FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Max woke up to the smell of bedsheets permeated with musk, sweat, and cum. The dingo lay in bed for about twenty minutes, not doing much of anything as he watched the clock turn closer to six in the morning. His ears twitched, but he didn't hear anything. No shower. No dishes. No rustle of sheets or clothes. Max smiled. Good. He hated when guys got clingy and tried to steal a free breakfast. Not a chance.

The dingo rolled out of bed and gingerly walked to the shower. There was a slight squelching noise as he walked. God, they must've gone at it for longer than he thought if his ass was still fresh. He winced with each step. Fucking horses. Or perhaps, getting fucked by horses. That was something new for Max. Still, based on his current sample size, it seemed Max might have found a new favourite species. If only they had knots...

Max always liked a hot shower after sex. The musk and all that was goddamn amazing, borderline intoxicating. But after? Max always just felt dirty after sex. And not just the "my fur is coated in someone else's bodily fluids" kind of dirty.

"Well... less so nowadays," mused Max as hot water ran down his face and darkened his honey-coloured fur. Which was kind of interesting, considering sex with other males was always messier than sex with females, at least in his experience. He soaped up his hands and reached behind himself to clean out his rear end. The lotion in the body wash and the warm water helped ease the stiffness and soreness out of his body. Still, there was something about that feeling, that almost-pain that was... satisfying, almost.

The dingo left the shower after a good twenty minute soak. He'd regret it later when he got his water bill, but he could think about that at the end of the month. He wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered to the kitchen.

It was Saturday today. What the hell would he do? No work today. He almost wanted to work today, even. Saturdays was his only day off, and he was certainly always tired after six straight days of seven hour shifts, twice a day at two different places, but right now the day just seemed like it would be wasted. Max fished his wallet out of the pants that were left on the kitchen floor. It was irritatingly light in his hands. Suddenly a twenty minute shower didn't feel like a good life decision.

He flipped open his computer. It took a bit to boot up, and the old laptop whirred in protest at the strain of being used, but Max ignored it. He knew he needed a new fan, but it wasn't an urgent problem right now. Max opened up Chrome and browsed his favorites bar, not sure what he wanted to do.

None of the vlogs he watched had updates, and he didn't see any news headlines on his feed that seemed worthy of his interests. He wasn't in the mood to read about petty politics or whatever dumbass celebrity did something stupid. He opened up facebook. No new notes. Nothing interesting in his newsfeed. No one in his chatlog, really. He sighed. Some part of him still wished he could hear the "badoomp" of his message notification, even if the last few times that had happened, all that resulted was heartbreak. Max sighed.

He opened his status box and paused. After a moment, Max began to type, starting slow and then picking up speed, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. After a full five minutes, he looked at what he had typed. After pondering his novella for a minute or so, he closed out Chrome. What good would a status like that do? "Jack shit, that's what," grumbled the dingo to his keyboard.

Max went downstairs to check his mail. He actually got the paper on weekends, and it was the only thing in his box. He unwrapped the weekend tribune and leafed through until he found the "On the Town" section. Maybe some journalist might accidentally cover something interesting this weekend.

An opinion piece caught his eye as he riffled past the eyes. "Stripping Down the Controversy." Max let himself into his apartment and put some coffee on before reading through the little quip of an article.

New drama has unfolded in downtown over the relocation of a new club near the top floor of the popular skyscraper tourist attraction, the Obsidian Tower. The establishment is called "Candy Wrappers," which is, as any reader with half a brain could suss out, a strip club. While common complaints are abound about placing such a racy club in the same location as a nationally recognized tourist attraction, Candy Wrappers has been taking additional heat from fundamentalist organizations once the club announced that it would be featuring both female and male dancers. In the face of additional opposition from outside sources, a representative of the club made a public statement, saying that "These pricks need to stop being such prudes. Why not come and unwrap one of our sweeties before passing judgment."

"The Preservationist of the Nuclear Family..."

Max stopped reading there. He didn't feel like reading the bullshit auto-responses from organizations like the PNF. It was all bullshit, and Max found himself agreeing with the club owner. For a society that was obsessed with plastering half naked women everywhere he looked, most people were really prudish bitches when it came right down to it. Max flipped his computer open again, and did a quick google search as he reached behind him for his mug.

---

Max wandered around the city block, laughing at the fools that were queuing out the door for the SkyLift. If the idiots walked across the street, they'd find a building with a public elevator that went up almost as high. Well, if they wanted to waste their money, that was their problem.

The dingo slipped into a narrow alley that was marked by a small pink neon sign in the shape of an arrow surrounding a spiral peppermint candy. Further down the alley Max saw another, identical sign, pointing the way to a back entrance of the tower.

"Welcome to Candy Wrappers," said a female raccoon dressed in a tight red vest. "Sorry for the roundabout entrance."

"It's no problem," said Max, casually waving a hand.

"I doubt you'd want to be heckled by the fools in line anyway," said the coon. Her muzzle cracked into a mischievous smile. "A lot of our patrons are used to going in by the back door anyway. Take the elevator up. The button's bright red. You can't miss it."

Max couldn't resist a wry smile at the coon's joke, and murmured his thanks as he stepped into a spacious elevator. The walls were all mirrored, and the ceiling was lit by red neon lights, casting the elevator into vivid crimson tones. Max tapped the button labelled "cw" and felt the rush of the high speed elevator shooting him up to the ninety-ninth floor.

He heard the club before he saw it. Even before the elevator began to slow, Max could hear a deep, bass thud of club music. Max leaned against the railing, unconsciously tapping his foot to a fast-paced beat. The bright *ping* of the elevator bell announced Max's arrival to Candy Wrappers. Deep red light leaked through the cracks in the double doors of the elevators. Max licked his lips and pressed his hand against the door.

The dingo's eyes and ears were assaulted by a tidal wave of sensory information. The club was slightly hazy and incredibly dark. It almost looked like a sea of red wine to Max's unaccustomed eyes. The hazy sea was punctuated by vivid, bright islands of light. Four podiums stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by red velvet seats. The podiums were unadorned, save for two silver poles, died scarlet and white by neon lights placed above and below the podiums. The room smelled... raw. It was certainly a clean venue, but there seemed to be an underlying tone of musk and sweat.

There was a wide, spacious bar that was nonetheless jam packed. Max decided he could get a drink later and turned towards a wide, wood panelled stage that was lit by yellow-white spotlights. An all male act was in full swing. A cream-colored ferret, a milk chocolate otter, and a ripped, powerful Doberman were moving to the beat of the music, surrounded by a crowd of eager males and females.

Max was a bit unsure what to do, afraid to try and wade through the crowd to look closer. It was unclear to him why. There they were, three absolutely drop-dead sexy males, dancing and displaying themselves for him, the viewer, but here he was, hesitating. Max scoffed to himself. Even now, his knee jerk reaction to "looking gay" hadn't gone away. Maybe it never would. His eyes flicked back up to the stage again.

Damn... besides being sexy as hell, they certainly weren't afraid to "look gay." The otter and ferret were really twinky, almost downright girly. They're lighter fur tones greatly contrasted the stark brown and black of the Dobie, as did their bodies in general. But the canine was the most striking. He was almost savage: his ears had gouges cut our of them, with numerous piercings that caught the red light. His hair was bound in a thin pony tail, and his blue eyes sharply contrasted the ambient red glows.

They were grinding and sliding their bodies across each other, teasing the viewers with legs, arms, chest, tails... and cocks. Their dark red thongs were clearly stretched to their limits by thick bulges. They were also stuffed tight with bills, and occasionally the males would pause their action to wave their asses at the crowd, inviting them to stuff their pants just a little fuller before returning to their action.

Max unconsciously moved closer to the stage as he watched the three. The Dobie seemed to be trading off with the twinks, taking turns letting the otter or ferret rub themselves up against him. They'd start always with their chest or hips before going for blatant crotch play. One mustelid or the other would use their long, fluid tails as well, brushing against the dog's undercarriage and teasing towards his tailhole.

After the canine switched between the two other males three times, they began dancing together, each taking turns to be in the middle. Their moves and gyrations were fluid and inviting, just fast enough to draw attention but slow enough to keep the viewer completely captivated. They'd occasionally walk to the edge of the stage, leaning down low to accept more tips before returning to the writhing, upright pile of sexiness on stage.

Max's courage was rising in his chest almost as quickly as his cock was rising in his sheath, but just as he was about to push through the crowd to stuff a five down the pants of the Doberman, the three males sashayed their way downstage and behind the curtain. There was a collective groan from the crowd and calls for encores, but they did not return to please the crowd.

The dingo's face fell a little as the furs around the stage dispersed, disappointed that he couldn't join in on the fun. He lingered around the stage until four more dancers took the stage. Unfortunately, they were all females, and Max felt no urge to linger and watch.

Instead, Max wandered to one of the small podiums. Two were entirely unoccupied, and another held only a solo dancer, a short, almost impossibly thin mouse female in scanty red panties. She was certainly attractive, at least from Max's outside, objective perspective, and the woman had certainly attracted a fair crowd of men and women. But Max turned away. Rodents weren't his type anyway, regardless of gender.

But just as Max turned away, he ran straight into the last podium, which was just being mounted by a large, ripped tiger, with fur dyed dark red in the shadow of the club's red neon. Max hustled up to one of the booths surrounding the small circular stage, his eyes beginning to devour the magnificent specimen that was beginning to dance in front of him. Others soon gathered.

The tiger's dance was much different than the previous trio Max had witnessed. His motions were just as lithe, just as fluid, but his body, his muscles, his poise was all different. He practically oozed masculinity. His cut arms reached behind a defined head and thick neck to grip the pole behind him. His legs were bent low, and his lower body gyrated alluringly, but with a powerful, almost feral aggressiveness. His face and eyes were hard, almost cold, as he scanned the crowd before him. He wasn't inviting his audience to come closer, he was challenging them.

What Max found most curious about the cat was his fur. At first, Max thought that the tiger had normal fur, orange and black and white. But on closer inspection, the dark red lighting of the club wasn't affecting the tiger's fur tones as much as Max thought. His fur was really that colour: he had a standard white underside, but where orange and black fur should be, the dancer's fur was scarlet and dark red. It didn't look like a dye job either. The more Max watched, the more intrigued he was by the tiger's body. He desperately wanted to run his hands through that fur, across those muscles...

Max reached into his wallet and pulled out the five he had wanted to give to the Doberman dancer earlier tonight. Tentatively, Max stepped up and ran a hand across the dancer's thigh, sliding the folded bill into the tiger's black thong, which was embellished in dark red letters: King Crimson. The fur was incredibly soft, almost downy, with no tell-tale traces of fur dye or product. How did colour like that come naturally?

The tiger danced for what seemed like hours and Max kept returning to him for a chance to touch his amazing body while he tipped him again and again. Each time his hand made contact with thigh or hip or even crotch the tiger growled, baring his teeth at the fur who dared challenge his position in the spotlight, even if it was only to reward him for his allure.

Max watched as the red cat left the stage with a final flourish, a dimming of the lights, and the whiff of masculine sweat. As the curtain fell, Max only just realized that he was on the edge of the seat. His mouth was open, and the tip of his tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth, and he was breathing fast and hard, almost as if he were panting. His cock was rock hard and straining against his waistband. God, what he wouldn't give for an hour in the back room with a hunk like that.

He stuck his hand into his wallet. It was at it always was: irritatingly light on cash, even more so after the last hour was spent stuffing singles down the pants of dancers. He rifled through the pockets and pouches and folders, desperately searching for any leftover cash that may have been sequestered away. Nothing. He searched again, this time for his debit or credit cards. They weren't there.

"Of course not," growled Max in his head. "I don't have them because I've got no cash to pay with them." One final search of his wallet found five dollars. The dingo got up, stretched, and meandered to the bar. "Tall Guinness, dark, keep the change," mumbled Max to the Doberman bartender.

"Thanks much," said the bartender, breaking the five and dropping the remainder in the tip jar. "Anything else." He threw a glass under the tap and let the foam rise and froth over the rim before passing the chilled brew to Max.

