La Dame de la Louve Blanche

A wolf pursues her friend through noir-Paris, while getting hypnotized into an elegant femme fatale. Explicit.

Two blocks from the private investigator's office, Vicky heard the narration kick in.

“The water came down in sheets, giving Paris the cold shower it deserved. The city of love? When you’re lucky, love chews you up and swallows you whole. When you’re not, it tears you to shreds and leaves you drowning in the gutter. Whoever decided to make a city of love was mad, or French. The two were close enough.

“Anyone with sense was inside. Which was why one rain-drenched wolf climbed through deep puddles and streams of water running down the streets: madness. Or love for a friend. Close enough.

Vicky got the idea. She was inside a film noir that was set in Paris; she'd figured out that much when she showed up and everything was black-and-white except for her. She was still baffled how Liz had gotten here in the first place, but that wasn't important. What was important was finding her friend.

And in this sort of film, if you wanted to find someone, you needed a hard-boiled private eye, someone who could get things done with two fists and a gun. She could see his hands, folded on his desk, and his gun, slung off the back of his chair, as she stepped into his office. Good to see he had all three.

"Try not to drip on anything," he said, from beneath his downturned fedora.

"It's raining pretty hard," Vicky said, as if it were news.

"You're raining pretty hard on my carpet."

She wanted to be accommodating, so she stepped to the side so she'd drip on the bare floor instead.

"Let me guess," he said. "It's a murder, and you're looking for the man who drowned you?" Vicky's lips tightened. The private eye straightened up and cleared his throat. "Go on."

Vicky said, "I'm trying to find a friend of mine. Her name's Liz—Elizabeth—and she's a tiger."

“He was a dark-furred ferret who’d had life give him a few punches in the snout. She was a young white wolf slowly drying out from the rain. Couldn’t say she was much of a dame, though. Maybe a starter dame. Take a job from her, and he could work his way up to the real dames you could use all the good metaphors on.

Vicky was a little annoyed. The detective didn't notice the voice-over.

"Got anything more on this girl?" he asked.

"She's an American, like me."

He shook his head. "That's not a lot to go on. It's not going to come cheap. And I'll want half up front."

"I’m not funding you sitting around for a week and then telling me you didn’t find anything. You get paid when I find her," Vicky said.

The ferret frowned. The girl had a real fire inside of her, despite how green she was. “The money’s not for trips to the pictures. I've got to get information somehow,” he said.

“I trust in your abilities,” she said.

His frown soured, but she could see him weighing the risks in his head. Refuse, and definitely not get paid. Accept, and maybe get paid. "Fine,” he grunted. “You got a name and somewhere I can reach you?"

"I'm Vicky Hayes. I've got a number at the hotel, let me see," she said. She dug into the bag she carried and pulled out a card with a handwritten phone number on it. He jotted it down, then set down his pen and held out his hand.

"Rich Thompson, on the case for you, ma'am," he said.


After three days of dreary spring weather, a splash of welcome light came to Vicky while sitting in a cheap hotel room on the Rue Marcadet. Her phone rang.

"There's some good news and some bad news," Thompson said.

Perhaps not as welcome as she’d hoped, but at least it was news.

"Okay, and what are they?" she asked.

"Good news, I've picked up a few leads. Bad news, one of them's a crime scene; robbery at a store. I'll give you the address, you can come and take a look with me. And bring my payment."

It was late, and the overcast sky cast a uniformly dim light over everything. Outside a boutique on Rue de Rennes, Vicky and her private eye gave the police a wide berth. The owner of the boutique sat on the steps in front of them. Every so often, she took a nervous drag on a cigarette, then let the smoke tumble from her lips up to join the gray sky.

"That is all. I saw nothing. I just come back, and zut alors, the windows are smashed and two racks of clothes are missing," the mouse said.

"We're more interested in a tigress. American girl. Might have gone by Liz?" he asked.

"Oh. Oh, oui. Very pretty girl, tall, wonderful figure. She dressed...vraiment magnifique. She should have been a model. She came in a few days last week. She did not buy much, just liked to look. I cannot blame her for wanting to look. The clothes I sell are so good, people will steal to get them! Heh. Hmm." She smiled a little, then frowned again and took another drag.

