell ya, she’s a damn sight prettier than the last bitch that came begging for a shot.”

[i]And probably had to suck your nasty dicks to get that shot,[/i] she thought.

“Now, you treat her right, and maybe she’ll give you a show at the end of the night. Me and my brother are happy to have a new guitarist here, and we wanna make sure that she comes back, so give her a warm welcome. Put your hands together for the Snow Queen!”

[i]Snow – oh, you couldn’t have been a little more creative?[/i]

Greta shook her head as she walked of the back halls, stopping dead center at the middle of the curtains. She planted her feet on the wooden floorboards, crossing her arms under her breasts and pushing them up and out. The nipples were just barely covered by the coat, and the rest of them were completely on display. She’d positioned the guitar in such a way that it barely covered her pussy, and it wasn’t doing a damn thing about the chain that hung all the way down to her ankles.

The curtains pulled to the side, and she had her first view of the well-lit club. No fewer than twelve tables were gathered in front of a crescent-shaped stage, and a broad circular room spread out in front of her with booths pressed firmly against the walls. Some housed people that were clearly down on their luck, high or badly dressed or both. Others had well-to-do men and women in suits, showing off some flash and substance that were probably here on drug deals or making some sort of illicit bargains with people. Still others were sex workers that were moving from table to table, looking for business.

In all cases, their eyes were on her now, and some of their jaws had already hit the floor. Their eyes flicked up and down her body, mouths working in soundless shock.

Before the brothers could come up and pull her off the stage or some customer could ruin the moment, Greta pulled the guitar forward and strummed her fingers across the strings.

BWOOOOM!

The sudden echo of a loud chord rippled through the room, spilling over everyone with a shimmering soundwave. Those in the front rows were nearly knocked from their seats, and multiple glasses and bottles bounced up and down before rolling off the tables.

But it wasn’t just the sound that went with it; it was magic, magic from the guitar and from the way that Greta played it. The soundwaves echoed with the fascination of a powerful melody, an enticing hum of a bedroom, the curiosity-inspiring tingles that came from something in the distance that made you want to take a little trip to find out what it was. The emotion in the sound was the important thing, not the words, and Greta smiled as she watched all those shocked expressions start to fade into something more familiar: lust.

“Heh, showtime,” Greta muttered.

She threw the coat off her shoulders, stepping forward in wide, sweeping strides that forced her legs further apart than she would walk normally. Her breasts hung over the guitar on one side and under the long, slender part on the other. Spotlights splayed over her white fur, showing off every inch of her and reflecting off her piercings and down to her chain between her legs.

She stopped at the edge of the stage, the toes of her right foot dangling past it, and she looked down at the gathered men. All males by the stage, and all of them in easy eyesight getting a boner looking up at her naked body. She turned on the spot, her ass flexing toward the crowd. Once she was sure that they’d all had a good look, she turned to look over her shoulder.

“So, you boys ready for the show?”

“YEAH!”

Greta turned on her heel and immediately started wailing, the strings flexing beneath her fingers as she played an old song, a powerful song of want and yearning, of curiosity and need and desire. She played, and as she danced her fingers along the instrument, she cast the spell from it, working it into the audience to play on the spell that she had left behind before.

She cast a web of want and need, suppressing the curiosity and shock that came with someone walking out on stage in the first place.

She threw out a song of heat and debauchery, getting rid of any of those little lingering bits of judgment.

She ensorcelled them with the sounds of relaxation and tiredness, making sure that none of them would storm the stage.

And as she played, she took in the pleasure of being stared at, of having all those eyes on her at once, and knowing that they were thinking of many, many perverted things to do with her. Greta lived for that, lived for the dirty stares of those that wanted to do things to her that they’d never dare to do to a proper girl. She wanted them to see a dirty wolf, something that was completely different from the high-society girls that walked the streets and the boardrooms of the city above.

And having those eyes on her spade, of seeing them want that more than they wanted those fancy girls up there, made her wet. She felt the need dripping down the chain, and she laughed between songs.

“Swing those hips, girl!”

“Show those titties!”

“Keep it up!”

