An Extra Session

This story is about Viona, the cat-girl I always write about. It's related to the other stories, but you don't need to read them in order to understand this story.

This story contains several topics that might be offensive to you as a reader. If you dislike lesbian sex, incest, straight sex, romance, mature, prostitution or exhibitionism, this story is probably not for you. Furthermore, this story contains scenes where characters are very reluctant during sex. Although it does not involve rape, it can be offensive to sensitive readers. There is also a lot of story development and although there are several sex scenes, this story won't help you if you're looking for something to get you off quickly.

An important note: Viona, the main character in this story, is a Nekomimi; a human with a few catlike features. This story does not revolve around these characteristics, though. If you have never read stories about so called "furries" before, maybe this one will be able to ease you into liking them. Moreover, apart from Viona and her sister, all characters in this story are normal humans.

A note of thanks to The Lady (at F-list) and Darkniciad for their knowledge and insights.

---

"It's Viona. We're having a session today, remember?"

"Right, yes. Come in." Click.

I stood there, in nothing but a dress and a coat, watching as the gates to Joe's castle-like house opened. Instead of just coming out to greet me, he always answered the doorbell with his fancy intercom system. Even if he were expecting nobody but me.

Pretentious bastard.

I walked in, and shuddered at the sight of his way too big house with his way too big garden and the way too big fences and gates protecting him from the rest of the world. The pavement to his front door felt cold to my feet, and the October breeze made my legs shiver, but Joe insisted that I would never wear any tight fitting clothes, to avoid getting lines all over my body that show for hours. Although I understood that required me to not wear any underwear, I thought that it was silly to forbid pants, tank tops and the like.

But then again, he was the artist, I was the model. He was the one paying me. My employer. I had to respect his wishes. I knew that this was the best job I could possibly get, and I had to do everything to keep it.

By the time I reached his front door, he was there to open it, and stepped aside to let me in. I got a greeting in form of a nod, and other than a quick "Hi," I gave him nothing in return. He gestured towards the door to the changing room, and he must have sensed that I was in a bad mood, because he didn't ask how I was doing.

Even the changing room radiated wealth. It was large, making me guess that he sometimes had groups of models over all at once. The wooden benches felt smooth to the touch and had a very comfortably quality to them despite their hard material. During my breaks, they were perfect to sit down on and relax for a while. The wonderfully soft satin bath robes hanging by the wall came in all sizes and forms; no model of any shape would ever be unable to find a robe that fit her. The dark purple one I had claimed as my own had a fantastic look to it, and it seemed to sparkle and glow a bit when reflecting the light coming from the chandelier. That's right: a chandelier. In the dressing room, of all places. It was as if he wanted his models to be reminded of his fortune at all times, even when they were on their own.

I didn't take long to get undressed. When all you are wearing is a coat and a dress, you can be naked in a few seconds if needed. I wasn't going to break the world record, but I tried to hurry. I had to wash my feet, after all. You might wonder why, and I think this is best explained by describing they way I look.

I'm a short girl, measuring 5'4" and weighing 112 pounds. Despite my tiny frame, I'm able to turn many heads when I'm walking down the street. I tend to be quite happy about subtly displaying my 33C-25-34 figure, and even though people seem to love my breasts, the main thing that makes them stare and wonder, is my hair. Its natural color is brown, but I've been dying it cotton candy pink for several years. It has become my trademark feature, and nobody ever fails to notice me because of this.

Along with my hair, I keep my ears and tail pink, too. Indeed, I am a cat-girl, and although my body isn't furred, my ears and tail are. My ears are large, and I have the ability to perk them to the top of my head, or droop them slightly so that they hang down the sides. Other than these, my prominent catlike features are my clawed fingers and toes, my ability to purr, and the soft paddings on the soles of my feet. I never wear shoes because my claws feel uncomfortable in them, so this last feature comes in very handy. The downside is that my feet easily get dirty, and this is why I can't start modeling without thoroughly washing them first.

