Foreword

"Hey Lotus, why is the story dead and where did it go?"

Because it's honestly shit. This was based on a very vivid dream I had, and once I had left the structure of that dream it was completely fucked. I had 0 direction, and had multiple ideas pulling me away from achieving anything. It stopped being about the girl and became more about the violence, trying to replicate some knock-off hotline miami, which goes against the grain of what /hmofa/ is really about. I cut out the garbage parts, and left you with the bits I think are actually worth reading

- Lotus

[Chapter 0 : The Man With No Name]

A theft from a jewellery store under the protection of the Carlisle family was as brash and short-sighted as one could get in these part, but few could deny the brass balls of the ones who did it, even as their car grinded to a halt in a dimly-lit alleyway, scattering heaped-up dustbins and forgotten palattes.  The passenger-side door opened almost immediately, and a grey-furred anthro wolf took off into the darkness at breakneck speed, hauling a jingling, unmarked black sports bag over his shoulder, leaving his driver for dead.

But there were only so many places he could go. You knew that; this was your beat, once upon a time.  That alleyway lead up to the High Street, which looped back around into Carlisle stomping grounds on the North side, or down and out into the proverbial No Man's Land of the smaller tribal gangs; those who shot at each other almost as much as they did at the member's of the larger families, in their refusal to be absorbed into the fold. Probably, you deduced, where they came from, and where they were heading; slip into the Saturday night crowd and disappear beyond the pale.

You liked that idiom, you mused to yourself as you pushed your car door closed in the parking lot of a tatoo parlour, the map of the area flashing up as clear as though it was right in front of you. Pale Street was the dividing line between relative order and chaos. You entered the parlour and made your way briskly through to the other side without drawing so much as a second glance, save for a curt nod from the old anthro boar of a propietor. It was odd, in a way; humans weren't a common occurance in this city, especially since the upheaval six years ago, but the people here knew your face. Or, more importantly, they knew your boss; and that ironically bought you more respect than your gun and your badge could ever get.

Your name was, however, not so well known. You thought it better to let it go, just in case your history of being a cop in a now lawless land ran afoul of its new owners. It turned out to be a bit of a folly in the end (everybody that was anybody knew), but by then you had been scooped up by a discerning bear by the name of Kiefer, an advisor to the Carlisle family with a keen eye for talent, and you earned yourself a few nicknames of note. Anon was the most common, and much to your relief, it stuck.
An inked-up spotted Hyena blocked the way out into the High Street, but only for a brief moment; one look at you, and he backed up and well out of your way with an almost inaudible yelp of surprise. You quietly reached up and touched the tip of your hat as you passed him; if nothing else survived the upheaval, you kept your manners. You took a long look around the place, frowning as your eyes almost interposed better times over the degeneracy of today. Drugs, guns, and girls of every variety shown on sale, while the more traditional sorts of stores had long barred their shutters closed in preparation for the wild weekend. The air howled with the excited, drunken woops of every kind of anthro imaginable, and stunk with... you'd rather not know exactly. Only one thing mattered to you in this moment, and it didn't take you long to spot it in the crowd.

You had to hand it to the wolf; he had a knack for acting natural, despite the jarring experience of being in a car crash after being chased by the enforcers of a major family, walking evenly and his eyes set in a lazy stare ahead, as if they were locked on to the sign of Pale Street. Lucky, too; he'd come out of that crash unscathed. You dug your hands into the pockets of your trenchcoat, and felt the familar grip of your .44 revolver brush against your thumb. Not tonight, you thought. You wouldn't need it. He would understand. And so you set forth slowly, putting yourself in his path and stopping dead, your eyes on his.

Even at 40ish feet apart, he knew; his pupils focused in on you, but he maintained his gait. Perhaps he was hoping you would decide against it, or figure you had the wrong man, but you could see it in slope of his ears, the straightness of his tail, and the twitch of his nose. You could see into his very heart.
'Please...Please...' it whispered. Over and over, like a mantra. 20 feet from you now.

"Return what you stole," you say plainly and evenly, with nary a hint of emotion in your voice. There was no need for it. His eyes narrowed, and his lips unfurled into a slight snarl.
"Get out of my way," He growled back.
"You know that won't happen."

Almost on cue, a hand flashed down to his belt and returned with an automatic, loaded and pointed directly at your head, causing a gasp from the surrounding crowd and the sea of fur to part, leaving both you and the wolf as islands.
You close your eyes, and exhale a small sigh. You reopen them, and your own eyebrows furrow into a more intense glare, your mind straining as you began to project your will out into the crowd around you.
||| "A bold move to take, right under the nose of such a tightly-knit community." |||

All sound seemed to cease for but a moment, all except your voice. It boomed as though it came from the stage of an theater house, reverberating all the way down to ends of the street. The wolf seemed taken aback by it for a moment, before the next sound made his eyes shift to the side. 
The cocking of a shotgun.
The working of the slide of a handgun.
And another.
More and more.

The locals had all drawn their weapons, and pointed them at the wolf, who's head turned from side to side, his features turned from aggressive to fearful in a heartbeat. He turned back to you, his entire body suddenly shaking as the gravity of the situation fell upon him. You could see into his heart again.
'Oh god. Let me go, oh fuck, please let me go.'

"Return what you stole."