The mouse couldn't give them Elizabeth wrapped up with a bow, but one lead was better than none.

"So she’s been around here in the past week," Thompson said. "And I bet she’s done more than just window shopping. I’ll start hunting around. That worth some of my pay yet?”

Vicky stayed tight-lipped, but dug two notes out of her pocket and pushed them into the ferret’s hand. He smiled, straightened his hat, and turned to leave. Vicky walked back toward the hotel on her own, watching the street lamps flick on for the night.

The description that the mouse had given of her friend didn't match the Elizabeth she knew. Liz was more 'kind of dorky' than 'very pretty, more 'lanky cat' than 'wonderful figure'. But the shop owner had seen an American tigress named Liz. How many of those could there be in Paris?

An alley ran between two roads on her way back to the hotel. Though it cut ten minutes off the trip back, there were no streetlamps, just the sporadic pools of light pouring out from a lit window. Despite the tickling fear in the back of her head, she walked down the alleyway and into the dark. Brick walls surrounded her on both sides. She followed the splashes of grayscale light from the windows. Out of the darkness ahead of her, a voice spoke to her.

"Hello, darling."

The whitish glow of a cigarette shone on a gray-and-black striped face and a thick, pouting lip. A tigress stepped into the light with a figure that would have made Thompson wax poetic and offer to take her case pro bono. Her long dress barely contained her bosom, tightly packed into the deep bustline. A tapered slit along the side revealed the curve of her hips and a little bit of fur above the top of her sheer stockings. Snug silken gloves reached from her fingers up past her elbows. From her thick black curls down to her heels, she was sex incarnate, and she was walking toward Vicky.

"I noticed your P.I. looking for me," the tigress said.

"You're not Liz—"

"Ah-ah, dear, no talking," she said. "And you're right, it's not Liz any more, it's Elizabeth. In fact, Madam Elizabeth to you."

It was like a vice clamped down on Vicky's muzzle. Her teeth grit and her lips peeled back, but she couldn't open her mouth.

"Now, I'm going to tell you what to do. And you're going to do it for me. First, you're going to keep looking for me. Don't tell your P.I. that you met me. I want to see when he'll lead you to me again."

Madam Elizabeth chuckled. All of a sudden Vicky's back was up against the wall. She felt like cornered prey. Elizabeth's raw confidence frightened her. The gasp hadn’t left her throat before Elizabeth blew a gentle, fragrant cloud of smoke over her. Despite herself, she inhaled, tasting cloves, nutmeg, maybe some cinnamon. No stench of tobacco, just pure spice. Her body felt warm, her legs weak, her vision hazy. Elizabeth’s smile shone with a glow like a vaseline-smeared lens.

"Second, you're going to make the most of where you are. You're in Paris, darling. Let yourself out. Get your hair and nails done, at least. And some clothes shopping would do you good."

The tigress's hands slid underneath Vicky's shirt. Vicky made a soft noise of protest, but her hands hung loose at her sides. Elizabeth's paws cupped Vicky’s breasts. The touch of silk felt so soft on her white fur. Vicky breathed in sharply and squeezed back against the wall. She just couldn’t pull away. Elizabeth’s tail curled around the wolf's hips. It deftly slid around her leg, coiled tight, and pressed its tip up between Vicky’s legs. Even through her jeans and her panties, the pressure made her squirm.

"You won’t think any of these things are strange. For all you know, this is how you normally act."

A groan slipped from Vicky’s throat. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the tigress's twinkling gray stare. But with squeezes and gropes, strokes and rubs, her body responded to Madam Elizabeth's attention. The weight of her breasts pressed against her gloved hands. They naturally curved outward from her chest, spreading, making her shirt hug her tight. Elizabeth’s grip tightened as the tender, aching flesh swelled into her paws.

"You won't notice anything different with your body, either. Everything will be as you expect it to be."