"Not unless it's free," grumbled Max, waving his empty wallet.

"I know the feeling," said the bartender, sympathetically. The Dobie's shrewd, blue eyes glanced around the empty bar. He let Max brood over his brew for a few minutes before sauntering over to the dingo. "Rough night?"

"Something like that," muttered Max, taking a long drink.

"Hope you at least had a good time tonight," said the Dobie, flashing a toothy smile towards Max.

"Oh yeah," said Max, not wanting to rag on the establishment. He was conscious that his still raging boner was showing through his pants. He took another drink, hoping that the booze would slow his body down. "You've got some good dancers here."

"Oh really?" The Dobie leaned forward, resting one arm on the bar. It was rippled with muscles, bulging and straining under a coat of short brown and tan fur. "Who'd you like?"

Max hesitated. Even though he'd just spent almost an hour and a half under the spell of the crimson feline, there was one dancer that stood out to the dingo. Perhaps it was because he had missed a potentially amazing opportunity by mere seconds, or perhaps it was the physique and poise of the canine that Max had watched. "There was a dancer, a guy," said Max, even now felling a twinge of self-consciousness as he openly admitted his attractions. "I didn't catch his name."

"Tell me," said the bartender cheerily, completely unperturbed by Max's self-outing. "I know all their names."

"He was cut, and his fur tones really emphasized his physique. He knew how to move, and he was just as graceful as his partners on stage. And he had this smile. It was confident, almost cocky, as if he was soaking up the attention and loving it. His smile was actually a lot like..." Max was shook out of his revelry as he saw the bartender. The canine was leaning his muzzle on his hand, whose elbow was resting on the top of the bar. And he was smiling. Though the dancer had been wearing nothing much at all, and the bartender in front of him was wearing a uniform, the smile suddenly caused Max's mind to click. A wide, toothy, cocky smile that was eating up every iota of attention and praise that Max was dishing out. "Oh..."

"No, please," said the bartender, maintaining his casually cocky grin. "Go on."

Max withdrew a little in his chair, a little awkward now that he was face to face with a fur that had run away with his fantasies. "Uhm... could you tell me your name?"

"Colorado," said the dog. "And I'd address a fine fur like you as?"

"Max," muttered the Dingo. Part of him wanted to get up and go right now. It just felt weird, having a discussion with... well... a stripper. "So uh, you bartend too?"

"When the need arises, yes," said Colorado. "Saturdays are busy days and nights for us. But go back to telling me how stunning I am on stage." They both laughed at this remark.

"So, how'd you get started working here, anyway?" said Max, feebly trying to take a stab at small talk. God, he always sucked at talking to attractive people.

"I asked for a job," said Colorado simply. "They needed people, I brought the goods, they hired me."

"Sounds so simple even I could do it," joked Max. "Maybe I should go ask."

"If you're serious, talk to me when we close." said the Doberman, completely straight faced.

Max was taken aback. He wasn't joking! "I...uh, you mean it?"

"Why not," said Colorado. "We're short on dancers, actually. Just stick around and we'll talk when we're empty."

"Can I come back later," said Max. "I'm out of money, and I'd hate to just sit here."

"Don't worry about it," said Colorado. "Gimme a sec." The dog trotted off from behind the bar and returned with a huge stack of singles. He shoved a fistful of bills into Max's hands. "Go nuts."

Max was incredulous. "What?!"

"Use these so you don't get thrown out for loitering. It's a pittance compared to what I earned this afternoon."

"Wait," said Max, staring at his fistful of dollars. "Are there... I mean, were these?" Compulsively, Max brought the cash to his nose and sniffed. The bills were laced with an intoxicating musk, a powerful, masculine smell that sent a knee-bending throb through his sheath.

"Looks like you're not squeamish with handling cash that was just down some guy's crotch," laughed Colorado. "You'll fit right in here."

* * * * *

Max stared at his form in the mirror. It was such a surreal experience. Here he was, practically naked, and soon he would go out on stage and stipd down to this...and beyond. The only thing he was wearing was a dark red... well it couldn't be called anything except a thong.

Was he really doing this? Of course he was: he'd spent two weeks coming to Candy Wrappers, every other day, practicing behind the scenes. But that was in a closed room, well lit, and usually with all his clothes on. Sure Colorado was there, watching him move, correcting his stance, shouting things like "keep your tail raised" as the Dobie walked him through the motions.

But now he was in a dingy dressing room, almost naked, ready to go out on stage to be ogled at by who knows who? The dingo sat down on the bench in the cubicle, running a hand through his headfur as he sighed.

His ears perked as he heard strong, heavy footsteps echo across the floorboards outside his cubicle. The pace was fast and confident, and Max was fairly sure he knew the owner of those paws. His lips twitched into a half smile. There was a knock on his door.

"You in there, pup?"

"Yeah, but don't call me that," said Max, his smile dropping a little.

"Too bad," chuckled Colorado. "You're younger than me, that gives me license to call you pup."

"By 24 hours, asshole," scowled Max, only annoyed a little by this exchange, though his mind was too distracted by the impending show to care too much else right now. "Less than that probably."

"You can lie to yourself, pup," laughed Colorado, "but you can't lie to math. Show me whatcha got, kid."

Self-consciously, Max opened the door. Before him stood the Doberman, standing with his legs spread at shoulder width, his hands at his hips, and his whip like tail slowly swaying behind his thighs. He too was dressed in a dark red Candy Wrappers thong, and nothing else. But for Colorado, this apparel wasn't awkward or abnormal looking on him. There was only one word for how he wore his attire. He ROCKED it. It clung to his body, showing off every line, coil, and bulge in his form. He wore a broad, gleaming smile, filled with shining pointed teeth. "You look GOOD kid."

"I do?" said Max, clearly perplexed.

"You do," said Colorado, with complete certainty. "I told you before: moves don't mean shit if you don't got the body, or the 'tude, 'cause you can't learn that. I taught you the moves, you got the bod, and if you stop thinking too much, you can have the 'tude. You'll kick ass some tonight."

Max scratched behind his ears. "It just seems weirder and weirder the closer I get to opening."

"What," asked Colorado before laughing, "Being a stripper? It's not weird, it's fun! Just do what I taught you. You've got fine legs, you've got a finer tail, and you've got one of the finest asses I've seen. Let your body do the talking and no one's gonna care if you're new here."

"I guess," mumbled Max. He stood up and wandered around the dark locker room as Colorado flipped on the lights. Dark grey lockers, tiles, and benches were brightened into a lighter shade of grey as the lights buzzed on. "Why'd you have me come here so early?"

"So you could meet your new co-workers, and to give you this. Hot off the sewing machine kid."

The Doberman held out a Candy Wrappers thong in his paw, and at first the dingo wasn't sure what it meant. But then he caught sight of the sparkling rhinestones on the fabric, and as he held the skimpy scrap of fabric up, they caught the light reflecting it in an almost painful array of brilliant light. The rhinestones spelt out his name, or his stripping persona at least.

Don Juan.

"See kid; special just for you. No more training pouch, this is the real deal. With a little extra reinforcement sewn in just in case all those hot types in the audience get your bone a little perky."

Max stared at the g-string, and gulped, suddenly realising he was about to go on wearing this. His muzzle felt dry all of a sudden.

"Go on...try it on."

The dingo gave his compatriot an embarrassed smile, but he did want to see what it looked like on, so he rapidly dropped his basic red thong, trying hard to ignore the wide eyed stare of appreciation from the buff Doberman. When he pulled on the new personalised one, he suddenly felt a little warm, even a little immortal. He was it; he was Don Juan, and out there, he would do what he had learned and make the audience scream for more.

Or I will run and hide with my tail between my legs...death or glory, and nothing in between.

"Now, time to get the rest of your costume, and meet the rest of the gang."

Colorado gripped his shoulder, not roughly, but not gently either. The Doberman knew sometimes a newbie needed to be led, and this one was green as grass still, no matter what he might say to keep the dingo's confidence up. The less time he had to brood, the less time he had to overthink this and get himself all anxious. And nothing was worse than an anxious stripper.

They padded along the narrow corridor and into the larger rehearsal space. The club had one larger room for group work, where they honed their routines and their dance numbers for each new show. It was crowded now, and the dingo was losing his warm glow under their stares. He felt his paws beginning to point back towards the cubicle and safety, and his tail had pressed between his legs and hugged his ankle. Colorado gave a look at one of the women, as if to say 'help me out.'

The one he had chosen gave a big beaming smile and walked straight up to the dingo and planted a kiss on his cheek. Max had seen the mouse around a lot, though she mostly worked with the female dancers. He remembered his first time in the club, when he had seen her up on stage. Nothing then had prepared him for the force of personality that was Mrs Mouze. In truth he was a little intimidated by her, though her heart was as big as the club and she treated them all like a slightly disapproving mother. Tonight she was here for him though; and in her motherly arms, he lost the last of his nerves.

"Beautiful pup."

The dingo gave her a rueful glance, but she kissed his nose unapologetically. "I get to call you that lovely; when this overgrown Doberman puppy says it you have my permission to slap him, but I am always allowed."

"Thanks Mrs Mouze."

"Tonight you can call me Madeline, dear. After all, who do you think did your costume?"

The dingo was surprised at that, and he saw the mouse give a little smile of pride. "Yes, I am a mouse of many talents dear. And I did have fun doing your costume...but please, let us see you. Show it off lovely, Colorado is right in one thing. You do have it."

He stood with the heat rising to his cheeks as the little group surveyed him. He caught their looks, professional but more too. Appreciation, a thumbs up here and there, even a little look of jealousy. He knew he could do this, and come out still in one piece.

"Well gang...meet our newest dancer, Don Juan. Don, you have met King Crimson I believe..."

The red tiger gave an indulgent smile that showed his incisors, and then stepped forward for a handshake. He didn't seem that interested otherwise in the dingo, and quickly turned to talk to one of the girls.

"And here is the guy who thinks he has all the moves, Starz..."

"Hey! Welcome aboard dingo dude."

The canine had a fascinating look up close , and Max had to stare a little, which did his reception no harm. Starz clearly liked the attention. He was a Dalmatian, but his colouring was the wrong way round, black background and white spots. He had a hot bod, Max had to admit too, and clearly liked showing it off. He caught the dingo staring at his chest and struck a little bodybuilding pose, making his pecs wiggle and his nipples bounce for the audience.

"Like the look kid? You don't have the bulk yet, but don't despair. If you want to work out together I'd love to show you some great exercises one day..."

"Enough of that James, I know just what kind of 'exercises' you'd be showing too." The Doberman looked a little pissed off, and Max wasn't sure why. There clearly was something between these two, and it wasn't good.

"Then our house twink here Mister Chaz." The white ferret had a smile that reached his eyes, unlike the Dalmatian. He trotted up and gave the dingo a big hug and a 'good luck', followed by a kiss on the cheek. He seemed a little embarrassed, but Max didn't mind. He needed an ally, and he felt the ferret was one he could trust.

"And our resident stallion, Duncan, but out there he is known as Goliath." Max kept his distance from the big equine, and for his part the stallion seemed happy to keep his distance from the dingo. He was a horse of few words, and even fewer smiles when off stage. Max had run into him a couple of times in the club, and never got more than a grunt from him. He had asked Colorado about it, but the Doberman just shrugged. He wasn't anything special; Duncan treated everyone like that.

You couldn't have a strip club without at least one bulky guy though, and Goliath had it all bulging in the right places, especially when he dropped in his specially enlarged thong.

"Then of course you have met Mrs Mouze, and here is her favourite pupil Strawberry."

The Doberman pointed to a red vixen who appeared almost too short for what he expected a dancer to look like. He felt a slight pang as he looked her up and down; she reminded him of Lucy a little, the Collie had a similar compact frame; and a similar look too, as the vixen returned his stare with interest as if to show him she could not be intimidated. He realised too late what he was doing, and he gave her an apologetic smile and a wave. The vixen relaxed.

"So there you have it gang; our newest member. Let's all give a big Candy Wrappers welcome to...Don Juan!"

The gang suddenly sent up a chant, and Max realised they were chanting his stage name. All their voices merged in one throbbing musical note, as they gave him back their acceptance and their support.