While I was sitting on the edge of the bath tub and rubbing a washcloth against my foot, I heard a knock on the door. "I'm here," I said, loud enough for Joe to hear. He wasn't surprised to see that I was naked already, and walked over to me, holding a few pictures. He never really cared for my privacy except during my breaks. I didn't mind this, though; he was going to be seeing me naked for several hours anyway.

"Let's see," I mused, leaning in to take a look. The poses were of the usual kind. Very exposed, but with modesty for the model's pelvic area. They always looked beautiful and very artistic, but I have to admit that I wish Joe was able to turn it into something beautiful. He was a talented artist, and his work was decent, but he put little effort into it. The act of drawing nude models was enjoyable to him, and he wasn't in it for the challenge, for the result, or for the satisfaction of making progress. I wondered if he even kept any of his drawings.

"I like this one in particular." He showed me a picture of a woman lying sideways in a sofa, her head leaning on one hand, the other hand casually resting on her belly.

"Looks okay to me. Do you want me to start with that one?" I lay the washcloth down, lifted my legs and turned around to face him while drying my feet with a towel.

"You mean, this one for the entire session? Or is this just going to be a short session?"

"No, no." He quickly shook his head, as if scared that I'd run out after one hour. "I've wanted this drawing to be something special."

I lifted my eyebrows, but certainly wasn't not going to complain. I liked the pose a lot for two reasons. First, it looked beautiful, and I was looking forward to presenting myself like that way. There's a certain portion of pride I get while modeling, even if there's only one person who gets to see me. When I know I look wonderful, the experience gets very enjoyable. The second reason was more practical. The way the woman in the picture was positioned seemed very comfortable, and I immediately saw that it would be very relaxing to do this pose. Very easy to hold for four hours.

It also struck me that he was aiming for

something special

. I wasn't going to ask about it, because I didn't want to give him the feeling that his other art wasn't special. Either way, I was curious.

I grabbed my bathrobe without putting it on (even just touching the material sent wonderful tingles to me) and followed him into the drawing room. It was very brightly lit, with two spotlights facing the sofa. I knew what to do and didn't need any instructions. I lay down on the sofa, facing him, and took on the pose I had seen in the picture. Very easy, comfortable, and exposed.

Modeling like this was always a thrill to me. Even though I had gotten used to being naked in front of Joe by now, I never lost the tingle of excitement it gave me. It didn't arouse me excessively and I didn't fantasize about it at night, but exposing myself to a much older man, knowing that he could see every bit of me, had a naughty feeling to it.

"Good?" I asked.

"Drape your tail over your leg."

I smiled and did as asked, letting the tip of my tail dangle down just above my knees. In all fairness, I liked it when he acknowledged the fact that my cat-like features were part of the pose. He always had to improvise for this, but it felt wonderful to be in the presence of somebody who does not hate cat-like people. Believe me when I say that those people are very rare. It is one of the few things I liked about Joe.

Even if our personalities weren't an exact match, I was very grateful for the things he was doing for me. I desperately needed money, and he had lots of it. After my mother's suicide, my sister and I had been very slowly spending the money she had left us. In a world of humans, xenophobia and racism, it was next to impossible for us cat-girls to find a job, other than jobs that required us to lower ourselves to the level of plain sex objects. Pornography, prostitution, strip dancing and such.

I was lucky to have seen Joe's ad in the local newspaper. The money was an amount we couldn't pass up. And compared to strip dancing, nude modeling was a piece of cake. Lily and I both applied, but when he saw us in our birthday suits for the first time, he had commented that I was okay, but Lily wasn't accepted. We didn't know why, but after I saw some of the other models he worked with, I realized that he only worked with busty models. My breasts are among the smallest I've seen in there, and Lily is yet one size smaller than myself.

"So tell me, Viona," he suddenly said, while picking up a pencil and double checking whether its tip was still ideal. I expected him to finish his sentence, but he didn't.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what's wrong." His voice had suddenly started being melodic. This never failed to amuse me: Joe had a very metered and oratory voice, with each word taking exactly as long as needed to complete the line he was drawing at the moment of pronunciation. I don't know whether he did this on purpose or not, but I never mentioned it to him. His way of talking made conversations a bit more funny to me.

