FireFox

Chapter 8

Written by Nathan Cowen

Copyright © 2005 by Nathan Cowen, all rights reserved. Reproduction and distribution of this work by any means without the expressed written permission of the author, or hotlinking from another website without the expressed written permission of the author and BondoFox, is expressly forbidden. Similarity to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

Firefox kept her eyes open, focused on her left fist. It was clenched, straining against the chain holding it onto the struggle board, claws digging into her palm, muscles bulging like rope, hard as a tire, trembling slightly with the hopeless effort of ripping her cuff free. She wondered if she was hurting her wrist, regardless of how wide and soft the resilient yet implacable red cuff was. It didn't matter. She tried to only see the wrist. Not her arm, not the tatters of ripped fabric that had been a shirt, a bra.

She had been wearing a stern business suit, something that didn't appeal to her normally but something she'd wear to a job interview. The jacket was wide open, the shirt's buttons torn off, bra pushed up over her breasts so they spilled out under the cups, exposing her nipples, stiff, erect, the fur around them damp with spit. The skirt was under her, undone. Her panties were tiny, almost a G-string, one string ripped open and the rest pushed halfway down her thigh, exposing her between the legs.

Every muscle in her limbs were straining, trying to pull free, her toned body shaking with the effort. But she kept her eyes focused on her wrist, and she tried not to think, or to feel, or to react, because his hands were on her breasts and pinching her hard nipples, his sweet breath loud in her ear, ruffling the fur, his warm lips kissing her a dozen times, and he was hard and thrusting inside her, and she could hear herself moaning despite the muzzle that held her mouth shut, her hips moving with his, and she didn't know his name. She was tied up and being raped by a man she would probably never see again, and she was desperately fighting to keep herself from coming.

Tigre had taken her that morning, flogged her to raise welts, and ordered her to dress in the same costume she had worn for Jamison's photo shot. Then she had taken her to the struggle board. Like a good girl, Firefox had let her tie her down. She had not been told anything about the next client. All she knew about him was what she could guess: he had a taste for rape and he had picked her off a website because he liked Jamison's work.

That was all she knew about the man pumping in and out of her, sending a rush of pleasure with every thrust. That and his body. She knew his body, and she would always remember it, his weight, the way he felt on her, the taste of his tongue as he forced it past her lips. And the memory, she knew, would excite her.

She tried to squeeze him out, but that only seemed to encourage him. It made her tighter, and he had to work harder to push it in, and that threw her more roughly against the raised studs of the struggle board, which made her squirm in a way even she realized was erotic. She could sense his desire, his urgency, smell it almost -- and somehow, despite it all, that excited her. It was as though she was feeling his pleasure, not her own.

"You love this, don't you, baby?" he asked, voice hoarse with lust.

Yes, she thought. Yes, I truly love this. God help me. And it was like thinking that was the same as crying it out loud, because she felt him gasp and shake, on the verge of climax, and she came, violently, the rage and tension in her body instantly changing to something glorious and undeniable. She went limp, with an involuntary soft sigh clearly audible through her muzzle. For an instant, she fought to embrace him. Literally to hold him close, so he wouldn't go away. She fell back against the struggle board, hard, her cry of pleasure instantly turning into one of pain, and then anger and humiliation.

"I knew you would, baby. One look at your face and I knew you needed a good one."

Then the fatigue washed over her, the beautiful, sweet post-coital exhaustion and satisfaction of a job well done. The exhaustion that had been evolved to keep her quiet, to give his semen every possible chance to fertilize the eggs her body did not produce. Animal instincts bent by Human design for Human purposes. And, she realized, ashamed, it had been a good one.

He kissed her gently. More reflexes, more instinct, tenderness and a vague desire to protect the woman who carried his genetic material. "Sweet, honey," he said. "I don't think I can handle a second ride. You've taken about everything I've got." He patted her belly.

For a moment, her mind wrestled with that. Was it better to be violated by a string of men, one at a time, or by the same men over and over? The latter, probably. They'd get attached to her.

And the thought infuriated her. The possibility she was getting used to this, reconciled to this treatment, made her forget herself. She ducked her head back and tried to strike it sharply against his head, but the collar didn't give her much slack. She stared at him, trying to send all her hate through her eyes.

He laughed, rolled off her, pulling free. He was done. He didn't have to cuddle with Firefox to screw her again; he didn't need to show her a good time; all he needed was to sign a credit slip or punch a code on his smartcard. There was an honesty to this sort of relationship.

"You're a hot one, baby. See you again soon." He lay a quarter on the struggle board. He hesitated, grinned, and Firefox closed her eyes as put his fingers up inside her, leaving something there.

Firefox breathed in deeply, to keep from weeping. It wasn't as bad as it had been the day before. She was getting used to this, and she wasn't sure if that was better or worse. Her guts crawled, and she wondered what he had slipped inside her. Her ears twitched. Tigre, walking lightly, happily even. Tigre was looking forward to seeing her. Tigre's step was so light and casual that again, Firefox wondered which of them was "right." The ethics and dignity of a free, self-owned chimera in Boston seemed terribly far away. And Tigre seemed so secure, so confident in herself and her place in the world. Maybe the tiger was right -- sanity was situational. Here, the tiger was sane and Firefox was mad, mad because she expected dignity, respect, the right to say no.

"Hello, Firefox," Tigre said with a pleasant nod, a smile that glowed from her eyes. Like a shift foreman with good news, Firefox thought. Firefox's fur was mussed, her clothes ripped off, she was chained down, and semen matted the fur on her pubes. But Tigre was still happy with the news she was bringing. It would just make Firefox's day, she was sure. "That didn't take long. You'll be fine in a moment."

She hummed softly while she undid Firefox's muzzle, waited patiently while Firefox stretched her mouth in a huge yawn, coughed to clear her mouth, blinked tears away.

"What is it?" Firefox finally asked, dreading the answer.

"Master has chosen to let you decide your next task," she said. "You can work another client, or you can have another VR session, like the one you had earlier today." Tigre smiled.

"Shit," Firefox whimpered. This was worse than she had imagined. She didn't have the strength to bring up any anger. "Damn you. Damn you to hell for making me say this. Send the bastard in. Clean me up and send the bastard in."

Tigre blinked. "What?" she asked, stupidly.

"I said, clean me up and send him in." Firefox shook her head slowly. "Damn you," she whispered. "Damn you for making me ask for it. Bad enough you do it. Worse that it feels great. "

"Uhm, well..." Tigre said slowly.

Firefox cocked her head, realizing something was bothering the tiger.

"Uh, well," Tigre repeated, "the truth is that we don't have another client."

Firefox shook her head. "And you said your bed was an honest place," Firefox said.

"We're not in my bed," Tigre reminded her.

Firefox laughed, and her ribs ached.

Tigre silently undid Firefox's chains, and the vixen forced herself to sit up. She felt sick and weak, but she thought she might be able to stand shortly. She put her finger up inside herself, and pulled out a second quarter, covered with fluid. She blinked, stared at it, confused.

Tigre looked sharply away. "You are not allowed to accept a tip greater than twenty-five cents," she said. "I am going to assume the coin on the board and the coin in your hand are both nickels."

Firefox nodded. "Yes, they are," she agreed brightly. Stupid. Suppose the second quarter had been something, a note, a key? Stupid to take it out in front of Tigre. She'd be more careful from now on, let the others know.

"I don't understand why you said you'd prefer the board," Tigre said, finally. "You hate working rape fantasy."

"How is this a fantasy?" Firefox asked. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Wait. Let me guess. Master's will. He's consenting for me. Right? I just wish he weren't so damn friendly."

Tigre hesitated, and said something different from what she was planning to say. "That too, of course. But actually, the client didn't know it was Master's will instead of yours. He probably assumed you consented. You were gagged and muzzled. How could he know?"

Firefox felt a chill. "That poor son-of-a-bitch," she said. "You conned him into committing rape when he thought he was renting some special time from a good actress. You bastards. I almost feel sad for him. How is he going to feel if he finds out? There's a real special place in hell for you all."

"Firefox," the tiger said, "I'm sorry. I thought having a choice would make you happy. Why would you prefer this to floating in a VR tube?"

Firefox shook her head. "Because this hurts, it's mortifying. But it leaves me more intact than VR. Do you know what they gave me this morning, Tigre? You know what they played into me in that tube?"

"No," Tigre said.

Firefox shook her head again, helplessly, rote, reflexive negation. It seemed it was all she had. It didn't matter what Tigre thought now. "I was being beaten, by you. For something I had done. Master came by, and he could tell I was sincerely sorry, so he took me to his bed, and tended to me, and I was so grateful I seduced him and we made sweet love for hours. And that's going to become a memory for me, Tigre. I won't be able to tell that lie from my real memories of a walk in the park, from losing my virginity with a friend, from the scent of your fur after we made love. I'm going to have a golden, warm memory of a romantic afternoon with Master. I'm going to remember fucking him out of gratitude. I'd rather remember another stranger's cock than have another memory like that."

Tigre was staring at her, her mouth slightly open. "You lying cunt," she whispered.

"What?" Firefox asked, confused, looking up sharply.

"The beating. How many strokes?" the tiger snapped.

Firefox was genuinely alarmed. "I was going to get twenty-five, but it stopped after the fifth. Why?"

"And Master called you..." Tigre whispered.

"His angel," Firefox replied. "And he asked me to be good. For him."

Tigre stiffened, and frowned. "Liar," she hissed.

Firefox got it, finally. She would have caught it sooner, but she was still groggy. "They gave you the same VR?" she asked.

"It wasn't VR," Tigre snapped. "It was --" she stopped short, and her ears flattened.

"Tigre, how could I know?" Firefox asked softly. "Just tell me how I could possibly know it was your memory? What else could it be but VR?"

Tigre looked at her, confused. Her left hand balled into a fist, twitched against her left thigh. Tap. Tap. Tap. Firefox tensed. She was tired and weak, and she didn't think she could defend herself against the bigger and stronger chimera. And Tigre really is a combat model, Firefox thought, sickly. She's not a brainwashed pleasure model, like me.

Tigre abruptly turned away. "All right," she said, reluctantly. "All right." She looked back at Firefox, and hesitated. "Firefox...you're telling the truth?"