Greta waved at the crowd and did just that. She moved from one song to the other, swaying her hips as she walked across the stage. The songs were drawn from metal catalogues that she had either played with or written in, and she played with all the confidence and skill of someone that had been doing this for years. She could keep her breath just fine as she belted out the screams and the roars with the same power of any male singer, and she kept up the stomp, stomp, stomp steps to the beat of the song, marking the stage with dusty footprints and her own juices as they dribbled all over the place.

This was the life. This was what she wanted. Not some prissy, stuck-up little office job with her family, where they would hide her feral parts and wait for some operation that might take them away. Not some little hidden-away life where she had to live clean so that there were no secrets. No, this was what she wanted, what she [i]needed.[/i]

To be seen.

To be known.

To be wanted.

She howled as she reached the end of her second song, throwing her fist in the air as she laughed with the crowd. They howled with her, some of the men in the front row groping themselves as they did.

Greta grinned as wide as she could as she walked to the edge of the stage, squatting down and flicking her chain. Some of them men tried to catch it, but she was able to pull it back every time. They were just a hair too slow, always on the verge of getting it and pulling her off the stage and into their arms, but she was just that little bit faster.

Every time they tried, her pussy swelled a little bit, reminding her of the need that she always felt like this. She reached down, rubbing the end of the chain against her folds, her puffy cookie shown off to everyone, and she chuckled as she got back to her feet.

“Ready for another song, boys?!”

They cheered, and she sang again.

#

An hour later, she walked back to the backstage hall. The raccoons were yet to come after her, but she imagined that the brothers were probably going to start entertaining offers on her body once the song magic started to wear off. She doubted that it would hold for too much longer now that she wasn’t actively playing, and she kept one ear flicking around, listening for any sign of someone climbing up to storm the backstage.

So far, nothing, but as she gulped down the water that had been left for her, she could hear some of the comments on the other side of the curtain. Her lips turned up as she realized that they were talking about her.

“Holy shit, did you see that? Holy fuck, I didn’t think that you could get away with someone coming out naked like that.”

“Only in the undercity, my friend, only in the undercity.”

“Filthy little bitch, wasn’t she? Hell, I think she slimed the whole stage.”

“Slimed the stage, nothing. She drenched that thing. And did you see her pussy?”

“Holy shit, was that real? Was she…was she actually feral?”

“God, I’ve never seen one that looked sexy before. Think that she’d feel as good as a clean pussy?”

“I think she’d feel better; did you see how puffy that thing was? God, looked like a vise.”

She smirked, idly reaching down and rubbing herself. Oh, they were enjoying the thought of using her, alright. If she wasn’t careful, one of them might actually start something…

[i]Hmm…[/i]

Normally, she would let the show go on, just getting her pleasure from being seen and enjoyed by the crowd’s eyes. It made it so that she could actually enjoy the deals that she made with the club owners at the end of the night, considering that they usually weren’t the most attractive individuals around. She liked to feel dirty sometimes, but most of them were sleezy and not particularly good at what they did. They needed every head-start that she could give them with the exhibitionistic foreplay.

Tonight, though…

[i]Hmm, decisions…[/i]

Greta downed another glass of water before leaning back against the shabby wall. She looked down at herself, considered her options, and slowly smiled.

[i]Heh, not a very hard decision at all.[/i]

If they were interested in a feral pussy – and some of them most definitely were – then perhaps she might have a partner in the audience to make the show that much better…

#

She walked back out without the coat this time, and the audience was already riled up. Greta walked to the edge of the stage, guitar gripped in one hand and her chain in the other. She swung it from side to side, the end whistling through the air as she looked down on the different males and females in the audience.

Eventually, she started to strut around the lip of the stage, almost walking on hands as some of the more desperate audience members tried to reach out for her. The chain proved useful for smacking those hands away when they came too close, but she never went too harsh with that. Always just enough to get them to think twice about what they were doing, never so hard to break the skin or worse.

Up and down the stage she went, never striking a note, never making a sound other than the whistling of the chain hanging down from her clit. The entire audience was eating her up, unable to take their eyes off her, and she loved it.