Despite his strange way of saying this, he had hit the nail on its head. At this point, I think it's interesting to mention that Joe was a very good talker and a very good listener. Our sessions usually took two to four hours, and with a quiet artist, I would probably not have wanted to sit there for such a long time. Joe, despite being arrogant, pretentious and probably quite perverted, was very easy to talk to, and I could tell that he enjoyed our conversations too. We knew much about each other, and I was able to tell him when something was on my mind.

I breathed in deeply, then sighed, before realizing that I shouldn't have done that. It made my chest expand and fall, and from Joe's past instructions, I knew that this was distracting to artists, especially while drawing my chest. Joe had been looking at my face though, so I knew that no damage was done.

"We're short on money. Again." A shiver ran through my body. I hated telling my employer - the very person who paid me - about my financial problems, but there was no way around it.

"Oh." Indeed.

That

is why I didn't want to say this. I could already tell that he was not amused. To my surprise, he spoke again after a minute or two. From the stares I was getting now, I knew he was drawing my breasts. I resisted the urge to squirm a bit, but felt my nipples stiffening. This did not surprise him; it inevitably happened during all our sessions.

"What's the situation, then?" I could tell from his tone that this last word coincided with a particularly long line. He was probably drawing the outline of my torso at this point.

"Just... Bad." I sighed again, this time without the deep breath. "This is the only job I have, Joe. And I'm not complaining about the payment, but I can't live off of twelve hours of modeling per week. Besides, Lily still doesn't have a job, so you could say I have to run a family."

Joe offered a weak smile, but he too knew that this wasn't going to comfort me. The hint that I wanted him to let Lily model for him was roaring at his face, but he simply wasn't going to do it. It took him half a minute to answer, but what he said was a step in the right direction. Without realizing it, I had begun trying to manipulate him.

"Do you want an extra session?"

"Is there room for one?"

"I think there is. You could come for two hours tomorrow." Another long line.

"Two hours..." It didn't take much math for me to realize that this would not be sufficient at all. "No more?"

"No, Viona. You know there are many models and they need money too." A fair point. I wondered whether any of them were on the brink of getting booted out of their apartments because they couldn't pay the rent though.

"I suppose so," I said softly. I tried to sound sad, but while having to lie still with a neutral face expression, I was not able to convey my emotions.

Indeed, I failed at this, for a long silence followed. At one point, he took a few steps away from his canvas and began staring at me. I thought he was observing some details, but his stare lasted much longer than what's normally acceptable. I felt weird, being stared at like this, but the naughty cat inside me made me enjoy it. When he saw me giving him an inquisitive look, he spoke again. He didn't stop staring at me though.

"What do you want from me, Viona?"

I widened my eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. My intention had been to subtly influence and manipulate him, to ease a solution out of him. I was convinced that, however heartless he may be, he didn't like the idea of me having problems such as these. But with this question, he made very plain that he saw through my plans all along. I didn't know of anything to say that would not make me look like a beggar.

"If this is not enough, then you have to search for a better job," he added. His voice radiated carelessness, and he went back to looking at his canvas.

"I have been searching!" I quickly exclaimed. Knowing that I was tensing up, I took a few slow breaths, and tried to stay calm. "I mean, other than strip clubs and brothels, nobody looks for people like me."

"And how much do they pay you?"

I couldn't believe my ears. Was he suggesting that I should do this? I quickly stammered back in disbelief, "Excuse me?"

He gave me the

Are you really this stupid?

face. I swear I even saw a momentary hint of a grin.

"Exactly how bad is the situation now?"

I sighed once more. "We need to pay four months' rent by next week."

"Or?"

"Or what?" I gave him another inquisitive look.

"Is this an ultimatum?"

Frowning slightly, I nodded. We needed about twice what we had left. And if we managed to get this money and pay our debts, we'd still be nowhere in terms of what was to come. So if some kind of miracle occurred and we didn't get booted out in October, then we probably would in November.

