Anthony was in the limo, and the driver suggested an area, and they went looking. Anthony wasn't sure WHY. Every rich boy does eventually, I guess. Really, it's a foolish idea. But occasionally...

Occasionally, one must exercise their god given right to act completely idiotic, break the law, and enjoy themselves.

Anthony checked his cuffs, his traditional black longsleeve silk shirt fit like a glove. His black silk trousers were creased and perfect. Shoes, belt, and the addition of a pair of blue tinted shades, completed the ensemble. Perfectly aesthetic. Anthony smiled and licked his sharp little teeth, enjoying the feel of the points across his tongue. Good thing he wasn't a biter...

"Here we are, Mr. Davids. Entertainment capital of the world."
"Good, just drive along, not too slowly, don't want to pull attention."

The driver complied, and Anthony looked out.
Blonde, red boa, black pumps, but blue top. No.
Red head, green shirt. No.

Anthony continued his perusal of the ladies of the night. Ladies in theory, anyway.

Brunette, green shirt, brown stilettos, green and brown skirt. Not too bad. Adam's apple? Uh, NO. Deffinitely not.

Yes, prostitutes. Hookers. Ho's. Anthony was despondent. Either they had the aesthetic qualities of a drag queen, were dead ugly, or were actual Drag Queens...

Black hair, ragged cut, with pink tips. Jean skirt, black halter top.Pink and black sneakers with white highlights. Black tatoos... And beautiful. Perfection was walking proud and strong.

"Pull over, let's check out that one. You might be right after all."
"Course I'm right. G'luck, and don't let her overcharge ya. Not that you couldn't afford it, eh?" The drivers chuckle floated out the door behind Anthony. He approached her from the front, and took decisive action.
Very nice, how much! The joke sprang a smile to Anthony's face. She had her hoodie in her hands, and it was all Anthony could do to keep his eyes on hers. Quite pretty eyes, in fact. Anthony's hair was on edge, he was so tense.

"Good evening, madamoiselle. I'm... Tony." His new england accent was barely perceptible. His voice was strong despite the nerves. "How about you and I go somewhere for the evening? I can, of course, pay."

Step, Step, Step, Step


The sound of her walk echoed throughout the night covered alley. Suddenly the beat stopped as Creia looked up at her destination: The back entrance of a lone building. She looked around and finally picked up what she needed. It was a loose brink that was teetering off the corner of the structure. With one fluid swoop of her arm, she threw the brick into the window. An alarm started blaring off.


‘Well than… ‘ Creia inhaled, ‘Time to get to work.’


EARLIER THAT DAY…


Creia looked around her immediate area. The air smelled, the place was polluted, there was noise and racket everywhere, and she was greeted by the friendly scowls of the civilians that surround her. A huge grin appeared on her face.

Yep, she was happy to be back in the NYC.

Still she felt a bit out of place. Was it the smell? The trash? The people? Creia walked around until from the corner of her eye, she saw her own reflection. It was her outfit. She wasn’t wearing her favorite outfit. Unfortunately, when she escaped the mental institution… she had no choice but to leave her clothes back in storage. And thanks to the little cowboy and his request, she did not have the opportunity to get it back. A sigh escaped her lips. It seemed she had to actually shop for her exact outfit back in the stores. And by shop, she was going to steal.


PRESENT TIME…


Once Creia cleared the majority of the glass that poked out of the window frame, she entered the building. She knew this place from top to bottom. Being the carrier of an expensive brand name, the shop had adequate security placed at the front of the store. However, the manager being cheap and lazy, did not waste his time or funds to bar the single window in the back of the building. It wasn’t an easy climb. She had to use the nearby dumpster and some pipes to hoist herself up there… but anything for her outfit.

She found herself in the employee bathroom. Creia turned on the lights and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked good. Damn good. All she was missing was that one essential piece that made her outfit complete. She exited the bathroom and headed straight for the security area located nearby. She sighed. Creia never understand the idea of number pad locks… they seemed to be the ‘in thing’ for major chains. Still they were relatively easy to crack into, granted if you knew the code. And Creia did. She punched in the numbers: 29380 onto the number pad and like magic the door opened.


