Dokheim -- Chapter II
#2 of Dokheim
Author's Note -- Chapter two of my little adventure into Noir-rotica. Comments welcome! :)
Chapter II.
He took a deep breath. With the stagelights up, it was hard to see the crowd. But he could tell that the place was packed. The Rainbow Fur was always packed. He would have to keep his eyes open, make sure he knew where Mr. Big was before he made his move.
The music grew louder, a deathmetal wail with a primal underbeat. Fenris strode onto the stage in-step to the rhythm. He could feel all the eyes in the club fix on him. His breathing quickened, his tail wagged a counter-rhythm to the pulsing metal. While training with the "friends" of Mrs. Henshaw's son, he had found to his great surprise that he loved str*pping. He loved the feel of everyone's eyes on his body as he enticed, created [email protected] Made love with his audience...
His costume tonight was a replica of the uniform wore by the Dokheim police force, though Fenris doubted that any member of the force wore it so well. They were too busy getting fat off of kickbacks, large and small. Plus Fenris's version had been tailored to his body, the pants hugging his legs, and drawing the eye to his sizeable bulge. The blue shirt hinted at the ripped torso underneath and was unbuttoned just enough to display a teasing thatch of chestruff. He wore the peaked hat and mirrored shades of the DPD, and even a "gunbelt", still called that even though legally the police could only carry a taser and a nightstick.
He knew his body was hot. He had worked hard in the past year to make sure it was so. He could catch glimpses of some of the club's patrons already reaching under their tables, no doubt loosening their pants so they could paw off during the show. Fenris flashed a toothy grin and tore off his shades. A boy's face on a man's body. Enough to earn him some cheers and wolf-whistles from the audience. He would have them eating out of his paw by the time this show was done.
Hips swaying with the driving beat, Fenris pulled the tails of his shirt out of his pants and began to unbutton it. A quick shrug of the shoulders and it was off and flying into the audience. More cheers. Strapped across his chest, highlighting the firm muscles of his torso, was a studded black leather X-harness. Save there was a fifth strap, running down over his abs and disappearing into his pants. He paused, letting the audience take in the sight. Then he let the metal rhythm take over his body.
His hat was the next to go, sailing into the crowd with a flick of the wrist. Down came his long, silver hair, falling almost to between his shoulderblades. He whipped it about for a moment, and then paused. His paws began to caress his own body, his lips pursing in pleasure. Up and down his torso they roamed, until Fenris was sure that every guy in the club wished they were those paws, stroking the hot piece of ass in front of them.
They went even wilder when he tore off his rip-away pants. He pranced before them, clad only in the X-harness, gunbelt, boots, and a tight g-string. His white fur with black patches made the black leather stand out all the more. Fenris made sure to turn his back to the audience for a few moments so they could see his dimpled buttcheeks, as well the way the thong back of his g-string completely disappeared in his cleft.
Every dance has a story, his stripping-coach had told Fenris. Not necessarily a long story, but it had to create a fantasy world that invited the audience in. Fenris was telling a story of innocence corrupted, of law and order giving way to perversion. He could tell it very well, because he felt that it was his story.
He loosened his gunbelt and it fell to the floor. The audience could see now what lust raged under the uniform of the boy-cop. The second part of the dance would show them what lengths he would go to now that he was unleashed.
The music changed slightly, the beat predominating, and the lights began to strobe, highlighting every action as Fenris danced. He got onto his knees, and knee-walked to the very edge of the stage, butterflying his legs open and closed, forcing everyone to stare at his crotch. At the edge of the stage he began to run his paws through his hair, moaning as he humped the air (though the moans couldn't be heard over the incessant beat). Paws reached up to touch him, to shove bills gods only knew where. He backed off slightly. And then he undid the ties on his g-string and threw the sweat- and pre-slick garment into the crowd.
His maleness bobbed against the leather strap running from the harness, that fifth strap that ended in a cockring circling the base of his shaft. The polished young officer had been turned into a wanton boywhore in front of the crowd's very eyes. And they loved every minute of it.
There. He was finally able to see the booth through the strobe lights. Apart from the stage, but close enough to give a good view. Four figures, a stallion, an ox, a ram and a goat. And between them, a shadowy fifth figure. Mr. Big's table.
Fenris turned to them, crawled toward them on the stage. His paw brushed against the gunbelt, and he seemed to come up with the nightstick almost on accident. Only it wasn't an accident. As the music crescendoed, he began to lick the black phallic object. By the time he started deepthroating the object, the crowd was on its feet, and the club's security had to keep them from rushing the stage.
They didn't know how dangerous what he was doing actually was.
The strobe lights shone off the saliva-slicked nightstick. But that wasn't enough to show the final degradation of the young, upstanding officer. A collective gasp went up as Fenris lowered the nightstick and began working his ass down onto it. The audience didn't know that he had lubed himself up for this beforehand, but the sight of an officer of the law sodomizing himself with the tools of his own trade...