Both the gun and the bag hit the floor silmultaneously, and the wolf remained frozen in fear for a moment longer, before he tore off like a shot, sprinting straight past you and into the night. You let out a long breath, and the crowd resumed moving, their weapons holstered and hidden as though nothing had happened. You moved forward, picking up the bag and slinging it over your shoulder in one smooth motion, before regarding the gun for a few seconds. Protocal didn't rule you anymore. There was no book you had to play by. But old habits die hard. You retrieved the gun, and ran through the motions. Safety on, magazine release, clear the breach. Catch the bullet for style. 9mm. Not the greatest condition, but nothing a little oil and a little love couldn't solve.

You unzipped the bag a little, and saw the sparkle of gold and diamond. Between that and the weight, that was enough for you. You closed it up, stuffed the gun into your pocket, and pinched the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes. For what humans lacked in strength and speed, they made up for in other ways. But it hurt, and it felt dirty every single time.
But, what was done was done, and the job had to be finished. Back to base for now.

(TN Note : The ||| denotes something something psychic influence something something)
_______________________________________________________________________

[Chapter 1 : Knocking On Heaven's Door]

They say a city really comes to life at night, but it wasn't really the case with this one, by your reckoning. It was more akin to letting it all loose; a person letting the ugliness flow out of themselves and indulging in excess. It was hard for you to see it any other way, especially with how most nights had you calling in at a "Gentleman's Club" called Final Heaven. You peered up at the neon sign above the door, wondering what those three diagonal lines were meant to be. A cat scratch, maybe? The reference, if there was any to be made, was lost on you. You shook your heard, stepping forward and giving a short two-finger salute to the bouncer; a large bison by the name of Josef, who was a good laugh to be around when he was off-duty. On duty, he preferred to jam a big stick up his ass and act... well, like a good bouncer should, really. He returned your greeting with a short nod, pushing the door open just enough to slip through into the strip club before closing it firmly.

It wasn't honestly too bad of a place inside, not compared to how you figured these places would be; the music was softer on the ears, the lights illuminated just enough to bring attention to where they wanted the eyes to be, but you needn't strain them in the dark corners, and the dancers were titillating enough to drive a man to drooling mindlessly, but they had class. The smell of smoke was a bit of a downer, but nothing's perfect. You stopped to take a look around the main room; seemed to be something of a burlesque show going on, given the big skirts on the girls on stage, and the occassional woops of laughter from the crowd. A familiar voice a little off to your right pulled your attention to a small table in the corner, to a small white cat dressed in slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, seranading a group of bigger anthros with some sort of tale.

"...So I goes 'No-no-no, alls ya need to do is pick the biggest guy outta all of them, and jus' wack him in the leg, and the rest of 'em'll fold', right? An' d'ya know what the guy does? Tries 'ta square up with the lil' mouse and gets laid the fuck out by all his friends, so I had to clean up the resta' 'em with nothin' but a pipe wrench."

"Wasn't that you squaring up to the mouse?" you questioned, leaning your head down next to his with a wry smirk on your face.
The cat let out a startled yelp, looking to you with wide yellow eyes, before they fell into a deflated frown. "Aww, c'mon man, why'd you gotta show up and ruin a good story every time?"
"Because my bullshit detector is top notch, Sammy," you laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and looking to the others at the table. "He might be a blagger, but fair play to the guy, he bounced back up quick enough after getting- what was it, 'laid the fuck out'?"
That got a good laugh from the table, and a defeated sigh from Sammy. "Yeah, yeah, ya make me feel real good about myself, Anon."
"Is the big guy about?"
"Kief? Yeah, where he always is. Doing his 'calculations'." Sammy put on a deep, mocking growl. "Which reminds me, we gots 'ta hit the road soon, got a job to do."
"Don't fuck this one up."
"Ahh, go fuck yaself," Sammy retorted dismissively, standing up and wriggling out of your grasp. You took your cue to leave, still grinning. Despite his flaws, you liked Sammy; he was a bright kid with good ideas and a knack for banter you could appreciate, but probably the clumsiest cat that ever got let anywhere near criminal activity.

You rolled your shoulder, the weight of the bag beginning to ache a little, and you turned into a corridor leading deeper into the building, where the more... private dances were held. A door opened next to you, and a male fox walked out wearing a thousand yard stare. A glimmer of gold caught your eye from the room behind him, and you took a second to sate your curiousity. A long, slender albino body curled around a pole, its scales interlaced with long, golden hair (you assumed) all the way up to its head. You were a little puzzled, trying to place what it was; some kind of snake lady with some kind of weird body mod? As the door closed, she turned on the pole to reveal her face; a fat, formless set of grey scales, ending in a pair of curved mandibles that clicked audibly. You blinked and pulled a face, looking back to the fox, who's eyes focused back onto yours with an expression that landed somewhere in the land of confusion, sadness, fear, and mild arousal. There was a slight pain in your head, as his heart reached out to you for a brief moment.
'I know man. I know.'

You almost wanted to stop and give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but a blur of red and blue and a little squeak of surprise diverted your attention, and you felt a warm, plushy body fall against yours as you rounded a corner, before it began to fall down your side. You hooked your free arm around the body and turned on your heel, using the momentum of the fall to carry them back around into an equilibrium. She, as it turned out to be, in turn, hooked her own leg around your waist and her arm around your shoulder, pulling herself up your body and turning the save into a rather impressive-looking dance maneuver.