Firefox nodded solemnly. "I'm telling you the truth, Tigre."

"Uhrm," Tigre considered. "Very well. Can you work the floor?"

"You're not sending me to VR?" Firefox asked, hesitantly.

"No. Here's the deal. If you can earn two dollars in tips on the floor before closing, you won't have to do VR tomorrow. Maybe not ever."

"You'd do that?" Firefox asked, suspiciously.

"Yes," the tiger said firmly.

"Why?"

"Because VR is a means to an end. Everything we do to you is that. You don't make money for Blue Diamond floating in a tank. If you can work the floor without it, I'd just as soon let you." There was a touch of something else in Tigre's voice.

Firefox smiled slightly. "Are you afraid I'll tell you about more of your favorite memories?" It was a dumb crack, and Firefox regretted saying it the moment it was out of her mouth.

"Yes," Tigre said honestly. "What do you say?"

"What can I say? Of course I'll work the floor." At this moment, Firefox wondered if she had fallen into Tigre's trap, if this was what the Tiger had meant her to do from the first. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Very well. Let's take a shower. I'll tell you the rules."

"The most important thing is you don't get the client off," Tigre said over the sound of water. "If he comes, he loses interest, and we don't want that."

"I remember," Firefox called back. She closed her eyes. Tigre was shampooing her back, massaging her with strong fingers, expertly missing the welts she had given her earlier. "And I can't ask for money, and I can't cut in."

"Right. Be available, but remember you're not in charge."

"No, ma'am," Firefox said soberly. Maybe she pushed it too hard; Tigre glanced at her suspiciously for a moment. Tigre shook her head.

"You'll learn how to read people after a while. Make eye contact, smile, act like you're there to have fun. If you have a problem, leave the floor for a while. There's a cool-off room where you can rest for a bit if you need it."

"Will you get in trouble if I hide there all night?" Firefox asked.

Tigre considered. "Possibly, for misjudging you, for pushing you too hard. Nothing serious. If you hurt a guest, well..." Tigre shrugged. "Possible favoritism would be investigated. But you won't care, because you'll be put to sleep as dangerous."

Firefox was silent.

Tigre sighed. "Blue Diamond is a business. It is here to make a profit. You know we own Anne Keller, right?"

"Yes." Funny; Tigre said "we" as though she had a stake in the company, which Firefox knew was untrue.

"You haven't seen her, have you? Not in the Panopticon, not on a struggle board, not even on the floor."

"No, I haven't. I assume she's filming?"

"Exactly." The tiger nodded. "Her time's too valuable. She does a show here once in a while. You missed it. Usually it's our biggest night. We have women reserved weeks in advance. She's in a damn comfortable position."

"For a pleasure slave."

"Of course. That's what she is. But I've never even beaten her. However, you won't co-operate, so we rent you to men who don't want co-operation. Simple business. The wonderful thing is that we can use any woman here, no matter what their attitude is."

"Swell. I don't suppose I can get a stock package, can I?"

Tigre ignored that. "Look on the positive side. You like having a session with Jamison, right?"

"Yes," Firefox admitted. It sounded so reasonable, when Tigre explained it. But Firefox also knew they were working on her, deliberately, trying to get her to buy into it, to blame herself for being chained down. Hey, Firefox had an option and made a choice, right?

"That's good. You like him, we like his money. Regulars are terrific. You need more of them," the tiger explained. "This is a chance to meet other Jamisons. Do a good job, and maybe -- maybe -- you can get off the rape fantasy detail, because you'll be too busy working the floor and seeing men who think of you as their special lady friend." Tigre turned her around, held her shoulders earnestly. "And it's important you get off the struggle board. You have to get off that right away, for your own sake."

Firefox tilted her head. "You don't have to tell me twice," she said slowly, "but ... apart from how I feel, why? Is there something you're not telling me?" Firefox felt slow and stupid. The temptation to just sit down and listen to Tigre, like a good girl, was overwhelming.

Tigre was silent for a moment. "Firefox, you have two regulars now. Jamison and Walton."

"God." Firefox whispered.

"Jamison has you tomorrow night, and Walton has you next week."

"Please, not him again," Firefox begged, knowing it was useless. Who said that madness was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?

"He wants you. You're for sale. He has the money," Tigre said steadily. "That's what Blue Diamond is about. Firefox, you're a very satisfying woman to violate. You put up a good struggle, and you come like a firecracker. You make it clear you hate them, you suffer, and you still climax for them." She shook her head. "Do you know how powerful that makes a top feel, how sexually competent? You leave the men feeling like they could just point their dick at you and you'd come. Remember when I fucked you on stage? I knew I had to make you come, and I don't even like doing it with an audience. But sticking it into you was even more fun than hitting you."

For a moment, Firefox contemplated the insanity of it all. She was actually sitting and listening to a woman explain what it was like to violate her. Like a connoisseur.

"Wow. I didn't know I had talent," Firefox said with a dead voice. "I'll put that on my resume. 'Fun to rape.'"

"It's already there," Tigre said.

"Bitch," Firefox snapped.

Tigre was silent. She reached out a hand, gripped Firefox's muzzle. Firefox struggled, but Tigre smoothly and easily turned her head around and stared into her suddenly frightened eyes. The water poured down over Tigre's head; a tiger in the rain.

"If you mouth off like that where someone can hear," Tigre said softly, "I'll have to hurt you like you've never been hurt before. The first time I flogged you will become a gentle, nostalgic memory. And, get this through your thick skull, I don't want to."

"'M srry, m'm," Firefox slurred. Tigre let her go.

Firefox fought with herself, and spoke. "Tigre, I'm sorry. I know you've been very patient with me. I appreciate it. But I'm torn up."

"That's all right. But be careful." She patted Firefox gently. "Let's get dried off."

The drier was a booth, with hot, dry air blown in through the top and exhausted out the floor. Blue Diamond had some of the best grooming facilities Firefox had ever seen, and some of the fastest. In half an hour, Firefox's pelt was cleaned, perfumed, dried, and quickly brushed back into place. They could take an assault victim and in half an hour turn her back into a pretty girl ready for a tumble. Which was, of course, not an exaggeration.

"Not bad," Tigre said. "Let's get you some clothes. I think I know a look that will suit you." She handed Firefox a bathrobe, which Firefox gratefully put on. It was much better than parading around naked. Tigre still hobbled her, though.

Tigre left the vixen in a waiting room. Firefox sat on a bench, next to Victoria. The albino vampire was half-dressed in a Gypsy outfit, breasts falling out of a gaping top. The effect was more slovenly than erotic. She was looking at her fingertip and didn't notice when Firefox sat down next to her.

Firefox hesitated. "Hello, Victoria," she finally said, gently, wondering if she was angry.

Victoria looked up surprised. "Hello. I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

"Wardrobe malfunction?" Firefox asked.

Victoria glanced down. "Yes. The blouse isn't quite big enough in the top. The jiggleage makes them burst free." She grinned. "Maybe they'll let me use one of yours. Our racks are mighty among racks."

Well, at any rate, Victoria wasn't angry at her -- just terribly distracted.

"Something bothering you?" Firefox asked. "Apart from the whole sex-slave thing, of course."

Victoria smiled and chuckled once, long teeth shining. "Well, you know us skins don't have fur to cover any bruises. So when they do some rough shit on us, they have to pump us with trauma drugs to make us pretty again. With you, they just dab a little on the injury to take the edge off. We get doped up more."

"Yes," Firefox said gently, a nasty suspicion of what was coming.

Victoria held up her hand. There was a tiny cut on one fingertip. A barely visible drop of blood was welling up in the cut. Her fingertip was smeared with dried blood.

"Cut my finger yesterday," she said casually. "Still bleeding. I don't think I heal any more without the trauma drugs."

"Oh," Firefox said, not sure how much sympathy to show. Too much kindness might shatter Victoria's poise. "I've heard that can happen."

"Yeah, I can think of two or three other cases here," Victoria said. "Pretty funny, a vampire with hemophilia."

"You might still be okay," Firefox pointed out. "It looks like you keep squeezing it, like a sore tooth. Maybe if you let it alone --?"

"Shit!" Victoria snapped. "You think I didn't know that, you stupid fox cunt?" Victoria turned on Firefox, eyes filled with anger. Firefox looked back steadily. "Overnight, I said. I woke up with a stain on my cot the size of a fucking dollar bill." Victoria looked away. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "God, I'm sorry. But..."

Firefox wordlessly pulled Victoria into a one-armed embrace, and kissed her lightly. "Oh, God, Firefox," Victoria clung to her helplessly. "Is this it? Is this what my life is from now on? Dying a little more every day, but as long as they can keep pumping drugs into me so my performance doesn't drop, it's okay? Do you know how this place works? If your ass is bloody, they make you use your mouth until it's better."

"I know," Firefox said helplessly.

"Here's what I think. If I wake up paralyzed one day, they'll dip me in ice water for necrophiles. Billions in research to produce high order artificial life, and this is the life the fucking humans give me? Oh, God, I want it all to be over. I want to go home, I want my mommy to tell me --" she cut herself off and gasped.

"Mommy?" Firefox asked stupidly.

"Uhm," Victoria said slowly. "Shit. There goes my little secret." She rubbed her nose, and continued quietly. "Firefox, you've heard of Kowalski Syndrome, right?"

"False memories?" Firefox asked. "You developed a ..." she didn't know how to continue.

"An imaginary family," Victoria said. "And an imaginary childhood. That's right. It's especially prevalent among chimera who can pass for human. Maybe because my self-image doesn't look wrong when you put it in a family picture. I've got this whole fantasy history locked up in my little brain," she said, tapping her forehead wryly. "My daddy was this rich guy. Shit, I even remember having a pony as a little girl. That's typical of Kowalski Syndrome, nobody has a fantasy of being a librarian's kid. I'm just lucky I wasn't a magical princess from the Cotton Candy Kingdom."

"I suppose," Firefox said. It was unsettling, but it wasn't really surprising. A chimera had trouble telling VR from real events, and they had probably abused VR on Victoria. It had to make her grip on reality a little slippery. And lord knew, Blue Diamond was a place worth escaping from.

