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Your fur is soaked, your clothes are wrinkled with rain water, and your spirits are as low as the depths that you've sunken to as you enter a small, hole-in-the-wall bar known simply as "Wonderland."

You know why you're here: it's a dark, seedy place...the kind where fortunes are won and lost through illegal gambling, any liquor or drug you can imagine is readily found for a cheap price, and, in the case of your own reasons, prostitutes are rumored to roam freely around the tables...some are even exclusive to the bar, and have rooms reserved upstairs, just for the customers that they decide to grace with their presence.

The one you're looking for, however, is a bit more enigmatic than a typical street walker, and she doesn't do rounds at the tables...she sits quietly in the back corner of the bar, stroking her hair and daintily sipping a cocktail glass, looking as though she owns the world, and scarcely batting an eyelash at the number of different men and women alike who ogle her with an utter lack of shame. Only those men and women who are brave enough to actually sit down at her booth ever actually get a word out of her, and though desperation, not bravery, is your motivation...you still approach her booth with nothing to lose, and sit upon the stool across from her.

"Sorry, pal. I'm not interested."

You're immediately overwhelmed with confusion, and you tilt your head just slightly. The rumors say that she's a tough nut to crack, but that she'll take anyone who has the guts to approach her. You realize it isn't that simple, and offer to buy her next drink.

"I've already got one."

Her eyes are closed, and they were before you even sat down. Long, majestic tresses of silvery-white cascade over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back, and her bangs just barely block one of her eyes from your vision at all. Her fur is jet black, so much that if the bar were just slightly darker, you might not be able to see her...if not for the haphazard stripes of orange that decorate her entire body with no discernible pattern. The off-black tube top that reaches down only to her navel shows that the stripes even cover her underbelly, something that's rather unusual for a patterned animal, and as shameless as you are, you have no problem looking down at her thighs, to the bright blue mini-skirt that easily allows you to see her panties underneath, patterned in white, blue and orange stripes. She certainly has a theme to her, but when her eyes finally open, revealing a deceptively brilliant blue, she's glaring daggers at you.

"I'm an open book, stranger, but I don't appreciate the prying eyes. If you wanted to know what color my panties were, you could have just asked."

Her response floors you. You ask if she's being serious.

" Dead serious. What kind of a prostitute has an issue discussing her clothes with a potential customer?"

Whoever this woman is, she's a proper mystery, and she has the confidence to back up anything she says. Her body isn't slim, but it isn't thick, and though her arms are bare, you can tell she isn't physically a slouch; muscles are just apparent enough to get your attention, though they only distract you momentarily from the ample cleavage that begs to be released from her top, or the gorgeous work of art that is her friendly expression. Even when she looks irritated at you (because she is,) she's still so beautiful that you find it unfair.

"Unless, of course, you really did just come here to have a friendly chat. Lots of guys like to start off that way. A few girls do it, too, but they're easier to read..."

At this point, you wonder if the woman is just speaking to herself, but as she takes another sip from her cocktail glass and lets out a refreshed sigh, her expression softens, and she sets her chin in a paw. "You? I don't quite get you. You're brave enough to come and talk to me, but you didn't have anything to say, even though you knew what I was all about?"

She's got you figured out, but without a plan of action, you have nothing else to say, other than to trip and stammer over your words, looking for an explanation. She giggles at how aloof you suddenly are, and finishes her drink before making herself comfortable in her seat.

"Relax, stranger. I'm not really in the mood to fuck tonight," she admits, bluntly enough to fill your cheeks with a bashful warmth, "But I suppose I can tell you a little story about the last guy I went for. I've been told I'm actually quite talented when it comes to the literary yarn...lots of guys have offered to finance a book for me, but they don't seem to get it. I'm not in this business for the money. I'm in it because I'm a sexual being, and it's the easiest way to experience every sexual walk of life...does that make sense to you, stranger?"

The thought baffles you. A woman who actually enjoys being a prostitute? It sounds like something right out of a typical male fantasy, and yet, she's being entirely sincere. You can see clear past the enticing glow of her eyes, and into the heart that they reflect; she's an honest person, and nothing she says is just to fluff you up.

With no argument and no reason not to believe her, you nod.