"Oooh! Very smooth, darlin'," the red squirrel latched to you giggled, her big poofy tail sliding around your back and tickling you on the cheek. "You're a natural."
"I, uh, try my best, Emma," you replied, feeling increasingly distracted by the sudden realisation of how close you were to her ample cleavage, despite her being a head shorter than you. Given her bright blue attire, and the worn-out look in her eyes, despite her warm and excitable smile, she had just finished performing in the burlesque show. Her free hand slipped under your trenchcoat, and she began to slowly and lightly stroke up your side. 
"Here to see the big ol' bear?"
"Read my mind." 
"Well, you be careful darlin'. He's doing his 'calculations'." Emma put on the same mocking tone as Sammy. "Got his glasses on and everything."
"I'll keep it in mind." Was she trying to rub your nipple?
Her thigh squeezed around your waist ever so slightly, and she pulled her head in closer to yours, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling sweetly at you. "Buy a girl a drink after you're done?"
"Sure. If you give me back my wallet."
Her smile turned devilish and she retracted her hand, your wallet hanging between her fingers. "You're a sharp one, hun."
You hoist her around, bending your knees enough for her to find the ground, taking your wallet back with your teeth, and she unlatched from you after a final, parting squeeze.
"Thhan gyuu," you replied, raising your arm up for her to continue on her way. She took hold of your fingers for a moment, performing a playful little twirl underneath before she scurried away, making sure to really sway her hips and her tail as she went, causing you to linger in the corridor.

Damn girl, getting you all hot and bothered right before you went to see your boss, you thought as you plucked the wallet out of your mouth and stowing it back into your pocket. It wasn't the first time Emma flirted with you, nor was it the first time you found yourself reciprocating against your better judgement. You couldn't figure out if she just a dancer that had a thing for you in particular, or a call girl that wanted to get a client that was part of Kiefer's inner circle. The latter might be a little bit of paranoia talking, but you'd seen it happen before; hell, you worked with women like that back in the day. 

To business, you thought, shaking the thoughts of Emma's rotund ass out of your mind, with some difficulty. You made your way up some stairs, and came face to face with another bouncer, this one a moose wearing a thick pair of sunglasses. Was it racist to assume he was Canadian? He knocked on the door twice, and after a moment it opened, an older-looking female bear peering out at you from within.
"Oh, Bill, so good to see you again," she greeted you warmly, beckoning you to come through. "Kiefer's been expecting you, come on in. I'll stick the kettle on."
"Thank you, ma'am," you smiled politely, following her in. Bill was one of your nicknames, used only by people in the closer parts of the Carlisle family. It was Kiefer that coined it originally from your first meeting. A respectful nod to your previous employment, and in some small part, a display of the overwhelming command of information Kiefer had. His wife, Jane, doted on you like a favourite grandchild, feeding you homecooked meals and good cups of tea, and regaling you with long tales about life and things Kiefer did that made him stew and mumble with embarassment at their recollection. You were quite fond of Jane.

Kiefer himself painted a less welcoming and homely figure, but was by no means ever inhospitable to you. Very orderly and proper, he was sat over a pile of neatly organized papers, a pen in paw and a single claw tapping on a calculator, his jaws slightly agape as he mouthed numbers silently to himself. You lifted the chair on the opposing side of his table up and out, being as quiet as humanly possible, and took a seat with the bag on your lap, waiting patiently for him to finish, lest you be greeted with a sudden "QUIET" and a knifehand that would make a Marine Drill Instructer sweat. After a couple of minutes, he placed the final piece of paper on top of the pile, leant back into his chair with a sigh, and pulled his thin glasses off of his nose, his deep brown eyes finally settling onto you.