"Don Juan...Don Juan...Don Juan...Don Juan...ho ho ho ho yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The last wild cry filled the echoing space of the rehearsal room almost painfully, and Max found he was cringing a little at the mixed whinny, roar, howl, scream that came from his new band of fellow strippers. Then they all surrounded him in one big hug. He felt a paw on his pouch, and looked up in time to catch a glimpse of Starz winking at him before they all backed off. It did the trick though; his cock began to swell and poke at the opening to his sheath.

"Right, Madeline. Time to get him ready."

The mouse walked towards a cupboard on one side of the room and pulled out a costume on a hanger. Max looked intently as she approached, trying to work out the costume. As she took each item off the hanger, he got a tour of his costume from the maker.

"Right lovely, and listen well. Don Juan the mysterious Latin lover, smouldering, dark...and you get a costume to match. You have your thong on already of course...almost too much fabric there..."

The group gave a little titter, looking at the tiny fragment that left very little to the imagination. Max could see the outline of each testicle distinctly; in fact as he watched, they began to roll under the fabric with nerves and he saw them moving even under the g-string. That got a good laugh from a couple of the guys. Goliath seemed especially amused.

"Now dears, which one of you is without sin when it comes to nervous balls, I suggest you cast the first stone..."

There was silence now, and more than a few rueful glances, just as the mouse intended.

"Good. So, your costume fits your character. First, black pants. They have the usual quick release back, so you can pull them off from the front in a flash...you have been working on that move with Colorado, and I know the ugly bastard is good at it so I am confident you will be too..."

Another chorus of cheers.

"Then a black shirt...almost too tight, to show off your figure dear. You have a hot body, and everyone will see that out there as soon as you get into your routine. It splits up the front, here...so when it's time comes, you will be able to give it a memorable send-off..."

Max nodded, eying up the props. He was familiar with it, though he hadn't seen his show costume before. He was confident he could do it though; and the Doberman gave his shoulder a squeeze of reassurance for good measure. He returned the gesture with his paw.

"Finally, your hat and coat. Embroidered, in Latin style. You get to create the character a little before the stripping, the first part of the seduction. Then both can be thrown into the crowd; don't worry, the security bulls will make sure they come back, but they give a visual cue for your character and your performance. Well, what do you think lovely?"

Max looked up into the mouse's eyes and grinned. She couldn't help but return the grin too; Madeline always was a sucker for a cute guy.

"Bon. Well, nothing remains but for you to get changed and for Colorado here to usher you to your doom. Break a leg dear...and don't forget to enjoy yourself."

The group mumbled their own well wishes and then headed off. Max settled in to dress, taking extra care and trying not to shake too much. He felt the calming bulk of the Doberman next to him, and drew strength from his friend's presence. Colorado had a job to do though, and now he was all business.

"Right pup. Remember what I taught you. You got the bod, if you let it happen you got the 'tude, and I sure as shit taught you the moves. Remember to relax, and enjoy. Tease them, torment them a little, leave them wanting more, and then fuck their hearts and their minds and take the stares and the applause and lap them up. Nothing tastes like that, nothing; when you see some hot guy or girl looking at you like you are fucking them while still on stage...a little touch of a guy's dick, or a girl who can't keep her paws from stroking her pussy through her dress. They don't even know they're doing it, because you did that to them...you made them forget anything but your hot body and how it makes them feel. So go out there and own it, pup."

Max looked directly into the Doberman's eyes. There was nothing playful now, just stern. He nodded.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"And don't forget, if you get in trouble, the security bulls will get you out of it. Don't do anything, don't engage, just let them handle it ok?"

"Ok."

Colorado suddenly reached out a paw and slapped his ass, hard.

"Now go kick ass pup."

The pair walked with purpose towards the spot off stage Max had learned to know well. Now he was standing there, on the little cross on the floor made out of electrical tape. He shuffled his paws and drew a breath as the announcer whipped the audience into a frenzy.

"And now a special treat for you all tonight, the debut for a new dancer here at Candy Wrappers, and a very special treat he is too. His name is Don Juan, and tonight at Candy Wrappers, he...is...YOURS!"

Max stepped out into the light just as the music began, a flamenco number with a Latin beat and almost restrained. He gave a big smile. Restrained alright...like his costume; restrained on the outside, but the finish was anything but.

He forgot the nerves, and concentrated on the dance at first. He liked this routine, it had some slower more technical elements at first to get him in the groove, and he let them flow through his body as the beat took hold of his instincts and he rocked and swayed to the rhythm. Eventually he remembered Colorado's teaching though, and remembered to look up.

He caught sight of one couple, a bear and a tigress, right up the front. They were both looking interested, intrigued even. He fixed the tigress with his eyes, beaming a high beam smile right at her, then turned to her partner and gave him a wink. The audience roared, and he turned to show off his ass, taut muscled buns barely contained in the black trousers, his tail held high just as the Doberman told him, and swinging to the beat. He stood in that pose as the slow music came to a halt, and waited.

Then as the trumpets blared, he took off his hat and threw it at the bear. The guy caught it and gave him a huge smile, which the dingo returned with interest, and then as the beat quickened, he stripped off his coat and revealed his torso under the black shirt. The applause was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and he felt himself hardening a little in his pouch.

Max went into the matador dance then, at first using his coat like a cape dodging an imaginary bull, to shouts of ole! from the crowd. Then he began to work the audience, coming right up to the edge of the stage and taunting the audience with his cape. Some charged, with their fingers pointing forward like horns, and he dodged and weaved, before settling in before a couple right beside the stage.

He had seen them when he threw his hat, looking disappointed. A ram and a husky, looking slightly drunk and very clingy. He knew they were the ones for the next stage; and as the audience roared and the music built, he threw his coat to the back of the club, then gripped his shirt.

Fabric tore, as it had been carefully prepared to do, and suddenly he was naked from the waist up, except a small black tie. The tie almost seemed to accentuate his nakedness, calling attention to his cut physique and pert nipples, and he didn't waste time using them. He was back, on his knees, sliding right up to the edge of the stage in front of the husky and the ram, and this time he was not backing off.

With a wink, he reached for the ram's hands, and brought them to his chest. He let them get close; almost touching, before he backed off with a shimmy and a wiggle of his ass, and the ram looked close to tears with happiness as his partner gave him a drunken hug.

It was almost time, he knew, and he moved upstage for the first big reveal, gripping his waistband tight as he had been taught. The Doberman's voice echoed in his head.

"Now is not the time for half measures kid. Fucking rip them off!"

The scream that followed almost made him pass out. He stood, in only his thong, with the bright lights bouncing off the rhinestones and leaving little points of light all over the audience. He gave them a show then, thrusting his hips, working his ass, using his tail to tease one side of the audience while his front worked the other side. Not long now...

He stood, upstage again, while the music blared and the audience yelled. He gripped the elastic of his tiny thong, while his ass faced the crowd. They could see the perfection of his ass already, as the thong had no back, and he was getting plenty of attention already. But as they watched mesmerised, he slowly slid the tiny patch of fabric down to his paws, while his high swinging tail moved like a metronome, and then he kicked it off stage.

For now he was still facing away, and a chant started up, turn...turn...turn...he knew to wait though. The bulls had done their job, and his hat returned to him, from off stage. He used it to cover his groin before the turn, continuing the tease, taunting the audience. The chant became a scream...

Off...off...off...

His smile flashed in the artificial light, the Spanish lover incarnate, as they threw bills at him like confetti. He didn't care though; this was more than money. This was heat, pure liquid heat, right through him. For the first time since he had left Lucy, he felt truly completely alive. And that confidence made him cheeky; he blew kisses to the audience, and sauntered downstage to the edge. Paws and hands reached out to grab his legs, to stroke, to fondle, and some reached up to almost touch behind the hat. He felt the time near.

He lifted his hat casually to place it back on his head, and gave them a good look and a final winning smile. Then the lights went out, and the scream of approval mixed with disappointment. But he knew that was how it was. Leave them wanting more...and for now, he was happy to do that.

The adrenaline was still pumping back in his dressing cubicle. He didn't even hear the knock at first, and instead turned to see the door opening and the beaming face of Colorado. The Doberman had two beers, and his face was split in a grin the size of the Grand Canyon.

"Well pup...looks like I taught you well after all and...ahhhhh."

Max didn't let him finish. He ran at the Doberman and slammed his lithe frame against his friend's bulkier body, chest on chest, muscle on muscle. He locked his muzzle on the Doberman's and devoured, not so much kissing as making love with his tongue. A paw slid over his sheath, and he ground against it. The adrenaline had him, and it overrode his inhibitions, though in truth he had been struggling to contain himself around the buff Dobie for a while. Tonight he lost the battle.

Coloarado came up for air. "Well...looks like someone enjoyed themselves too..."

"Shut up and kiss me."

The beer had to wait for later.

*****

Lucy sat alone. She was ok with that right now, all things considered, and though a long procession of furs walked and trotted past bent on their own missions, she was comfortable just sitting for now, letting the world pass by like a movie. She needed a break. She needed solitude.

Fucking guys...

As she sat, she pondered the many ways in which the universe was a complete fucking asshole. Of course, it had not always been like this. She once had dreams, optimism, ideas. Now this was what her world consisted of; sitting in a small square alone in downtown while all the office drones found their way home at the end of a working day. It was all her fiancée's fault.

Ex fiancée...that fucking bastard.

She had said it often enough over the last few months. If she were being honest and objective, which she rarely was, she had to admit she had said it often enough the whole time they were together. Still, the final moment of shame when he came out and told her he wasn't into her at all had hit hard, and fractured a lot of her calm, not to mention her self-esteem.

Why the fuck did I let the fucking bastard get to me? That was the question, of course. He had this way about him, slightly naïve, slightly vulnerable, almost boyish even though he was pushing thirty and should know better. Somehow the manchild brought out all her maternal instincts, and she found herself wanting to reform him, build a newer better man. Together they could have a couple of pups and a nice house and a life and she would bring out the man inside the altogether too conflicted dingo and all would be well.

She managed a frown then, screwing up her muzzle in something that to a casual passer-by might be mistaken for a snarl. As she looked up, she realised someone had made that mistake, and a small fox kit hanging from his mother's paw had stopped wide-eyed in fear staring at her from across the square. As she watched, the kit burst into tears and hid behind his mother's body to protect him from the nasty canine that was obviously coming to eat him for dinner. Lucy tried a smile, but it just seemed to bring forth fresh floods of tears. Luckily the mother didn't seem to realise what was causing the terror in her son, and Lucy studiously examined her paws while hoping the kit wouldn't finger her. The mother and son hurried away and she gave a soft sigh, though the ache left behind hurt her still.

She had dreamed of that, one day; walking through a park or a market or even the city with her own kid, with a husband waiting at home. She had overlooked the fact he had never actually said yes, never actually shown any enthusiasm for the idea at all, and interpreted his silence for consent. Little did she realise how much she had assumed.

Even when he showed no interest in her body during those last months, she had just thought it was a phase. The admission had come like a bolt from the blue, and she was still reeling, like a top set spinning to bounce off walls until it ran out of steam. Today though, she felt she had run out of steam.

While she blamed him for the hurt and the disillusionment, she knew she couldn't really blame him for this last disaster. She had taken a job as receptionist for a dentist. He seemed such a nice middle aged bear, with flash consulting suites downtown and a clientele consisting of well -dressed city workers; bankers and lawyers and office managers, who were generally polite and nice and some even flirted in a good natured way and she liked the flirting dammit. It made her feel beautiful again, like a woman should.

She had ignored the signals from her employer for too long, not really wanting to deal with it. Then came the moment when he called her into the consulting suite and made a move, and wouldn't take no for an answer. She had to splash his rinsing agent in his face before he relented, and she had to admit he looked kind of funny with a muzzle dripping in red antiseptic wash.

