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.
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Sam tired of life. Not in the sense that he wanted his life to end or anything like that, no -- it wasn't that kind of being tired of life, definitely not. But he needed a change, a big change, a change that he simply could not enact on his own.
Which was why his slight, unimposing figure ended up standing in front of the brothel that crisp November morning, frost melting on the grass, though it would take a while for the warmer weather to come and change that frost to soft dew. Wearing simple clothes, for he'd put the rest into storage, just in case, he paused before the building set on the edge of town.
The large car park surrounding it, along with hotels, entertainment and bars not all that far away, spoke of its popularity, though the building had no open windows. Every window was blocked up and the building itself was set back away from the main road, so no one that didn't want to be there could accidentally see what was going on inside.
After all, the brothel was not meant to be a public spectacle, considering what went on within its walls. It was legal with no unwitting slaves being used at that one, though it was common knowledge that there were unfortunate souls in the world, of course, who were sold into slavery.
There were other ways to take brothel life and work, however, and Sam exhaled, rocking back on his heels. He didn't quite know why he'd gone for a clean shave that morning, for his hair was still a mess, the kind of rough, blonde hair that never quite wanted to lay flat. Maybe he should have had it trimmed closer to his skull?
Ah, but it was too late for that and, well, he didn't think there was any going back for him either.
Sam had already made his decision and that was okay. Things just... The world wasn't very good at that time, not recently and not for a long, long time. He just couldn't see anything changing and the dullness of his everyday job...
That was more than enough to set his feet in motion, striding in short, choppy steps up to the door, taking a breath and walking inside. If he only thought about the next thing he needed to do, everything would be okay. He wouldn't have to push himself too far or too hard... No, that wasn't right. And that was exactly why Sam was there too.
He didn't want to have to make those decisions. He didn't want to make any decisions, in fact, not like the complicated, dreary ones that had become a means to everyday life and existence for him. Maybe later he could make simpler decisions, like on what to wear and how to please someone who wanted him to take the initiative, but anything more than that would be too much at the beginning.
Inside was rich and lavish with thick curtain drapes hanging down the walls, the wooden décor old, dark wood polished to a high sheen. A brothel worked knelt down reverently, naked but for a long, hanging loincloth around his waist and between his legs, polishing the legs of a chair that appeared to be in a sort of waiting area. Even the carpet was soft under his shoes and Sam suddenly wondered if he should have taken his shoes off before entering.
Ah, well. It was too late for that.
He took another breath, approaching the large reception desk. Was it so wide so that the receptionist on the other side had some protection from their clients? Or was it just another nuance of the entire atmosphere? He would find out, eventually.
"Ahem... Um..." Sam tried to clear his throat, saliva bubbling in the back of his throat. "Excuse me... I'm here to sign in. To sign over... I mean..."
The woman picked up her head, an eyebrow raised, though she was moderate enough: neither friendly nor unfriendly.
"Oh? I see, you've come to sell yourself to the brothel, have you?" She said, standing and rifling through a cabinet, supposedly for a set of paperwork. "We haven't had a new prostitute in some time, I'm sure you will be well received. Have you already read the online documents and gone through the preliminary videos? I'll need your name, to mark you on the system."
"Um... Yes, yes, I've gone through all that," he said, heat rising to his cheeks, trying not to seem as flustered as he felt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Ah, I'm Sam, Sam Jones."
"Ah, here you are. Yes, I can see you've completed the prior course, so you should be fully informed as to what you are selling yourself into."
She met his gaze, her brown hair tied back, makeup perfectly done up with a medium-red lipstick. Sam tried not to quiver.
"Are you selling yourself out of any form of coercion? Are you being forced to do this?"
"No..." He shook his head, sighing a little. "I want to do this. I know you've got to ask these questions though."
"Of course, it's not the face of our establishment to take unwilling prostitutes, as you should well know," she said, matter-of-factly. "All appears to be in order, however. Your training will begin in the morning. Please adjourn to your room, up one flight of stairs, down the hall to your right -- keep going until you find your number. You will need to follow the instructions on the pamphlet inside and ensure you are presentable. That will be all."
He shivered. Even the receptionist held a quiet air of command about her, as if she did not expect to be challenged or disobeyed in the slightest. With his documents signed and his life and everything that was to come of him in the hands of the brothel, he headed upstairs with a nod and a murmured thank you. Sam didn't know if she heard him or not, but his new life was about to begin.
