Were Slut

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

All work is fiction intended for fantasy only, regardless of content, and consent must always be acquired when engaging in any sex act with another adult.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

--

Paul made a face as his friends dragged him into the strip club, not really the kind of guy who wanted to be seen in that kind of establishment. A little on the quiet side, shyer than most, some would have called him nerdy, though the glasses that were forever slipping down his nose didn't help with that perception.

"Come on, Paul - you've got to give it a go sometime!"

He muttered something under his breath, running his fingers back through his short hair and resting them on the back of his neck, though he knew that that was not a battle that he was going to win. He tried to hold his breath as he entered the club, the din of music and flashing lights overwhelming, but it was not so easy to go back after one had begun, forced to take on the onslaught with as much bravery as he might have faced down a dragon in the latest current video game that he was wrapped up in completing.

Yet the club was as intoxicating as it was forbidden to something like him, feet moving without his bidden, his shoes new and a little too smart for the occasion. Yet trainers had not seemed appropriate either and his shirt was rolled back to the sleeves, plain-ish for going out without seeming like he wasn't trying at all. His group of friends, ranging more than one may have expected, went from either end of the spectrum, though he would not be fortunate enough to have them to back him up for much longer.

Once inside, they split up, leaving Paul on his own, flailing for something that he knew and recognised in an environment that could not help but be entirely foreign to him. It was strange, so very strange, but the dancing ladies, well... They were something to look at.

He crept through the crowd of guys who seemed a damn side more comfortable there than he was but, well, anyone would have been more comfortable there than Paul with his wealth of inexperience. He'd been with a woman (well, two) before but that didn't mean that he was either comfortable or experienced, even if most people could expect their early sexual fun to be clumsy and a little awkward. Anyone who said otherwise was lying to themselves, or at least that was what Paul told himself as other guys bragged about sexual exploits that simply didn't seem possible with how little he saw them hanging out around women, let alone with women.

Still... There was something to be seen there, creeping to the edge of the stage, money in his hand. It didn't seem right to just toss it down but something pulled anxiously in the pit of his stomach, bubbling and gurgling with aroused unease, as much as he may have otherwise wanted to deny it. They weren't just normal women, after all, but were far more scantily clad than he had ever seen anyone on the street, even in cosplay, bosoms barely contained by their bras and underwear leaving very little to the imagination as much as he tried to not let his gaze linger.

Yet the most interesting thing about them, even to a young man who had more things than merely that on his mind, was the fact that they were all fox-like. Humanoid still, but the costumes they had on were spectacular, their breasts swaying and jiggling as if they forged their own path in the world when it came to gravity and the influence of such. Paul gulped, their red muzzles and the slash of white stretching down from the underside of their jaws supposedly denoting them as red foxes. But how on earth could they have possibly have gotten the costumes to be so realistic?

Still, it made him feel just a little bit better to think about them erotically considering that they had to be covered up in some way if they were wearing costumes like that, even though he could not quite figure out how they worked, how they moved so seamlessly, not exposing any seams and flexing to the curves of their body without missing a single beat.

"Hey there, handsome..."

A particular buxom lady leaned over to him, swinging off a pole that was daringly close to the end of the stage. Holding up his hands, Paul tried to back off, but there were too many other guys behind and around him, hemming him in from all angles.

"Uh... Hey?"

Flustered, he fussed with his glasses while the vixen-woman laughed and ran her tongue over the edge of her lip. He blinked. How did she do that with a costume?

She made it hard not to get into it, dancing for him, swinging on the pole, one let flung out, the lights of the club glancing off her beautiful fur. The fox-woman moved on the pole as if it was a friend to her, something familiar in which she had practised and trained for many years, though he was not all that set on admiring the skill of her in that moment alone. No, his blood was up, heart pounding, aching and lusting, though he didn't want to admit to the light swelling below the belt.

That one he'd keep to himself, his modesty intact.

His friends, however, were back, Sam clapping him on the shoulder with a toothy grin. That was the only unhandsome thing about him, his teeth that were just a little bit too large for his face, but he relaxed a bit more to have someone he knew there. A beer was pressed into his hand and he drank it gratefully, even though he was not all that much of a drinker.

"Drinks are cheap here!" Sam shouted, putting his face close to Paul's ear to be heard. "Come on, let's sit down for the show!"

The show, however, turned out to be the many "furry" strippers moving in and out of the crowd. Less and less, as he downed his beer, Paul marvelled at their costumes and instead nervously lusted after the curves of their bodies, the skimpy bras very often only covering their nipples and little else. There was even one lady who only had pasties on, the tassels dangling in a myriad of sparkles as she made them dance and spin, deliberately catching his eye.

"I see you looking, darling," she said with a purr, fluttering her overly long eyelashes. "Why don't you pay for a private dance and we can get to know each other a little better here?"

Paul stuttered, fumbling with his words, but the others seemed to know better what to do, or had watched enough bad films with strip clubs in them to make some bold bravado of a pretence about what to do. She fox-woman left him in lieu of Jake, who put his hands back behind his head and struggled with where to look as she gave him a lap dance, dancing right up close and giving him an eyeful even as he sat there with a wide, goofy grin on his face.