Victoria sat up, leaned back. "I'd appreciate if you'd keep that under your hat. Life sucks enough as a little whore without being a crazy little whore, y'know? Besides," she hesitated, "it's something I like thinking about, time to time. At least I have my fantasies. I'd miss them if they were gone."

Firefox ran a claw across her lips, zipping them shut. Probably a good idea to change the subject. "You know the tamers?"

Victoria looked at Firefox quietly. "Sure. The Queen Bitch, Butch von Whip and her two Princess Bitches. Princess Fetish, and Princess Gimp."

"Which one's Lilith?" Firefox asked.

"Princess Fetish," Victoria explained. "She's really rough when Tigre's in sight, but that's mostly for the queen's benefit. When you get her alone she's just weird. I mean 'piss on the floor and roll in the puddle' weird. She gets off, a lot, on giving orders and having them obeyed. Big improvement over Tigre. Tigre's got this quantum theory of pleasure. The more pain her partner's in, the harder she comes."

Briefly, Firefox thought of her last night with Tigre, of how intensely she had climaxed under her tongue and fingers. There was no way she could admit that.

"I guess so," Firefox lied. "So what's Lilith's model?"

"Oh, they took a Dryad-9, boosted her melanin to the Milk Chocolate level, and grafted on new ears. I think she was a prototype. It's a standard option now." Victoria turned her hand back over, watched the thin trail of blood change direction. "Blood's kind of pretty, I think," she said offhand. "Ever notice how it turns from black to red, and how the light catches it?"

"The smell," Firefox said.

"Pardon?" Victoria asked, turning to look at her curiously.

"My color vision's very restricted," Firefox explained. "Everything looks unsaturated, like a bad photo. When I think of blood, I think of the way it smells. It's not frightening to me, not really -- not really exciting, but it wakes me up, makes me feel sharp and alert. Like a cup of coffee."

"Neat," Victoria replied, impressed. "Mind if I use that?"

"Why? Oh, of course. Sure, be my guest. Do you ever drink someone's blood?"

"Sometimes," Victoria said. "That's where you have to be careful. I never break someone's skin unless they sign a release in advance. Unless it's another slave, of course." She looked back at her hand. "Sometimes I'm a succubus sliding into the customer's bed, sometimes I'm a wild, biting animal, sometimes I'm a captive of a vampire hunter. One of my regulars has this thing where my lust for blood is quenched by other fluids." She settled back. "He's another weirdo. Sometimes I look in a mirror -- I do have a reflection, by the way -- and wonder if there's anyone normal who can get hard looking at a thing like me."

"I heard that."

Victoria laughed again. "Yeah, I guess you get a lot of that shit too."

"Sometimes," Firefox admitted. "The trick is finding people who aren't fixated on one thing. I mean, the fur's an attractive feature to a lot of people. I know it's pretty. Still, you look for friends who like a little variety, instead of people who only get it up for vixens. They're a lot more likely to make love to you like you're a woman instead of humping a fur girl. Even so, sometimes you get the ones who are just looking to cross talking vixen off their checklist. Worse are the ones who think they're doing you a favor, who don't mention the whole chimera thing, because it's more correct to pretend they don't notice."

Victoria looked at her curiously. "You talk like someone who had a choice."

"Yes," Firefox said. "I'm from a free state."

"That's right, you told me." Victoria hesitated. "They keep telling us how hard it is to earn a living, how slaves are taken care of... but it really is different, being free, isn't it?"

"Very different."

"How did you end up here?"

Firefox was about to reply, but her mind blanked.

How did they end up here?

She couldn't remember. She tried to think, but she didn't have an answer. Their last job had been a simple and successful bodyguard mission. They were cruising on their stipends and wondering what their next contract would be. Technofox was talking about volunteering at the Science Museum.

"I don't remember," Firefox said slowly. "Let's see. I remember going to bed, and suddenly I'm in an isolation cell."

"Like in The Prisoner?"

"Something like that ..."

"So why did you resign?" Victoria smiled slightly.

"I didn't. I mean, I can't imagine why..."

Victoria was looking at her strangely.

"Right," Firefox said slowly. "It makes no sense. I should be intensely curious about this. I should be wondering how I got here and who sent me here. It's worse than just not knowing -- there's a block or something."

"Atavistic disassociation?" Victoria asked seriously.

"Or something like that," Firefox agreed. "I know there's something wrong with the way I'm thinking now. Wait. Master said that when they bought us, there was a deal -- we were to get ten strokes a day. That means we had to be sold by someone who hated us."

Victoria shook her head, just slightly. She put her hand behind Firefox's head, brought her ear down to brush her own lips.

"They do that to lean on tough cases," Victoria whispered. "Then Master kindly stops the punishment. All praise his mercy."

Firefox nodded just slightly. "You are a very beautiful woman," she said normally. "I'd like to sleep with you some time."

"That's permitted," Victoria said. "We can ask for an empty hotel room. Afterwards, we have to clean the room, and we usually have to volunteer for extra duty. But I'd like that, Firefox. Let's ask, and find out what they want from us."

"Sounds like a date."

Victoria smiled. "That's pretty much how it works. We're in a resort hotel. You can pull maybe one day a month. It's not a right, but they're pretty consistent. This is very nice of you."

Firefox hesitated. "You're a very lovely girl. I don't think you should assume that everyone who wants to sleep with you is a freak."

"I'd like to believe that," she said. "Look at me. I exist to play out fantasies about a monster highly sexualized by the media."

"I'd do you," Firefox said. "Heck, I'm sorry we were interrupted the other day."

Victoria smiled slightly. "Thanks. I'd like to make love to someone who knows me. I thought I had that with Alice."

Firefox didn't want to say anything about that, because she had a feeling something awful had happened. She had seen Alice suppress crying when she was told Victoria was being moved. And she had seen Alice lay into Victoria with a whip, not with duty or reluctance, but with enthusiasm and zeal.

What memories had Blue Diamond given Alice?

"How long have you been here?" Firefox asked.

Victoria frowned and considered. "Three years. I remember three Christmas shows. And then and Thanksgiving, we get turkey. Real turkey."

Firefox leaned forward, as though trying to kiss her. "Has Tigre always been here?"

Victoria blinked and looked confused before nodding. She mouthed one word: "Always." The puzzlement in her face said it all: Tigre was part of Blue Diamond. She was part of the spirit of the place.

Firefox nodded thoughtfully. So, how did that fit in with Tigre's memories of one Christmas?

"Maybe you should go to the infirmary. Get that finger taken care of. It might get infected."

"Would that really be a bad thing?" Victoria asked abstractly. She turned her hand upside down, so the tiny drop oozed slowly in the other direction, towards her fingertip. "Maybe it'll go gangrenous. That'll be my way home."

"Ugly, ugly way to die," Firefox said casually. "Fingers are very sensitive. It really hurts when they infect and start to rot. Besides," Firefox said thoughtfully, "you might get a day or two in the infirmary with a cut."

Victoria looked over. "You think?"

"They'll need to make sure you're actually addicted to trauma drugs, right? And that you're not malingering, or faking it by keeping the wound open," Firefox pointed out. "They'll probably put it in a glove or something and supervise you for a day."

"Yeah, maybe," Victoria said thoughtfully. "And they have chocolate cake."

Firefox heaved a sigh to herself. Hopefully, this would keep Victoria from getting self-destructive.

"Victoria?" came Ramirez' voice from the next room. "I've got another fitting for you."

"Coming, ma'am," Victoria said brightly. She looked at Firefox, sucked in her cheeks, and crossed her eyes. Firefox suppressed a laugh.

"Victoria's right," Tigre said thoughtfully. "You do have a day off coming. So does she. Let's see how you do today, and tomorrow we can set some goals for you two."

Firefox nodded and pulled on her left boot. She realized she was stuck, now -- she'd rather spend a day off with one of the other foxes, or all of them, but she couldn't switch to that without insulting Victoria. Besides, it was the best way to conspire.

Her feet were digigrade, and the boot had a very high heel. "I'm not sure about this," Firefox said dubiously. She patted her white tights, making sure they were tucked into her boots. The tights were still contracting against her leg; the electrosetting material was the only way to get stockings or other form-hugging clothes on over fur. She was naked above the waist. The tights were cut low in back, and a shiny black belt ran above her tail.

"Have you ever walked in high heels before?" Ms. Ramirez asked. She was in charge of costumes. She looked critically at the boot, grabbed the sole, and pushed hard, sliding the vixen's toes a few centimeters deeper in.

"Ouch. Once or twice." Firefox's toes were bigger and spread out more than a human's; the shape of the boot was pushing them together uncomfortably. Her dewclaw had been secured down with a bit of duct tape, so at least it wasn't folding over.

"The trick is letting the heel hit with each step," Ramirez explained. "Since you have a jackleg you're not used to resting your weight on your heel, but if you don't, you'll look like you're going on tiptoe. At least your foot isn't too long. You actually look normal in high heels."

"But I always walk on tiptoe," Firefox said patiently.

"Not any more. You will walk pretty," Ramirez said flatly. "A few times around the room. Tigre, please spot her."

Firefox came to the balls of her feet. Tigre's eyes dropped to her boots, and the tiger sat down on a bench. Firefox lowered her feet slowly, until the long heels hit the floor. It was very strange to feel something under her feet like that, as though she were standing on an incline and was about to start sliding.

She took a step. The heels kept her feet from recoiling naturally, forcing her legs to spring at the hip and knee instead of knee and ankle. It felt stiff and awkward.

"Don't stand still," Tigre ordered.

Firefox took another step. Her heel hit first, and she felt her ankle twist as she brought her weight down on it. She stumbled but remained standing.

Within a few minutes she had found a comfortable stride, and was picking up the pace. If she stuck her toe down a little deeper than during her normal pace, she could walk pretty smoothly. It didn't look right, though. She tried again, letting her heel hit first and roll forward while keeping it straight, it looked a lot like she had a plantigrade foot.

"Do you think you can keep it up?" Tigre asked finally.

"I don't know," Firefox said honestly. "I'll try, but if I stay on my feet for a few hours, I'm afraid I'm going to fall over."

"Come here," Tigre ordered.

Puzzled, Firefox walked over to her. Casually, Tigre put a hand on Firefox's buttocks and took a handful of her hair. She pulled the vixen into her lap, facing her.