"Eve-... Morning, Bill," he started, pausing to look at the clock, grimacing a little. He had taken longer than he would have liked. He leant his arms on the desk, pushing himself forward a little with an arched eyebrow. "I can understand one or two fellas at a time. But the whole damn High Street?" He smirked.
Ah. That. Word got to him quick.
"Well... Wasn't so much of a contest of wills as it was spreading the idea that if the guy gunned me down, they were next," you explained, taking a moment to consider your words. "Ball was in their court at that point." A steaming mug of tea slid into the corner of your vision, and you took the moment to look up and flash your winning smile, and pass the bag over to her. "Thanks Jane."
"Just how you like it, sweetheart."
Kiefer huffed out a short chuckle. "Clever. God only knows why you ain't running the show in this city with something like that in your hands."
You pulled the tea a little closer to you, figuring from touch it was still a little too hot to get started on it just yet, and opted to stare down into the swirling bubble at the edge.
"...Feels like I lose something every time I do it."
Kiefer let the silence hang while he examined you, reading your expression better than mostly anyone could. "...Can't be healthy, but at least you're smart enough to keep it in moderation." He reached into a drawer and pulled out an envelope. "Thanks for bringing the goods back here."
"I figured you'd want to hold onto it for a bit, let the guy fret a little," you replied, looking back up and smiling a little. "Make him think we worked harder than we did to get it all back, really squeeze the appreciation out of him."
"Hah! Now -that's- using your brainmeats," Kiefer laughed, tossing the envelope across the table to you. "Here's my appreciation for it, at any rate."
It hit your chest before you could catch it, and it was a little heavier than you thought it'd be. You simply shoved it into your trenchcoat. You'd count it later. "Thanks, boss."
"Got a job for you on Monday. Diplomatic mission, if you're interested."
"Let's hear it."
"Fiora Sandiego."
"Ah shhhh-ugar," you censored yourself for Jane's benefit. Fiora fucking Sandiego; now there was a woman who gave you all the wrong vibes; a cold-blooded (literally), discerning snake (also literal) who charmed her way into becoming the wife of the head of another major family, only for him and his sons to die of mysterious circumstances, leaving her with absolute control of the small empire he left behind.
"I know, I know, but I got a theory that there's something to her that you might be able to pick up on."
It didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant by that; he wanted you to figure out if she had something similar to the psychic powers you posessed. You chewed the inside of your mouth; that was unlikely. Humans tended to be the only species that had anything remotely close to something like that.
"And to make matters a little worse for you," Kiefer continued, reading your face like a book, pulling a pipe out from his shirt pocket and lighting it. "Is that she's asked after you by name."
Fuck.
"...Which doesn't leave me with much choice," you replied through gritted teeth.
"Naw, you got a choice. But you probably want to figure her out as much as I do, don't you?"
"There isn't a lot to figure out. It's only humans that can show any sign of psychic ability; she's all s- you know." You censored your words again, and instead chose to wave your hands as if you were tracing a curvacious woman's hips.
Kiefer gave you a long, questioning look, breathing a puff of smoke out to the side of his mouth. "Maybe. But you add up all that she's done, and you ask yourself if sex appeal can achieve all of that without people asking her a single damn question."
He had you there. Godfather Sandiego and his four sons, and nobody in the family really made any bones about her taking over. It really did bug you.
"...Alright," You sighed after a while. "I'll do it."
"Heh. Ol' Bill can't turn down a good mystery."
"Yeah, yeah... speaking of a mystery," You retorted, scratching the back of your head. "Sammy tells me you gave him a job."
"Oh, yeah. Nothing serious, just dealing with some small time punks beyond The Pale begging for scraps," Kiefer shrugs dismissively. "Even Sammy can't possibly fuck that up."

____________________________________________________________________

[Chapter 2 : The Man With No Face] [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y69nZWqsCy0]

The drive began in high, jovial spirits, but died down into a cold seriousness as Pale Street came into view. Safety was relative in the city; it all came down to who you knew, and who's badge was on your sleeve. But Beyond The Pale was anybody's game, survival of the fittest, which boiled down to who had the most guns.
"Everything set back there?" Sammy asked, nervousness creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. He checked over the contents of the bag one more time. Definitely all there. Everything they asked for, and a little extra to let them know they'd be looked after if they behaved.
"One bark from this one will send these bottom feeders scurrying back to their holes," said the big pitbull in the back.
"Alright," Sammy breathed, zipping the bag up and shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around at every person he saw on the street. 
"Aight, no eye contact, just watch they hands," the driver cautioned, a tall black retriever who spoke with a laid back drawl that hinted at a constant state of intoxication.
And there it was. Pale Street. Five minutes in, five minutes out.

_________________

You were fairly sure she laced something in your drink. It burned the throat like it normally does, but you sensed the hint of something more, and now you felt a strange tingle in your elbow. Somehow, you didn't mind; there was something about her that coaxed a recklessness out of you, a desire to let yourself be swallowed up by the decadence surrounding you. You struggled to articulate the why, the how, and the what of it.

It was quiet here in the private rooms, save for your voices. Mostly yours, talking about older times, better times. It made you feel old, despite being pretty young. You were young when you joined the force, fresh-faced and naive, wanting to make the city a better place like all the other recruits that couldn't grow a beard to save their lives. Emma leaned her body against you, her green eyes staring deeply into yours, dilated, listening patiently. You stopped talking suddenly, and it hit you. A spark from the elbow, that spread across your body like you were being slowly engulfed by a warm flame of pleasure. Her smile had a mischeivious curve to it, her eyes flashing with the excitement of a predator catching sight of particularly vulnerable prey, and she reached up to your face and pulled you down, pressing her lips against yours and immediately began exploring your mouth with her tongue. 