A hot flash rose from her groin and rippled out through Vicky's body. She cried out and her eyelids fluttered. Elizabeth’s tail squeezed her leg, and her legs squeezed right back. Her hips widened, inch by inch, pulling her jeans tighter. The weight melted off Vicky’s waist and flowed down to fill her hips. Her pussy ached, swollen against her panties, but she was powerless to even to reach for the zipper. The moans falling from her lips grew thick as the fog.

Vicky’s eyes rolled back. Her thoughts melted into a whirl of hot, desperate need. Her climax hit with a cry of delight. She melted against the brick wall, jaw hanging open, panting desperately. Her panties had soaked through to her jeans. Elizabeth uncoiled her tail, slipped her hands out from under Vicky's shirt, and lit herself a new cigarette. The puff of smoke went right into Vicky’s face and she inhaled it before she could think to hold her breath. Another swirl of spices. A tingle danced in the air inches from her face, no matter how she tried to blink it away.

"Mm, good girl. That's all for tonight, darling. Enjoy," the tigress said. With a smile and a roll of her tail, she left, walking down the alley the way Vicky had come.

Vicky wanted to follow her and demand answers, but her feet drove her toward the hotel instead. The bounce in her chest and the natural sway of her hips insinuated themselves into her walk. By the time she was back to the hotel, Elizabeth’s words had sunken in. She couldn’t recall if she’d always had this figure or not.

Her pants and panties stripped off, Vicky fell back on the bed with her legs spread. Her mind was a mess of smoke and the thick purring of a tigress, and her body begged for attention. One hand gripped her chest, and one squeezed two fingers between her folds. Just hands and simple pleasure, that was all she was that night, until she drifted off wrapped in her own arms.


Two days later, Vicky was less vibrant. She didn’t know what process was driving it, but her blue jeans had faded, and her old shirts had lost some of their color. In the mirror, her blue eyes were more of a stormy gray-blue, and her tongue a paler shade of pink. Was it an omen, or just a cosmetic change as her body adjusted to this world?

She’d been looking at her reflection a lot since meeting the woman who claimed to be Elizabeth. She'd found her thoughts drifting again and again to her appearance and how she might flatter her figure. And then she would get warm and flustered, and have to take a personal moment.

A trip to a nearby salon made her agenda yesterday. She’d paid for a full body shampoo and conditioning, leaving her thick white fur silkier and fluffier than it had ever been. They even filed her claws for free, shaping them and smoothing off the points. She felt the pampering in every step.

Vicky justified her new daily clothes-shopping as trying to blend in better. No one had batted an eye at her tee shirt and jeans, but she had to explain the sudden urge to herself. Today, she wore a light, short-sleeved button-down blouse, and a pencil skirt that reached to her knees, with a broad black belt around her waist. She couldn't button the blouse all the way up, so a bit of white-furred cleavage peeked out the top.

In the midst of thumbing through a fashion magazine swiped from the hotel lobby, her phone rang. She sat up from the bed and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" she said.

"Thompson here. I've got a bit more information about your tigress friend. She's been going to the city planning office to meet someone there every Friday, at six. You could catch her today if you hurry."

She barely had time to say thank you before she was out the door.

The streets of the city rushed by under her black pumps. She tried to focus on the last time she met Elizabeth, but the details were all a haze of smoke and pleasure. She told herself not to worry; she’d find Liz again, and they'd get out of here together. Five blocks from the building, blaring police sirens rushed past her. Police and Elizabeth together once was a coincidence; twice was suspicious.

A flash of stripes drew her attention. A tail flicked out of view behind the corner of an alleyway. Vicky rounded the corner to find a dead end, and no sign of Elizabeth. As she walked toward the end, though, she spotted a small stairwell leading to a basement door. She climbed down the steps and reached for the handle.

"It's locked, dear."

Vicky whipped around in surprise to find Elizabeth, standing directly behind her. Had she been hiding in the shadow?

"Madam Elizabeth!” Vicky blurted out. She’d only meant to call her Liz, but her lips hadn't obeyed her. “If you really are her, then let me hel—mmph!” Elizabeth drew her pointer finger and thumb together and Vicky’s jaw sealed shut.

The tigress tutted and shook her head. "This again? That's all in the past. Look at you now. Why, you look feminine, darling," Elizabeth said.

