Chapter 1 - Hard times in Midnight City

“Remember, once you’re in, you’re on your own.” The words reverberated through Cassy’s mind, ringing loud and clear despite the bombastic EDM music that pulsed throughout the night club: Satin Sins. It was the hottest joint in the city’s Interspecies District, and a hotbed for illicit activity and gang affiliations; namely, The Bayou Boys. An interstate wide gang that hailed from the muck of the Louisiana, and via illegal firearms dealings and drug manufacturing had worked their way up to the big city. 
 
Tonight, the venue was packed with sweaty and delirious partygoers, human or otherwise, but all hooked on something a bit stronger than alcohol; degenerates. The MCPD detective hated the club scene, and despite the department’s oath to upholding The Balance, she’d a bone to pick with the monsters that inhabited her city. She was in a particularly foul mood, and the skimpy outfit she’d been required to wear wasn’t helping: a neon pink G-string digging between her perky cheeks, her top end not fairing much better, as a ragged, punked-out jean jacket was all that shielded her flat A-cup chest. Damn, and who had picked out these 4” black platforms? It was hard enough to get around without these savages crashing into one another. 
 
“Woah, Dudette! My bad” A slovenly half-shark brute lightly shoulder checked her, nearly sending the tight-bodied officer onto the perspiration slick dance floor. He was wearing a colorful muscle top with a snapback cap facing backwards; a surfer boy from the coast perhaps. 
 
She recovered, and shot him a snarl, “Watch it!” Lucky for him they weren’t out on the street, as Cass had built quite the reputation for harassing beast folk in ways that weren’t exactly to code. This op required that she leave her piece behind; the thought soured her mood even more. 
 
Nonetheless, the night was still young, and it was up to her to find out who exactly ran distribution for the gang.
 
---
 
The dance floor was for small fries, casual club attendees and the wannabe gangsters just looking for a quick lay. Cass had dealt with this ilk working the beat long enough to know that the big time dealers would be enjoying some expensive bottle service on a busy night such as this. Anything to stunt on the peons that sweated out their frustrations below. She shakily made her way up to the club’s second level, where only the most prestigious of players and beautiful bimbos were allowed to congregate.
 
A bouncer waited at the top set of steps; what the detective presumed to be a werewolf. He was dressed in formal attire that almost seemed out of place: a massive black three-piece suit which still barely managed to hide his beefy frame. An ill-fitting pair of sunglasses rested on the base of his snout, just beneath a pair of brilliant yellow eyes; repulsive. He gave her a callous once-over. 
 
“Hmm,” the grey wolf growled lowly in his throat, “What do you want?” 
 
Isn’t it obvious you fool? “Erm, I’m here to see…” Shit, how had she not thought this far! “Big Jake!” Cassy was slapping herself on the forehead internally, but tried her best to flash a ditsy cumbucket smile. Big Jake? Is that the best you can do, Cass?
 
Now, despite his animalistic nature, the bouncer wasn’t an idiot. This broad was clearly out of her depth, and a part of his job description was making sure that the right people entered the right places; she was not one of them. Fierce canine eyes scanned her up and down, peering past the surface level bullshit. This woman was indeed attractive, he’d give her that, but in a tom-boyish kind of way. Her blonde hair had been cut into a pixie cut with its left side freshly shaven, pale green eyes darted about in any direction that wasn’t his, and a toned yet lithe body reflected that she was an active type. She was lucky that this wasn’t the olden days, when creatures such as himself preyed on young women such as herself; let’s just say Red Riding Hood didn’t get fucked metaphorically in his tales.
 
“So?” Cass was beginning to lose her patience and was doing her best not to flash the badge tucked behind her jacket. Had she the firepower and the backup the rash detective would’ve had this scoundrel on his knees. 
 
“I don’t know any Big Jakes around here, sweet thighs.”
 
The audacity!
 
“You’re cute though, and perhaps a clout chaser like you would fit Big Al’s tastes.”
 
Oh, so you know a “Big Al” though? “That’d be, like, great!” Cassy was trying her best to mimic some airheaded beast lover, and failing miserably; the bouncer was out of fucks to give, luckily. 
 
---
 
The second floor of Satin Sins was on another level compared to the rabble downstairs, trading the condensed, drug-addled hysteria for a more private atmosphere. The break from the smoky claustrophobia below was a welcomed one for Cassy, but the number of muscle-bound beast scum was concerning. The bouncer had pointed her in the right direction, and she did her best to avoid eye contact with both supernatural gangsters and their human fuck toys for the evening. 
 