>She'd been waiting for it to hit you too. Listening to you blabber on about shit nobody cared about anymore
>The feeling of her fur against your skin, her weight against your chest, the little nibble she did on your bottom lip
>It was driving you wild
>She pulled away and you moved forward to dive back in, but she stopped you with a gentle hand
>That impish smile widening
>"No," she said, pushing you against the comfortable couch. "You relax."
>You spread your arms out onto the back of the couch
>She scooted up to her knees, and swung a leg over your lap, her bushy tail weaving around rythymatically
>And pushed hips against yours, a long, painfully good grind that brought you to full mast instantly
>You don't know when the music started, but it was good
>Her arms wrapped around your head as she leaned forward and pushed her breasts into your face
>The flesh warm and soft, the fur making your skin prickle with electricity
>Her fingers ran through your hair as she pushed you deeper into her bosom, her grip loose but commanding
>Telling you that she wouldn't let go in no words at all
>You needed this
>"Touch me," she whispered, swaying and sliding her hips against your tightening groin, the warmth and moistness of her own flooding your mind with lewd thoughts
>"There's... rules-" you stammered back, every ounce of strength left being forced into your hands gripping the back of the couch.
>"-For clients, baby. Touch me."
>And just like that, your strength left you, and you the current dragged you under
>You hands shot to her body, one around her back to her shoulder, and the other grabbing a handful of her plump ass, eliciting an appreciative gasp from her
>One hand left your head and began to work on the buttons of your shirt, while yours continued to selfishly explore her body
>Emma wasn't slim, but she wasn't fat either. More than enough to play with
>Where was it... there.
>The zip to her dress. 
>It took a couple of tries to get hold of it, but it unzipped mercifully easily
>You wriggled free of her chest, by her leave, and your hands slid around to cup her breasts
>Big enough to fill each hand, and then some
>You looked into her face with half-lidded eyes. She was biting her lip, eyes closed
>She leaned back, bringing her full weight to bear against your dick, and you groaned with pleasure
>"Good boy..." she breathed
>Some pressure lifted off your groin for but a moment, before her hand slipped underneath your pants wrapped around your member, sending a rush of lightning coursing through your entire body
>You instictively lifted your hips up into her, almost throwing the two of you off the couch
>She giggled seductively, sliding back to free your cock of it's prison. God, she worked quickly
>"Well, aren't you eager," she mused, stroking your head with one hand and your face with the other
>You had no response, other than a reciprical fondle of your own, as your hand slid beneath her panties
>She shuddered on top of you, waves of pleasure crashing through your entire body as she did so
>What the hell did she put in your drink? 
>She sunk down and kissed you again, seeing you had clearly gotten enough air for now
>You didn't care anymore. You don't even think you ever cared to begin with
>You wriggled free of your pants, sliding sideways down the couch
>Letting her pull you under
>Drag you down
>Keep you submerged
>She kept her body pressed up against yours, as she reached back to your balls
>Sliding each one between her fingers, finishing with a gentle squeeze
>She stroked her way up your shaft, and pressed you against her wet opening
>She paused, savoring that moment just before
>Your heart thundered in your chest and your vision blurred, even before she lowered her hips, slowly engulfing you
>That just made it even worse. Or better
>About halfway down she stopped, lifted up ever so slightly, and dropped her weight back down with a dominating burst of lust
>You moaned into her mouth as she squeaked into yours
>Her walls, previously inviting and accommodating, began to squeeze your entire length now she had you in her grasp
>She began to slide her hips up and down again
>Slowly and methodically, leaving no part of your cock untouched nor unloved
>Your hands instictively found their way to her hips
>You let her do the work for a few seconds
>But it was so good
>So damn, torturosly good
>You thrust your hips up into her, desperate to be inside her
>That earned you a loud moan of pleasure from her
>She broke the kiss, placing her hands your chest and pushing herself back up to a sitting position, pressing her weight down on you again, keeping you full sheathed inside her
>There was a glint in her eye. Annoyance, you think, for trying to wrest control from her
>She was going to punish you for that one
>Oh fuck yes
>She goes to say something, but her own desires give way and she slams her hips against you with an increased tempo
>You could tell she wanted to take her time with you. Make you squirm. Make you beg.
>But it had backfired, and she was as lost in the sea of indulgence as you were
>It didn't take her long to bring you to the edge
>She was attentive and relentless
>You tried to say something, but you could barely form more than two words before grunting and losing your train of thought
>But she could see it in your face
>"Go ahead baby," she cooed, her words interlaced with sweet moans of ectasy. "Let it all loose. Let it all out inside me."
>She wanted it too
>And then
>That damned smile. That one that look like it came from Hell itself
>She slammed her hips down on you harder than you thought she was capable of, and held herself down
>You groaned out loud, your head rolling back and your feet pushing up against the couch, trying to find purchase on something
>Anything to just get one more thrust
>Your cock ached and your balls twitched, primed and ready to fire
>But she put the god damned safety back on and the troops were in retreat
>"Come on, hun," she teased, your orgasm beginning to slowly recede. "Don't you want it?"
>Slyly, she reached back and gave your balls a reassuring squeeze
>Retreat order disregarded, prepare to go over the top
>You slapped her ass and groaned out a surrender
>Her smile widened, and she leaned back down onto you, roughly shoving her tongue into your mouth
>You fought against it with your own, your hands gripping her ass firmly and bucking your hips with the little room she mercifully gave you
>Like a slingshot, your orgasm swung back around and exploded out of you, and a strong rope of cum blasted into her pussy
>Again, it clenched around you, pulling another load out of you, while you gladly and eagely obliged
>Over and over, trapped inside this loop
>She groaned and shuddered on top of you, her thighs clenching against your hips and her legs sliding underneath you and locking around the backs of your knees
>You couldn't escape her, even if you wanted to. 
>And there was no way you wanted to
>Your vision went white

_________________

It was going so well. The drive in was quiet, the location was a little open and it had begun to rain, but the gangbangers had cleared it and were willing to cut the deal with no hassle. There was a moment, before the bags changed hands and the deal was done, where Sammy could have sworn he heard music. He turned his head slightly, trying to catch a better angle on it. A violin, going crazy with a quick tune. And then their leader's head exploded all over his face, staining his white fur red, and then he saw it. A red glow in the middle distance.