With a quick step, Elizabeth closed the distance between them. She pinned Vicky to the wall with her chest; her own bust made even Vicky’s enhanced breasts seem small by comparison. A bit of jealousy rolled around on Vicky’s tongue. Elizabeth was gorgeous, and was gloating.

"But you need style. I can't be seen with a plain girl like you. You're going to up your budget. And you're going to really care about your appearance. It's one of the most important parts of you, after all."

Vicky wanted to throw the tigress against the wall and run. At the very least she wanted to yell, to do anything to resist. But she couldn't. Staring into those grey eyes, her willpower vanished. Just let her use you as a plaything, said a voice in her mind. Her own voice. She couldn’t fight those lustful purrs or heavy chest or winding tail. Vicky’s breath was hot and her cheeks were flushed just from being trapped in Elizabeth’s gaze.

"You're going to be classier, too. A posh, elegant wolf. Oh, all this waiting is simply going to kill me."

Without warning, the tigress's lips were on her own. Soft and plush, yet strong, they spoke to her of dominating, mind-melting power. One of Elizabeth’s glove-clad paws reached behind her head and grasped her hair. The other paw supported her just above her tail. It felt as if Elizabeth could rob the will from her body with a kiss. It was absurd. Of course. Completely absurd. Right?

Elizabeth lifted her lips for a moment and whispered, “Orgasm for me, dear.”

Vicky was hot and aching, sure, but she wasn’t... Her eyes fluttered. Her muscles clenched, riding an invisible wave of pleasure higher and higher. Elizabeth sunk back into the kiss while Vicky desperately grasped at Elizabeth's back. Her legs felt like jelly and her thighs pulsed with heat. A few stray drops fell to the ground between her legs. An orgasm without even being touched.

When Elizabeth pulled back, Vicky's eyes were half-closed, unfocused. Her mouth hung open. Her chest rose and fell deeply. She was still lost in the daze of trance and afterglow.

"See you again soon, darling."

Madam Elizabeth turned on a thin heel and walked away, letting the city sweep her up into its tangled web. Vicky's mind slowly climbed back into control. Elizabeth was long-gone by now, and she had no idea how to track her. At the very least, she could find out what she'd been running from.

Rounding the corner of the block the city planning office was on, she saw a young police dog, posted at the perimeter and looking rather bored.

"Excuse me?" she asked in a timbre between innocent and sultry.

He turned and a blush grazed his cheeks. A pretty wolf girl stood before him, nearly popping out of her blouse. Her clothes seemed to deliberately squeeze her a little too tight, and her plump, dark lip glistened in the light of the streetlamp. Vicky batted her thick eyelashes at him.

"Could you tell me what happened here?" she asked. He looked happy to talk to her.

"One of the clerks, she was assaulted, knocked unconscious. Seems like something may have been stolen, but they're not sure what," he said. He smiled, then seemed to remember he was a police officer, and furrowed his brow seriously. "Have you seen anyone suspicious around here?”

The thought crossed her mind: If Elizabeth got arrested, that would at least pin her down, and then Vicky could get the two of them back home. And Elizabeth was being very suspicious. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she saw Elizabeth’s eyes, and smelled her smoke, and her tongue slipped.

"No, I'm sorry. Thank you, though," Vicky said, as if the words weren’t her own.

Hot-cheeked again, Vicky turned and walked away, tugging at the hem of her too-tight dress.


A brush of soft perfume swept behind Vicky as she stepped out of the cab and under the awning of her new hotel. No more cramped, cheap rooms for her. She’d moved up to the warm light and burnished bronze of a four-star hotel on the Rue des Pyramides. It had been three days since she’d last seen Elizabeth, and three days since she checked out and found a more expansive place to stay.

In those three days, she’d focused on her looks, in order to keep herself from fretting about Elizabeth. She was proud of the new outfits she’d picked out.

Her legs could have reached all the way to heaven if they weren't capped by the hem of her short dress. It ended around her mid-thigh to keep her looking proper while still showing off her figure. Between her long legs and lush hips and slender high heels, she’d put more attention into her lower half than she’d spent on her whole body until a few days ago.