"If you spend the night on your feet, you're not making any tips," the tiger said patiently. She looked at Firefox's breasts for a moment, and without a word leaned forward and took a nipple into her mouth. The tiger cupped her breast and kneaded at it as she suckled.

Firefox sat, very still, and a little shaken. She still wasn't completely used to this, used to being used or groped without a single word of permission or even warning. It was even stranger, because she didn't mind. It was very odd to feel Tigre's fingers between her legs, gently pushing the material against her mound and even slightly inside of her, leaving a crease that might as well have been a neon sign with an arrow: PUSSY HERE. Until Firefox had been taken to Blue Diamond, she had never thought much about how the right clothes could exaggerate sexual availability, making her look even more accessible than nudity.

"Uhrm," Tigre said softly, looking intently between her legs. "This fabric clings wonderfully when it's a little damp."

"I can't help it," Firefox whispered. "My strong tiger has her hands on me."

Tigre paused. "That's ... nice to hear. Thank you." The tiger turned her head sidewise, and pulled Firefox's ample bosom against her cheek. She closed her eyes.

"I'd like to take you somewhere, somewhere I could be only with you, and somewhere I didn't have to share you," the tiger said softly. "Somewhere you could choose, where you had the right to say yes or no. Girl, would you say yes to me there?"

"I believe I would," Firefox said, blank with astonishment when she realized it was an honest answer. She leaned down and kissed Tigre -- or Saffron, she wasn't sure -- on the top of her head.

"Put this on," Ramirez said. No excuse me, no rent a room why don't you, no sense that she was interrupting an intimate moment. And how could she possibly know? She saw a slave overseer using a slave. What was intimate about that?

Firefox turned around. Ramirez was holding a red coat, with tails. It was cut very low in front, and had roughly the same relation to a real riding frock as "Naughty French Maid" lingerie had to an actual maid's uniform. Firefox stood, wobbling for a moment. She'd have to watch that. She put her arms behind her and Ramirez helped her into it.

She slipped it on and buttoned it up. It was amazing how closely it matched her contours, as though it had been tailored for her. Some sort of adaptive material, maybe? It left a generous amount of cleavage exposed. No, "generous" was not the word. "Hopelessly gullible" was perhaps closer. Ruffles provided a little concealment, but there was no getting around the fact that only a slight tug would show her nipples.

"What do you think?" Ramirez asked.

"Put me on a horse and my cakes would bounce out when we hit a canter," Firefox said immediately.

Tigre laughed, in genuine good spirits. Ramirez smiled thinly. "People would pay to see that," she said. "I've got a top hat cut for your ears."

"How long have you had this costume ready for me?" Firefox asked.

"A few weeks," Ramirez replied. "There's a riding crop that goes with it, too."

"No," Tigre ordered. "I don't want her in a dom situation yet. Having her carry a whip or something would be asking for it."

Firefox blinked. "You'd have me do that?" she asked.

Tigre shrugged. "Why not? You're big, you have nasty teeth and a good, intimidating growl. You have a bit of an edge and so does Chili. But that's very tough work and you're not up to it. Is she done?"

Ramirez hesitated, and put the hat on Firefox. She moved a lock of Firefox's hair so it framed her face. "I think so," Ramirez agreed. "Say, Firefox -- can you do an English accent?"

Firefox hesitated. "Oi c'n troi."

Tigre and Ramirez glanced at one another for a moment. "Don't," they said simultaneously.

"I won't," Firefox promised, a little put off. She knew she wasn't a voice actor, but geeze -- she had heard worse British accents in porn videos. Maybe.

Ramirez reached out to touch Firefox on her navel. "The pants have attachments, here, and behind under the tail. You pop the hook, and the Velcro slips free." She opened the pants and tugged down. The pants split open along an invisible seam, down between Firefox's legs and back up. "And that's how you give a guest access without taking the pants off."

"But you're probably better off not using it," Tigre interrupted. "You're not to take a man inside you on the floor. If he wants you for the night, then he has to rent you."

"How does he do that, and how do I know?" She felt odd about that. The thought of going into a room, where she could be selected by some stranger and ordered to his bed, was very disturbing, but not as disturbing as the fact she was resigned to it.

"He'll tell you. They'll stop you at the door if he hasn't. The customer doesn't have to carry around little slips of paper that way." Tigre nodded. She lifted a leash. "Here, girl."

"You remember Jeff?"

"The barkeeper? Yes, ma'am." Tigre was holding the leash casually, careful not to put any pressure on Firefox's neck. Firefox was practicing walking in heels, and she thought she was getting it down.

"Remember that. Behind every bar there's a door to the cool-down room. Don't spend all night there, but it's available."

"How much time do I get for breaks?"

"The policy's flexible," Tigre said. "This is your first night, so we don't want to force you. On the other hand, remember that you have to get two dollars in tips before tomorrow, or it's VR before we turn you over to Jamison."

"Yes, ma'am. Is it hard to earn two dollars?"

"That depends on how hard you work, and how hard the guests are. It's unpredictable. Sometimes a guy will toss you a quarter just for sitting in his lap, and sometimes they suck your tits for half an hour and give you a dime. The good thing is that most guests are pretty generous. Since a quarter is the maximum tip for women on the floor, they can afford to be. You don't get the whole cheap college boy problem."

"How do you stuff a quarter into a G-string anyway?"

Tigre smiled slightly. "You don't. You buy a book of ten tickets for a dollar and use them instead."

"I still don't get it. Why bother? Why not let the guests tip as much as they want?"

"It gives the guests too much indirect control," Tigre said. "Obey the guests in so far as it is Master's will. Not because they can give you money." She shook her head. "Personally, I'd ban tipping altogether. The rules are too easy to circumvent. This encourages disrespect of Master's will."

Firefox wondered if she should bring up the matter of the fifty cent tip, and decided against it.

"The Floor is laid out like a large letter U, with alcoves throughout," Tigre said. "Acoustic isolation, low lights, and angles are used to break it up as much as possible into a variety of experiences. On one end of the U, you have dancers and pretty waitresses. Further along, the stages have live sex, and at the far end there's bondage and decorations chained to the wall and all of that."

"And flogging," Firefox said.

"No," Tigre said firmly. "You'll never see anything real on the Floor. All the beatings for an audience are special shows in theaters that open onto the Floor. It's very important you fit into the ambiance, wherever you are. Get a feel for what the other girls are doing, and keep to that."

"Are there rules about where I can stay?" Firefox asked, thinking about hanging around the shallow end of the pool.

"Not really. The best tips are usually around the middle. That's also where most people go to look for girls for the night. We used to have rules about where you had to stay and for how long, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Smart girls tend to look for tables with lonely guys and no other girls, so they move back and forth between the dancers and the live sex shows. Sometimes you'll have a floor manager tell you to move up or down, but if you use your judgment and try not to cluster, they won't bother you. Considering the way you're costumed and the fact you're new, you should probably hang out near the dancers for a while. But remember that you need to show me two dollars in change at the end of the night or it's VR training tomorrow. Or if you can get someone to rent you for the night."

"I'm guessing that most girls avoid the bondage gallery."

Tigre grinned. "Why do you think we chain girls to the wall there?"

"You make it sound like fun."

"Think of it as underexploited territory. Besides, like I said, I'd suggest you stay clear of there. You're not dressed for it, and you're not set for it." She paused. "I'm doing a show in two hours. It will be announced. I'd appreciate your being there if you're not busy."

"I promise," Firefox lied. "Thanks for going easy on me today."

And the awful thing was that she knew why she was lying. Suppose Tigre were using a friend for a prop? That bothered her, it bothered her a lot, but ... what was worse was the thought of those hands wrapped around the handle of a whip, caressing her in bed. They had played with each other and teased and giggled under the covers. It was bad enough those arms had beaten her, but to sit and watch Tigre introduce another woman to the whip ...

The hallway was changing. The walls were black, and there were no lights around the next corner. Firefox's eyes adjusted quickly to the light. Tigre turned her around to face her.

"Kiss for luck," she said gruffly, and pulled Firefox to her. They spent a few seconds kissing, Firefox giving the tiger some tongue. Tigre broke the embrace, smiled at her, and wordlessly dropped a coin in her hand before turning around and marching away.

Firefox looked at the coin. It was a quarter. With the two she had already earned, she only had another dollar twenty-five to go. Of course, that was assuming Tigre would let her count that.

But strangely, she knew that Tigre would.

She shook her head. She couldn't let herself think that way. She couldn't pretend that Tigre was a friend.

This wasn't getting her tip money. She took a step forward, and made out a door in the wall. She gritted her teeth and pushed. It didn't open, so she tugged it instead.

She was in an alcove. There was a frosted window, lit from this side: a profile of a nude woman's torso, headless and limbless, a nipple visible on the breast. Because of the lighting, she couldn't see through. Some potted plants were on the floor, forming a barrier between the alcove and the Floor -- not impenetrable, but stepping across would be just awkward enough to discourage guests from crossing them. She looked behind herself: the door was closed and there was no handle on this side. It looked like a panel in the wall. Despite the lit window, the alcove was darker than the Floor, more discouragement to inquisitive guests.

She took a breath and stepped through.

Firefox wasn't human, so she tended to rely on scent and sound more than sight. So, the first thing she noticed was a slight smell of tobacco; barely discernable, even for her. To her left was four men and a cheetah sitting around a table; the chimera was on someone's lap. The tip of a cigar glowed red; the exhaust had to be very good for the smell to be so hard to pick up.

She then started to pick out a network of raised ramps, stages, and runways, with the best illumination she could see. Islands of brilliant illumination in a more subtly lit ocean of darkness. She took a step forward, and she could see softly glowing strips marking edges and other positional landmarks for the dancers. She recognized one of the women holding onto a glowing pole; it was Diana, the dancer she had met in the infirmary. She wore gold lamé panties, gold cords wrapped around her limbs, and the collar and wristbands of a Blue Diamond slave.