Finally, she came back to the front-center part of the stage, and she turned to look away from them again. This time, rather than striking a pose, she hopped forward half a step and dropped to her knees. The crowd gasped as her tail went up and she reached between her legs, pressing her fingers against her spade and pushing it apart. The lewd squelch of the hot, wet flesh spreading open was loud enough to be heard all the way to the booths, she was sure, and Greta had to suppress a moan of her own as she showed herself to the crowd.

“Heh, see what you do to me?”

Her question was enough to get them hollering for more, shouting and lunging for the stage. She laughed and rolled, getting back to her feet before anyone could grab her, and stepped out of reach.

Before she had to start playing a song, though, one specific male stood up. The pit bull slammed his hands on his table, cutting through the din, and all eyes went to him.

“It looks like there’s a wet bitch that needs some relief,” he said, his voice low and surprisingly focused, missing even the slightest tremor of need that she was used to hearing from her partners. “Mind if I cut in while you sing?”

“Sounds like we have a professional in the house.”

“Only kind of man that can keep up with a wild thing like you.”

She gave him a look-over. The pit bull was a dull brown, not quite the creamy sort that one would see on other dogs, but with the shoulders and thick muscles to his frame that was common with the breed and species. She looked down between his legs and saw a budding erection, but there was something just slightly off about it. The second or two that she took to stare at it made him reach down, and he shamelessly pulled his zipper out of the way.

The second she saw a flash of sheath, she knew it’d be a good time. She chuckled, waving at him.

“You got a name?”

“Axel.”

“Well, Axel, you get your dick up here, and we’ll see if you can keep up. Bring a chair.”

“You tired?”

“I just need something to lean on while you get to work.”

He smiled, grabbing one of the few empty chairs in the audience as he walked up to the stage. The only two bouncers that the club had were working had to keep the rest of the audience from storming her, but their job got markedly easier as Axel walked on-stage and joined her. She wasn’t a short wolf, but he was taller than her by a head, and was much thicker.

“Looks like you’ve got the build to take what you want,” she said as she took the chair from him. “You think that you can keep up with me?”

“That’s my job: keep up with brats like you.”

The only thing saving him from getting smacked across the head with her guitar was the lighthearted way that he said it, and the fact that he seemed to realize that he’d gone over a line when she didn’t immediately answer him. Before he could apologize, she held up a hand, two fingers up.

“Two things. One, never call me that again.”

“Got it.”

“Two. No collars, no leashes.”

“Strange.”

“You collar and leash a dog that you want to train. I’m not going to be trained by anyone. I’m just here for fun. If you can work with that, I’m happy to let you have some fun to. Got it?”

“Heh, understood.”

“Now get that dick out.”

As he unzipped, Greta leaned over the chair. It meant getting herself into a position that wasn’t the most comfortable, her legs spread just a bit apart and her breasts hanging over the back of the chair for support, but it was at least something that put her on display for the audience. She chuckled as they fell silent, knowing that at least a few of the males in the audience were jerking off under their chairs. Hell, she would be surprised if there weren’t at least a few wet pussies in the house.

The familiar feeling of a tapered tip rubbed between her thighs, working against her spade as Axel leaned a little closer. It was wet, and hot, and –

“Mmm…”

He managed to guide it in hands-free as he gripped her hips, pulling himself closer and closer. The thin tip meant that it was getting in easily, forcing itself through her puffy, tight little pussy and into her depths. It took surprisingly little time for the opening of his sheath to kiss her spade, and she looked over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Not your first feral?”

“Mmph, maybe my tightest.”

“See if you can loosen me up.”

“Heh, you got it.”

He started rocking his hips almost immediately, and Greta sighed as she lost herself in the pleasure for a moment. The raw feeling of a hot dick down there was something that she hadn’t had for too long. She looked out at the crowd, hearing the cheers and jeers and teases that were being slung around –

“Fucking feral; should have been on my dick.”

“Didn’t want that dirty pussy anyway; bet you that she’s been fucking quads.”

“Fuck, those fat tits, though.”

“I want that bitch in my lap.”