"Glad someone else finally gets it," she admits, as a waiter brings another drink around to her, the same soft golden color as the first one. She greedily takes a drink before she continues speaking, and you wonder for a moment if she's drunk, but she never slurs a single word, and her expression doesn't lend itself to intoxication. "Mnnn... They make a solid Kentucky Ginger here. You should give it a try, if your throat is ever dry...or, if you're a lush, like me."

You agree that the drink order sounds enticing, but you pass on the offer of alcohol, for now.

"Suit yourself. Most folks like to have a drink before they go to bed with a professional sex machine, but you're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you?" she asks, and you're reminded of the fact that she said she wasn't in the mood. It doesn't boost your confidence to think that she needs a drink to have sex with you, but she keeps talking anyway. "And since you've been so patient, I'll spin you the details of that last guy I was talking about...because he was something unique. Reminded me a lot of myself, I'll admit, but he was a guy...y'know, obviously. Taller than me, close to your height, actually, and maybe not the coolest cat on the block, but he was easy on the eyes. Not the best looking guy I've ever seen, but he had no reason to be in such a slump when I met him. His clothes were all a mess, but it looked like he was still taking care of himself...his face was riddled with depression, but I couldn't begin to figure out why. He was just as much an enigma as all of my customers are, and yet, somehow, he was something a little bit more than the rest...it's hard to explain."

Not sure that you want to hear the story, but feeling too rude to walk away anymore, you nod and agree that it must be weird to meet someone who wants to have sex, but can't express it properly.

"Oh, he was able to...that was the only reason he came to me. He was feeling down and low...like no one found him truly attractive or desirable anymore. He really wasn't a bad looking guy; that's the shame of it, but when a man thinks that no one wants to have sex with him, well...it can be pretty destructive to their self-esteem. A real tragedy, that fact, but I'm not just a prostitute: I'm a miracle worker. I could fuck-start the libido of a 95 year old nun if I had to!"

There's something unusual about the way this girl talks, but you find it to be exciting. She's not afraid to be open and talk to you as though you were a friend, rather than a potential customer, or even a lost stranger. You can feel a smile crossing your lips, and a tingling in your loins as her comfortable position causes her legs to spread just slightly, giving you a splendid view of her panties. Her labia must be tight; they're nearly swallowing the cotton fabric.

"See, sometimes a man feels a need to be wanted or desired. We all do. It's perfectly natural, and this guy...well, I dunno how long it had been, but he had plenty to offer. When he told me his sob story and explained that he just needed the sex to love himself, to be as successful as he could be...I guess I couldn't argue! I'm not the type to tell someone else that they're putting too much emphasis on something, especially if it's good for business...so I let him work me over with his story, bought him a couple drinks to loosen him up, and I took him up to my room upstairs...the poor guy wandered into 'Wonderland' thinking that he had some weird kinks...but that night, I decided to show him how deep the rabbit hole really was."

You're genuinely interested, now. There's a hint of jealousy in your heart the entire time to know that this woman was so passionate about someone else, but it was her job, and you felt sorry for her, knowing that she couldn't always be choosy in her partners. Of course, you had no idea that you were wrong about that fact, but as the blood from your head started to rush down to the growing heat of your sex, you hardly cared. You were much more interested in just how sneaky you could be about publicly manipulating your organs to the story, knowing that the juicy details were still to come.

"I won't tell you everything I did to him...not for free, anyway, but I can certainly tell you about just how tasty he was. I remember watching him strip away that old, ragged suit coat and tossing it to the floor like he didn't even care about it, despite the years of wear that he'd put into it. He literally tore his dress shirt open, and revealed a body that I could happily set my cheek against any time...but it wasn't until he unbuttoned those pants and blatantly showed off the bright, glowing red tip of his cock that I really decided I couldn't keep my paws to myself. He was only sticking halfway out of his sheath when I dropped down to my knees, took a solid pawful of that tight, firm ass and treated myself...you should have heard the sound I made: vintage porno at it's finest, and I swallowed that fucking monster...I pushed my muzzle all the way into his crotch and waited, letting his length grow inside of the nice, hot confines of my mouth...it was amazing."

Most people who get paid to have sex embellish things to the point that they become unbelievable, but as this woman speaks, you can see by the look in her eyes that she truly enjoyed the experience. You can almost see thin trails of salivates starting to build in the corners of her maw, and though it's a very casual, occasional brush, you can clearly see her paw adjusting her panties shamelessly...you're rather certain she's teasing herself at the thought, and you reciprocate the action. Knowing the reputation of the place, you feel no need to to shameful about rubbing your own paw over your eager glands, but she's so wrapped up in her story that she doesn't seem to notice.