As she watched, Diana smoothly flipped herself upwards, one handed, turning herself upside-down. She locked her ankles around the pole, nestled her crotch against it, spread her arms wide and arched her back, for a moment looking like a bird in flight, pushing her lovely, exposed breasts into prominence. The small cluster around Diana's stage clapped their hands; it was muffled, as though Firefox were wearing shooter's earplugs. Curious, Firefox stepped closer to the stage, and noticed the music for the first time. It was smooth and soothing, not the energetic and anonymous throbbing techno she had half-expected. The music was graceful and gentle, and the sheer strength and sense of balance Diana's dance required had to be amazing. Chimera who could pass as human only rarely matched the physical performance of less human models, and so even Firefox knew that she was watching a master of her craft, jiggling in a titty bar for ten-cent tips.

Diana smiled directly at the audience, and Firefox wondered if the dancer could even see them clearly. She gripped the bar below her and let go with her legs, somersaulting down the pole and turning her momentum into a spin. She stopped, her butt pointing with amazing precision at a guest holding a ticket in one hand. She smiled at him coyly, and he tucked it into her string, running his hand briefly over the curve of her buttock before she twirled once halfway around the bar and came to a stop on her knees, thrusting her groin out at another guest with a ticket. Twenty cents, Firefox thought.

"Lovely, isn't she?" came a murmur at her elbow.

"I'm tempted to tip her myself," Firefox said, honestly, before she turned to him.

He was about her height, and he seemed surprised she was replying to him. His eyes rested on her costume and her collar, and she waited. Somehow, she sensed he could go down one of two paths with her: he might treat her like a slave, like part of the show, or he might treat her like a person. She met his gaze, keeping herself from lowering her eyes.

He was with another woman, small and, well, squat. Not fat, not at all: just a bit wide. Firefox realized that her time in Blue Diamond had already affected her perceptions: any woman without a model's physique looked odd.

She looked up at Firefox, slightly puzzled. He turned back to watch Diana but she kept eye contact. Suddenly, she smiled and extended a hand. "My name's Fiona," she said.

"Chili," Firefox said, putting out hers.

And Firefox swallowed, in shock and surprise. She had introduced herself by Master's name for her. She hadn't intended to do it; it had just been a natural thing for her to do. They shook hands. "This is Peter," Fiona said, "my fiancée."

Peter seemed slightly awkward, as though he had difficulty switching to interactive mode. "Peter," he said, putting out his hand. She shook his hand and smiled. A couple? Did this make it less likely they'd grope her?

She looked over at another table. Tigre had told her to take her cue from the other slaves on the floor. She saw a small slave girl with pastel blue skin on the lap of a fat man. He was so big it was incredible he had enough lap to sit on. Firefox supposed she was giving him a lap dance, although to her own untrained eyes it looked more like she was giving him a topless snogging session while grinding her butt into his crotch. She lifted her breasts to his mouth and Firefox looked away.

"I can't help but think I've seen you somewhere before," Fiona said, puzzled.

Peter frowned for a moment, thinking. "Oh! That was you on the website? Remember, honey, the two chi-- the two women, the teacher and the student?"

"Yes," Firefox replied, strangely happy at the recognition. Regardless of the situation, meeting a fan was nice.

"You have beautiful --" he cut himself off.

"What exactly is the protocol here?" Fiona asked rhetorically.

"I honestly don't know," Firefox admitted.

"There's got to be a gracious way of saying things like 'My fiancée gave me a great screw after seeing you naked,' but for the life of me I can't think of one," Fiona said. Firefox grinned amiably, trying to look like she had heard that before.

Peter winced slightly. "How about 'You were very pretty?' I mean, are."

"That works, thanks," Firefox said with a nod. It was very strange -- Firefox knew she was slipping into "Date" mode. Well, was that necessarily a bad thing? Being interesting and fun?

She wondered how she'd react if he rented her for the night. Something inside her rebelled at going along with it -- but on the other hand, she also knew that unless she co-operated, she'd be back on the struggle board and in the VR tank until there was nothing left of Firefox. No, this wasn't giving in: this was bending before she broke.

"Would you care for a drink?" Fiona asked her.

"Please. Just an orange juice for me," Firefox said.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked. "There's a table over there."

"I'm positive Chili doesn't want to get hammered," Fiona said lightly. "That would probably put her in a very bad position."

"Oh, of course," Peter said. "You must get a lot of people buying you drinks."

Peter held a chair for her. Fiona faked a snarl at him until he did the same for her. There was music playing, dance music that Firefox didn't recognize. Fiona tapped a control and the music became softer. Firefox was impressed: any restaurant had jukeboxes at each table with damping to keep other tables' music from spilling over, but Blue Diamond had a system better than any she had run into before.

"So, Chili," Fiona asked brightly. "How long have you been doing this?"

Firefox considered for a moment. "Working a club? Not long. Only a couple of months. I've been modeling longer than that." She knew that this was a dangerous conversation. She didn't know these people well enough to risk complaining about being owned, or asking for help -- it was much more likely they'd freak out, and then Firefox wouldn't see another guest again, except when muzzled. "What do you do?"

"Oh, we sell real estate," Fiona said. "Peter --"

"I work in the office mostly," Peter said. "Fiona shows places and gets clients."

"Right, you've noticed I'm the one with a mouth," Fiona said. She turned to a waitress. "Pardon me, dear. Can you take our order? I'd like a screwdriver."

"Irish coffee for me," Peter said.

"Just orange juice, please," Firefox wondered if she was in a minefield. An engaged couple? If she made a pass at Peter, how would Fiona react? Maybe Fiona liked watching him have a good time, maybe she was testing him in some bizarre way ... no, that was crazy. She had gone with him to a slave brothel. Or did she think of it as an upscale strip club?

"Be right back with those," the waitress said, and scuttled off.

They thought she was a worker in the sex industry, Firefox realized. Would it be a good idea to disabuse them?

"I can't believe what that dancer's doing," Fiona said, pointing. Firefox turned her head. A cat with a grey coat and tabby striping was going through a breakdance routine, fur blurring hard, strained muscles, pushing off from the floor with so little apparent effort she looked like a stiff rubber toy bouncing on the floor.

"She's incredible," Firefox agreed. She had thought she might be able to volunteer to dance here, but now that she saw the quality of the dancers, she doubted she could make the grade. These women weren't just bouncing down the ramps with smiles on their faces; they were probably qualified for Broadway.

Well, actually, now that she thought of it, that was probably a good thing. The one thing Master couldn't force out of her was twenty-five hours of work a day, and every second she spent rehearsing was a second she wasn't being beaten or violated.

"Can you dance like that?" Peter asked.

"No... but I'm working on it," Firefox said. "Maybe some time I'll be good enough to dance for you."

His grin looked a little bashful, and Fiona smiled. It was a comfortable smile, and Firefox suspected Fiona was enjoying this.

"Can you dance like that?" Fiona asked, pointing over to another table. "For Peter?" Firefox looked. Victoria was sitting on a man's lap, as she slid her seat on his crotch. She had her eyes half-closed, in real or feigned pleasure, occasionally turning her head to catch his eye with a sultry glance, nibbling lightly on his occupied arm. He tried to slip a hand inside her blouse, but she took his hand and gently pushed it down.

"I can try," Firefox heard herself say. She turned back to Fiona and looked inquiringly at her. Fiona blinked, opened her purse, and lay four dimes on the table.

"I can't take more than twenty-five," Firefox said.

"There's two of us," Fiona said.

Firefox took a gulp of orange juice and rose to her feet.

Peter moved his chair away from the table and Firefox wordlessly sat on his lap, facing him. She held the back of his head, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and lightly licked his lips.

"Let's wait for the next song to start, okay?" she asked. "I want to give you all the time I can."

He seemed a little tense, so she sat quietly, letting him get used to the weight of her body. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and when he began to relax, she looked deeply into his eyes, lifted her weight off his lap, and slowly shifted her buttocks, sliding them lightly over his lap. He licked his lips and she smiled. The song ended, and his began.

"Like that?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

"You know what I'd like?" she asked. "I'd like you to see a little more of me."

She kept her eyes on his as she slowly undid a few buttons, and wordlessly tugged her left breast out. His eyes dropped and focused on her nipple. She opened her jacket all the way, tucked it behind her back.

He was staring at her chest with a dazed expression, but kept his hands down by his side. Firefox had an odd sensation of power -- in a sense, she was driving. His need for her was so obvious, and he wasn't grabbing at her or behaving as though he had a right to. There was something cruel in this, a strange pleasure in making him cross-eyed with desire. His mouth was bare inches from her nipple, and he wasn't moving to suckle at her.

"You like these?" she asked. She lifted her breasts, and started playing quietly with her nipples. They wrinkled and stiffened, and she wasn't sure if had more to do with his eyes or her own fingers. She shifted her legs, lightly pinning his arms. "I think they like you."

She kissed him again and he kissed her back, so fiercely she was surprised. Lightly, she bit his lip and applied a soft pressure with her teeth. She could taste and smell the Irish coffee on his breath.

She broke contact and rested her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them lightly.

"I've never had a fox," he said.

She leaned down and silently kissed his forehead. Having a fox. That's all it would be for him, coming into a new woman. And, reasonably, what else could she possibly expect? She was for sale, all he knew was that he had seen pictures of her screwing Technofox and she pushed her naked tits into his face for forty cents. No, twenty cents.

Yeah, she figured, I could sleep with him. She didn't think he'd ever be a friend, the way Jamison was, but she'd be up to letting him have some fun with her. Of course, she doubted that Fiona would be too enthused about that. No, she had to bring Fiona in on this, make her realize she could be part of this as well.

When the music ended, Firefox hugged him slightly. The vixen looked over. "Your turn, Fiona?" she asked.

Fiona blinked and giggled. "Uh, I don't know...I mean, I thought I'd just watch."

Firefox turned sideways on his lap, and licked the tip of his nose before getting up. She moved over to Fiona, watching for any sign of her drawing away as she approached. Fiona stole a glance at her breasts, and then looked up into her face, quickly, as though embarrassed. Firefox smiled slightly, as though sharing a secret, before settling into her lap.

"I think you're a very pretty girl," she said softly, and kissed her on the nose.

"Uhm, thank you," Fiona responded, blinking slightly.

Oh, she was intrigued, all right. Firefox wasn't fooling herself: she knew it had more to do with the mystique of being a pleasure android than any real interest in her as a woman, but that didn't mean Fiona wouldn't be "good enough" as a client. So Firefox leaned back, and smiled at her indulgently.