They still wanted her, still liked the show. That was enough for her. She strummed her fingers down the guitar, playing something more instrumental, and the crowd quieted down, staring and listening, under the sway of the song for now as –

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

The white wolf kept her moans silent as the big pit bull slammed in again and again, his cock thick enough that she could feel it spreading her puffy pussy out. His knot was already starting to grow, but with the self-control he was showing and the regularity of his thrusts, she was pretty sure that he was going to last for quite a while. In, out, in, out, the wet sounds of his cock spearing into her pussy and going into her depths getting broken up by the sound of her occasional moan and the grunt from above. She looked over her shoulder, watching as he stared down at her pussy, at her ass, and knew that he was getting as much pleasure out of using her spade as she was out of getting it used.

She focused on playing, her hands on autopilot, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t need the occasional correction. Greta gritted her teeth as Axel started to pick up the pace, ramming in a little faster, harder. Each time that he hilted with her, she could feel it in her depths, sending tingles right up her spine, and her juices drooled down the chain.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The song and the thrusting blended together, and Greta wasn’t sure if she was playing in cadence to him or if he was thrusting in cadence to her. Either way, it was a hot, wet rhythm, and his knot was slowly inflating inside of her. The easy thrusts were fading away to a soft pop, pop, pop rhythm inside of her, and she panted, her tongue hanging out, her eyes wide as she took the ‘beating’ inside. Her pussy opened and closed around his knot as it got bigger and bigger, and he leaned over her back as it started to bounce a bit against her.

“You ready to be knotted?”

“Heh, see if you can hit the last note.”

“Easily.”

He sped up, ramming into her, and she barely kept hold of the chair as she kept playing. The rattling feeling of that cock pounding into her and the wide-eyed stares of the audience alike played into her need. Her pussy flexed around his knot, taking it, loosening as he slammed in, only to force it back out with a pop. He didn’t slow down; if anything, he sped up, the pit bull clearly filled with confidence.

She loved it.

The feeling of her breasts swinging back and forth from the hard fuck was only beaten by the feeling of all those eyes on her. The judgment, the stares, the whispers of how ‘dirty’ she was for doing something like this: they all added up to a building orgasm between her legs, and she could barely keep her fingers moving.

Ten seconds, twenty, thirty, then finally a minute, and she hit the last note –

POP!

“Awoooooooooo!”

She howled as she was filled to the brim with his cock. That knot was more than enough to push her over the edge, and the black flesh of her spade clenched tight around him, milking him like mad. He growled against her, his claws around her hips dragging through her fur for a moment before she felt the rush of his seed. It was hot and thick, and there was so much of it, and it made her arch up on her tiptoes from the sudden flow.

Someone tried to climb the edge of the stage, only for Axel to growl them away. Greta chuckled, reaching back with one hand.

“Easy, boy.”

“Heh…not letting anyone else have you until you’re ready.”

“Flattering, but that’s not my concern,” she said, seeing the two brothers coming around the corner and making their way toward the stage steps. “So, question for ya.”

“Yeah?”

“You good for a few more rounds?”

“If you got a place for it.”

“I’ll do you one better.”

Grunting, she got a better hold of her guitar and tilted it toward the jogging raccoons. They’d just hit the top step when she played a different chord to the one that had settled the crowd earlier. This one had all the mind-stopping TUNG sounds of something heavy, something that bounced off the skull and left one stunned. The brothers stopped in place and tumbled backward, out cold.

“…That’s a dangerous little piece you got,” Axel said.

“It does the job,” Greta said. “Carry me over there; we’ll have a night out on them.”

“Heh. Stealing from these guys?”

“Eh, they were probably going to stiff me on the paycheck at the end of the night, anyway. They were very keen to leave it ‘open to negotiation.’ So, let’s get paid, get a bite, and then we can check into a hotel somewhere and you can show me what else you got.”

“Sounds good to me.”

 

 

 



[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]
 
Summary: Greta offers her body for the chance to put on a show, and ends up getting a better offer.
 
Tags: F/solo, M/F, Exhibitionism, Greta, Feral Pussy, Spade, Piercings, Masturbation, Vaginal, Mind Control, Mild Control, White Wolf, Wolf, Pit Bull, Raccoons, Nudity, Teasing, Club, Public,