note, La Liberté fluttering uncertainly between us.
“That’s not showing,” Thierry said with a deep chuckle. “Niki. Show him the proper place for his appreciation.”
Niki, without any other outward sign of acknowledgment, no answering chuckle at Thierry’s deft turn of phrase nor wry smile at the awkward newcomer, lifted the edge of her skirt to reveal a garter below it, pressed tightly around her thigh, matting the fur around it. I confess that my first thought was that it was a rather large leg to be shapely—the perils of a life of dance. My second was that the garter looked uncomfortably itchy against her sleek and lush coat. We chamois have a fine hide that accommodates tight clothing and straps much more comfortably than some of our predatory friends, of course, but that does not mean that I do not envy them their thick, lovely coats from time to time. I ached, in fact, to undo the garter and run my hands over that soft fur and the hard muscles below it. But I saw, upon a closer look, another note tucked into the garter around the back of the thigh, and I realized only then what Thierry was pressing me to do.
Could I be this naughty? With trembling fingers, I tucked the bill into the garter on the outside of her thigh as gently as I could, attempting to smooth out the fur there. “Thank you, madam,” I murmured as I did.
Thierry laughed. “‘Madam,’ is it? Do you not see why I asked for Niki, even so close, my young friend?”
I frowned. As I have said, the club’s drinks were quite strong, and by that point my senses were somewhat distorted. But where I was sitting, my nose barely an arm’s length from our courtesan’s skirt, I soon became aware of what Thierry meant, a distinction that even in my slightly inebriated state, I could not ignore.
Niki’s skirt hung gracefully down her thighs, but her hips did not have quite the arch to them that the ermine, dancing for our jackal companions, did. And in the front, where a gentleman does his best not to be caught staring, there was the slightest suggestion, a merest hint of something there that on any courtesan ought not to be.
I turned to Thierry, and I suppose my eyes were wide, because he said, “Niki?”
Obligingly, Niki lifted the skirt again, higher this time, and father, you must forgive me, but I was unable to look away from the snowy fields of white fur that were thus revealed to my hungry eyes. I drank them in, following the soft inward curve of the thigh up to the black undergarments, where I saw the truth that my nose and eyes had surely been telling me all along. For the undergarments, rather than lying flat to conceal the hidden flower beneath, instead showed the outward curve of a concealed staff, a sheathed and most un-ladylike weapon couched between those lovely legs.
I gasped, and Niki looked down with only a slight arch to his eyebrow.
The skirt fell, the performance over. “Will that be all?” His voice was soft, but I should never have thought it female had I not been awaiting a female voice.
His green eyes held me captive. Those sharp predator’s teeth, kept sheathed in his velvet muzzle, entranced me. I hungered for the elegance of his dance, to hold it and make it mine, to understand this boy who danced among ladies and passed for one of them. My heart leapt, father, and I was reminded of my Pascal: Le cœur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point . What my heart felt in those moments, indeed, had naught to do with reason.
“Dance again for me.” I did not say “please,” save with my eyes.
Niki stepped toward the open space behind our seats, but I reached out with a hand. I could not bear to have him move away from me again. “Here,” I said. “Dance here.”
The fox looked at Thierry, who waved with his fingers in the air, a gesture of permission, I suppose. And Niki began to dance.
If seeing him across the seats had been intriguing, seeing him up close was enthralling. In the confined space, he
“That’s not showing,” Thierry said with a deep chuckle. “Niki. Show him the proper place for his appreciation.”
Niki, without any other outward sign of acknowledgment, no answering chuckle at Thierry’s deft turn of phrase nor wry smile at the awkward newcomer, lifted the edge of her skirt to reveal a garter below it, pressed tightly around her thigh, matting the fur around it. I confess that my first thought was that it was a rather large leg to be shapely—the perils of a life of dance. My second was that the garter looked uncomfortably itchy against her sleek and lush coat. We chamois have a fine hide that accommodates tight clothing and straps much more comfortably than some of our predatory friends, of course, but that does not mean that I do not envy them their thick, lovely coats from time to time. I ached, in fact, to undo the garter and run my hands over that soft fur and the hard muscles below it. But I saw, upon a closer look, another note tucked into the garter around the back of the thigh, and I realized only then what Thierry was pressing me to do.
Could I be this naughty? With trembling fingers, I tucked the bill into the garter on the outside of her thigh as gently as I could, attempting to smooth out the fur there. “Thank you, madam,” I murmured as I did.
Thierry laughed. “‘Madam,’ is it? Do you not see why I asked for Niki, even so close, my young friend?”
I frowned. As I have said, the club’s drinks were quite strong, and by that point my senses were somewhat distorted. But where I was sitting, my nose barely an arm’s length from our courtesan’s skirt, I soon became aware of what Thierry meant, a distinction that even in my slightly inebriated state, I could not ignore.
Niki’s skirt hung gracefully down her thighs, but her hips did not have quite the arch to them that the ermine, dancing for our jackal companions, did. And in the front, where a gentleman does his best not to be caught staring, there was the slightest suggestion, a merest hint of something there that on any courtesan ought not to be.
I turned to Thierry, and I suppose my eyes were wide, because he said, “Niki?”
Obligingly, Niki lifted the skirt again, higher this time, and father, you must forgive me, but I was unable to look away from the snowy fields of white fur that were thus revealed to my hungry eyes. I drank them in, following the soft inward curve of the thigh up to the black undergarments, where I saw the truth that my nose and eyes had surely been telling me all along. For the undergarments, rather than lying flat to conceal the hidden flower beneath, instead showed the outward curve of a concealed staff, a sheathed and most un-ladylike weapon couched between those lovely legs.
I gasped, and Niki looked down with only a slight arch to his eyebrow.
The skirt fell, the performance over. “Will that be all?” His voice was soft, but I should never have thought it female had I not been awaiting a female voice.
His green eyes held me captive. Those sharp predator’s teeth, kept sheathed in his velvet muzzle, entranced me. I hungered for the elegance of his dance, to hold it and make it mine, to understand this boy who danced among ladies and passed for one of them. My heart leapt, father, and I was reminded of my Pascal: Le cœur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point . What my heart felt in those moments, indeed, had naught to do with reason.
“Dance again for me.” I did not say “please,” save with my eyes.
Niki stepped toward the open space behind our seats, but I reached out with a hand. I could not bear to have him move away from me again. “Here,” I said. “Dance here.”
The fox looked at Thierry, who waved with his fingers in the air, a gesture of permission, I suppose. And Niki began to dance.
If seeing him across the seats had been intriguing, seeing him up close was enthralling. In the confined space, he
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