In a way, he envied Jake but Paul could not even be sure whether words were coming out of his mouth or not, the music was so loud. Only later would he realise just why it was so loud so as to confuse patrons a little, distort the reality of their time there so that they would not quite remember it so when they returned home. One drink was relaxed with another as the fox-lady bent over with her rump practically grinding back in Jake's face, the other guys whooping and hollering in strip club fashion while the alcohol helped lower their inhibitions.

A round of cocktails was ordered and the club swayed and dipped, but Paul, increasingly relaxed and grinning like a fool, could not find it in himself to care. He cared so little, in fact, that he ordered a lap dance for himself too, much to the delight of those around him, as much as it made his heart pound and race like mad to put himself out there like that. But it was what the strippers there were used to and there for, he reasoned with himself. They were used to it and it wasn't as if he was going to do anything to them, no, never, of course not.

But not even Paul could have anticipated just how he would act in that environment, a particularly sexy vixen strutting up to him with a latex get-up, though it was only a pair of panties and a bra that pushed her breasts together, giving her a huge cleavage. He did his best to suppress a lustful grunt as she rolled her hips back at him, barely grinding over his lap, hungry eyes on him even then.

"Now then, darling," she giggled, eyes dancing flirtatiously. "Is this your first time? I'm sure I've got something special for you..."

She put his hands back down, tutting at him, though Paul had not even realised that they had lifted, trying to grope her even then. Jake and Sam said something between them and the others laughed at him but Paul could not care, did not care. He only knew that he lusted for the moment, head tipping back as she kissed his chest, in a line up to his neck, lips grazing, tickling.

They felt so real.

"Hey!"

She grabbed at his hands as they landed on her hips but Paul was too greedy for the moment as he tried to cop a feel of her arse, her fur so thick and luscious under his fingers that he really had to wonder if the fox-slut was a costume or not. It certainly felt real and it was that fog of confusion that kept his hands in place while her lips rippled in a growl, nipping him sharply on the side of his neck.

"Hands to yourself, boy! You don't touch the ladies!"

Blushing furiously, he dropped his hands, though she had not been all that rough with him, regardless of how his face burned and burned. The others laughed and joshed him but all he tried to do was to get through the rest of the lap dance with minimal embarrassment, as difficult a feat as that seemed to be in the moment. His fingers twitched and itched to touch her again, the feel of her fur simply that intoxicating, though Paul had never honestly thought himself to be that sort of guy, the one that would grope and squeeze a stripper at a club like that.

She'd been right to put him in his place, but that did not explain why his neck itched and ached so much where she'd nipped him. Plastic teeth surely should not have been able to hurt that much?

But it must have been a very good costume indeed as the others hollered at the completion of the lap dance, his money already gone but the rest of them more than eager with cash to burn. They were more than happy to spread the wealth in that manner and the vixen purred for them, tucking bills into her latex bra where they would be sure not to fall out in any kind of wayward fashion, not even as she danced and gyrated, flicking her tail for them.

"Are you feeling okay, Paul?"

He didn't know the answer to that question, his tongue thick in his mouth. The fox was back again as he stood and he shook his head, pushing her off, gasping through the words that strained to break free.

"Oof - get off!"

Swaying, he tilted, vaguely aware of someone saying that he couldn't hold his drink - but he had not had all that much to drink, even though he had, fairly, gotten more than a little handsy where it had not been deserved. Yet his stomach tipped and roiled in an oh so familiar way and he had absolutely no intention of embarrassing himself at the club by losing his stomach, even if it meant leaving early. Like that was all that much of a problem anyone to make tracks for home before the others!

The attention was not wanted as he shouldered his way a little more rudely and bodily through the crowd, flushed hot red at the advancers of other strippers working the floor. They were crazy, groping at him, grabbing - and he was the one who had to keep his hands to himself? Breathing harshly, he managed to get through, however, not seeing hide nor hair of the vixen who had nipped or caught him or something, though he still did not know quite what had happened there.

Home, he had to get home, calling a taxi cab and sliding into it with a groan of relief. Yes, that was where he needed to be, safe and secure, dropping a quick text to Jake to let him know where he'd gone. They'd understand, they all would, though he was sure too that they would be surprised he'd lasted that long.

Resting his head on the cold window of the cab, he jolted half-awake when they arrived home, managing to fumble some sort of payment together for his driver. The townhouse beckoned as he stumbled up the steps, struggling to get the key in the lock, his head feeling hotter and hotter with every passing second.

A fever? Yes, he had to have a fever, he thought to himself, lips downturned. What a time to fall sick, it really wasn't fair. He took a couple of tablets quickly, washing them down with a glass of water, but, of course, those weren't going to help him feel any better straight away, as much as he may have liked them to do so. Grumbling to himself, he changed into more comfortable clothes, a pair of loose jogging bottoms that he could wear around the house and a shirt that was too large for him but felt comfortable enough anyway for slumping and slouching.

"Damn this... Seriously... Really not on..."