Squeezed into the top of her dress, her bosom pulled the fabric snug. There was a faint wrinkle between her breasts, hinting at how close she was to being too big for the dress. She’d had each of her claws filed again and painted with a light gloss. Her lip, plump and inviting, was coated in dark, shimmering lipstick. Supposedly it was red, but everything was black-and-white anyway.

"Trois, s'il vous plait," she told the elevator operator as he slid the door shut. Her French was improving quickly.

Vicky had upgraded her salon treatment too. They’d trimmed her thick fur to make it even and conditioned it so heavily that it poured off her skin like milk. She’d even had the stylist walk her through a couple different hairstyles, so she could get her hair ready in the morning on her own.

Once in her room, she carefully removed shoes, then dress, then stockings, then lingerie. While the cold rain washed the city outside, she sank into the hot water of a fresh bath. She glanced up into the bathroom mirror and was left staring into her eyes for a moment or two. There was a faint hint of blue among the bright gray. She blinked and broke the trance, sinking the rest of the way into the water and reaching for the bottle of shampoo.

A half-hour later, in the midst of drying off her fur, the phone began to ring. Ah, how good, she thought, the British detective had remembered to write down her new phone number.

"Hello, Miss Vicky speaking!" she said. There was a little posh drawl in her voice she couldn’t avoid. It had started two days ago, and she hadn’t been able to make her voice sound normal again.

"Thompson here. Someone spotted your tigress friend out on a date with a professor. The university gave me his address. I’m going to head to his house. Thought to let you know, if you want to come."

"Oh, that's fantastic, thank you! I'll come right away," Vicky said.

She took down the address, then quickly got ready to leave again. Hair pinned up, lingerie and stockings back on, dress zipped up, heels on, double-check her hair, lipstick and eyeliner and mascara, grab her purse, re-check everything, don't forget the address, and she was off.

Luckily, time was not of the essence. She sat in the passenger seat of Thompson’s car, parked across the street from the professor’s house. Vicky looked down at herself in her compact, then clicked it shut for the fifth time in half an hour. Headlights rolled down the street, then a cab came to a stop in front of the house. A male figure rose out of one side of the car, wobbling a little before an elegantly dressed tigress came to wrap an arm around him and lead him to the door.

“Must have gotten him drunk. I don’t like this, feels like a prelude to a crime,” Thompson said.

Vicky nodded. “She’s up to something. Should we stop her?”

Thompson popped open the car door and climbed out. “You coming?” he asked.

They had crossed the street when the sound of something breaking came from inside the house. Thompson’s ears rose and he hunched over cautiously, slinking up to the door with Vicky behind him. His hand reached for the doorknob as the other reached for his pistol.

He threw the door open, charged in, and received a Ming vase to the head. He toppled over. A gloved hand dragged Vicky inside and shut the door.

With a baffled, vaguely offended look, Vicky stumbled into the foyer. There in front of her was Elizabeth, casually smoking from a cigarette holder. Thompson was slumped against the door frame, out like a light, while in the living room, the professor was splayed out on the couch, sound asleep.

The tigress only let out a puff of smoke, then returned her cigarette holder to her lips. She smirked at Vicky, as if this was all part of her plan. Vicky doubted that, but Elizabeth seemed so confident, she was almost convinced it was true.

If Elizabeth wanted to be quiet, then Vicky would get a word in. "Madam Elizabeth, I've been trying to talk to you but with all of these crimes you've been committing I'm beginning to think I should turn you in," Vicky said.

"Oh come, darling, you don't have to worry. I wasn't going to leave you out," Elizabeth said.

"I don't want to join you. I want to save you!" Vicky said.

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid you're the one who needs saving. In fact, let me help you with that. No speaking, if you would," the tigress said.

Vicky’s mouth closed, and no matter how she pouted our scowled, it wouldn’t open. She turned her fierce glare on Elizabeth, but the tigress was unshaken. Vicky's snout wrinkled slightly as she stared into those beautiful eyes. Without a word, her own paws slipped down to the hem of her dress and lifted it up above her hips, then pushed her dark panties down to her knees. Her pussy was laid bare for Elizabeth. Her ears folded back; she couldn’t even fight the tigress’s gaze. Elizabeth paced around her, looking at her from all angles. Her tail traced around Vicky’s waist.