Cass breathed in deeply and exhaled before entering the sectioned off booth, preparing herself mentally for the role she’d have to play. 
 
Big Al’s section of bottle service was actually quite humble, as the lone half-crocodile was idly sipping on something that appeared to be dark liquor. He was rocking a pristine white jump suit and a platinum Cuban link dangled from his gargantuan neck. The scaly goliath disgusted Cass on a personal level, but there wasn’t too much that was offensive about him physically. He peered up from his nearly empty glass, “Hello, mon cheri.” 
 
The undercover detective swallowed nervously, “Don’t mind if I sit down for a bit?” She was almost shaking in her pumps, as the fearsome croc flashed a row of pointed teeth; in a smile of course.
 
“Oh no, please, indulge a man while he’s far from home, darlin’.” Big Al’s tone was absolutely pleasant, slipping his crocodilian tail to the other side of the couch to free up some room for Cass.
 
Cass nervously planted herself on his free side, their size difference staggering with all things considered. Big Al was easily 450+ pounds of scales, teeth, and muscle. Towering over her 5’4” at what appeared to be 7’5” easy, and even more so given that she weighed maybe 120lbs after Thanksgiving dinner. “What’s a lovely firefly like you doing alone on a summer night like this,” he inquisitively pried, motioning to whether she’d like a drink or not. 
 
She shook her head in approval, “Just out, me and my friends got separated so I thought I’d head up top for a bit, meet some studs up here.” The story formed in her mind as it escaped her mouth. As long as Cassy kept things open ended, she’d be OK.
 
“Hmph, unsavory friends if you ask me,” the crocodile mused, “Leaving such a fragile flower to be plucked.”
 
There was a pit forming in her stomach, plucked? “Y-Yeah, I guess.” She took a sip from her drink, and actually enjoyed the smoothness of what she presumed to be whiskey; it hit just right given her current circumstances. 
 
“Well, I’m glad I have some company during my time away from home.”
 
This peaked the detective’s interest, having already noticed his Creole accent, “So, like, where are you from?”
 
Big Al leaned back onto the leather couch, “Up from New Orleans, on a bit of a business venture, albeit one not of my discernment. Sometimes organizations become so big that things slip under your nose and suddenly you are roused to action; this trip is one of those actions, mon cheri.”
 
Jackpot. This “Big Al” wasn’t any one of the key players that her team knew of but all of Cass’s alarm bells were going off. Now she just had to play it cool. Sadly for her, that would take some improvisation. 
 
“Wow, so you must be pretty important,” she spoke coyly while rubbing a tiny hand over his incredibly broad chest. 
 
He appreciated the stroke of his ego, “Oh indubitably, my firefly,” but preferred something else to be stroked. She could feel one of his free hands making its way towards the exposed section of her back, just above the tightly wound undergarments; if a G-string could even be called that. 
 
Cass fought back a surprised yelp, and then anger, deciding to simply giggle and position her tiny buttocks away from his scaly claws. It was of little use, as it took only a portion of his strength to scoop her back into a more malleable position and press a fat digit against her puckered butthole. 
 
Now this was unacceptable! The detective’s hand nearly flew towards her badge beneath her breast pocket, but a tinge of law enforcement pride stopped her. This would be the biggest bust in years if she could gather evidence on the Bayou Boys. Press releases, promotions, perhaps even her own book down the line? There was so much at stake that she would need to endure this unpleasantry for the big picture.
 
The crocodilian cocaine cowboy was feeling quite riled up now, and as Cass leaned against his chest it didn’t take much to peek down and notice the growing spear in his tracksuit pants. Oh fuck. He nudged her head with the tip of snout and motioned for her to do her thing, after all, she was his type and had the appearance of a “beast chaser”.
 
The decorated MCPD officer had never felt so humiliated, but knew she needed to go beyond the call of duty for the sake of her career. With a shaky hand she struggled to pull down the taught waistband of his trousers, but eventually they slipped down his massive reptilian thighs. What awaited her was a pulsing pink prick that put any of its human counterparts to shame. Its pointed tip twitched mere centimeters below her quivering lips as if it knew its trajectory.
 
“My apologies, mon ami, if this is too much for you. I just assumed this wasn’t your first time with a Cajun king such as myself.”
 
Oh, he was smug, and now there was no turning back now, less she lose any of the progress that’d occurred so far. Cass hesitatively guided the pulsing reptile prick into her mouth, doing her best to engulf as much of it as possible; it was the girth of it that made her struggle. Big Al sighed softly, and pressed his finger even further into her holy hole, beginning to venture where no man had ever gone before. 
 
