All In A Days Work 25

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.

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All in A Day's Work

Clinking champagne flutes, the upper class murmured through conversation with politely averted eyes, pretending not to see the crux of the matter before them. A chandelier - crystal, nothing less - hung from the ceiling, sparkling as if it contained the fire of a thousand torches, all sparked up at once so that their light stretched into even the darkest of corners. It was one of those dark corners, shadowed by a fold of delicate curtain over a window that spanned from floor to high, high up ceiling, where a certain dragon was found, garbed in a sleek evening dress that showed off her voluptuous cleavage.

Ah yes, Chris was a dragoness with assets indeed.

Standing tall, her black dress fell down to her hind paws, encased in heels that were high enough to merge into the crowd and slip-on so she could kick them off in a hurry. The shoes matched the tenor of the dress, encrusted with black diamonds, and she fingered the fabric wistfully. It would have to go back to its owner at the end of the night, though this was one she wished she could keep after the job was done. She'd polished her white scales to a shine and applied glossy oil to the grey running down from the underside of her jaw to disappear into the plunging neckline of her attire. Her scales gleamed with good health and, although it was a bit striking for a party of the upper class, her blue hair was combed back in its usual Mohawk, slinking down the back of her neck in a light mane.

Chris narrowed her eyes, letting a sigh roll off her shoulders as her gaze shifted from fur to fur, observing their delight in the evening without participating herself. She was not there for pleasure. She had taken the bare minimum amount of time required to garb herself for the evening, paying more attention to the firearm strapped to her inner thigh, close to the joint. It sat there, a cooling weight, where it would not show through the dress, in prime condition. Chris' lips twisted. It was not where she would have preferred to keep the pistol but it would have to do. It would be ridiculous to have a handgun strapped to her belt at such a high class affair and would cause more problems than it solved.

Still, she missed its comfort, a paw's breadth away in a crisis.

Chris brought a flute to her lips and tipped it up, though she did not drink, simple falsifying the motion to convince the guests that, yes, she was indeed one of them. But the dragon had more important matters on her mind than socialising, eyes darting around the expansive reception with a business-like focus. How could they take in the world without truly feeling or experiencing it in their hearts? Everything she had experienced of the upper class world since being hired as the bodyguard for politician Michael Harris disillusioned her further and further from the notion of money sealing in happiness. She could not speak of his policies; her contract didn't allow it anyway.

She sighed for a second time. Theirs was another world entirely.

Michael Harris caught her eye from a few metres away and beamed. She had taken a step back to absorb his surroundings and check for threats that were perhaps not in the immediate vicinity. The dragoness lifted her paw in a gentle wave, fingers flicking and dropping back to her side. To stay away from his side for longer would give her more peace of mind as he was surrounded by companions, but, alas, the job demanded her presence at the side of the wolverine for the majority of the time. There was no one of note attending the party, regardless, and she dipped her muzzle as she walked to rejoin the group, taking shorter strides than normal due to her high heels.

Here we go...

"Ah, Christina!"

She wrinkled her muzzle, hiding her expression behind a polite smile. That was not her name. Her name was Christa. Chris for short, if she was being picky. Apparently that was not 'fancy' enough for Mr Harris with potential supporters peering at her over the rims of their glasses. She heard the name of Mr Harris' companion without taking in the information and she blinked as the shorter otter with oiled brown fur held out his paw to her, his smile not reaching his eyes. The group judged silently as she extended her paw to the otter to shake, grip perfectly firm and simultaneously light as befitted a lady in such company. Her true handshake would have crushed bones.

There was not much to be done for the company and the dragoness laughed and smiled as politely as she was bale without losing focus on her job of the evening: keeping Mr Harris safe. He could parade her around like a butterfly on his paw all he liked as long as she had the time and space to watch him and survey their surroundings for threats. It was unlikely that anyone other than a rogue drunk - perhaps when returning to his car? - would cause trouble, but, having worked with many other high profile clients with a great deal more to lose, Chris could not be too careful.

She was forced to sip from her champagne when the group noticed that the level was yet to deplete and did so grudgingly, long tail curling against her legs. Didn't they realise she was there to work and no more than that? She could have had a nice time if she was at a party with friends, something entirely different, but slow dancing, vapid conversation and chords of Mozart was not something she would have chosen to do on a Saturday night.

The party had a deadline, however, and Chris breathed at long last when she stepped into the cool night air, waving off Mr Harris' company with a less polite paw, professional mask slipping for the briefest of instances. She didn't know a single one of their names still.

"Splendid night," Mr Harris said, sitting in the back of the car with Chris on the opposite side, a seat between them. "I am more than confident that they will lend their support to my campaign, taking me to the next tier. Certain, in fact!"

"I hope everything goes as planned for you," Chris replied, not entirely sure of what she was hoping.

Mainly she was hoping for a hot shower that night and anticipating such, mind wandering as the car purred into life, gliding down the road as if it was floating, so quiet was the engine. The dragoness chuckled to herself. She preferred something with a little more bite.