He had stood in front of her desk that afternoon to deliver the bad news; she had cried, a little, mostly from anger and shame. She knew it was unfair, no matter what his ostensible reasons about "not fitting in". She knew what the score was, and he did too. If she could afford a lawyer, he was going to wish he had never taken up fucking dentistry, the bastard, and would enjoy giving him a root canal without anaesthetic. But for now, she could only sit in the square, alone amongst a multitude, and think upon the many ways life really fucking sucked.

Am I cursed? Is there some sort of mark on my forehead? The guys I like turn out to be gay, and the guys who want me are slimeballs with grabby hands. If this is what it's like, I might have to consider girls.

That brought a chuckle, though she realised that it would probably be about as disturbing to casual passers-by as her former scowl. Now she knew she was losing the plot; she had never even kissed a girl, even in highschool. Lucy felt something stirring inside herself then though, and the chuckle became a full throated laugh, then a slightly demented cackle. She no longer cared.

"Fuck you bastard! Fuck you Doctor Greasypaws! Fuck you all...Lucy is fighting back, and I'm taking no fucking prisoners! No more nice dog! If it's bitch you want, it's bitch you're gonna get!"

Lucy felt warmth course through her again, for the first time in a long time. She took stock of her assets. Though not tall by any means, she had managed to keep her girlish looks with a tight compact body that was all muscle and curves, and a pair of not-too-large and well-formed Collie ears that drooped just cutely enough without being too much and just a hint of Collie curl in her fur. Her small breasts had a slight uptilt and her silky grey fur and sparkling eyes had made many a guy stop and stare just out in the street.

Cute bod; check. Pert breasts, even if I do say so myself, check. Even her fiancée had a soft spot for her tits, the messed up gay boy that he is. Health, check. I'm sensible, responsible, I have skills, I am damn good in bed, anyone would be lucky to have me. Look out world, Lucy is coming at you.

She resolved that her first course of action would be food. There was a place that had started up not far selling the best ricepaper rolls in the known universe, and she had been dying to try it out. The mere thought made her salivate, and as a good canid, once she was thinking of food, there were no other thoughts possible. Padding her way through a maze of laneways, she found the entrance to nirvana in a dingy side alley beside the massive tourist monstrosity of the Obsidian Tower. This was not normally her part of town, but for ricepaper rolls, some things could be forgiven.

Her enthusiasm turned to disappointment when she arrived though. As she approached, she saw a long snaking line of furs, and assumed they were waiting for the tower lifts or something, but unfortunately there was no such luck. It seemed every fucking office worker in the city had the same idea as her, and as it was peak commuter time with everyone heading for the subway and home, they had all stopped off for some of that good tasty food before braving the train. It looked like she was destined to be waiting a long, long time.

As she stood in the endless queue, fuming and indecisive, she caught sight of another narrow laneway off to the left. It had a pink neon sign, in the shape of a huge candy, and an arrow pointing inside. She wondered for a second what this could be, then a story from weeks ago popped back into her brain.

So that's where it is...

She remembered the furore when it first opened here. All the usual Think of The Children types had been out in force. You could be forgiven for thinking it had been set up between a primary school and a convent the way some went on, and not in the middle of the city in easy reach of a whole pawfull of questionable establishments. For some reason, this one had got their knickers in a twist like no other.

A small smile broke on her muzzle as she contemplated why that might be. She had a hunch.

Yeah, all very well having naked girls writhing over a guy's lap or masturbating a pole. But heaven forbid a guy doing the same.

The idea stuck, and began to blossom. She had been intrigued, she realised, when she first saw the article in the paper. She made no apologies for admiring a truly sexy male; as much as her ex drove her crazy on a regular basis, something she was more than willing to let him know, she always liked his look. The lean muscled dingo was a delicious treat, and even when he seemed uninterested in her, she would feel his body next to her and paw off while he slept. She wasn't about to apologise for her sexuality.

And here was something she could appreciate; a club catering to her tastes. She could enjoy some eye candy, safe in the knowledge they were under her control, not their own. She would watch, enjoy, and they would dance for her. For her pleasure, and at her discretion; not like her fiancée, not like Doctor Greasypaws and his type.

The idea of control began to take hold, even more than the idea of some nice male flesh to ogle. She needed that, she realised. And she needed to reawaken that part of her that just wanted to enjoy the idea of sex and a male there for her pleasure. Even if they didn't touch her; especially if they didn't touch her. Distant, aloof, beautiful, male, and under her thumb. The Collie had to admit it had some serious attraction.

She gave a small shrug to her fellow line inmates and stepped towards the laneway. Those behind her wouldn't mind; one minute closer to ricepaper rolls. For now, Lucy was intent on satisfying other appetites, though she would be back. Her inner canine still hankered for a good feed, but for now, other parts of her had taken over the helm.

Padding down the alleyway, she came to another sign of the same design pointing to a back elevator lobby. This had once been the private entrance for a swish restaurant; now it served a very different clientele.

The female raccoon on the desk looked up as she approached and beamed.

"Welcome to Candy Wrappers."

The raccoon had a tight red vest on, that accentuated the slight uptilt of a pair of firm breasts. Lucy was caught a little tongue-tied for a second, as she realised she was actually doing this. She couldn't help staring at the pair of breasts for a long moment, something she knew was kind of rude, though the raccoon must get it often enough. She smiled a little embarrassed, but the attendant didn't seem put out. She just twitched her whiskers a little.

"First time?"

"Y...yes..."

"Well, you are in for a treat, no matter what your tastes. If you could please head for elevator number two, and press the button marked CW. It will take you direct to the club."

"Thanks!"

"No, thank you, and have a wonderful evening."

Lucy was feeling better already. As the elegant lift sped effortlessly up, her ears popped, and she mentally girded her loins for the many attractions to come. She fought with her own insecurities for a second, about money, about being here, but decided to hell with it. She needed this, she needed something good and wild and crazy and indulgent, and the money problems would be there tomorrow regardless of whether she did this or skulked back to her flat and downed the half bottle of Riesling in her fridge. At least this way, she could have something good to paw off to back in bed.

And maybe, just maybe, if there is a cute guy and it doesn't cost too much, I'm getting a private dance and everyone else can just fuck off. Take that bastard...I'm getting over you, once and for all.

She found she was whistling as the elevator slowed, and it was "I'm gonna wash that man right out of my fur." Her muzzle had cracked into a big grin as a result, just as the doors opened on the heart of the bawdy, overdone, perfumed candy treat on the 99th floor.

Nothing could prepare her adequately for the assault on the senses that Candy Wrappers represented. It came from all around, and from every sense; the bright lights pulsing and throbbing in a background of pure black night, the loud beat of the music that seemed to seep into her insides and made her feel light headed. The killer was the smell though; her sensitive Collie nose quivered at the onslaught, a floodtide of musky rich scents. They spoke of desire, of heat. She felt her pussy give a slight throb at the scents, picking up on the many and varied calls that screamed one word.

"Sex."

A bored looking security guy, a bull dressed entirely in black, ushered her in with a wave of his hand, and she realised she was still stranding stock still even after the elevator doors had opened, with her eyes wide like saucers and her muzzle open. She gave an embarrassed giggle and stepped into the room.

The carpet felt plush under her paws, and everything seemed opulent, turned up to eleven. Her first sight of the dancers made her stop again, and she took them in with keen interest.

There was a section in the middle of the room with four small podiums. They caught her attention first, with the bright lights running up and down poles which adorned two of the podiums. The poles had dancers; one male, one female, and she watched them with a mix of fascination and shock.

The female was a vixen, and shorter even than Lucy. The collie felt a little reassured in a strange way by that; she had assumed all the women would be six foot amazons, and here was a fox shorter even than her Collie's stature. The vixen was putting her all into the dance though, working her way up the pole, legs well spread, then down again, and then upside down, her pussy flashed for the eager watching customers.

That was the second shock. Not all the customers for the vixen were males; in fact, though there were four guys all smiling and whooping it up as the vixen went through her gyrations, there were two females as well, a mare and a lioness. They appeared to be a couple, she realised, and they were being very affectionate in this public space, nuzzling and cuddling. The lioness had a collar, and Lucy followed the leather lead to its end point and realised the mare was holding it, though not pulling it taut for now. Both females had drinks, sipping casually on martinis while the vixen worked towards her crescendo.

Lucy managed to tear her gaze away from the lascivious sight of the fox to size up the male. This was after all what she had come for; and the one on the podium was worth coming to see. A big tiger, with bulges in all the right places, he looked to have fur died a delicious red colour. In this case, red definitely did not mean stop though.

He was fucking the pole; it was the only way to describe it, she thought. Legs wrapped around the innocent metal, he slid up and down, and she could see his bulge against the pole, swollen, eager, the flesh barely concealed under the skimpiest patch of fabric imaginable. It did nothing to conceal, more serving to accentuate the tiger's thick maleness and heavy testicles.

As she stared, admiring outright, he caught sight of her and beamed a thousand watt smile and blew her a kiss. The customers around his podium roared their disapproval, wanting the tiger to acknowledge them and only them. As the dance continued, he seemed to manage to make them feel that they were the only one in the room, one at a time, and she watched the screaming gaggle deposit bill after bill in his jock strap until it dripped cash every time he moved.

One of the seemingly ubiquitous security bulls was near the stage, ensuring that all the cash was collected though. Lucy had to smile at that; business was business after all, even if sex was on the menu.

"Impressive, isn't he?"

The Collie was caught unawares, and turned quickly to see who was talking to her. It proved to be a mouse, with long almost graceful ears, rake thin, in a black silk dress that stopped barely below her waist. The mouse had a cigarette in her mouth and was puffing elegantly while her eyes darted around. The eyes were magnetic, Lucy found, and as she stared into them she found herself feeling almost like she was falling.

"Don't say much, do you. That's fine." The Collie bristled at that.

"I speak my mind more than enough for some. In answer to your question, he is, in a fairly obvious way. I like him, but I don't want to see more."

The mouse cracked a smile. "Oh? Why?"

"He's probably gay. Look at the way that stallion is drooling over him. He looks like he wants to take him right there on the podium. He must be gay to have that reaction."

The mouse nodded, puffing slowly. "And the fox? Is she more to your taste?"

Lucy found herself blushing under her fur, but controlled it with difficulty. "No. I'm not into girls."

"Ahh...but put your sexuality to one side for a moment. Is she interesting? Exciting? Do you like her?"

Lucy felt the eyes of the mouse on her, twinkling, and the mouse suddenly broke into a wide beaming smile. It disarmed the Collie, and she looked over again to where the vixen was finishing her dance. Plenty of customers seemed to be feeding notes into her g-string.

"I like her. She looks like a real fur, not someone built in a plastic surgeon's studio. It works for her; when she dances for a guy, he can see someone he knows, maybe wants, and connects easier than he would. And the girls aren't intimidated. She's beautiful, and normal."

The mouse's smile got broader. "Very good. You have a good eye, my friend. And not...you were wrong about the tiger, by the way. He is straight; almost painfully straight. You are not the only one to assume he is gay though, and he hates it but it works for him. And I am pleased my Strawberry was to your liking, she will enjoy your words."

Lucy was taken aback, stuttering a little before she could answer. "Uh...do you...uh...come here a lot? You seem to know them well."

"Ahh...I know them well my beautiful Collie girl. The vixen, my Strawberry; she is my best student, don't you think? I am very proud of her, and I dote like a mother sometimes, but I must admit your words were exactly what I wanted to hear. I owe you a drink, lovely...." The mouse let her voice rise, the unspoken question. The Collie found herself responding by rote.

"...Lucy."

"Such a pretty name. Pretty, like you. I am Mrs Mouze...but you can call me Madeline. Are you sure you are not into girls?"

Lucy shuffled her paws under the watchful gaze of the mouse. She felt the warmth of a full-on flirt turning high beams of sensuality on her. It warmed, but did not come to the boil. The effect was a little unsettling though; and she felt the mouse's long tail casually stroking her leg. She decided to be direct.

"No. Guys only...though I haven't had much luck with them. They either go gay on me or they go gropey like an octopus on steroids."

"There's a lot of it about, Lucy."

"I know. My fiancée...well, he came out, and ever since I've been feeling like it was my fault. I know it's stupid, but I did. But today, even though I was feeling shit, I decided on some fun time for me, and guys at my command sounds good. That's why I came I guess."