The black retriever was the next to go down, but not before he hoisted Sammy back to the car for cover, firing his pistol as he went. There were more of the gangbangers then any of them had anticipated, at least four crawling out of the woodwork after the first shot thundered across the construction yard. A puff of fur and leather exploded out of his chest and he flew backwards, bouncing his head against the wall and slumping motionlessly on the ground.

Another shot thundered out, followed by a scream of raw terror. Sammy dared to peek out from cover to see one of the gangbangers, equally covered in blood, brains and gore as he was, abandon his weapon and take off out of the the yard. Another clap of thunder, and his chest was ripped asunder, a veritable explosion of blood rippling out and painting the dirt red. Sammy dipped his head back under, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated with fear.

"You motherfuckers, you set us up!" shouted one of the gangbangers, firing what sounded like an Uzi that was quickly silenced by a single bark from the pitbulls shotgun. The bullets finally stopped, and Sammy looked over to his companion. He held his hand open, motioning him to stay down, and stuck to cover. The sky rumbled with real thunder this time, and the pitbull pumped a fresh shell into the chamber, and continued to wait.

Nothing. No more footsteps, no more gunfire. He poked his head out, and looked around. After a few seconds, still nothing. The pitbull, pulling a grimace, then began to jog over to the car where Sammy was sat. 
"This was a damned set up alright, and it weren't us, so let's get the fu-"
BOOM.
A spray of blood left the pitbull's skull, and a flash of lightning pierced the sky as his body hit the floor. Sammy let out a panicked scream, and he gripped both sides of his head and closed his eyes, wailing in despair. Nobody was going to save his ass now; he was going to die.
He sat there for a few minutes, slowly getting soaked by the rain, waiting for the assassin to blow his head off next, but instead he heard it again. The music. Sammy opened his eyes, his curiousity finally winning over his fear, and he pushed himself to his feet. If he was going to die, he wanted to look his killer in the eye, at least. 

And there he was. Sammy saw that red glow first, on the top of one of the unfinished buildings. A dark, tall, lithe figure, dressed in black, a white collar of fur, their face glowing with a red skull, their guns stowed away at their sides and their arms outstretched as if welcoming the rain. Sammy squinted; he couldn't make out any other details; no face except that skull, no idea what kind of guns those even where. Not even so much as a tail. The figure's head lowered, and the skull faced Sammy directly, turning his blood cold. It spun on the spot, like a dance, a sunk into a low bow. The shoulders shivered for a moment, and a hand reached up to it's face. It stood back upright and faced the sky again, the glowing red skull gone, leaving nothing but an empty void where it's face ought to have been, and it roared out a cathartic cackle into the night sky.
Another flash of lightning made Sammy flinch and blink, and the figure was gone. 
"What the..." he murmured, before a groan behind him made him turn on the spot. It was the black retriever, rolling over and gripping his head. "Ah shit, Slim, are you okay man?"
"Argh... Someone other than Pits had a 12 gauge, for sho'," he coughed, clutching at his hole in jacket and kevlar vest, while Sammy raced over, hooking Slim's arm over his shoulder and lifting him up.
"Pits is dead man, we gotta get the fuck outta here. We're in deep shit," Sammy panicked, pulling the passenger door open and stowing Slim inside, throwing the back of money into the back. For a moment, an idea took him, and he looked back to the headless body a few yards away from him, the bag of goods a few inches besides. It was such a bad idea. He sprinted over, scooping the bag up, and raced back to the car, diving into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life, and the car skidded out through a chain-linked fence and back onto the street, leaving the dead where they lay.
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[Chapter 3 : Snake Charmer]

You didn't sleep that night. Even when you closed your eyes, snuggled up close to a soft, cuddly, beautiful squirrel that beckoned something primal out of you, basking in the warm afterglow of a night of long-imprisoned passions, you couldn't drift off. Maybe it was the drug she put in your drink. You'd feel that fire begin to spread across your body again, from the embers you thought the two of your spent, and you'd open your eyes to see Emma do the very same, her emerald eyes sparkling with that same fire. She'd stroke your face with a knowing, comforting touch, and you'd share a deep kiss, trying to bury yourself deeper into her fur and her scent. 
You wanted to ask her how she did it. Why she did it. Why she picked you out from every other well-dressed thug, every other two-bit loser. How she managed to bait you out from underneath your shell. How she knew just how terrified of that dark abyss swirling beneath your feet you were, of being dragged under and turned into one of those monsters that lurked underneath, and let you hold onto her while you drifted across the surface, taunting that abyss all the while. Who was she? What was she? Certainly not an angel, not with that grin she had.
The sun had come up a few hours ago, and the two of you continued to lay there, eyes closed, enjoying each other's company, when you finally worked up the courage to ask her.
"Why me?"
She didn't open her eyes, and merely traced lazy circles on your chest with her fingers.
"Lotsa reasons, darlin'," Emma breathed.
"Well, start from the beginning."
She sighed, pushing her nose against you. "...You shouldn't worry about it." Typical. Completely dodging the question.
She let the silence hang for a moment, before she followed up. "I'm not going anywhere."