"It took him a moment to get into things, sadly, but I got the best of all of it...I could feel that thin, tapered tip gently tickling at the back of my throat, and every time I swallowed against it, his knees buckled...I was worried he might actually collapse on me!" she continues, crafting a story that's so vivid that your mind's eye can actually envision the moment. You're trying to piece together the male, but for some reason, she isn't giving out details of his looks, as much as his taste and scent. You don't much care, naturally, as you continue working yourself up to the story, feeling a familiar warmth and tingling growing in your crotch. "He was a good boy, though...kept his balance, grabbed me by these long, ticklish ears and leaned over...started pounding his hips into my face so hard that he almost broke my nose! I was just lucky enough to be rubbing my clit the whole time he face-fucked me...took my mind off of the pain and made the moment that much more enjoyable. He was a delight to suck off, and I only wish I could have gotten a third round out of him...but round one went to my mouth, and that was a huge load. It wasn't my fault I couldn't contain all of it...he just kept humping away at my muzzle, got the mess everywhere...on my cheeks, my chin, down my neck, in my cleavage...and whatever these couldn't catch," she pauses, giving her breasts a quick fluff, "Made it down to my tummy, or even the floor...I can't remember the last time I was such a mess from just one load!"

Your ears burn with a flush, and you can feel your temperature rising as you worry about imitating the experience you just heard in the story, but at the same time, you can't imagine stopping yourself now. This supposed prostitute has more than a way with words, and you can almost feel every detail she describes happening to you...every pleasure she explains radiates up from your groin and into the rest of your midsection. Familiar tension starts to build in your sexual organs, and you bite your lip, entirely in vain for what you know you can no longer control.

"Round two wore me out, thankfully...I would have been really disappointed if there hadn't been a round three, then, but all the same, I don't know if he could have lived up to expectations. I nearly squirted myself when he blew that load down my throat, but I needed more of that thick, sticky cream in my tummy...from the other end, of course."

You give the quickest, faintest of nods as you feel your brow dripping with sweat, and excess fluids coming from your body.

"He threw me down to the floor...we never even made it to the bed. Bent me over like a proper bitch, grabbed me by the hips and started slamming into me, as if he knew that I was just as eager for him. He was one of those special customers where I feel like I'm the one who should have had to pay for his services, instead. He wasn't the biggest male ever, naturally, but he was just such a perfect fit...he could tickle my cervix when he gave it his all, and that slight curve of his shaft brushed my g-spot with no effort whatsoever...I knew I was going to have to wash the floor the next day! I was leaking juices like a faucet, and he was like a wild, feral beast...he dug claw marks into my tummy, squeezed my breasts, bit down on the scruff of my neck, and I swear, he could do nothing wrong...even that warm, steamy drool that ran down my shoulder, off the ends of his fangs...it was an experience I could never forget, and somehow, after all of that, he still had the gumption to spear me on his knot and leave me tied through the evening...that bulge was so thick that I didn't lose a drop until he pulled out, but when he did...it was a like a waterfall was spilling from my cunt, and I didn't care...I just wish he would have filmed it for me so I could have watched it all gushing out later!"

The story is far too much for you to take, and despite the mess that it'll make in your jeans, you climax from your own touch, combined with the vivid details. They assault your senses with such realism that you wonder if the story was about you, and you simply forgot the moment that it happened...you're merely fortunate enough for your jeans to contain the mess that you've made, but this woman and her keen senses catch on right away. She knows what you've done, and despite it being depraved...

...She's grinning.

"Of course, not every story can have a happy ending. The poor fella couldn't handle what he'd done to his own relationship by plowing me, and I couldn't just let him leave in a sour mood...so...I didn't."

Your orgasmic bliss isn't enough for you to ignore just how sadistic the grin on her face is, and the way that her muzzle twists up is beyond sadistic; it's nearly demonic. All of your nerves aren't quite enough to move you away from the table, but you start to wish they were.

"Don't look so nervous, stranger...shall I tell you one last secret before you pay me for my services?"

Confusion supersedes your fear as you tilt your head a little. Surely, she doesn't mean to charge you just for a story and an orgasm, does she?

"That guy I fucked...was me. The name's Josianne...that'll be thirty bucks."