The mouse smiled. "Well, our boys should look after you. But if you will excuse me, I need to go change. I will leave you in the capable paws of Colorado though, and buy you that drink."

The mouse ushered her over to the bar, a huge expanse with every imaginable kind of alcohol. At the moment it was tended by a big Doberman with a cocky grin. He was dressed in what seemed to be the Candy Wrappers uniform, at least for those not up on stage. A tight red vest, like the raccoon on the front desk, with a discrete tie and white shirt. He looked distinguished, not to mention pretty hot, and as Lucy pulled up a bar stool, he greeted the mouse while eying up the Collie like an intriguing snack. Lucy felt herself warm again, and it was a good feeling.

"Colorado, this is Lucy. She is having man troubles, so be nice to her or I break your knot and use your testicles for cocktail olives. And give her a drink on me."

The Doberman seemed unfazed by the threats, instead giving the mouse a big grin. "Right you are Madeline. You on now?"

"Yes my sweet dog, my audience awaits."

Lucy was stunned, and watched the mouse head for a discreet door to the left of the bar before turning to the bartender.

"Is she...?"

The Doberman gave a knowing smile. "Sure is lady. One of a kind; Mouze has it, in spades. And she gets better tips than anyone in the business."

Lucy felt the look from the Doberman becoming heated, and felt her fur tingle. She eyed him in turn, and liked what she saw. Buff, but not too bulky, the muscles obvious even under his demure uniform. And very obviously masculine, in a slightly cocky jock kind of way, complete with torn ear and the easily combative air of a prizefighter. She didn't mind cocky though, and tonight, she was grateful to have the attention. She returned his smile, still blushing a little under the fur though, and contemplated the drinks.

"What'll it be...Lucy, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"What'll it be..."

She gave him a big grin and went for broke. "I'll have a Cosmopolitan."

The Doberman gave her a sideways look, one ear cocked delightfully sideways. "Now you're just taunting me."

The Collie looked hurt. "No...what..."

"It's ok. Bartenders hate making them, ever since Sex in the City half the world wants one and they all order it slightly different. For you though, it will be a pleasure."

The Doberman went about his task with aplomb, and Lucy watched him admiringly until she heard the sound of laughter and turned to the stage.

The mouse had come on, dressed in a long dark lace top, over fishnets and high heels in black. She was wearing a tall black top hat... and she was carrying a whip.

The audience hooted, yelling and screaming as she flashed a smile, then blew a kiss to one slightly drunk badger in the front row.

"Anyone here feels naughty?"

A chorus of yes went up, drawing a smile and a loud crack of the whip. The badger looked sheepish, but a big wolf seemed even more turned on, crawling towards the stage on all fours yelling her name, just as the audience did. Mrs Mouze...Mrs Mouze...

Then he howled, and she waggled a finger at him.

"Bad boy. You might need to be punished later...and I am very good with knots..."

That brought a chorus of laugher, and the mouse took up a microphone, striking a pose as if she owned the stage.

"Life is a Cabaret boys, here at Candy Wrappers. And the Emcee is in..."

Lucy watched spellbound as the mouse gave a flawless rendition of Cabaret, playing the audience like a harp. She stroked guys on the chin, on the neck, crooned into their ears as if for them alone, all the time moving her hips like making slow love, and the fans ate it up, showering her in bills. Then the music changed, to a long slow striptease number, and the howls became louder.

"Watch this...she is good. The best, in fact...she fucks them, without ever touching them."

The Doberman's voice was full of admiration, and a little envy, Lucy thought. She took a long drag on her drink, tasting the alcohol as it burned down her throat. She felt a little lightheaded, even as the mouse began to use the whip handle to stroke her sex, drawing wild catcalls from the audience.

"I know when they got it, and I knew Madeline did. The body, and the attitude. You can train the rest, but it ain't worth squat if you don't have the body and the 'tude."

The striptease finished to a chorus of "more" from the audience. The mouse had only her top hat for modesty now...and with a final flourish, that too exited stage left, while she stood there with hands on hips pouting as if bitterly disappointed in the audience.

"You call that applause?" the whip cracked, and the applause became frenzied, and more bills flew like confetti, all diligently collected by the unsmiling security bull.

"Will you have another drink..."

"What?" Lucy felt warm all over now. A little too warm.

"I said...will you have another drink?"

"I...I'm not sure I have the money..."

"Don't worry sweet Collie...on me."

She ordered another Cosmopolitan, with a frown, to keep him in his place, but she was secretly pleased and he could tell she was too. He felt her watching him while he mixed, and he put on his best show; at least his best show without stripping off his underwear.

"Thank you." She remembered her manners, even as she sipped the potent cocktail.

"Don't mention it. I mean really, don't mention it, the manager will kill me if he knew..." and they shared a conspiratorial laugh and she leaned forward a bit and felt him just barely stroke the top of her head. It felt good. So good.

The stage didn't remain empty for long though, and a new disco beat started up and lights flashed heralding the appearance of the next act. A guy; this was what she came for, she thought, giggling a little a she sipped the drink. More hunky guys, there for her to ogle on her terms.

This one was a Dalmatian, but he had unusual colouring with white spots on a black background. It added an extra something to his look, and he had a huge grin on his muzzle and a cocky wink going that made Lucy sit up and take notice. He was dressed as a fireman, one of her secret fantasies...and it looked like he was not about to put out any fires. Quite the opposite.

As the clothes came off and she saw more of his body, she found herself sitting forward, watching harder, her pulse racing. He had a slender but muscled build that reminded her of her ex fiancée, but not in a bad way. This guy looked more than ready for action, and she imagined him going down on her still dressed in his uniform. She gave a little gasp and crossed her legs.

"Meh...he's not that good."

She heard jealousy. Rampant jealousy. She turned to the bartender, seeing the beautiful muzzle ruined by a scowl, and she blew him a kiss to make it better.

"If you keep that up the wind might change and you will be stuck like that"

He gave her a sardonic smile. "Yeah. Fat chance. Nothing is going to ruin this muzzle Lucy...can't disappoint the customers."

Just as she was about to cut him down a little, the mouse returned, back to her long dress and holding a cigarette. Lucy gave her a little round of applause, and the two settled down to watch the 'fireman' do unspeakable things with a hose.

"Is he really that hung..." Lucy commented, before she could stop herself. She had been staring at the sizable bulge in the Dalmatian's g-string, and imagining that in her paws, knot swollen, ready to fill her and not stop till she said enough. It had been a long time since she had really good hard sex, way too long, and the combination of the atmosphere and the rampant sensuality and the alcohol was making her go a little nuts.

"If you want to know dear, maybe you should get a private dance?"

The idea made Lucy's head spin a little, contemplating the sheer outright sexiness of a guy at her whim. It was what she came for, after all.

"The things I would make him do..."

The mouse gave her a soft chuckle. "Well, as long as he allowed it."

That surprised the Collie. "I thought the customers were in charge."

Now the mouse shook her head and exchanged a rueful glance with the Doberman. "Lucy...that may seem how it is, but in reality, it's all the other way round. Look up there...what do you see?"

"I see a sexy guy almost naked with guys and girls stuffing his g-string with money..."

"Good. That's part of it. But look closer. See the security guys, the bulls. There to ensure things never get out of hand. If someone goes too far, they move like lightning, and their night ends with a palm to the muzzle and a trip down the elevator with a sore head. Notice he hasn't stripped all the way...it's his choice, every dancer sets their limits, and sticks to them. You go up there, and you get to be who you want, and fuck their minds with your body knowing they can do nothing you haven't agreed to. And they blow all their money on you and buy you drinks on top. But it's not the money, or the drinks that make it. Is it my little pooch?"

Lucy realised the last wasn't directed at her. The mouse had reached back and was stroking the Doberman under the chin. He liked it too; his ears twitched like they were sending semaphore. Colorado let out a deep throaty laugh.

"No Mad...you got that right..."

Lucy was a little lost. "But...what..."

"It's the ego, dear. Look at Starz up there. He is a fairly normal guy who goes by the unprepossessing name of James. But up there...look at the audience. The guys have a raging hardon, the girls are wetting their panties and you can smell both, the precum and musk and heat thick like a river of approval. And you...are...in...charge. Not the audience. You set the terms, you have the muscle on hand if needed, and you are the star of the show, your body and your moves and your cocky self-assured swagger. And they lap it up and they want you, any which way. It's a rush dear. If it were just the money, I wouldn't still be doing it. But I can't get enough of the rush. Nor can my little pooch behind you."

Now Lucy turned, momentarily shocked to the core and prepared to miss what the Dalmation did with his fire hose. She fixed the Doberman in her gaze, and he almost looked apologetic for the first time that night.

"Yeah. I'm the best by the way. That loser aint got nothing on me."

"Prove it!"

The cocky grin was back. "Fine. You want a private dance...ask for me."

"Uh...come again..."

"Always. Ask for me. Go on."

The flustered collie was caught unawares, and she gripped her empty glass as if holding onto a life preserver. Her head felt a little fuzzy, and she cursed the second Cosmo. Still, he was kind of cute...

"What if I do?"

"I can take some time off the bar. There is a guy who can take over from me; and I will show you the time you wanted, believe me."

"I thought you were in charge..."

"Tonight Lucy...you can be."

The mouse's tail had wound round Lucy's ankle, and slowly stroked her there as Madeline shared a look with the bartender. Lucy made up her mind though; there was no such thing as a little crazy, not on a night like this. She might as well go the whole way. One complication did remain though.

"Uhh...I have a little money, but not much..."

"Don't worry. On me this time...only this time though, just in case you think it's all about the ego and not about the money at all."

"Where do we go?"

His cocked finger pointed her towards a curtained doorway, off to the left.

"Follow me. Mad, can you get Don Juan out to cover the bar? I might be a little while..."

Lucy followed, almost in a daze, as the big Doberman parted the velvet curtain and led her down a hallway decorated in crimson and gold. He came to a door marked with a three, and used a small keycard to open the lock.

"Security is good...and privacy. Always..."

The room looked reasonably bare, with a low soft looking couch, a couple of chairs in similar style, and a door in the far wall. Colorado dimmed the lights, then led her to the couch. The collie had discovered her anxieties now, and they manifest in too much talking.

"Really...this is good of you...truth is I don't have much money and I probably couldn't afford this and..."

"...shh, it's ok. Just relax. You know...you look all nervous, but you could do this too, if you wanted. You have the body, and the 'tude. I can tell."

"No, really. I got fired today, and I don't know what's going to happen, and since my fiancée came out and dumped me my life has turned to shit...you mean...dance...like you...?"

The Doberman lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes. They sparkled, and she swallowed. "Lady...does it look like I'm about to go gay here? Relax...and forget whatsisname...and yes, I think you could do this. Think about it, ok? If it's money you want, I can guarantee you would make as much as you need."

"Max. That fucking stupid dingo boy Max. I wish he could see me now. There...I said his name...what....what's wrong?"

Lucy was astonished at the sudden change in the Doberman's eyes. They clouded, then widened, then went dim like the shutters had drawn down. The smile never changed, the muzzle never lost its smile, but something happened.

"Max...a dingo..."

"Yes...why?"

The Doberman gave a slight shake of his head, as if trying to throw off a collar, then straightened.

"Nothing, no reason. Well Lucy, this Max is mad if he gave you up. I know I would never make that mistake...not in a million years..."

Suddenly she felt warm again, and the thought of her lean dingo lover seemed not as troubling any more. Still, there were details to go over.

"Now...Lucy, and this is important. You need to stay here when the dance is over, for a bit, until I clear things outside. And one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"What do you want me to be? I've got all the costumes out the back; and believe me, if you can imagine it, we can do it."

The Collie giggled, imagining all her fantasies. She had seen a fireman, of course. That was not the only one though.

---

Colorado's paws moved with calm precision, pulling together the ingredients for a Mojito. The doe standing in front of him flicked her ears and blushed as she watched him work, impressed by his skill and calm intensity, as much as his body. He had the look she liked; buff, but not too buff, and enough of a hint of danger. His torn ear gave him the look of a tough guy, and she liked that, it made him manlier to her eyes even in the slightly dorky uniform vest. Her husband liked to groom himself to within an inch of his life, even his antlers. The Doberman looked hot, but not overproduced..