In no time at all, they started back to life in the back seat as the car slowed outside Michael's home, one light on in the front room window, set behind the finely groomed garden. There was not much of it to see in the dark but the open, spacious style of the interior with no expense spared was the type of home that Chris imagined living in one day.

The wolverine fumbled a goodbye, words slurred, and hopped out of the car without as much as a 'thank you' to his driver, stumbling onto the pavement. Too many drinks at such an event made Chris wonder what promises he had made. Yet that was not her concern to bear and she put it from her mind as she relaxed back into the seat, tension easing from the centre of her back at long last. It had been a long night.

"Oh, Chris?"

Michael popped his head back into the car, whiskers twitching about his sharp muzzle. The dragoness tilted her head expectantly: yes?

"I won't be needing your services tomorrow," he said. "The dinner's been cancelled. Take the day off." He smiled generously. "You've earned it."

Great. Chris flinched. That was another day of work gone out the window. Did the idiot not realise that that was a day she could have spent working for another client? And now it was lost. She couldn't have dinner with her family like he could, not so easily.

"Of course," she said smoothly, recovering in the blink of an eye. "I will see you on Monday."

Watching Michael walk away through the tinted windows, Chris' paw curled into a fist, claws digging pricks of pain into her palm. Arsehole. The canine in the driver's seat turned to look back at her, eyes warmer than any she had seen that night.

"Home right away, Chris?"

"That would be divine," she said, rolling her shoulders. "It's been one heck of a night, Jack."

"I can tell."

The Golden Retriever driver chuckled, pulling away from the curb. He knew the route to the dragoness' home almost better than she did, but, as per instruction, he was careful to take a zigzag route, intended to trip up any followers. Frankly, Chris felt Mr Harris was being overly cautious but it mattered little to her as long as his deposits went through in a timely manner.

She waved to Jack as he left her on her doorstep, the canine picking up a higher speed now that she was no longer in the car. Chris shook her head. That dog was not one to look after his own safety, though she probably worried too much. He was an excellent driver, after all, and home called.

Her Aston Martin sat in the wide driveway, pristine, and she blew it a kiss, fluttering her fingers at the sleek hood as if flirting with a lover. Chris laughed aloud at her own fun, breath frosting before her muzzle in the glow of the street lamps.

Maybe that day off wouldn't be so bad, after all, if she could take her boy for a spin.

Unlocking the front door, she stepped over a pile of post and flipped on the lights to kick off her heels with a soft sigh of relief. Her soles throbbed with residual soreness and she yearned for nothing less than the hottest, steamiest shower that she could imagine, scorching the scales off her body. She patted her stomach, hunger pangs absent despite the hour after work. At least her stomach was full from the party, if she would be queasy from such rich food in the morning. That was one thing she had to remember, that all things came to pass, whether they were good or bad. Rich food one evening, iffy stomach the next morning - all was in balance.

On light paws, she sprung up the stairs, relishing in the power of her body, kept contained all night with uncomfortable, if pretty, clothing and heels of doom. Who would wear those things every day? She shuddered, wheeling into the bathroom at such speed that her tail slapped the door frame. The shower was much needed!

Setting the shower to the highest setting - still not enough for a dragoness - Chris stripped the dress from her body and tossed it lightly over the clothes horse, draping it so that it would not crease. It was to go back to Mr Harris on their next meeting and she frowned to imagine it hung up in a dusty wardrobe somewhere, unloved and unwanted after its one-time use. It was only a shame that he had not gifted it to her, since he had so insisted that she wear feminine formal attire.

Looking down the length of her body, the dragoness shimmied out of her underwear and dropped it on the floor, taking in her firm body, muscle rippling beneath scales. Out of the confines of the dress, it was difficult to deny her level of fitness. The gun was last to go, settled carefully on the white bathroom counter beside the sink, which was built into the unit. Only then did she step into the shower cubicle and moan softly as hot water cascaded over her scales, soaking hair down her scalp and neck.

In all honesty, she lost herself for a time under the soothing patter of water, increasing the pressure so that it massaged her scales. The dragoness rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the tension of the day and stretching out sore muscles. The night may have been ticking on but this time and this time alone was Chris'. She would not sacrifice it for any sensible night and early turn into bed.

Dreaming beneath the hot stream of water, the dragon shifted, slowly aware of a different need than the previously overwhelming desire to be clean. The tip of her tail flicked back and forth and she cupped a breast under the pretence of scouring dirt from her scales, nipple perking into her paw. Squeaking, Chris trembled and treated her other breast to the same attention, stroking and teasing the sensitive scales until her lips parted and she panted softly, hair plastered to her scalp. Though the bare shower floor was slippery underfoot, she could not find in herself to pause and find the shower mat. Need burned in her lower abdomen, an itch that she needed to scratch. She thrust her hips lightly, imagination already running wild with fantasies.

Oh, so that's how it's going to be, is it?

The dragoness raised an eyebrow at her blurred outline in the shower cubicle door, a ghostly glow, and grinned widely.