"A seductress should be a little thicker, I’d think,” Elizabeth said, pinching her hip. “And, really, turning me in? You’re much too innocent. Stop caring about what other people think of you. You’re the one who’s important.”

From behind, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her. Her lips pressed into Vicky’s neck, nipping at the fur. One arm crossed over her chest and grasped one of her proud, tightly-packed breasts, while the other slid down her belly, down between her legs, and right along her folds. A shudder ran down Vicky’s tail and her ears shot up straight. Elizabeth rumbled contently.

Two of Elizabeth’s fingers dipped into Vicky’s pussy. Her body curled and her back arched. Her toes gripped the edges of her high heels. Elizabeth pulled her closer so that she couldn't get away. Vicky panted, her eyes going glassy, her jaw slack. Elizabeth moved so smooth and yet pushed so hard, Vicky already felt like putty in her arms. As the heat swelled inside of her, Elizabeth’s words rolled around in her head, repeating until they began to seem true.

Elizabeth clung tightly to Vicky, more tightly than she needed to. Behind her aloof and confident facade, Vicky could tell there was a genuine affection. Elizabeth didn’t want to let her go, no more than she wanted to let Elizabeth go.

The stitches of Vicky’s stockings plucked and prickled as her thighs grew rounder. A force like a gentle hand pushed on her hips, helping them to spread, to show the flare of her curves running down from her waist. Elizabeth pressed herself tightly against Vicky’s rear, squeezed against the extra cushioning. That single wrinkle in her dress was pulled tighter, joined by other wrinkles, as the fabric strained to keep its shape while staying on top of the wolf’s chest. Even Vicky’s cheeks broadened with her cheekbones, fluffy with her well-groomed fur.

Elizabeth leaned her cheek against Vicky’s neck and nibbled at shoulder. Her two fingers robbed Vicky’s legs of their strength, leaving her dangling in Elizabeth’s grasp, panting and at her mercy. With a thick purr, Elizabeth lifted her head and spoke into Vicky’s ear.

"You love seduction and extravagance and danger just as much as me. You're going to leave all that old nonsense behind and live here, with me."

Vicky’s head nodded slowly. She licked her lips to try to respond, to try to say no, but already her will was sliding away. She didn’t want to say no any more, because this life was so much more thrilling and rich, and oh dear lord, she wanted this pleasure to go on forever.

"Vicky is no name for a gorgeous lady,” Elizabeth said. “Say bonjour, Madame Yvette."

Vicky fought it as hard as she could, against the urge rising into her mind to speak. She clamped her jaws as tight as possible, but now they wanted to open. Elizabeth tightened her grip on her body, squeezing, pressing her fingers deeper, lifting Vicky up until her heels were off the ground. Her breath hitched in her chest, rising higher until—

"Bonjour, Madame Elizabeth. Je m'appelle Madame Yvette."

Oh fuck, oh god, oh oh oh...merde.

"What a good girl!” Elizabeth purred. “Now, you're going to go unconscious once you orgasm. You'll tell the police you were knocked out and didn’t see a thing. In two days, wait for me outside your hotel."

Yvette’s foot paws grasped and clutched at her shoes. Her knees bent. She was slipping off the cliff, tumbling down. Her whole body rang out as the orgasm hit her, leaving her throbbing, drifting to the floor, slumping down. Elizabeth tugged up Yvette's panties and pushed her dress back down. The last thing Yvette remembered as she closed her eyes was the smell of spiced smoke.


Yvette had woken up in a police station and told them what Elizabeth had told her to say. Thompson had told her this case was too much trouble and officially quit. Yvette had still paid him, though, as she felt bad about getting him knocked out.

Two days later, Yvette was getting ready to check out. She had to move quite a bit more suitcases down than she’d brought up.

"Oui, just load them all in s'il vous plait," Yvette told the busboy. She waved her hand in the direction of her closet, stocked full with outfits she’d bought, a whole wardrobe for her new figure.