She thought he had eyes only for the job, and for her, and she batted her eyelids coquettishly at the bartender and tried to flirt, ignoring the reality that her money spoke louder than any half-hearted seduction. He noticed, and gave her a beaming smile as he handed over the drink.

"There you go! Finest Mojitowith the finest ingredients, made by the finest dancer in the club."

She sucked on the straw and bowed her head shyly, enjoying the attention and the warmth of his smile. He made her feel like she mattered; more than that, he made her feel like she was beautiful. Douglas rarely managed that these days; Douglas rarely cared.

The Doberman watched his customer with the dispassionate air of a professional. He knew she wanted a private dance, but would probably bottle it when it came to it. He knew the signs, her ears gave her away. He didn't mind though, and he made sure to give her his full Colorado treatment, the smile, the little touch on the fingers as he handed over the drink, the admiring glance for a fraction of a second as he took in the sight of her tits. Enough to be charmingly appreciative, not enough to be a total letch. It took a while to develop his innate skills to the level needed for work at Candy Wrappers, but now he made it look natural. Meanwhile, though the doe thought he had eyes only for her, he had been keeping a careful watch on the stage.

The doe had not been interested in the last dancer, but Colorado had. Lucy had been going through her paces, as she did on a Friday night every week. She had been working at the club for a month now, and her early forays on the stage had gone well. Mrs Mouze had taken her under her wing, and made use of her compact body to get Lucy to work the stage with more agility than most could manage.

The mental side had not come easy for the Collie though; she still had a fit of nerves every time she went out there, and though she had a hot bod and a kick ass no-nonsense attitude that the punters ate up, she returned from the stage a shaking wreck still every time. She had therefore decided to limit her dance numbers to a couple of times a week, and spent most of her time behind the bar with Colorado. Something the Doberman was more than happy with.

As the doe worked her way into the glass and chided herself for her inability to ask for what she really wanted, the number on stage reached a crescendo that brought a chorus of approving howls. A buck's party had come into the club tonight, and they had been drinking the expensive liquor happily enough to get quite agreeably drunk. The buck and his best man had taken up the front positions as Lucy finished her dance, and as the Collie knelt in front of them with her pert breasts jiggling the buck, a twentysomething husky, managed a fresh howl of approval and reached forward to stuff her g-string with notes.

Colorado couldn't help himself, and he was a little embarrassed to realise it. As the husky fumbled with her g-string clumsily he found himself baring his teeth and growling under his breath, ears up and muzzle pointed.

"Something wrong?"

The Doberman hastily looked back to the doe, wondering if he had frightened her, but it seemed it had the opposite effect. She was looking at him open muzzled now, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, and her eyes had glazed over in lust. He gave her a disarming smile, but she didn't seem to notice.

"No, can I get you another drink?"

"Oh yes...and you can growl for me again mister Doberman...what's your name anyway?"

"Strip."

She giggled. He gave a little internal sigh. He hated it when they giggled.

"Strip...and do you?"

His sigh got a little deeper, but he knew his duty, as well as the needs of his wallet. After all, keeping two on the go was getting a little fucking expensive.

"That depends...if it's you lady, I'm at your call..."

He made the second Mojito, ignoring the flirting and the downright ogling of his package, but the doe wasn't to be denied it seemed. She didn't notice his reluctance anyway, for once she had passed the point of no return, she had committed to it completely. This was her night dammit; her husband could go jump in the river. She was unleashing her inner sex goddess.

The doe was chugging through the second drink just as Lucy returned to the bar. The Doberman watched her, noticing the stubborn shake of her ears and the way her eyes rolled a bit. He was about to refuse the doe, even though it was completely against policy, but he was saved by Madeline.

The mouse approached from the back of the club, where she had been watching Lucy's number. They had become fast friends, even in the short time Lucy had been there, though it had put Strawberry's nose out of joint a little. Madeline felt a sense of duty though, for the Collie had opened up enough for her to know that for all her outward strength, she was still in a vulnerable place. So though she made sure her newest protégé danced as much as she could convince her to and as well as Mrs Mouze could coach her to, she always promised to watch her routines and if it got too much for Lucy, they had a prearranged signal.

A flick of her left paw and the mouse would come onto the stage, as if it had been intended all along, and complete the number. Lucy had not had to make use of the safety valve yet, mostly because she knew it was there.

Tonight, she had seen the signs of potential trouble. Something about the buck's party had done it, though the collie had completed the routine well enough and gotten a well stuffed g-string for her troubles. But when Lucy left the stage headed for the bar, Mrs Mouze had been quick to follow. She knew when she was needed; one of those instincts you didn't develop at Candy Wrappers.

Colorado stood waiting for his sometime lover sometime work colleague to take a few deep breaths. He handed her a nice tall vodka lime and soda; it always calmed her down nicely after a dance. She gave him a big smile and was about to speak when the doe finally got around to finding the words for something not yet in her experience but if she could help it, that wouldn't be the case for long.

"So...Strip...will you do that for me?"

Lucy looked a bit annoyed at first, as the doe waved a fat wad of bills in front of the bartender. As Madeline reached her though and wrapped her in a robe and then a mousey hug, she relaxed into the contact and sipped her drink. Colorado gave her a shrug, as if to say, 'hey, can I help it if the girls can't get enough?'. Lucy returned the gesture with an obvious ogle of his Dobie package that had Colorado almost hard in an instant and cursing the doe even more. He just hoped the Collie would be in the same mood when he returned.

The two women watched their object of mutual admiration escort the well-dressed doe towards the private rooms. His stubby tail was already wagging; and they both gave a little laugh at that and then shared a laugh together when they realised they had been having the same thought. His tail always went like that when he got to give a private dance; it was his own little halo of confidence, in brown and black fur. He managed a wink over his shoulder and the two women blew him a kiss just before he disappeared through the door.

"You know, somehow I think he looks sexier in his bartender outfit like now than he does in a g-string. Is that weird?"

Lucy busied herself behind the bar for a moment, and the mouse joined her. Madeline always loved the ritual of mixing a drink, and tonight she would have a martini, dry. As she found the ingredients, she eyed up her friend.

"No, it is something that us girls get. The boys never do. They are all on the surface, the more obvious the better. Where we know how much sexier the anticipation can be; the sight of a perfectly dressed male, knowing what's waiting underneath...ahhh..."

They shared a sigh of recognition. The mouse had her duty though, and she reluctantly changed the subject from the altogether more agreeable topic of the sexiness of a well-dressed male.

"So...what happened?"

The Collie gave a start. "Nothing. I got through it..."

"Yes dear, but not easily. I saw you with your paw out, you were about to make the sign weren't you?" The voice was gentle, but it brooked no argument. Lucy threw down a substantial portion of her drink and nodded.

"I was thinking of my ex, is all. I had kind of forgotten about him for a long time, and when I came here it did sort of help. After all, it's not possible to think too much here..."

The mouse nodded sadly. "Very true dear. A good place to hide for a while, maybe too long if you aren't careful. But for a little while, good to forget some things. I know you have told me a few things about him dear, and I don't like to pry, but what made you think of him this time?"

"His colouring; one of the guys was like a carbon copy, but it's been coming for a while."

"Oh?" The mouse slipped her arm around the Collie, supporting her with her presence as well as her words. Lucy kept talking, almost as if she was alone, but she knew she could trust Madeline.

"The last couple of weeks, it's been like he's haunting me."

Madeline gave a snort, but apologised. It had the right effect though, as the Collie bristled and stood up a couple of inches taller. The mouse knew the best way to get her friend over something was to get her a little bit angry; it brought out her strongest side.

"Hey, not so much of the laughter there!"

"Sorry dear, please continue. Do I need to call Ghostbusters?"

"Funny as fuck Madeline, thanks. No, I mean it. One time I came out of the lift after my shift, and I could have sworn I saw him getting into the lift to come up here!"

Now the mouse was laughing. "Really? Your ex missing you so much he had to come find where you work?"

"I doubt that. The bastard wasn't into my body then, I hardly think he is going to come here to watch me strip Madeline. I know it sounds stupid, but that's not the first time. Once I came back to get my umbrella, I left it after a shift and it was supposed to come down in buckets that night, so I decided to return even though I had made it to the metro. And I could swear I saw him behind the bar with Colorado. Crazy huh?"

Madeline gave her an indulgent look and kissed her friend on the nose. Then she took up a serious pose, made a little incongruous by her attire which consisted of revealing black dress and fishnets, and used her best church mouse voice with a fake Irish accent.

"In the name of the stripping gods, I cast this demon from your mind!"

Lucy began to laugh now. "Mad...stop it!"

"May his shadow no longer haunt your mind, may his cute gay ass cease to wiggle in your dreams, and may his erection disappear at an awkward moment..."

"Oh fuck Mad, all he has to do is see me for that to happen..."

"And I cast him out...what's this louse's name anyway?"

Lucy gave a big sigh. She hadn't said the name even to herself for a long time, except to Colorado but that didn't count. That felt like speaking to herself, the Doberman made her feel so comfortable. Maybe it was time.

"Maximilian. Max...stupid, sexy, sweet, gay-assed Max..."

"I cast thee out Max...Max?"

The Collie suddenly noticed her friend had stopped as if stunned. Mrs Mouze seemed unable to speak for a second, just staring at Lucy.

"Yeah."

"And you saw him with Colorado?"

"Behind the bar, dressed in our uniform no less, kind of fucked up right?Look, I know I was imagining things, you don't need to rub it in."

"Who's rubbing things in now? Sounds like my kind of party!"

They both looked up to see the Doberman returned. He had a flushed look on his face, and a sheen of sweat on his headfur that Lucy always found erotic. She could imagine the feel of his sheath already, warm, damp, probably a little hard. He always got a little hard with the private dances, and the doe had been all over him. She knew her Doberman; ego fellatio was this favourite foreplay.

Still, she liked him, though she wanted to throttle him every second day. He was as maddening as he was charming, and as casually thoughtless at times as he was cocky. But God damn he was a good lay, and he was nothing like Max. For now though, she knew she had to change, and with Colorado back, she could head for the rooms.

"Back in a moment hon. Don't lose that sexy look, or I will smack your ass with my tail. What was it this time by the way?" Lucy always liked to know what the guests asked for in the private dances. It intrigued her, as well as providing some impressive masturbation fantasies when the need arose.

He gave a lecherous grin, but it was for show, a caricature. The real thing took her breath away, this made her laugh. "Officer Strip here ma'am...you have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, and any part of me may be held against you..."

Lucy shook her head in admiration and slapped his ass playfully. He gave her a kiss and watched her head for the backstage area with a lopsided grin. His cock began to harden a little more, at the thought of what was to come. Lucy always came off stage a wreck; but once she recovered, she wanted his bod more than oxygen.

Madeline watched Lucy retreating with a thoughtful look, then turned to watch the doe head for the stage area where a new dance was about to start. It was the stallion Goliath, and he was already shaking his ass to a low throbbing beat. The doe gave Colorado a lingering sultry look and a blown kiss before turning to the stage. Her ears stood up almost immediately though watching the big stallion strut his stuff. She knew what she liked now; and she wasn't afraid to go after it.

"A new fan my dear?" the mouse used her best sarcastic tone. She liked keeping the cocky Dobie in his place a little.

"What can I say Mad? One dose of the ole Strip and she is mad for big buff guys, can't get enough..."

Mrs Mouze gave him her best sardonic look. "So I can see. A satisfied customer, well done puppy." She enjoyed seeing that register. He hated being called puppy almost as much as he liked using it on Max. He winced, and looked at her a little hurt.

"What's gotten into you Mad?"

"We need to talk dear. I need to ask you some things about..."

They were interrupted by some customers, and by the time Colorado managed to get rid of them, Lucy had returned. He could smell her too; she had her special perfume on, the one he had given her as a present after her first time on stage. She also was wearing something guaranteed to have him sit up and beg.