‘Another trait of laziness my dear manager…’ She commented, ‘Maybe change the code every so often would help…’


Here, she was able to turn off the alarm, alert the police of the company’s mistake, and mess with the camera feed so that any video of her will never surface or be recorder. She had to give props to Left-Eye Earl back in the ward. His many years of security detail for the Macy’s building had proven useful to her and his stories of his abusive mother were simply fascinating. Her thanks came in the form of a quick and painless death. It was the least she could do.

Creia walked into the main store. With all the cameras turned off, it was a piece of cake to just waltz in and take what she wanted. But in this scenario, she was only after one thing and one thing only. In the distance she saw it. It was an Allure grey midriff hoodie with tribal markings and the brand name covering the outside. She looked at the price: $547.99. Back in the day, Allure produces were rather cheap ranging around $20-40. However when rappers, singers, and celebrities began to take notice in the brand… the prices of Allure skyrocketed.

She took the hoodie off the rack and tried it on. Perfect! All she had to do was get the little security tag off the right sleeve. It was a relatively easy task to do. Creia headed back into the security office and found two pliers she knew would be there. She squeezed the long clip with both of the pliers and watched the tag magically fall off.

Swinging the hoodie in her right hand, Creia found herself walking around the streets of NYC once more but content. She had finally gotten the missing piece of her outfit and somehow in a rather materialistic way, had felt complete.



“Alright Daddy, now that my manmade urges are satisfied, I can now do your bidding to please you.”



Out of nowhere, a limo pulled up in front of her. She cocked her head, looking at the vehicle. The last window of the car rolled down and a human figure began to emerge. Because of the low lightly of the area, Creia could not really make out the face or features of this person. But, the voice that came out of the car alerted her that the person was a man.



"Good evening, mademoiselle. I'm... Tony. How about you and I go somewhere for the evening? I can, of course, pay."



Creia just stared at him.



‘Did… Did… DID HE JUST CALL ME A HOOKER?!’



In the darkness, her face flushed with anger. She, a hooker. A WHORE! Oh, he was so going to die tonight. She would have her way killing this man and a field day separating his body into multiple parts to feed to the dogs. She was-



A calming voice spoke to her.



‘You…Hmmm…’ She thought to herself, ‘Of course Daddy. Oh you are so smart! I love you sooo much! Please always guide me with your wisdom!’



In a flash, her features changed into a seductress. Confidently, she cat walked over to the limo. She bent over and leaned into the car, placing her arms in such a way that it made her breast look bigger and some cleavage peak from underneath her black top.



“Hey Sugar…” Her voice purred just like Muse, the ward’s insane slut used to do. “I’m… Tight Cherry, but you can call me C.” She winked at him, while licking her thin lips. She was lucky to have Muse as her roommate. She taught her all about the dark trade of sex and how to get men (and maybe women) to lust after you. Too bad she was killed to cover up a sex scandal a guard and her were having…



“You picked the right lady tonight…” Creia continued to tease, “I know a lot of tricks for your di-… well you know.” A girly giggle emerged.“And don’t worry about my prices. Pay me as much as you think I deserve… trust me, with the things I know how to… I am sure you will pay me top dollar.”



‘And he will, with his life.’

Anthony enjoyed the view via his peripheral vision, but kept his eyes anchored firmly on hers, his smile turning shy. A breath in and out did a lot more then respiration. Tight Cherry? He'd expected a hooker to be forward, but the Sex Kitten act was killer.

"Jake, we'll be going back to the hotel now. I trust no one will see us pulling up, right?" "Of course not, Mr. Tony." The driver snickered. "Yee haw, Mr. Tony." More snickers as the tinted window began to roll itself up.

Anthony slid across the seats in the limo and made room for C. The halter top was not... bursting, per say, but it didn't have to be. And those legs!

Anthony sat ramrod straight, nerves loudly silent, hands folded sedately in his lap. Every breath was Sisyphean feat, for just as he managed to inhale, he would exhale and have to start over.