He grumbled to himself even as he flopped down in his gaming "bean bag" chair in front of the TV, rubbing the side of his neck. It had not looked red or swollen when he'd taken a quick glance in the mirror but there was something most certainly not right about it, not right at all. It burned through as if he was heating up from the inside out, a spot just under the skin flaring up with prickling itchiness.

"Urf..."

He rubbed the side of his neck, a gaming controller in hand, though Paul hardly paid attention to the game on the screen at all, deviating from what he should have been doing to relax and wind down after a night that, evidently, had not gone to play. Dinosaurs roamed across the screen, some of them not contained in the cages that they should have been in, though he couldn't remember what mission he'd been on in the game or where he had left off. It should have been far more than a distraction than it was but the itchiness spread over his entire body from his neck, twisting and turning, gasping very lightly for breath that did not seem to help ease the tightness in his lungs at all.

He didn't want to think like that, like everything was changing, shifting inside him, his hips pushing up without the consent of his mind. Try as he might, focusing on the game was just not something that Paul was able to do, grunting in the back of his throat as he rolled his head from one shoulder to the other. That was in keeping with him being unwell, to be fair, as it was most often something that he did when he had a temperature, though he surely thought the pills had to be kicking in soon.

Think about the game, only the game.

If he only focused on the game he was playing, maybe things wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be able to twist and grunt and bear through it until he fell asleep.

But things were about to change as his shaft rose to attention, throbbing without any erotic thought at all to guide it. Paul couldn't help himself, head falling back, grasping his dick and pumping it wantonly, hand dug into his trousers to get to it. His hand was already pumping, stroking and teasing as it slid over the firm length, before his mind caught up to what he was doing, the pleasure too great in that moment for him to even reel in shock.

"Ah... Oh, fuck..."

He wasn't one to swear but there was no other word that felt suitable in a moment like that, as he panted, lips parted. What was he doing? Oh, but he couldn't stop, regardless of how sudden it had been, it just felt too good. The skin of his shaft slid along the flesh, so firm beneath the surface, eyes half-closed, lost in the intimacy of self-pleasure and sensation unlike anything else that he had experienced for a very long time.

"Mmmph..."

The bean bag settled a little more comfortably around him as he leaned back, shifting his weight, though the illness was no longer the dominating feature of that evening, the late night not prickling at his skin. Oh no,t here was something far more alluring to play with as he blinked, playing one-handed as he stroked his shaft, imagining that he had one of those sexy vixen strippers from the club there to grind on him. Damn, they had really been hot, even if he hadn't known quite what to do with them - but what more could have possibly been expected of him? And those costumes... If they had, uh, "access", he certainly would have gone a round with one of them!

That was not his usually way of being, imagining before that he would only ever be with one woman at a time, always keeping his eyes out for "the one" without knowing how to go after her for himself. He'd never thought about something like an orgy before, though sex was much easier to fantasise about than to actually get into with someone for himself. He knew what fantasies were, the thoughts that kept him company on lonelier nights and nights when, well, he just wanted to rub one out, as crude as that had seemed before.

Not anymore. Oh, that was all he wanted, so turned on that he had to put the controller aside, letting the monsters in the game run riot, destroying his park, though Paul no longer had it in himself to care. He grunted and groaned, his loose, comfortable trousers sliding down more, exposing his arse and crotch completely. No longer was there anything to pose a barrier to the furtively demanding strokes of his hand, lusting for more, so much more, his hand working so furiously that the slap of flesh on flesh resounded through the room as he jerked off.

He might have cum and he might not have. The pleasure was such that it was as if he was gasping and bucking his hips in orgasm the whole time, only knowing that he had to keep going. He couldn't breathe through his nose, panting too heavily, the brush of air over his own lips erotic in a strange way that he did not have the mental space to consider at that time. Sensations ramped up, the fingers of one hand curling and digging into the rough fibres of the carpet, the other sliding over his shaft again and again. There was no end to it, his shirt feeling too tight and restrictive, skin hot and prickling with something that could not be explained.

One orgasm. Another? He couldn't tell, didn't have to tell, not even as something pushed out and out and out from his face, nostrils reshaping themselves. Paul grunted but it was so far beyond his control that his mind hardly registered it as something that he should feel an emotion about, not even as his clothes disintegrated, even his underwear, leaving him bare but for his skin in a body that was no longer his to command.

But he was not quite bare, noticeably so. For, as his face became more of a snout, ears tickling up to place themselves in growing points atop his head, his skin itched with a prickle of fur, the hairs sprouting thickly all over as if they had any right to be there. Dimly, he was aware of a whimper breaking his lips but the whole scene playing out felt as if he was watching it all from a distance, something out of his control, something that he could see play out with oddly morbid fascination.

Oh, but it felt so good, even as his spine ached, his hand working and working, taking what felt like, in pulsing throb of ecstasy, yet another orgasm. The wet patch on the carpet, only to be found later, would tell that tale but it was not something at all that Paul concerned himself with in the moment. His hips worked and thrust into an invisible partner even as his spine stretched out and out from the point of his buttocks where it should have reached a natural end, fluffing up thickly. Half-twisting, he just about managed a quick glance back, the brush of a fox's tail waving merrily at him as if it had always been there.