"Have you two been good while I was away?" Lucy asked them both, though her sultry voice was clearly intended only for the Doberman. And he knew how to answer.

"No...I've been bad. Really...fucking...bad..."

"Hmm, sweaty dog too."

"Rank."

She sniffed him luxuriously, then smiled and leaned forward so he could see her breasts bunched together down the neck of her dress. She was wearing his favourite black silk bra, one that showed off her assets to best effect. He only had eyes for her now, even if the doe had returned waving a million in cash under his nose.

"Want to get...even sweatier?"

Colorado grinned and nodded, and Madeline had to give a slight chuckle at his tail. It was spinning like a propeller. She watched them go and her mouth turned back into a frown. It wasn't her normal way to interfere, but Lucy was special. She had to know.

She finished her martini and headed for backstage. Though Starz made her grind her teeth together as much as anyone and she generally wanted to slap him upside the head after a few words, he was the most accomplished gossip in the joint. He had also been making a big show of chatting up Max after shows, probably to piss off Colorado but they had been getting quite chummy. If there were pieces of useful information to be had, he was the one who would have them. She just hoped he wasn't in one of his insufferable moods. She reached behind the bar for a Corona; he was much more civilised with his favourite pacifier in his muzzle.

*****

The next day Colorado was whistling his way through a shift. He didn't really like Saturday nights, there were too many drunken idiots out on a Saturday night and he needed the services of the security bulls more often than he liked. And it wasn't even the guys who were the worst; the women seemed to go completely over the top, like Saturday night was some sort of official land of dogs without leashes and anything went. He once had to call for the security guys to come with a pair of boltcutters when an especially besotted spaniel, who during the week was a responsible accountant, had managed to find her way into his dressing cubicle and had handcuffed herself to his chair wearing nothing but a diamante dog collar and a needy look on her muzzle.

The memory did give him a small warm inner glow, for all that it was a bit disturbing. And she was a pretty hot number, for an accountant. And a spaniel...

Tonight though, he had other memories to warm him, after a surprise quickie with his latest favourite, Lucy. He had managed to get her off, then get her off the premises in time, but the fuck still tickled his senses. He could taste her, and his lip tingled where she had bitten him as she rode him while he sat in his dressing cubicle.

Right where the spaniel had been sitting...if she had seen it she would probably have died of jealousy...

His enjoyable reverie was interrupted by an altogether more annoying sight. The other half of his dynamic duo had arrived, thankfully after Lucy had gone though he had been cutting it fine. He had to remember to factor sex into his schedules when doing the roster in future. Unfortunately Colorado was busy with some customers, so he couldn't go catch up with the dingo immediately. And someone else had noticed the opening...

Fucking Starz...

The Dalmatian had made a beeline for Max as soon as the dingo arrived. Colorado had noticed his rival hanging around the dingo a lot in the last weeks, and he had to smirk a little at how transparent the fucker was. Anyone the Doberman had, the Dalmatian had to try to take off him. He never managed it, but Colorado had to admire his persistence.

Still, as he watched Max with the Dalmatian, he found himself grinding his teeth a little. The bastard was all over the dingo, laughing at his jokes, giving him little backrubs, pretending to be his best mate. Colorado knew the only friend Starz had was himself; his ego allowed no one else.

He served the three guys at the bar with a fixed smile, not really paying attention. The one on the left gave him a come hither wink, and he noticed but didn't, and the otter ended up shrugging and walking back to the stage with his mates. The Doberman was on a mission; and he believed in focus when he was on the case.

Walking steadily over to the two strippers now sharing a laugh by the door to the backstage area, he assumed his best kick ass expression and a suitably big brotherly attitude.

"Hey! Shouldn't you two be getting ready?"

Max turned to give him a placating look, as if begging his dad for more time before he did his chores. The Dalmatian just gave him a look of infinite contempt before letting out a few barbs.

"Not all of us need as long as you to get ready mate; some of us are naturally hot."

"If you mean natural sluts you got that in one James." The Doberman had the satisfaction of seeing that hit home, and he was rewarded with a scowl.

"Fuck you Col...you aren't exactly a model of fucking fidelity." Starz gave a meaningful look at the dingo, which made Colorado's fur stand on end. Thankfully Max didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, you two...cut it out. My two fave guys can't be fighting..."

"Yeah..." The Doberman's voice was anything but convinced.

"Yeah..." The Dalmatian managed to match his tone if anything.

"See, you two should be friends. You can do it." Both gave an eye roll as the clueless dingo managed to miss the undercurrent completely. It was rare for them to share the same thought simultaneously, but it seemed that the dingo was good at bringing that out of them.

"Anyway, I have to head. Madeline has a new costume for me and I need to get fitted so...catch you later James?" The Dalmatian managed to give Max a look as if butter wouldn't melt in his muzzle and a friendly pat on the ass.

"Count on it Max my best bud."

The dingo turned to Colorado, a little surprised by the Dalmatian's extreme friendliness but putting it down to the beers.

"And see you after my dance sexy..."

Colorado got all tingly when the damn dingo said that, and his tail began spinning in anticipation. Max gave him a smouldering look before he disappeared through the door.

The Doberman waited five seconds to make sure Max was gone before he grabbed the Dalmatian by the scruff and hauled him protesting into the little storeroom off the bar. He sat Starz down on a pile of Corona cases; he figured it might put the bastard in a better frame of mind for what he needed. The Dalmatian looked hurt, but he knew he wouldn't take a swing; by now, Colorado knew the other stripper was all bluster and no balls.

It was time to get down to business.

"What are you fucking doing James?"

The Dalmatian managed to look bored, minutely examining his claws and affecting a drawl.

"Whatever do you mean Col?"

"I mean why are you getting so chummy with Max? Trying to turn him to the dark side?"

That drew a snort. "Hah! Hanging around you he is already there. I'm just trying to save the poor guy from your tender mercies Col."

"As if!"

The Dalmatian suddenly fixed his rival with a glittering stare and casually ran a paw over the beer boxes. Time to have some fun, he thought.

"He is a lovely guy, that Max."

"Yeah, sure, cut to the chase James..."

"He has been very talkative. You two don't seem to talk much; must be all that furtive fucking you get up to, no time for chit chat."

"Jealous are we James?"

"Not a bit. I just think it might have been nice if you spent some time talking is all; he needs a friend to guide him, what with coming out recently and his breakup with his fiancée. His fiancée Lucy...a gray Collie..."

The stare became triumphant now; Colorado swallowed with difficulty. His ears had betrayed him though, flicking just the way they always did when he was in the shit. The Dalmatian knew; and he knew that he knew.

"Go on..."

"I thought it an unlikely coincidence, you know; there surely couldn't be that many grey Collies called Lucy, but then Madeline came to see me..."

Oh fuck. Not Mrs Mouze too...

"What did she say?"

"She told me that Lucy was all distracted last night because she had seen her ex fiancée Max in the club, or at least she thought she had but thought she was imagining it. But I don't think she was imagining it was she mate..."

Colorado didn't say a word, waiting out the Dalmatian. He knew the other shoe must drop soon and wanted to wait until it did.

"I checked the rosters; funny how they never are on at the same time. Uncanny even...and who does the roster I wonder..."

"I said cut to the chase James."

The Dalmatian positively preened. "So what's the plan...trying to organise a nice threesome? Didn't have you pegged as an orgy guy..."

"Fucking cut to the chase bastard!"

James managed to sound innocent and not a little concerned. He was proud of that voice; it was the voice of a true cunt. "So...shall you tell them, or will I?"

Colorado moved like lightning. For a big guy, he could move fast when needed, and he crossed the gap between himself and the Dalmatian in a flash. He wrapped one big paw round the other stripper's throat and squeezed ever so gently. All the time he pressed his muzzle against the Dalmatian's, with his lips set in the most cheery grin. His eyes told a different story.

"I think you better leave this to me, James..."

The Dalmatian managed a squeak. "What about..." but he was cut off by a growl from the Doberman. Eyes that had been full of contempt registered their danger at last. Now they were wide in fear, and his fur stood up on end.

"That's a good doggy..." Colorado managed a long pat on his rival's head. He wasn't meaning to be condescending, really...

When he released the Dalmatian, James fell back against the wall with a cough. He massaged his sore throat, and looked daggers at the Doberman.

"Madeline suspects too Col. You won't be able to keep it up; face it..."

"Advice from you is not something I want, James, so keep your muzzle shut if you know what's good for you puppy."

He watched the other dancer bristle, and almost begged him to try it on, but the bastard was too smart for that he was sorry to see. Instead the Dalmatian picked himself up and straightened his jacket.

"Well, thought I should give you a heads up Col, like a good friend."

"Gee thanks mate, a true friend in need. Max was right."

The Dalmatian smiled. "Only thing he was right about; the stupid fuck actually has a crush on you killer. Well, be seein' ya. Those horny punters won't relieve themselves of their cash, I have to go do it for them."

He gave the Doberman a mocking salute then scrambled out the door before Colorado could make another lunge.

It was therefore an unusually distracted Colorado who barely noticed the dingo on stage, even when he got his cape off to do the matador routine. It usually made him laugh, as well as bone up a treat, but tonight the Doberman had other things on his mind. He didn't even see the mouse approaching before she was right there in front of him. When he looked up, he knew he was in the shit. It was the way her whiskers twitched.

"Hello dear. A martini, just the way I like it."

Colorado was grateful for the distraction, as he measured out the gin and vermouth, and retrieved the lemon peel. He stirred the drink slowly, hoping to delay the inevitable but Mrs Mouze was not in the mood for games. Her paw tapped the bar in a gesture he knew as her impatient signal. He gulped and handed over the drink.

"We need to talk dear."

"Yes Mad."

"I've been talking to Lucy..."

"Ahh..."

"And to James. My that stupid anus has a muzzle on him, but he does like to spill the beans with relish if that isn't too turgid and mixed a metaphor."

"Ahh..."

"You aren't very talkative my dear pooch. Revealing..."

She fixed him with a stare of pure disappointment. He went for his best aww shucks look. It had managed to get him out of trouble, and into more than a few beds back in highschool, and it still seemed to work most of the time so it was worth a shot.

The mouse acknowledged his effort with a raised eyebrow, but that was all. He gave a shrug.

"I haven't talked to Max yet, but I don't think I need to do I love."

"No Mad."

"Because you are going to talk to him, aren't you. And until you do, no nookie. Understand?"

It was not a question. The Doberman was smart enough not to mistake it for one.

"Yes Mad."

"I'm glad we had this little chat, aren't you dear?"

"Always Madeline. Always."

She was kind enough to know that he didn't mean to be an ass this time though, and to know that he was hurting. She leaned over the bar and took the big bartender in her arms, drawing a wistful sigh from a slightly tipsy ewe who had been contemplating the same move from a safe distance but hadn't the courage to go for it.

"I'm sorry dear. Really...and perhaps once they both know, it will be all right..."

Colorado nodded his head, hoping but not really believing. Still, he could dream, and for now, the process of working out how to unpick the mess while keeping both on the hook kept him occupied. So much so that he saw no real immediate need to do anything until he had it properly sorted in his mind.

After all, once ''m on a mission, I always get the job done. Just got to think it through first...

And if he were being honest, the little germ of an idea planted by Starz was kind of appealing. It had been a long time since he had a threesome...and the dingo and the Collie would make for a totally hot night if he could make it happen...

The music stopped, and the crowd roared its approval. He looked up to see his naked dingo lover bowing while he picked up the flood of bills that covered the stage. As he watched, he took stock. The dingo really was a hot number, and when he shook that taut ass and wagged his long whippy tail, there was not an eye in the house not riveted to the spectacle. As Max turned round to give the audience one last look at his ass, the Doberman found himself grinning, all the problems of the future suddenly forgotten. How could he say no to that ass?

When Max sidled up to him behind the bar after getting changed, he felt the warmth of the dingo's arms round him, and a wet nose on his neck. He relaxed into the embrace, enjoying the feel of intimacy for now. He enjoyed the feel of something else too; pressed into the crack of his ass, one well primed and eager dingo cock, currently trying to drill its way out of Max's uniform pants.