His collar was too tight, his waist too loose, his blue shades were too dark. He felt the urge crawl away in shame, or to thrust himself upon her in primal fashion. To whine or yell. He waited, little pointed ears catching every sound, including her breathing. He could hear her inhale and anticpate the way her chest would swell if he were to look, but he couldn't. He couldn't think. He had to say something. He had to express these wild emotions, or he would surely burst like a dam, and damn be the consequences!

"Care to join me in the limo? A drink?" he said, sedately motioning towards the mini-fridge, then to the bucket of ice and champagne.

‘Oh my God…’


Sitting in the limo with the soft mood light, Creia eyes finally got a good view of the John. Her wide open eyes pretty much indicated how she felt.


‘The man was a damn furry.’


As the… creature was busy talking to the driver, Creia studied her surroundings. The limo looked rather expensive inside. Leather seats, a TV, a phone, crystal champagne glasses, and adequate lighting were all perfectly placed in the right sections to hide the blemishes and illuminate the beauty of the vehicle. This wasn’t some rent-a-prom limo; this was the definition of luxury. Judging from the candied conversation between the driver and the John, it seemed like the driver was a permanent employee of the family. Creia’s deep brown orbs then moved to the critter. With that kind of complexion, he was obviously a mutant. He looked like a ‘monchichi’ toy that was popular back in the old days… either that or some ‘Planet of the Ape’ gene pool screw up. Though Creia could not see much of the fur, she did notice that the fur was connected with what should be his hair and went further down to his neck.


Even drunk, there was no way she would have sex with his man. Still, a grinned crept and nested onto her thin lips.



‘There were other ways to have fun…’ She thought.



Creia just stared at the man in front of her. He looked nervous… by his actions, probably never did anything like this before. Figures, rich boys always found ways to test the limit of their financial power. ‘Could I buy myself out of this mess?’ Creia decided to tease the poor fool with her lust filled eyes and the vision of the tip of her tongue licking the opening of her top lip. Such a cliché move but men seemed to always like it.


“Why thank you…” She whispered as he offered her the drink. “I’ll take what you are having.” She waited for him to fill her cup and before she even knew the contents in the glass, she sprung her question.


“Why wait for the hotel? Why not be a man and do me right here, right now?” A tempting growl echoed throughout the limo.


In all actuality, the hotel would probably be more of a hassle to her. That hassle mainly being more witnesses. If she was going to have her fun, she rather have it in an environment where she could control any situation… especially the unpredicted ones. And besides, the driver seemed like a wimp anyway.


‘Oh Daddy,’ She smiled as she waited for is reply, ‘I am sure going to enjoy this gift…’

“Why thank you… I’ll take what you are having.”

Anthony reached for the champagne and 'popped the cork.' That is to say, a whispered hiss and gently removing the bottle from the cork. Anthony began to poor and was using this elegant and refined exercise to calm his nerves, and the cork remained in the towel he draped over the top. No champagne spilled, it was a properly chilled bottle, and he poured a liberal amount for Ms. C., and placed it on a flat surface near her. The limo was expertly driven, and well suspended, so there was only a small threat of it spilling. As he began to poor his own, he imagined the image he was projecting. A mutant, yes, but refined. Elegant. Of aristocratic tastes and noble manners-

“Why wait for the hotel? Why not be a man and do me right here, right now?”
Say WHAT?!

Anthony almost dropped the bottle of champagne, and did drop the glass he was pouring into. Hands shaking (Damn it, he should be much better then this) he picked up the dropped glass and put it into a compartment in the seat on the opposite side of Ms. C., plucked another glass out, and poured himself a glass, and sipped it, lightly, resisting the urge to down it in one go. The bottle went back in the bucket, and he stretched out a little bit.

What am I supposed to say to that? Nothing. Infact, play it off. Anthony chuckled, and found it came forth almost too easily, like he'd been repressing it. Maybe I have, whatever.

"You startled me," he said, in a jovial tone, "I wasn't expecting that. I was hoping for a little romancing and foreplay. You wouldn't begrudge me a little semblance of normalcy?" Anthony glanced at his hands. "Well, semi-normalcy?" He laughed again, and settled into a wide grin, his little pointed teeth gleaming. He turned, reached into the compartment, and emerged with a disc, sliding it into a slot near the driver's window. Low, very low, a violin played slow, vaguely romantic music.