She did it again. She picked out the heart of the problem, and skewered it perfectly, dancing around your normally shrewd instincts all the while. You had a god damned enigma with her arms and legs latched around you, and she had taken a permanent residence in your head.
"It's kinda frustrating when you do that," you huffed, your faux-grumpy voice missing the mark entirely.
"You love it," she chittered, opening her eyes fully, reaching her hand up and booping you lightly on the nose. "Keeps you on your toes."
You scrunched up your face. That cheeky little fucker. Your hands slipped down to her sides and dug in, your fingers wiggling, and she let out an excited cry.
"Ahh! That tickles," she giggled, trying to squirm away from you. But you had the upper hand here, and you rolled onto your side, pinning her arm with one hand and continuing your assault with the other, while you dove down to trail kisses down her neck.
To be fair, she wasn't wrong.
_________________

Monday night came too soon for your liking. Emma's absence bugged you as well; she was nowhere to be found at Final Heaven, and enquiries into where she lived or hung out regularly were met with shrugs and blank stares. You wanted to spend a night with with your senses present, partly to feel her soft fur brush against your skin once again, and partly to try and get some level of insight of just what was going in that girl's brain. But once again, she danced irritatingly out of your reach. You let out a frustrated chuckle as you recalled that impish grin of hers in your mind's eye.
You looked around the lobby of the fancy hotel you unfortunately found yourself in. East side was always the richer side of this city, and a lot of that territory fell under Sandiego's jurisdiction. Hotels, casinos, high-end cocktail bars; all the places that rich people fled to get away from the plebs, the serfs, and all those other dirty undesirable people. People like you, and they let you know, in their subtle, petty ways. They'd avert their gaze, turn up their noses and quicken their pace. It hurt a little; you thought you looked pretty sharp, like a respectable gentleman. All things considered, you were, so maybe it was the company you kept.
"Mr. Anon?" A voice broke you out of your reflections, and you looked up. A well-groomed fox stood close by, an arm crossed behind his back, dressed like a traditional English butler. Even had an accent like a proper toff. There was something about him that didn't sit right with you.
"Ms. Sandiego will see you now."
"Right," came your short reply, standing up and brushing the creases out of your coat. He led you down the lobby, to an elevator that conveniently opened as you approached. He motioned for you to step inside, and followed you in as you obliged, pushing a button towards the top of the panel. Level 60. You knew this was a tall building, but that was damn high up.

After a few seconds, he broke the silence you had hoped to keep.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to turn over any weapons in your possession, sir." He stated in a calm and even tone. You gave him a sideways glance; he maintained that same posture, but you could see it in his shoulders, and in the stillness of his knees. He was coiled like a spring, ready to pounce if it went wrong. Did you give off the vibe of some kind of troublemaker, or was this what he always did.
"That's fair," you acquiesced. "9mm in my right hip holster, taking it out now." You hated tense elevator rides; best to let him know what you were doing as you did it. You unhooked the automatic you had taken from that grey wolf, haven given it the oil and love it needed, checked the safety was on, and handed it to the fox, grip first. He took it, and stowed it into a bag.
"Boot knife, left leg." Again, you disarmed yourself and handed it to the fox. He looked more at ease now.
"... .44 revolver in my left shoulder holster." The passover this time was a little more reluctant. "This one's a bit more special to me, you take good care of her."
"A good revolver is always special, sir." 
You took one last look at your gun, before holding it out for the fox to take. He took the grip in his hand, and held it for a moment, admiring it. 
"Very good, sir." He said shortly, placing it in the bag with a noticeable degree more of care. "Is that all?"
"Good for a Monday night, at least."
He doesn't respond to your joke. An awkward minute passed, and your eyes began to wander. It was then you realised what it was about him that you couldn't put your finger on; his tail was missing. 
"A debt was paid," he explained shortly, noticing your gaze. You didn't press the issue further.
The elevator mercifully slows to a halt and pings as it opens to another, smaller lobby. A long red carpet connects the elevator to a large, ornate set of wooden doors with golden handles. The butler leads you to the door, moving to an intercom on the side and pushing a button.
"Ms Sandiego? Mr. Anon is here to see you."
After a few seconds, the door opens and a large bull's head is seen in the gap, dressed in a tuxedo that doesn't look like it fits at all. He looks from you to the butler, nodding and pulling a single door open, closing it briskly at your stepped into the threshold.
Everything in this room was big; the doors, the windows, the curtains, the desk, and the bed. It must have been the grand suite. The windows took up an entire wall, the neon lights of the city painting the horizon with a harsh glow. Breaking the scenery stood a tall, thin, hooded cobra, dressed in a body-hugging green and red dress, with some kind of yellow floral pattern to it, her back turned to you as she smoked one of those really long pipes. Her hip jutted out ever so slightly, and her tail began to gently sway and weave as you entered the room. Her dark scales were lined with green markings, that almost glowed as they fell into shadow.
"Leave us," she spoke suddenly, with a tiny hiss at the end that left a cold feeling in your gut. Without so much a word, the servants and bodyguards left the room, closing the door behind them, leaving the two of you alone. She turned to face you, maintaining her nigh-mezmorizing sway, a sultry smirk planted on her serpentine face. You weren't exactly sure what you were expecting, but you weren't quite expecting to meet a snake-woman with legs as long as her hers, nor breasts as large. That said, her kind were as rare in this city as humans were.