The detective fought back tears as she tightened her glossy lips and bobbed her neck along the impressive piece of creole crocodile cock. It was an oath of duty and sheer pride that pushed her on, as the gangster took his time caressing the entirety of her rear end and fingering its moist little hole. He gave her cheeks a light pat, but with his savage strength it still left a light red mark on her bouncing booty.
 
Her head was now completely obscured by the booth’s grandiose table, and as two beastmen entered the room it was impossible to get a good look at either of them. 
 
“Goddamn, country boy, we got a drop off to make in an hour and you’re getting topped off by some humie slut.” One of the voiced chastised, it was high pitched and panicky, but also oddly familiar. 
 
The second chimed, “Cool it, let the big man enjoy his time in The Mid’, but we have to be there on time, or else these shark boys might get funny with that money.” This one was a much deeper tenor, poised, and from its depth Cass could tell it belonged to a massive beastman. 
 
She gagged on the reptilian shaft in her mouth, it constantly prodding near the back of her throat and forcing her to breath through flaring nostrils. It was by a stroke of kindness that the creole speaking croc remembered she was down there, and decided that business came before pleasure.
 
Al spoke up, “Ah, apologies boys, this lovely flower was just finishing.” He gently gripped her head and relinquished the enormous unit from her mouth; Cass immediately gasped for sweet oxygen, throwing her rosy red face back from the disgusting beastman’s lap. 
 
The owner of the first voice, a hyena-like man dressed in sleezy guido attire, shrieked, “Yo! That’s the dumb bitch cop that busted me.”
 
Cass’s eyes widened as she quickly realized who was speaking: Tommy Loretti, a scumbag, low-tier drug dealer who had been working the Beastfolk District since before her days as an officer. He was as mean as he was ugly, which said a lot. Believe it or not, he had this cheap gold filling that covered one of his prominent front fangs and bragged as if it were a piece of fine jewelry; an utter sleaze ball. His acquaintance she was unfamiliar with, but appeared to be a minotaur of sizable proportions. 
 
“An officer?” Big Al was confused by the revelation but not alarmed, yet. 
 
“A pig!” The strange minotaur snorted, reaching for the hand cannon that dangled from his leather shoulder holster. 
 
“Like, a cop?” Cassy made a final pathetic attempt to maintain her undercover persona but failed miserably. She was busted.
 
---
 
Discovered, outnumbered, and outgunned, Cass had been taken to the club’s executive office. An office which she presumed belonged to one of Bayou Boy’s head honchos, or at least someone who was on board with their less than reputable activities. There were fine pieces of both ancient tribal art and more contemporary works. The space was nice, but modest, especially given the flashy nature of the club that surrounded it.
 
They’d cuffed her, tied her ankles, and planted her barely clad ass in the plush leather seat that sat behind a massive yew desk; at least she was comfortable. The music echoed from the first floor, and though it was nothing compared to the booming bass of the dancefloor, she despaired over how quickly she’d gotten tied up in such a situation so fast. Fuck! “Fuck!” Cass blurted while hopelessly prying at the cuffs. 
 
The office’s door slowly opened, and she was surprised to see a familiar face: it was the werewolf from earlier. 
 
“You?” She questioned, fumbling to remain seated upright and shield her breast from his gaze. Which was pointless, as she’d already traded out her dignity for the job. Or had she?
 
“Yeah,” his tone was the same as before, “Me.”
 
Amazed by this turn of events, Cass spoke up, “Why send you up, you’re a lowly bouncer, a hired piece of muscle for these cretins.”
 
“Cretins?” He raised a furry eyebrow, “Bitch, you need to realize this isn’t the ancient days, people like us can cooperate now. No need for name-calling.” The werewolf grinned a lupine grin with his massive maw. “I ain’t the bouncer, sweet thighs. I run this joint.”
 
She scoffed, “Impossible.”
 
“Impossible for a man to check who come in and out of his club?” he slowly paced toward her, beginning to circle around to the back to the chair. 
 
“A man? You and your friends are hardly even human.” Cassy’s words stung like a dagger, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been insulted in such a manner. Despite their advancements together mankind and the supernatural had always butted heads, and perhaps this speciesism-toting cop was but a descendent of monster-hunters and their ilk. 
 
“Yeah,” she felt a pair a massive, clawed hands grip her shoulders from behind, “you got that right.”
 
He lifted her from the cushy seat and chucked the tiny detective on the office desk, despite her meager protest, “Hey!”
 