What Fenris hadn't realized was how much he himself was getting into his own act. The stick brushed against his prostate and the young wolf let out a ringing howl. Spurt after spurt of his seed sprayed up, seeming to fly even farther in the strobe lights. He covered himself with his own seed, and then the stage went black.
The crowd went wild. Fenris pulled the nightstick from his ass, still panting and trembling from his unexpected climax. He hurried back behind the curtain, even though his legs felt week. "Let's hear it for Officer Wolf," the MC began, breaking the spell. "I'd love to have him read me my rights some night..."
"That was in-fucking-credible, kid!" The club's owner met him behind the curtain. He was a weasel, in both the literal and figurative senses of the term. "Turns out Ol' Cid was right. You *do* dance as well as you fuck! Listen, you stick with me, kid. I've got plans for you!"
Fenris was spared hearing the details of those plans by a soft cough. A large paw rested with on his shoulder. "Excuse me, Mr. Stoop, but my employer would like a word with your newest talent."
The way the weasel trembled told Fenris that things were beginning to move right. He was finally going to get his chance. "Of...of course, Mr. Ram. Your boss knows that my boys are always ready and willing to serve our...special customers with all of their private needs." The weasel licked his lips, his eyes gleaming eagerly. "With my usual commission, of course."
"Of course." Sarcasm. From a goon. Fenris was surprised at that, but not from the fact that it seemed to go over Stoop's head. "Come with me, pup."
The sound of that word was almost too much for the young wolf. No one had the right to call him pup but Tyr. No one! Lips slipped over his teeth, and he barely checked his growl in time. "Alright..." Best to play the dumb boytoy. "Where are we going?"
"To meet a friend of mine... Come on. He's a stickler for punctuality." Fenris found himself almost having to jog to keep up with the retreating form. He twirled his nightstick as he chased him, not bothering to dress again.
The back in front of him (as well as the weasel's earlier words) told the wolf that this was indeed the ram from Mr. Big's group. He had dressed (or had been dressed) appropriate for a place like Rainbow Fur - leather X-harness, arm, wrist and neck bands. Leather assless pants. He looked tough. Maybe half a head taller than the wolf, but possibly twice his mass. His body had been shorn down to the short underfleece, and Fenris could see the muscles of his back ripple as he walked.
"What?" The sheep had turned around, a sneer on a face that would be handsome, save for the long scar running from right eyebrow to left cheek. "What are you staring at, pup?"
Fenris found himself flushing in spite of the situation. "Just thinking that...your employer has good taste in associates."
The ram blinked at that, and then snorted. Perhaps he thought Fenris was making fun of him. "Come on. Boss'll have both of our hides if we're late..."
He led Fenris into one of the larger of the club's "champagne rooms", where private dances and more could be arranged for the more influential (or at least the more affluent) of the Rainbow Fur's clientele. The other three goons were there alright. Each wearing black leather outfits that matched the sheep's. And the wolf couldn't help but notice that the leather g-strings on all four goons were *packed*.
"Good, Mr. Ram. You brought our talented young friend."
The way the voice hissed. A shiver ran up his spine. This was the man in the car the night that Tyr died. This was Mr. Big, the head of Dokheim's Underworld of crime. Now then, he just had to wait for the right moment.
"Don't be shy, boy. Let's get a good look at you."
And with that, Mr. Big leaned forward, his face coming out of the shadows as it so rarely did. Fenris had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Mr. Big, the man who made the entire city quake with fear, was nothing but a mole. A big, fat ugly mole! It figured. Who else was suited to dwell in the Underground's halls of power?
"Mmm... You must be happy to see me." Sausage-fat fingers teased at the opening of his sheath. Fenris had to fight back the temptation to vomit. "Why else would you still be so hard after such an impressive display?"
"Perhaps he's scared of you, boss." The goat stepped forward, though not quite touching Fenris. Apparently the wolf was Mr. Big's and Mr. Big's alone. "He might have heard about your reputation for corrupting the police."
The enormous mole laughed, and the other goons were a moment behind. Apparently it was safest to wait and see how the boss took things before one reacted. "Ah, but this sexy little cop seems pretty well corrupted on his own." The black eyes of Mr. Big looked up at Fenris. "Isn't that right, pup?"
The ram had been bad enough, but for this fat slob to use that word... Before anyone could stop him, Fenris raised his nightstick and depressed the button that released the spring-blade inside it. Mr. Big screamed (in a surprising soprano) as Fenris slashed at the paw that had been caressing his cock. His left paw began pulling at the studs on his harness, which in reality were barbed throwing darts. He flung them wildly and grinned with grim satisfaction as the cries told them they were hitting the goons. He advanced on Mr. Big.
The mole was backing up, blood dripping through his fingers where his uninjured paw gripped his wounded one. A large wet spot appeared on the front of the man's pants. Fenris's teeth were bared in a predatory grin. He slashed with his blade again, almost vomiting when a roll of blubber fell out of the wound rather than blood.
"Time to die, scum. This is for-"
The blow on the back of his head knocked Fenris down and almost unconscious. He almost didn't feel the hail of kicks on his body.
Almost.