He found the room easily enough, the key sliding into the lock to open it. However, it didn't lock again from the inside, leaving him exposed with the knowledge that anyone who wanted to get to him could find him at a moment's notice. Not quite on show but...there whenever someone wanted to use him.
"Oh..."
He didn't have any belongings to set down, though the room was small with only a tiny wardrobe for clothes -- enough for a couple of nights, perhaps, and only that. He'd been in hotel rooms with larger spaces to rest in, but where was the point in all that? Sam had never got along with that kind of life and it was exactly the sort of thing he needed to escape from.
Sam perched on the bed: narrow but comfortable enough. It most certainly was not luxurious, but it was not meant to be.
"Huh... What about this pamphlet then?"
He picked it up from the small bedside table, the room barely large enough for it to fit between the bed and the wall (no window, of course, an internal room) and turned it over, heat creeping down his neck as he read through his instructions. They were fairly basic, but they revealed far more than he ever had before -- namely in ensuring his entire body was clean, fresh and presentable. That meant he would have to shower, wherever he was to do that, and shave every bit of hair from his body. That was almost more of a feminine thing than a masculine thing, at least in his eyes, but Sam had put no restrictions on his use at the brothel, bar for the harshest of kinks. It was not as if he wanted to be abused, after all -- and there was a big difference in being used, of course.
Yes... He knew what he wanted and was willing to chase after it, just to take it, but, for the moment, he could only follow his instructions. Apparently, there would be a hot meal waiting for him in the evening too in a communal dining area. First, however, he would have to wash himself using the bathing products provided.
Sam peered at the small basket set within the wardrobe. All products were as expected, though they were all pinker and more feminine, the gel wash inside purple in some cases. There was also a container of shaving cream, which seemed to be designed for a woman, and a dainty razor, which he would need both the cream and water to shave with. It was clear what he was meant to do, but Sam blushed anyway.
"Hm..."
Maybe the room had been intended for a brothel girl before he'd arrived? It was hard to say, though Sam didn't mind too much if he'd got the wrong bathing kit. It would clean him all the same, regardless of whether or not it smelled flowery, and he would feel like he was stepping into a new life.
Best get on with it then.
It took him asking for directions to find his way to the bathing rooms, which surprised him by not being private, as he was used to. It reminded him of a health club and spa, though was more functional in its cleanliness: clearly there for a singular purpose, though it was not supposed to be a luxury for the brothel staff either employed or owned there. He dithered in the changing rooms, putting his clothes in a locker that did not lock, a rack of towels at least giving him what he needed to dry himself off afterwards. Protecting his modesty, however, really shouldn't have been the first thing on Sam's mind.
The communal showers and baths seemed to be empty at that time, except for one woman showering in the back corner, more concerned with washing out the shampoo from her hair than she was with his presence. With a towel around his waist, still trying to preserve his modesty, he washed quickly and efficiently, facing the white, tiled walls of the shower room. It was big enough to fit ten people in the shower, comfortably, at once, with six baths set up opposite the open shower room. There still didn't seem to be any space for privacy there, bar the closed doors to the toilets (which was very much a relief to Sam) and his room. That door, however, did not lock.
His hair slicked down to his scalp and he wrinkled his nose, wishing it was something else already. Would they prettify him and help him be more appealing to clients of the brothel? Until he progressed there, serving as they wanted him to, there was no way to tell just what would come of him.
Shaving was more humiliating than he could have expected, bringing a prickling rise of excitement to his skin. Invigorating... Yes, he could have called it that too as he bent over in the shower, twisting and contorting, trying to do the best job possible. He'd never considered just how long it would take to shave his legs before, but there was a lot of thick blonde hair there to remove and, well, it all had to go.
It was a ritual of a sort, watching the hair peel from his body, swirling into clumps and disappearing down the shower drain. He huffed and grunted, always finding a new patch of hair that he'd missed, working the small razor around the more delicate parts like his toes and his ankles. The pamphlet had said everything and, well, that meant everything had to go.
He managed around his chest well enough, but his back proved to be challenging, as he simply did not have the flexibility to safely reach all of it, despite his slim build. Huffing, he tried to twist and then paused, unsure of how to proceed.
"Here, let me."