Thick platform heels frantically clacked against the hardwood floors of the office as she flailed beneath her captor’s weight, “I-I’m shutting this whole kitschy, degenerate, trash heap down when I get back to the precinct!” 
 
“Bitch you sure do talk a lot.” The snap of her flimsy G-string didn’t help.
 
“Subpoenas! On all of you dirty animals! Y-You belong in a prison—no, a zoo!” Now Cassy was showing her true colors, barking abuse after abuse at him, at all of the freaks like him. She felt the warmth of his raw knot rubbing between her exposed buttocks, “30 years! N-No 40! Life!” 
 
“Jesus, Big Al didn’t stretch your mouth out enough,” the werewolf covered her lips with a free paw, “we’ll work on that later. Luckily for you, Big Al and his boys won’t be the ones to break you in; out on business. So me and you will get to know each other while they’re out."
 
All of the detective’s pride went out the window as the werewolf’s massive schlong slipped inside of her snatch. She’d been violated by a fucking dog. No, even a worse, a filthy wolf. “O-Oh shit.” She squeaked beneath his grip.  
 
The club’s owner wasn’t the romantic type, and took no time ravaging her walls with his knotted cock. It caught inside of her, and the detective’s whimpers as he explored her depths showed a weakness rare seen from her; perhaps in time she’d learn some obedience. 
 
The brutality of his fucking didn’t end there, as soon he'd shifted his hands to her hips, using his weight to press into her increasingly sloppy lower lips. With each thrust Cassy’s exposed legs tensed in both pain and pleasure, chest heaving against the sturdy piece of wood. How much more of this beast could she endure?
 
He barked merrily while reaming her, “You like that, knot slut?” The warmth of his fur made the grinding unbearably hot on the back of Cass’s legs, and despite her mouth being recently uncovered there wasn’t a single insult she could muster. All that came out was a series of short grunts and pants. 
 
Worst of all, it was undeniable that the beast hating detective was enjoying the primal mating with this savage monster. Between gritted teeth the pixie cut cop eked out, “T-that all you g-got? Mutt?”
 
The lycan growled deeply, “Not at all.” His nails lightly dug into her sides as her bright red buttocks slammed against his groin; this bitch was going to get bred. 
 
Keep it together woman! Whatever bit of reason the cop had left was commanding her to remain sane against his muff crushing pace. She could feel herself cumming on his member, and couldn’t help but be overcome with waves of euphoria as her box dripped with her own fluids. Shit. Shit. Shit.  Eventually, even her internal dialogue was beginning to waver. 
 
Ol’ wolfy could tell that she was resisting the urge to let go, but he wasn’t so hesitative, and with a wild howl exploded inside of her; creamy spunk spilled over the edges of knotted member. 
 
How humiliating. Cass collapsed onto the desk, face pressed sideways into the polished wood. Still, despite her impulses to scream or moan like some primitive creature she’d resisted, no matter how savagely the beast had violated her womanhood. The thought nursed her pride somewhat—until she could feel the tugging. Oh, the tugging.
 
“Wh-What, are y-you, doing?” The words barely crawled past her lips. 
 
“Technical difficulties,” the club’s owner razzed, “stay still, bitch.”
 
He pulled with all his might, yet the red rocket of a dick wouldn’t budge. Each pull stretching his fuck sleeve’s insides and causing her to hyperventilate in rapture. Goddamn, this felt amazing! 
 
“O-Oh, no, stop,” Cass pleaded but to no avail, the werewolf continuing to tug, “I-I’m g-gonna f-fucking c-ccuuu—”
 
With a loud pop, it finally freed itself from her overstretched pussy, a mixture of their combined fluids gushing forward as it did so. “F-Fuck me…” It was over. 
 
“Agghh.” His urges satisfied, the club owner refastened his trousers and buttoned his designer vest. She’d make a fine addition to his regular posse of cumdumps. Well, if the boys hadn’t ruined her by then. 
 
Poor Cassy simply shuddered as she slid to the floor, naked and unable to move. That filthy creature had just violated her, committed an act that was so unnatural it turned her inside out… and she loved every second of it. Her flat chest heaved against the floor, and it took all of her willpower to keep herself from lapping up the sex fluids that’d pooled before her.
 
“Shit…Fuck…Cock…” All she could muster was the beginnings of insults, confused whether or not she should be berating her captor or praising such vigor during their fuck session. Truthfully, in her heart of hearts there was only one question on mind: When were Big Al and his filthy goons getting back?