Paw slipping down the scales of her lower abdomen, her lips flickered into a smile as she dared lower and lower and lower. The tip of one claw tickled her clitoris and she inhaled, nostrils flaring as her eyes closed and her head rolled back against the tiles, cool on the rear side of her head. Chris quivered, smile remaining as the warm water and her paw soothed her to a better state of mind.

Every dragoness deserved to relax after a long day at work.

Especially Chris.

Who was there to stop her? The time was hers and hers alone. Running a paw up her abdomen, she shivered under her own touch, imagining the sinuous lion from the event stroking her scales instead. His conversation had lacked but he had somehow managed to compact pure muscle into a form that looked to have been more apt for slinking around the Serengeti, deceptively lithe. The dragoness' lips twisted as she caressed a nipple, drawing it into a taut peak. He wouldn't have needed to talk in bed if she had been able to take him home with her.

It was a shame. But that was what fantasies were for.

Chris trembled under the streaming water as she traced back down to her abdomen, readily parting her thighs for her paw. Rubbing the pad of her fingers over her lips, covered in softer, more delicate scales, she gasped, not bothering to be quiet when there was no one to hear. It had been a long while since she had had flatmates. Pushing between her lips, she nudged the tips of two fingers into her pussy, careful of the short, blunt claws as she pushed them in up to the knuckle with a sharp inhalation. Gods! She was already wet and not from the shower either. More than that... She was soaked. The dragoness flushed. Had the night riled her up so much? The thought of that lion and his sleek, muscled body winding about her?

Chris rolled her head, tongue lolling, and thrust her hips out against her imaginary lover. She was not usually so quick to penetrate herself in play, drawing out the foreplay until she was practically grinding back on her favourite toy with the sweetest and neediest of whimpers. Yet it was no time to deny pleasure, not when it was so sorely needed.

One paw lay flat against the cubicle glass and she leaned into it, back arching as her tail flicked up in invitation. Her paw worked, thrusting two digits and then a third deep into her dripping cunny for the rough, coarse pumps she needed so badly. The dragoness moaned, breath steaming up the glass where she had swiped it clean with condensation. Her paw slipped and she yelped, catching herself in the nick of time, only to press her muzzle to the cool surface and slink her other paw down, pressing and rubbing her clit with fervour that surprised even her.

Had it been so long? Whimpering, the dragoness bucked and saw her mind's eye lion mount her on the bed at her request, a barbed cock driving in to the hilt. She snarled and bucked, grinding back on to her own paw, tail arched high over her body. Sometimes, when playing, she pushed the tip of her tail into her pussy, just for something thicker to ride, but Chris was one to prefer a more personal touch. Her fingers knew the sway of her body better than a clumsy limb, as delicious as the sensation could be.

Quick, too quick.

Growling, Chris closed her eyes and lost herself in the arms of the lion, flipping him over on the bed with her finely muscled body to ride him, hips slamming down to meet his eager thrusts. Her pussy clenched and squeezed around her fingers as if trying to drag her paw deeper while she rose to her tiptoes, calves straining to hold her up against a partner better than reality. She worked quickly, increasing the pressure on her clit and squeezing the nub between her fingers until the pleasure built and built, water lapping at the very point of breaking. The dragoness took a breath.

Tipping over the edge to orgasm, Chris plummeted into the abyss. Orgasm crashed over her like a wave, an old friend rather than a shock to the system. Her hips jerked without due will and she howled, cries echoing around the cubicle. It was just as well that she had no neighbours sharing walls and that her home was detached for all the times she'd yowled out her pleasure with and without a partner.

The dragoness rolled her hips back, paw soaked with her own juices, as muscles twitched. It was a thrill to be beyond the control of her mind, oddly exhilarating to contrast the tight leash that she kept on her body at all other times. Hissing through her teeth, Chris' tongue flicked out over the comparatively cold glass, eyes half-lidded as she rode her orgasm to the sweet afterglow. Her legs shook, knees weak, and the dragoness giggled breathlessly. It was as if she had pounded time on the treadmill, not just enjoyed herself in the shower! A shower was supposed to be relaxing, honestly.

Gasping for lost breath, the dragoness twisted, pushing her muzzle out and away from the glass as the last tremors of pleasure rocked her body, lasting far longer than usual. Chris groaned, tongue snaking out to lap moisture from the side of her muzzle. If she did not know better, she would have said that the water had acted as a conductor for ecstasy.

Leaning back against the back wall of the shower cubicle, the dragoness let the warm water wash over her soothingly, the skin beneath her scales tingling as she came down from her high. Her legs trembled and she rubbed the side of her muzzle with a shaky paw, laughing at how her orgasm had worn even her out. A bodyguard reduced to a quivering heap after a measly single orgasm. She circled her clit with the tip of one claw, idly drawing out the last sparks of pleasure.

She should have at least reached three climaxes before succumbing to exhaustion. But that was for another time, another day, another night with her own best company.

The night was getting on. Chris smiled, thrusting her muzzle into the stream with a low hiss. Ah, yes. The stars were out and the night was getting on well into the early hours of the morning.

Though she had technically already gotten off.