She gently pulled Fiona's face into her bosom. "You like how my fur feels on your skin?" she asked softly. "Mmm."

The song stopped; the next began. While it played, Firefox cuddled Fiona, caressing her face. When it ended, she leaned down, and kissed the top of her head.

She looked at Peter out of the corner of her eye. He was watching alertly, not staring, really, but Firefox nevertheless had the strong impression that he was about to pop.

"Chili," Fiona asked seriously, "could I ask you to step out for a few minutes? Peter and I need to talk."

"I hope I didn't offend you, ma'am," Firefox said immediately, suddenly alarmed.

Fiona giggled. "Goodness, no. You're an angel."

"Not quite," Firefox replied. She kissed her again, lightly, and stood. She deftly scooped up the four dimes. A chair scraped behind her as Peter stood to "help her into her coat," and amazingly, neglected to cop a feel.

Firefox took a step away and stumbled slightly. She pressed her lips together, and to turn it into a joke said, "Heels." They chuckled and Firefox walked away. $1.15.

She wasn't heading in any particular direction, until she noticed Victoria, and headed towards her. Victoria looked surprised to see her and waited for her to get closer.

"Haven't seen you here before," she said. "You doing the five dollar challenge?"

"Five dollar?" Firefox asked. "Tigre told me it was two dollars."

"Really?" Victoria blinked. "Well, don't tell the other girls. They'll think you're the tiger's pet."

"I wonder about that, sometimes," Firefox said slowly. "I think it's because I started late tonight."

"That must be it," Victoria said lightly, and turned slightly away. Firefox smiled at her. "If someone gives you a hard time, let me know. I owe you for that fake stumble. But you know ... " she looked at Firefox. "She doesn't seem to come down on you like she does the other hard cases. I'm not implying anything. But I've got to warn you -- some other girls just might."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

"We can't stand around, you know," Victoria said. "Tigre will send someone to shove a cattle prod up our asses."

Firefox nodded. It seemed very unlikely that Tigre would be monitoring them that closely and personally -- it was just another indication of how much the tiger dominated the thoughts of every slave in Blue Diamond.

"Sure. Mind showing me around?"

Every way Firefox turned her head, she could see a flatscreen monitor. Images flashed by, quick-cut, women slipping slowly out of their shirts, women touching themselves, women passionately kissing other women, women on leashes with bits between their teeth and looks of indescribable pleasure on their faces. Occasional commercial messages -- not done as commercials, of course, just helpful little reminders about other shows that were going on elsewhere. Wrestling. Firefox perked up at that -- it was something FoxForce should be able to do. She'd have to remember to ask the others, or maybe sit in on a match. Tigre would be performing in half an hour, an image of the tiger, whip over one shoulder, shooting a smoldering look at the camera.

Firefox looked sharply away, suddenly uncomfortable. She knew she couldn't watch that, and it was less because of the beating than because hands she loved would be hurting someone.

Hands she loved.

Firefox closed her eyes. I love her, she realized. I would go away with her.

"Is something wrong?" Victoria asked, worried.

"No," Firefox said sadly. "No, nothing's wrong."

Oh, she could justify it to herself. Stockholm Syndrome, her own utter vulnerability to the tiger. But that didn't change anything, not really. She opened her eyes in time to avoid a collision with a topless woman with a tray of glasses.

They turned a corner, and Firefox became aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere; she didn't know if it was sound or scent or even the ambient electrical field, but there was something less languid, something more intense.

Silverfox was nude, kneeling on a large, round table, her back to Firefox. There were five or six men seated around it, so it was difficult to see what her friend was doing. Her hips were moving slowly, and Firefox suddenly noticed she was impaled on a large, transparent dildo. There were tip bowls sitting on either side of her. When a hand with a coin hovered above one, she would lean over and kiss and lick the guest's face while his free hand caressed her breasts, squeezing and pinching painfully until he dropped the coin into the plate.

Firefox looked away.

"Your friend really throws herself into it," Victoria said with a touch of admiration. "I've done shows like that, of course, but she's incredible. She makes the guests feel like nothing in the world matters but boning her, right now. You wouldn't believe the tips she gets."

Firefox nodded, confused and worried. Was Silverfox enjoying herself, and even if she were, did Tigre's girl have a right to judge her for it? Quite honestly, Firefox didn't have a good answer for that, and she wasn't even confident it mattered one way or the other. She didn't want to see Silverfox suffer, but she didn't want to see her having fun either. But what good would that do? It was as foolish as insisting Tigre chain her to her bed before making love to her. She looked back at the lovely gray-furred woman on the table.

Sexual orientation was a big part of anyone's identity. What if Silverfox decided ... she wasn't Silverfox any more?

For the first time in her life, Firefox wondered if she could trust Silverfox. Blue Diamond was brutal, but there was a wildness to it as well -- if you truly enjoyed the thought of sex with total strangers --

Silverfox caught her eye. Firefox froze for a moment, and forced a smile. She hope it came across as friendly and affectionate -- she realized she didn't see any good coming out of breaking Silverfox's mood. Silverfox smiled back, licked her lips, thrust the dildo inside her -- that's for you, love -- and went back to work.

"You up to getting your tits sucked?" Victoria asked.

"By who?"

"By me," Victoria replied. "Look over there. An unused stage."

Firefox looked over to it, and looked back at Victoria. "Maybe it's reserved?" she asked.

"No," Victoria said firmly. "The flatscreen next to it would be giving a coming attraction."

Firefox considered. If she said no, would Victoria be offended? She doubted it. She thought Victoria would understand her being unwilling to go that far, this soon, in public. But there was something almost naïve, even childish, in that.

Simply by being here, Firefox had, to some extent, gone over. She had to admit that to herself. She wasn't ashamed of that, at least she didn't think she was. Like a nervous swimmer marching to the edge of the high diving board, she took Victoria's hand and nodded.

"Do you want a story?" Victoria asked.

Firefox looked at her. "Two friends have sex."

Victoria blinked, and slowly smiled. "Nice thought, but I'm not sure how practical that is. Performing on stage isn't really like sex, it's more like role-playing. It's hard to get out of those pants, isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Okay, then," Victoria said. She considered a moment, and outlined a scenario. Firefox listened and nodded. Firefox realized it really was extraordinarily nice of Victoria to take her own time to ease Firefox into this; the least Firefox could do was follow her lead.

"Maybe we should put you in different clothes," Victoria mused.

"Get kind of a wild animal look going?" Firefox asked. At least it would get her out of these boots.

"Yes, exactly. There's usually a box of spare costumes and accessories in the cool-down rooms," Victoria explained. Victoria led her behind the bar and through a darkened door that led to a dingy concrete room with benches, vending machines with candy bars, Cokes, and amphetamines. Stimulants. There was a toilet against the wall.

Most of the light came from illuminated mirrors, by lockers. A woman was dozing on one of the benches, her head on a friend's lap. There was a box of cheap, gaudy jewelry and scarves and wraparound skirts and tops, all different sizes.

Getting Firefox out of her costume took a while. She folded it neatly and Victoria showed her how to use the tag in her collar to lock and open a locker. Firefox filed that away: obviously, only the collar held a tag. It was easy to find some artfully ripped rags for a costume for her. Victoria put some of her costume jewelry away, turning a gypsy dress into something plainer, more like a peasant.

"We'll need to get a bowl for tips," Victoria said. "We can get a tip bowl from the bar on our way out."

Victoria dropped two quarters and some dimes into it: eighty cents. "Seed money," she explained. "Let the guests know what the bowl is there for."

The stage was round, raised about half a meter, and was a bit over two meters across. Victoria put the glass down, hopped up on stage. Immediately, a bright spotlight clicked on, a curiously dead light that made her look ghostlike and otherworldly. She smiled at Firefox and put out a hand.

The vixen swallowed, took it, and stepped up. Just walking up onto a stage was difficult, and she half expected Security to show up and drag her off. Her eyes started to adjust to the light, and the rest of the room seemed to fade away as Victoria became more distinct; it was as though she were watching a film and Victoria's form was the center of focus and attention.

Victoria released her hand and looked away, as though she didn't see the much bigger woman standing next to her. Firefox dropped to all fours and pretended to stalk her, in slow motion, keeping out of her line of sight, sniffing, wrinkling her nose dramatically.

Victoria became more agitated, peering about more and more anxiously. Becoming increasingly aware she was being stalked, but never quite seeing the hunter. Firefox smiled cruelly, actually beginning to enjoy the role she was playing.

Firefox could hear people drawing near, curiously. Someone dropped a nickel into the bowl. Skittish, Firefox tuned them out, and focused her attention on the woman with her.

When Victoria stopped, facing her, Firefox jumped up to her full height, knowing that her height would surprise anyone watching. She leaped onto Victoria, capturing her. She held Victoria fast, as though deciding whether to violate her, eat her, or both. Firefox sniffed at her, licked, tasting her flesh. Victoria stopped, terrorized. She started to squirm as Firefox pressed harder, more cruelly. A dime clinked in the bowl as she slipped her tongue past Victoria's unwilling lips.

Firefox put a hand at the seals on Victoria's blouse. Victoria's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

Firefox spun her around, holding her with one arm around her waist, while Victoria pretended to struggle ineffectually. One seal after another yielded to Firefox's assault, parting, revealing a little more of her to the audience. Firefox pushed a hand into Victoria's now open blouse as the smaller woman squirmed helplessly, played briefly with her covered breast. Firefox let her go; she wrapped her arms around herself, so Firefox forced the blouse off her shoulders. While pretending to resist her, Victoria dropped the blouse to the stage. Firefox ground it under her boot, and since Victoria looked odd topless and in a skirt, she quickly pulled the skirt off as well.

Now naked, Victoria tried to cover herself. She started shuffling to one side while turning, rotating to give everyone around them a view. Firefox got the hint and followed her lead. Firefox gripped her by the wrists, roughly turned her around so her back faced her, and thrust her own groin against her buttocks, making her give Firefox a standing lap-dance. It was very different from the times Firefox had been violated; instead of being face to face, Firefox was turning Victoria's body so the audience could enjoy it. It was a strange thought.