Colorado felt the dingo humping against him, the bulge rubbing slowly up and down his cleft. He had to admit it felt good, though in reality there was no way he was letting the pup take him. The Doberman was strictly a top kind of guy, and Max was happy to oblige. Still, it meant his lover was horny as hell, and he knew there was something he wanted to do about that. Max seemed to have the same idea.

"Psst...meet you in your dressing room stud?"

He reached behind to fondle the dingo's bulge. Fuck it felt fine...

The Doberman made eye contact with Crimson. The tiger looked at him, then at the dingo with the obvious bulge heading towards the backstage door. He shook his head in wonder, but returned the look with a smile and headed to the changerooms for his uniform so he could cover the bar. The Dobie was a phenomenon, that was for sure.

Padding his way through the maze of narrow passages, Colorado was about to enter his room when he saw a figure at the end of the corridor. It was the mouse, and her look was not kind. In fact it was mostly kind of angry. She wagged a finger, and her whiskers quivered.

"Are you about to be a bad doggy?"

Colorado froze. He knew what happened to bad doggies; it had been a while, but he remembered the burn on his ass administered from a spanking administered by the stallion Duncan. The bastard really could hit hard.

"No...no...no..."

Mrs Mouze nodded. "Good...good...good..."

So it was a very uncertain Doberman who entered his room with his tail between his legs, to find his lover already more than ready. He noticed the scent of aroused dingo, and the tube of lube on the dresser. Alas, tonight it was destined to be unused...and he cursed the mouse, and the Collie, and the dingo, and most of all his aching hardon which was threatening to explode.

Down boy...

"Hey stud..."

Max flew into his arms, and planted a sloppy kiss on the Doberman's muzzle before grinding his groin against the bartender's. Colorado gave a sort of resigned whimper as his hard-on reached the level of arousal of a barely subcritical mass of plutonium. He bit his lip and stepped back.

"Ahh, Max, I'm sorry but...I can't..."

The dingo looked so hurt it almost made him relent. Almost; the thought of an angry stallion under the command of an even angrier mouse helped him find the strength to walk away. He would find some excuse to let the dingo down easy while he planned how to make this work. That required a thinking drink though.

Max saw his lover sipping on a tequila with a thoughtful look on his muzzle when he came back into the club. He knew the signs, and merely nodded before heading out to do his next dance. It would keep, whatever had the Doberman so distracted. After all; love was patient.

*****

Later that night, as dawn threatened to steal across the sky and the last of the die-hards prepared to leave, Colorado stood behind the bar with the same quiet look of contemplation. He was on to his fourth tequila, but for some reason the booze had not managed to kick his thinking processes into gear the way it normally did.

Life really sucked when you couldn't even count on tequila.

He had managed to avoid Max for the rest of the shift, and the dingo had left making puppy eyes at him but hadn't made a scene for which mercy he was grateful. He couldn't have dealt with that, not right now. Mrs Mouze had patted him on the head and stroked his torn ear, a gesture of support she kept for special occasions. It hadn't helped though.

He gave a sudden scowl and slammed a fist into the bar. It fucking hurt; now at least he had something to keep his mind occupied other than the problem of Max and Lucy, and he shook the wounded paw and whimpered until he caught sight of Starz looking at him like he was a complete loser and stopped to endure in stolid silence.

Nothing another tequila can't fix.

Taking the drink in his paws, he left the bar. There was nobody left to tend to anyway, the customers had almost all gone. Soon it would be just the staff left for their traditional after work drink and bullshit session. Who had the craziest encounter for the night; the worst stalker, the biggest reaction, the largest wad of cash. They liked to blow off steam and share their experiences after it was all over; after all, who else could they tell all this to? Nobody would believe it, or if they did, probably wouldn't approve.

It made them a little family, for all the infighting and bitching. Even James, curse his tail. For a Dalmatian, he had more than a little feline about him that asshole...

"Hey, Col. Someone to see you in private room four."

Speak of the devil.

He looked up to see the Dalmatian waving at him to catch his attention. He gave him a noncommittal wave and headed for the entrance to the private rooms. Perhaps it was that ewe from earlier in the night; she had been hot for his body, that much he could tell. Maybe she had come back for a late private dance. He didn't really have the energy right now, but if she wanted it well...

Professionalism dies hard in the stripper. That and the ego boost and love of cold hard currency.

Reaching the door, he opened it and walked in with a warm smile on his muzzle and his ears suitably perky. He could make them take up the cutest little crooked attitude that made them look like a pair of fishhooks; it never failed to make the girls croon.

He wasn't prepared for what he found though.

"Ahh...Max...what...?"

The dingo was there, smiling too, and holding a small box. When he closed the door, Max padded up and threw his arms around the bigger canine, then planted a kiss on his muzzle.

"Hey stud."

"Hey pup."

The dingo smiled. "You know, as much as I do hate that name, it is kind of nice coming from your muzzle. Sort of protective."

Colorado nodded, still a bit lost. "Yeah, well I do care 'bout you pup, even if you are a little shit sometimes."

The dingo managed to look wounded and naughty at the same time. "Hey, who do you think I learned from?"

"Yeah, I guess I am a good teacher in lots of things. So...er...pup, what are you doing here?"

That brought another kiss.

"I just thought you might be going through a tough time about something, and decided to do something special for you."

Colorado relaxed, slightly. "Oh...well, yeah I am a bit distracted."

"Yeah, James did mention that."

Now the Doberman was on alert. "James?"

"Yes, I was kind of upset after earlier and...well, you know...and I happened to mention it to Starz. He told me you had a lot on your mind, and I should be nice to you. He suggested I come round after work to see you."

Colorado picked up a troubling echo on his threat radar. It made his ears twitch, and his tail tip tingled. Something was very very wrong.

"James said that?"

"Yes. He really is a nice guy. You don't see it, but he likes you, really."

"James likes me." The Doberman managed to let every drop of sarcasm fill his voice, but the dingo didn't seem to notice. He was on a roll.

"Yes. And I took his advice, and here I am. No pressure, just me...and a little present."

Max took the Doberman in his arms again, sharing the closeness. It wasn't long before he pulled his friend into a more heated embrace though, and pressed his muzzle to the bigger canine's own. At first he just rubbed his lips over Colorado's, sharing warm breaths, but soon they were kissing, and their tongues fought for supremacy in the heat of their shared moment.

Colorado felt things speeding away from his control, and the dingo kept on blissfully aware, grinding his crotch against the Doberman's already hard bulge. He felt himself weakening by the second, and was only partly relieved when Max broke the kiss.

"Wha...?"

The dingo reached for the box he had been holding. It was a small jewellery type box, that much Colorado could tell. When Max popped the lid and reached in, he held his breath. Out came a necklace, gold and thick, with a stylized canine paw pendant. He looked at it part intrigued, part unhappy. Of all the rotten timing...

"I had this made for Lucy, but she gave it back when we...well. I was going to pawn it, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to do it. Now I know why...I think it suits you too, and I'd love you to have it stud. For...well, for everything..."

Colorado swallowed, hoping for the floor to open up and swallow him.

"Ahh...thanks...pup..."

The dingo reached up on tiptoe to fit the necklace around the taller dog's neck. It looked good, he thought, and the paw pendant really stood out against his lover's uniform. He stroked the spot, not sexually at first, but rapidly heating up as he explored more of the of the Dobie's buff chest under the uniform vest.

"You know, I was a bit of a cynical guy when I came here first, and after everything with Lucy...well, I guess you changed me. Made me more confident, more optimistic I guess. I owe you a lot Col."

Max planted another hot kiss on the Doberman's muzzle, one his lover was a little too distracted to return properly.

"Mpfgh...yeah...sweet...um, Max...maybe we should head off?"

The dingo positively beamed at that idea. "Great! I can't wait...and I'd love to get some real quality time...a quick fuck is all well and good but I want to take my time..."

They were mid kiss with the dingo's paw on Colorado's ass when the door opened. Neither heard it at first, but they did hear the voices.

"He should be right in here and...ooops..."

The two looked up to see Starz, wearing a stupid grin, and Lucy, wearing the opposite of a stupid grin. She was staring, open muzzled, with her eyes wide in shock.

"Lucy! Wait a minute and..."

The awkward foursome became a fivesome, as Mrs Mouze stumbled in. She had seen Lucy heading for the private rooms and tried to intercept, but it was too late. As she saw the little tableau of shock, she turned to stare at the Dalmatian. He had a look of pure injured innocence, so the mouse knew he was guilty.

Colorado recovered first.

"Lucy! What are you doing here?"

The Collie seemed distracted. "Ahh...I must have left my phone here. James called me at home and suggested I come round for a closing drink and pick it up. I wasn't doing anything so..."

Madeline's stare at the Dalmatian became a thousand degrees colder.

"Very considerate of you James. And I suppose you just happened to suggest that Colorado might have the phone?"

Lucylooked surprised. "Yeah, he did...what..."

Starz seemed to realise he was skating on thin ice, and it was time to exit stage left. After all, mission accomplished...didn't the stupid Doberman always like to say that?

"I think I'll just see myself umpfgh!"

The Dalmatian managed to reach the door, but unfortunately found it blocked. The other members of the little gang had congregated to see what the fuss was about, and sensing something interesting about to happen. They all had a sixth sense for that after their time at Candy Wrappers. Front and centre was the stallion, Duncan, and the Dalmatian ran into a solid wall of horse as he tried to make his getaway.

The stallion looked at Mrs Mouze with a questioning eye.

"Bad doggy?"

The mouse nodded her head mournfully.

"Very bad doggy."

The stallion shook his head regretfully, before reaching out and taking the Dalmatian by the scruff of the neck.

"Poor doggy."

James managed a gulp, and he caught the amused looks from his co-workers. He had heard talk of the things that might happen to bad doggies; and if a part of him was almost looking forward to it, he had to blame that on the many weeks of frustration the dingo had caused him as he tried to get in his pants.

Mrs Mouze watched the stallion carry the complaining Dalmatian out and shook her head. As she turned to look at the remaining three, her shake became more pronounced. Still, maybe it was for the best...

Colorado looked at her with pleading in his eyes.

"Am I a bad doggy too?"

She nodded. "Yes dear, but I think this is punishment enough." And the mouse closed the door on her way out. After all, sometimes that horse was inclined to be gentle, and he needed appropriate encouragement, the poor dear. It was in James' best interests, after all.

The remaining three stood in an awkward triangle, too stunned to talk. Lucy had a strange expression on her muzzle, as she looked at her Doberman lover. Suddenly she realised she knew what was making her feel odd.

"You're wearing my necklace!"

The dingo piped up. "You gave it back to me Lu, so technically it's mine really and umpfgh!"

Max found he couldn't complete the sentence as a hindpaw smashing down on his at force gave him far too much pain to deal with to speak for the moment. That didn't stop Lucy fixing him with her most malevolent gaze before firing off the question currently uppermost in her mind.

"And what exactly are you doing here Max, and why are you giving my necklace to my boyfriend?"

The dingo staggered backwards a little, suddenly finding the world didn't make sense. "What do you mean 'your' boyfriend. Col has been my boyfriend, and the best mate I could have ever since I've been working here. He's been so supportive, and I've told him all about you and how hard it was leaving you and..."

Now Lucy found her own astonishment, and it was sufficiently severe to make her forget her anger at Max for the moment. "You...working here?! But I do too, and I've been telling Colorado everything about you and me and...wait, are you Don Juan?"

The stunned dingo could only nod. "Yeah...and you?"

"Moonlight Mistress."

"I wondered why I never got to see you. Col said something about her roster being opposite, I never asked I guess, Col handled all the rostering and..."

The Collie and the dingo suddenly twigged at the same moment. Four eyes looked up, staring, accusingly at their lover.

Colorado had one shot left in his locker. He staggered backwards, looking shocked, appalled, even upset.

"Wait...are you telling me...you two know each other?"

Two sets of eyes zeroed in on his, and neither was buying it. He knew the jig was up.

He managed his aww shucks looks instead, and bit his lip as if in contemplation.

"I suppose a threesome is out of the question?"