Joe now looked at me in disbelief, and when he spoke, he sounded a bit upset, as if we were suddenly in an argument. "No offense, Viona, but you need to get over your pride and do something about this. Do you think you'll achieve anything this way?"

I immediately knew where this was headed, and worst of all, I knew it was true. Admittedly, I had thought about having sex for money, and although my relationship with Lily was very open, I knew that I would not be able to cope with this emotionally. I definitely enjoy sex, but only if my partner likes me for who I am, and not just for what I feel like. Having sex for a living sounded disgusting to me, and I had been avoiding this for as long as I could. Joe, however, was trying to make me realize that it was needed.

But why did he do this? I knew he cared for me, and if he wanted to help me, he could easily have raised my payment. He was swimming in money after having sold a successful company, and even if he'd pay me double, forty hours a week, it would not have affected him at all. Why couldn't he just help me get my life back on track? Deep down, I knew the answer. He could indeed do this, and maybe he was even willing to, but the day I stopped working for him things would go downhill again. He was the only person I knew who didn't care for his employees' species, and if I'd ever stop working for him, I'd be back where I was right now. I realized my life was hopeless, and I suddenly became emotional. I didn't show it, but I knew I was going to cry when I was on my own. When he laid down his pencil after about half an hour and told me to take a break, I was very grateful.

I sat up and stretched my arms and legs, which made him stare at me again for a second. This put me at ease again for a bit. I know men like to watch me move about, and although there's something embarrassing about being nude, I feel a sense of power and pride when I'm able to make a man give in to his instinctive weaknesses. Because I liked the positive effect this was having on me, I simply sat in the sofa, and chose not to seek the modesty of my bathrobe or the privacy of the dressing room. To my surprise, Joe moved over to me, and sat down next to me. I quickly scooted to the side of the sofa to give him some room. Even though this was the first time he had ever joined me on the sofa like this, I wasn't against it. It even felt more personal to talk like this, although my nudity mostly removed that effect.

"What's keeping you from doing it?" His questions seemed to be straight to the point today.

"Do you realize what I'd have to do?" I responded immediately. He shrugged, which confused me. Maybe he was just being a perverted old man after all.

"Do you realize what you'll have to do if you don't take matters into your own hands?"

Snap.

The naked truth. Well, almost as naked as myself. A shiver ran through my body, and I gave a quick, reluctant nod. I was going to have to make a decision very soon, or there would be no way to turn back. Joe stood up, walked to his canvas again, and indicated me to resume my pose. "Either way, it's your choice. Let's continue, now."

For three more hours, he drew me, and barely said anything. He only broke the silence occasionally to give me instructions. Usually this happened when I had accidentally moved a bit, and he wanted me to look exactly like I had before. I kept my eyes focused on him, but wasn't paying attention to him.

My heart was racing with fear anticipation now. I knew I indeed had no choice, but I simply didn't want to become a prostitute. I knew Lily and I could move to a different part in the world where furries were more common and accepted, but we would need money to take such a step. Even a plane ticket to America would be a huge investment at this point. But slowly, very slowly, I started accepting the facts as they were presented to me. I would never have chosen for this to happen, but I now knew I'd become a prostitute. A hooker. A filthy whore. A service that men pay for, for their desperate desires. A tip would be the only sign of graditute I'd ever get, and although I'd have sex as often as I wished, I had the feeling that nobody was going to care for my own desires. I'd be fucked, filled, and dumped along with the condom. A living sex toy, that's what I was going to be.

Joe let me have two more breaks which I spent on my own in the changing room, but eventually, our session ended, and he allowed me to go and get dressed. I had brought a bag with more comfortable clothes, and while I was putting on my shirt, I heard a knock on the door. I quickly smoothed my shirt down so that I was looking modest, and told him he could come in.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" he said, while holding out my payment. I nodded definitively, and held out my hand.

He seemed reluctant for a moment, but then gave me my money and said, "I hope you make the right choice." I stared at his face for a few seconds, then nodded reached into the neckline of my shirt to safely tuck the hard earned money away in my bra.