"Like what you see, Anon?" She cooed seductively, taking a few confident steps forward and leaning against the desk.
You wanted to make a sarcastic comment about the relative rarity of a snake with tits, but bit your tongue. It was better to play this smart, make it all about business. "You wanted to see me personally, Ms Sandiego?" You asked, placing your hands behind your back and gripping your wrist lightly.
"No need to be so formal," she laughed lightly, taking a hit on her long pipe and gesturing to a decorated, comfortable looking chair a few feet from her. You hesitated for a second, weighing your options, before deciding better to relent and play along for the time being, stepping forward and settling in to your seat. She leaned forward, a little too far if she was aiming for modesty, her breasts squishing together as the hung in front of your face, and she exhaled a breath of smoke a little closer to your face than you felt comfortable with. It had the slightest minty tinge to the smell, and a warm feeling spread across your cheeks as the cold feeling in your gut began to swell.
"Call me Fiora, Anon. And yes, I did want to see you, personally." There was a stronger intonation to the final word that made your skin tingle in one direction and crawl in the other. She paused, examining your face closely, before continuing.
"Mmm," she hummed approvingly, her voice taking on a sugary sweetness. "The Carlisles have an eye for good talent. They were right to scoop you up a catch as good as you so early. A shame my husband didn't feel the same about ex-law enforcement. If I had my way, I would have made you so much more than just some silly old bear's enforcer."
So, she knew who your boss was. Meaning she had her eye on you for a while. She brought a delicate finger to your chin, making sure her glowing green eyes were anchored to your own. Part of you wanted to move away, but part of you... didn't. You couldn't bring yourself to move.
"But now, I /can/ have things my way," she concluded, her forked tongue flicking out mere inches from your nose, her eyes flashing with a predatory spark. Your eyes hung with a sudden heaviness for a moment, and a dull buzzing sound began to flood your senses. You couldn't think straight. 
>Remember her name
A voice deep inside your skull suddenly stood up within the captive audience, screaming into the ringing silence. 

>Her soft fur
>Her soothing touch
>Her sparkling green eyes, full of warmth and comfort
>Emma

"...Sorry, Ms. Sandiego," you replied, finally finding your voice and feeling the gears in your mind finally grind back to life. "I'm afraid my coat doesn't turn."
Her complexion didn't change in the slightest, but her hand did leave your face and she stood up with a small sigh of impatience.
"A man of honor," she smiled, a hand tracing her own shoulder lightly. "And one that isn't afraid to tell me what I don't want to hear. I have such a need for someone like that around here. Perhaps you need more... convincing."
She reached back and gave a firm tug at one of the tassles of her dress, and it fell awayaway to reveal her voloptuous, curvacious body. Her scales softened from their dark hue into a softer, lighter purple shade at the centre of her body, complimenting her toned stomach and thighs. Her cloaca was puffy, and the light from the streets below betrayed a slight glistening texture to them.

|||"Take me, Anon."|||

That was as blatant as it could have been, and while you had steeled yourself for more mental groundwork as she tried the more subtle, you weren't quite ready for the raw overpowering sense of lust and loss of inhibitions that hit you. You sprung out of your chair, moving towards her with an arm outstretched towards her breast and an almost primal, bestial need. You forgot everything else in the world; there was only Fiora. The things you could do to her. The things she could do to you.
You caught your reflection in the window for just a moment. A weary figure, clothes torn and bloodied, and the city nights all blurred into shards of broken glass all around you. Your face was no longer your own, but swollen, made of leather, black beady eyes too far apart that seemed to hold the void within them. Blood smeared across the nose and the left eye, and it was looking directly at you. You could feel an oppressive kind of disgust radiating from it, and fear stopped you dead in your tracks.
"Well?" It spoke with a gravelly voice, mouth unmoving. "What now, officer?"

That cold feeling returned to your gut, stronger than before, and you managed to grab hold of the chair and swing it around between the two of you, placing a physical barrier between the two of you for you to lean on. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, before opening them into a deep scowl and looking the rapacious serpent straight back into her eyes.

|||"Put your damn clothes back on."|||

Your head felt like it was going to burst when you did that. It was one thing to influence someone here,to  suggest to someone there. But this was a raw battle of wills. You hand tightened around the arm of the chair, your knuckles turning as white as a ghost. For a moment, neither you nor Fiora moved, frozen in time and space. She didn't even lose her self-confident, omniscient smile.

Until she did. Her face contorted and shrunk, and then widened into a mixture of fear and embarassment. She looked down to her discarded dress, and dove down to retrieve it.

>Your hand relented on the chair for just a second
>Before losing its grip completely
>...
_________________
The journey back down to the ground floor was as awkward as it was coming up. But, if nothing else, you felt glad to be in possession of your weapons once more. Your revolver especially. She deserved a name, but nothing really called out to you. No name made itself worthy of her, of the times she saved both your life and the lives of the innocent. 

"Have a pleasant evening, sir," the butler said, once again prying you from your musings as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open, back into the lobby.
"... You as well," you nodded, stuffing your hands into your pockets and making a beeline to the rotating door taking you back out into the street. It was cold outside, and a distant rumble made the anthros shiver and quicken their pace to shelter. You turned a few corners, finding yourself at the mouth of an alleyway that Sammy said he'd meet you at. Late as expected.

No big deal, you thought, removing your hat and letting out a heavy sigh. You liked the rain, and you could do with a cold shower after that encounter. And with a sudden, uncontrolled heave, you vomited.

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