Firefox had a good view of Victoria's body as she did this, and she was suddenly struck by something: she couldn't see any veins, despite the paleness of Victoria's skin. She wasn't an albino, not medically; her skin wasn't translucent, it was white but opaque, more like a china doll instead of a live woman. The dehumanizing thought stirred Firefox oddly, as though she was with an elaborate sex toy instead of a woman.

Firefox took her by the wrists and with a slight exertion lifted her off the ground. Victoria looked genuinely surprised by this and by Firefox's strength, and she had to suppress a nervous giggle. She then tossed Victoria lightly, caught her with her back over one shoulder. Victoria hesitated for a moment, and let herself drape down backwards. Firefox turned slowly, keeping Victoria balanced with one arm. There was scattered applause, and coins rang in the bowl.

Her other hand scratched lightly at Victoria's belly, and then dove into her crotch.

Victoria squirmed, and for a moment, Firefox thought it was for real. She couldn't help but notice then, that Victoria was wet, quite wet, and that her clitoris was hard and stiff.

She ran a gentle finger between her legs, felt Victoria squirm with real or feigned pleasure. More coins.

Firefox pushed Victoria's shoulders upwards, letting her slide down to her feet. Victoria landed lightly, and then collapsed, as though she had been thrown to the ground. She huddled at Firefox's feet, afraid, submissive, excited.

Firefox planted a boot lightly on Victoria's thigh, as though warning her not to leave. She undid her own rags, dropped them next to Victoria. Victoria flinched, as though away from a blow. Firefox planted a foot lightly on her shoulder and pushed.

Victoria collapsed onto her back, and Firefox pretended to kneel on her, using Victoria's body to shield her knees from the floor, keeping as much of her weight as possible on her foot. She lowered her mouth and started to kiss Victoria's breasts.

No, not kiss them so much as use them, consume them. Firefox realized she was imitating Tigre's breast play as she caught Victoria's stiff nipples in sharp teeth, and pulled hard enough to move her entire breast, while the woman on the floor beneath her gasped somewhere between pleasure and pain. She stopped biting and sucking, and sat on Victoria, reaching down to play with her breasts. It would provide a better view and would look more dominant. Victoria's hands moved up to caress Firefox's breasts, helplessly, against her own will. Although they were on stage, Firefox closed her eyes in pleasure.

Every so often, Firefox would hear more coins land in the bowl.

Firefox puzzled out her next move. She didn't want to lower her head or face to Victoria; she thought she try to stay up as much as possible, to keep dominant. So, she got off Victoria, swung around to crouch at her feet. Victoria glanced down at her, more curious than fearful for a moment. Firefox grabbed her ankles, parted them, and pulled them over her shoulders. Victoria hooked her legs, lifting herself off the ground and onto her shoulders. Firefox put her hands under Victoria's buttocks, lifted her higher, bowing her back and bringing Victoria's crotch against her muzzle.

Victoria was wet, wetter than before, and tasted and smelled of excitement. Firefox went in, straight for the clitoris, giving Victoria fast, hard oral sex -- not so much kissing Victoria to pleasure as consuming her between the legs, making it more an assault, an act of ritual cannibalism than gently pleasuring a partner with tongue and teeth. Victoria writhed on the floor, eyes closed, gasping, playing roughly with one of her own breasts.

She didn't last more than a minute before crying out, muscles tensing like iron. Firefox frowned slightly; she had hoped that Victoria would keep it going a bit longer. Still, Victoria had performed on stage before; she probably knew better how much of an attention span the audience had. Firefox dropped her disdainfully, cushioning her fall just before she hit. Victoria opened her eyes wide, looking at Firefox in amazement, and Firefox realized with a start that Victoria had actually climaxed. Well, she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised -- Firefox had come under far more humiliating circumstances than this.

It was about time for their act to reach its own climax. Firefox leaned on Victoria, fondling her. Victoria grasped one of her arms; Firefox looked down, shocked. Victoria applied a slight pressure and Firefox rolled with it, using her leverage to spin them both completely over, as though Victoria had done it herself with supernatural strength. The naked woman straddled the now-frightened fox, looking down at her with amused contempt. She turned her face into the light, opened her mouth, ran a tongue over her fangs, and drove them against Firefox's throat.

They didn't break the flesh, but the sensation was shocking nevertheless. Firefox looked dazed for a moment, then fell back with a thump. Through half-closed eyes, Firefox saw Victoria sit up, and wipe blood from her mouth. Firefox was worried for an instant, but then she noticed it smelled like stage blood. Victoria turned to the audience, winked, grinned, and beckoned with a crooked finger.

The audience was small, but the applause wasn't; Firefox half smiled despite herself as she gathered up her jacket and sat on the stage. It was curious; despite the fact she was forced into it, it felt good to know that she could do the job well. More coins, and the smile she gave to guests dropping them was entirely genuine.

Victoria was giggling, talking to a guest.

"Oh, my name's Victoria. And yours?"

"Martin." He seemed slightly hesitant. "That was very good. Does it have a title?"

"Sexual Predator," Victoria answered without pausing. "Come here, Martin," she said.

When he stepped closer, Victoria wrapped naked arms and legs around him, and kissed him passionately. When she released him, she kept eye contact.

"Thanks, Martin," she said. "These shows always turn me on. I needed a little release."

"Glad to help, Victoria," he said. He hesitated. "Would you like to come to my table for a drink?"

Victoria ran a hand on his cheek. "Can you wait here for me for a minute, honey?" she asked, pouting. "Chili and I have to get our cards punched."

Firefox passed Victoria her clothes and took the tip bowl. Victoria led her behind the bar and back to the room behind the bar.

"You put in eighty cents," Firefox said, passing it back to her. She spilled out the coins and quickly counted them. "Four dollars and fifteen cents," Firefox said, amazed. "You get the spare nickel. You wrote the story."

"Nah," Victoria said. "It was a collaboration. Did you make enough for the Queen Bitch? I'll lend you some if not."

"Thanks, but I'm okay," Firefox said. "What do we do with the money? Put it in the locker?"

"You can do that, or you can give it to a barkeep or a waitress," Victoria explained. "They drop it into their till and put it on your account. You have to let them scan your collar. You can make withdrawals later. Saves carrying coins around." Victoria looked at her. "You said you had never worked a place like this before."

"I haven't," Firefox said, puzzled.

"Well then, you're the best natural-born catcher I've ever met," Victoria said.

"Catcher?"

"The dance partner who catches the other one and twirls her around like a baton," she explained. "Your arms are as steady as steel bars. You made me look like an angel out there."

Firefox smiled and blinked. "It wasn't hard."

Victoria looked at her, sadly for a moment. "I had better go out to Martin," she said. "I think we have to split up for now." She put her skirt in a locker, pulled on the blouse, but didn't seal it up. She put her money in with the skirt, closed the locker, and touched the door with her wrist. An LED display on the door winked on, reading "0202 Victoria." Firefox looked over to the other, which read "0520 Chili. "Since Technofox was 0518, it was most likely the numbers were assigned in sequence.

Five hundred and twenty minus two hundred and two was three hundred and eighteen. There were two hundred and twenty slaves at Blue Diamond, give or take.

So what had happened to the other hundred since Victoria had come here?

"If you're working a full night on the floor," Victoria said, "you want to check out two or three costumes, put them in a locker before opening, and change during the night. It fools the clients into thinking there's more girls out there, and it gives you something to change into if something spills." Victoria smiled, as though emphasizing that "something" didn't just mean drinks.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Firefox said, honestly. She felt a twinge of fear. It was genuinely intimidating to walk around in a place where strangers knew you were available. Dante walked through Hell, but he had Virgil as a friend and guide.

Victoria got up, and still naked, went to the door. "Don't you want your clothes?" Firefox asked.

"Oh. Just the blouse, I think," Victoria said. "You see, I'm so eager to share a drink with Martin that I can't be bothered to dress." Her voice was curiously flat, dropping momentarily out of character. Victoria patted her arm. "Thanks, Firefox. I've never made that much off one unrehearsed stage show before."

"Good luck."

"It's traditional to wish bad luck," Victoria explained politely.

Firefox grinned. "Break a leg then. I've always wondered about that."

Victoria smiled back and turned, her open blouse revealing and covering her belly and breasts, and her thatch of beautiful, tasty pubic hair, that trapped her musk.

For a moment, Firefox frowned, genuinely angry that someone else would probably be using Victoria between the legs tonight, that her Victoria would be crying out and impaling herself on some guest's erection. She didn't know if Victoria's pleasure would be feigned or not, and she wondered which she would prefer. At that moment, it seemed that the worst thing Blue Diamond did wasn't the beatings and the rapes, but was instead the way they took something as personal as sex and sold it, trivializing it. Perhaps, somewhere else, Firefox and Victoria would have been friends, and maybe even lovers.

Could making love with Victoria ever mean as much, now that she had fucked her on a stage?

Firefox frowned and looked at the change in her hand. $3.20. She had outperformed Tigre's expectation, but she felt a strange compulsion to keep going. She thought it might be the reflex of a good soldier -- keep working as long as you can -- but she had to admit she wanted Tigre to be proud of her. She rationalized it by reminding herself that Tigre had to be kept sweet -- and so far, the Floor was a lot better than what she had been doing earlier. Yes, it was worth humiliating herself to keep working on the Floor.

She set herself the goal of five dollars, which Victoria had implied was the usual challenge for a night.

Firefox didn't feel like fighting back into the fox hunter costume, so she dropped her cash into her locker and left the room, turning to her left. She walked on for a while, looking for Victoria. She suspected there was a very good chance Victoria had hooked up with Martin for the night, and that she was alone. It made her realize how much she had relied on Victoria's support earlier.

There was a chimera on one table, eyes huge and lustrous as an animal's. Firefox couldn't be sure, but she suspected the topless chimera had her hand on the crotch of the guest sitting next to her and smiling. A forked tongue darted out and touched his cheek. Firefox looked away. She hoped he wouldn't go off until the slave had pulled every coin possible from him.

She passed a woman wearing straps and leaning against the wall, and she felt a small shock when she noticed the woman was chained to the wall, fastened by the straps. Firefox had strayed into the bondage area.