Her dress was a snug, almost skin-tight fit. It glistened in the light, highlighting her curves no matter how she was standing. The neckline dipped deep into her cleavage. The slit along one side rose all the way to her waist, to show as much thick hip as possible. Her high heels clung to her feet with thin straps, allowing plenty of room to show off her pedicure underneath her stockings.

"Be careful! If anything is stretched, I'll have a talk with the manager," she said.

The otter busboy paused, holding up a thick fur coat. "Do you want your coat, madame?" he asked.

"Pack it up, it won't be that cold tonight," she said.

With a catwalk strut, she led the way to the lobby. The busboy and the cart with her four suitcases trailed behind her. They came to a stop underneath the hotel’s awning. After a few minutes' wait, a sleek limousine pulled up. While the busboy loaded the suitcases, the driver climbed out and opened the door for Yvette.

She slipped into the back of the limousine and the door rolled shut. Elizabeth sat on the leather seats, legs crossed, wearing her confident smile.

They had scarcely said hello before they were pressed against each other. An embrace became a tight clutch, became a deep kiss, became Yvette straddling Elizabeth on the seat.

“We do still have an engagement tonight,” Elizabeth said. Yvette just grinned. Her tail wagged as her hands crept over Elizabeth’s body. They had enough time to enjoy each other’s company first. Elizabeth’s chest rose and fell as she breathed in slowly; Yvette had picked some of her best perfume, just for tonight.

They sunk down into the seat together, returning to their kiss. Elizabeth’s tail snaked around Yvette’s thigh, sliding up her skirt from underneath. Yvette tucked her paw around the slit in Elizabeth’s skirt and stroked her fingers along her bare folds. “Scandalous,” she whispered to the tigress.

Yvette’s fingers slid into Elizabeth’s pussy. The tigress rose, arching her back and starting up a rumbling purr. Her hands kneaded into Yvette’s back. The power of a touch like that was so thrilling; just one little push, and the aloof tigress was a purring pussy. As she worked her fingers, Elizabeth rocked slowly, her head leaning back, resting on the pillow of her dark hair.

At the same time, Elizabeth’s thick tail had found its way beneath Yvette’s lingerie, and curled its plush girth up inside of her. With a soft groan and bump of her hips, Yvette’s tail wagged faster. A hot pant left her mouth. On top and straddling Elizabeth, Yvette rocked her hips slowly, while Elizabeth below squirmed against her probing fingers.

Yvette rose up on her knees, crying out in short bursts, while Elizabeth reached back behind her, gripping the cushions for support and groaning deeply. Yvette through her head back and let out a small, refined howl, while Elizabeth’s eyes rolled back and she sighed, “Oh, darling..."

After a minute longer in each other's arms, they slid back, tidying themselves up. Yvette fixed her panties and readjusted her dress, while Elizabeth tidied her hair and took her tail into her hand to clean it with her tongue.

"Merci, Madam Elizabeth," Yvette said.

"Thank you too, Madame Yvette," Elizabeth said.

"Now," Elizabeth said, giving her hair one last adjustment, "We're going to be approaching the museum on the north side. There's an entrance there which leads to the back rooms. From there, we'll move into the center, then around to the east side..."


Small slits of light were all that made it into the ship's cabin, but they lit up the naked bodies of a gorgeously proportioned wolf and an equally stunning tigress.

"We should tell the captain whether we're going to Greece or Sicily soon," Elizabeth said. Her voice was muffled by speaking into the wolf's soft neck. She stroked her fingers through Yvette's silky fur.

"Mmm. Sicily sounds beautiful, no?" Yvette suggested. "And I hear that Siracusa has some lovely museums..."

Yvette turned her head back toward Elizabeth's and flashed her a playful smile. Elizabeth grinned back. They had enough cash from their heist to live like queens for a few years, but she wouldn't turn her nose up at extra spending money.

"Sicily it is, then," Elizabeth said.

The two drew themselves together in each other's arms. They shared a long kiss while their private charter ship cut a smooth wake across the glimmering sea.