She stopped, uncertainly, and looked around. She knew, suddenly, that Tigre had picked the fox hunter costume because it had a certain power and authority, that it gave off a subtle "look but don't touch" vibe when combined with her own size. Now, she was uncomfortably aware that she was wearing nothing but fur, some ripped scraps of fabric, and bands with D-rings for connecting chains.

And worse, she realized that her sudden nervousness would be attractive to exactly the wrong people. She swallowed, focused her eyes on a monitor. Tigre's image flicked across the panel; it wasn't reassuring.

She turned to double back, when she caught Technofox's scent. She paused, sniffed, and that was long enough to catch someone's eye.

"Hey, pretty fox," she heard. "You look like you're looking for someone."

And, of course, she was -- but she was, for a moment, too rattled to put him off by claiming she was looking for another client. So, she reflexively shook her head, an instant before she realized that would mean she was available.

He was of medium height, stocky with graying hair. He had the jocular look of a salesman.

"Come to my table for a drink?" he asked.

Was that the unofficial come-on line? Firefox smiled and nodded, trying to get back some poise and control over the situation. He put his arm around her waist, his hand on the curve above her hip. "Thank you, sir," Firefox said.

He sat her down at one of the small tables, three chairs. The music was a bit louder here, 1940s Jazz. It didn't seem to fit the décor, but Firefox was glad of it. There was a half-empty bourbon on the table. "What will you have?" he asked.

"Orange juice," Firefox said, "thanks."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm a cheap date," Firefox replied.

He laughed as though she had said something witty. "Oh, believe me, honey, you aren't. Your time's very valuable." He called a waitress over and ordered.

"I'm sure yours is, too. What do you do?"

"I sell electronics. I'm in town for the MI convention."

"That must be interesting. You travel a lot?"

"All the time."

A waitress silently put a glass of juice in front of Firefox. Her bare breast touched Firefox's upper arm. His eyes flicked over to her breasts, and he gave her a tip.

"It gets lonely," he admitted.

Firefox fought a laugh. Instead, she patted his thigh and looked sympathetic. She was more than a little surprised that he was sitting in this part of the club -- so far, he had been almost a gentleman.

"Anything I can do for you?" she asked.

Silently, he put a dime on the table. Seeing her hesitate, he put a nickel next to it. She lifted an eyebrow, and he pushed himself away from the table.

She stood and sat on his lap, facing him. She shifted her butt lightly on his lap, warming up for the start of the next song. Her loincloth was open beneath, and she could feel the soft fabric of his suit directly on her pubes. He realized that, and she felt him growing hard under her. The song changed.

"What have you got for me, girl?" he asked.

Firefox dropped her eyes. "My breasts, sir."

"Let me taste them," he ordered.

She undid her top, and rose slightly to bring her nipples to his mouth.

As he sucked at one, he played with the other. Firefox rested her weight on his shoulders, and licked her lips. She was starting to feel excited. She imagined herself reaching down, taking out his erection, and impaling herself on it. She knew she was already wet enough to accept him, and somehow the fact it was forbidden made the thought even more appealing. Out-slutting Blue Diamond itself!

She rested her muzzle next to his ear, so he could hear her little excited moans of pleasure, all unfeigned. She could imagine him inside her, and the thought was unbearably intense. She could feel eyes on her, and that added to it. Maybe everyone had a fantasy of being on display, a sexual animal, there to be viewed.

The song ended, and Firefox reluctantly pulled herself away from him. She scooped up the change on the table.

"Good girl," he said.

"Thank you, sir," she said demurely, as though he was letting her go instead of her having finished the job. On a whim, she daintily licked his hand. He hesitated, and put another dime on the table.

He kept her there for another three songs. He didn't feel any other part of her body; apart from steadying her at one point, his attention was entirely on her breasts. Firefox knew that her breasts were probably her most striking feature, but she had never had anyone focus on them so exclusively before. She wondered if he were unable to enjoy anything else, or if he was simply feeding a mild kink. She wondered what, exactly, he was getting out of it: was it the fun of having a pretty girl in his lap, or was it the nastier thrill of "I gave her a dime and she let me suck her tits!" She wondered if he wanted to sleep with her, if the cost of renting her was the only reason he wasn't taking her to his bed, or if this was all he wanted from a woman.

It was curiously passive on her part; she didn't think he wanted her to do anything but sit and let him use her. It was relaxing and comforting; she knew that as long as she was on his lap, she wouldn't be approached by anyone else; apart from the physical pleasure she felt, she also felt safe with him. As long as she let him have his fun, she could ignore everyone else.

It was odd when she thought about it; being with someone who could suck on her breasts but couldn't screw her. Generally, anyone who played with her breasts before was doing it as a precursor to sex; even quiet, furtive groping sessions in dark movie theaters were usually followed by sharing a bed.

Well, regardless -- he was forty-five cents to her. She looked at the coins in her palm before dropping them off at a bar. This barkeeper wasn't a gentleman; he felt her up while scanning her collar, and she privately decided to avoid him from now on. It was such a tiny amount of money, and so precious now. In Boston she would drop five dollars on a good mocha, and now she was literally pinching dimes. Three-sixty-five.

And how much would Martin spend to bed Victoria? At least a few hundred. Firefox didn't know the rates, and she didn't want to know.

The lights were low, and her field of vision was short. She whiffed the air, closed her eyes, and concentrated on what she could scent; identifying and sorting the fragrances in detail that humans were incapable of. She was a woman and the excitement of men was especially obvious to her. This place was drenched in that, unsurprisingly. Still, other scents could be detected. Nachos, alcohol, buffalo wings. Women, some she could recognize, others she had scented in the wild confusion of the Panopticon; she knew their scents but not their faces. And finally, the delicate tang of Technofox. She had always associated her friend with the smell of solder, ozone, and copper.

Firefox paced the Floor, pretending not to hear two guests beckon for her. She felt slightly anxious. She had no idea what she would do if she found Technofox, especially if she was being abused. But even if she couldn't do more than give her a moment of sympathy, she knew it was important to do it.

She turned a corner and saw Technofox on one of the low stages. She wore a schoolgirl uniform straight from a TV show; Firefox had never actually seen a real schoolgirl dressed like that, but the image survived. White blouse, plaid skirt, ascot, knee socks, black shoes. She looked fearfully around, as though for a sympathetic eye or helpful hand. And Tigre was with her, standing over her, ignoring the crowd as she carefully worked on Technofox's chains.

Technofox was kneeling submissively, the fight out of her, hands behind her back, as Tigre locked her ankles to the stage. She gave Technofox a whispered instruction, and the fox leaned backwards, touching her wrists to her ankles.

You'll never see anything real on the Floor.She remembered Tigre's assurance of that. It was the only thing keeping Firefox from leaping on the tiger. Even though she knew that the results would be disastrous, she knew she would.

Tigre quietly fastened the fox's right wrist to her ankles, leaving her left hand free. Firefox moved closer, clearing her throat to get the tiger's attention. Tigre looked around, surprised; Technofox looked up and feigned it badly. Firefox filed that away: either Tigre was completely focused on the slave she was controlling, or her senses weren't much better than a human's.

Tigre turned back to Technofox. "I want you to strip yourself and touch yourself," she said brusquely. "Put on a good show, come on stage, and maybe I let you back into your cell. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Technofox said softly.

Firefox had the distinct impression that Tigre wanted to threaten the little fox more, but instead, the cat glanced at Firefox and turned towards her.

"Watch her for me," Tigre ordered. "Let me know if she screws up."

"No," Firefox whispered.

"What?" Tigre growled.

Firefox dropped to her knees, and kissed Tigre's toe, feeling the sheathed, retracted claw against her lip.

"No, ma'am," Firefox said softly. "I won't lie to you, and I won't watch her for you. I'm being honest, ma'am. I want you to know what you can expect from me."

Firefox stared at the floor, knowing that she was taking the biggest risk to date, and knowing that her chances of getting out of this without a beating were nil.

"Uhrm," Tigre said thoughtfully. "How much in tips did you get? Three sixty-five?"

Firefox tried hard not to react to that. There were only two ways Tigre could possibly know that: either the tiger had set up the whole night, down to the tips in Firefox's bowl (which was absurd) or Tigre was tied directly into the Blue Diamond's computer network. And Firefox knew which seemed more likely.

"You're a good girl for telling me," Tigre said, and walked off without another word.

Technofox hesitated, and smiled briefly at Firefox. Firefox smiled back and nodded. Technofox raised her free hand to her blouse and started to undo the buttons. Her shyness only made her cuter and more appealing; customers started to gather. The little fox slipped a hand into her shirt, closed her eyes, and started playing with her still-covered breast.

Firefox wondered if it would be better for Technofox if she went away because performing in front of a friend was embarrassing, or if Technofox would be comforted by knowing she was in the audience. Should she get on stage with her, help her with the performance? She decided against getting on stage, because that might encourage clients to follow her.

Firefox went for a tip bowl. She withdrew some coins from her account as seed money, and left the bowl next to Technofox.

Technofox was refusing to make eye contact with the audience. She had her blouse and bra open, parted to show her small, sweet breasts. Firefox could swear there was a soft gasp from the audience when Technofox's claw tugged lightly at the flesh of her own nipple. Firefox could recognize the "story" Technofox was forced into; captured, chained maiden, forced to strip and pleasure herself for the enjoyment of her tormentors. And Technofox's own natural reluctance played into it perfectly.

Tigre might lie, Tigre might be wrong, but watching Technofox drove home the essential truth of what Tigre had said earlier. Since co-operation and resistance were both erotic to people, anyone could be a pleasure slave. The only choice they had was whether or not they would be in chains when they performed.

There was a tap at her shoulder, and Firefox looked around. A waitress was there, with drinks on a tray. Her large breasts were positioned over the drinks, where anyone taking one might "accidentally" cop a feel.

"Are you're Chili?" she asked.

"I am a little cold, now that you mention it. Could be because I'm practically naked."

The waitress stared at her for a second.

"Yes," Firefox said with a sigh.

"You have been rented for the night. They want you to report to the main entrance."

"Thanks."

Firefox looked at Technofox for a long moment before turning away.

So, had she been hired by Peter and Fiona, or maybe the electronics salesman? She wasn't told, Firefox knew, because it didn't make the slightest difference.