The silence that followed Mike's command was deafening, filled only by the distant, rhythmic hum of the city and the frantic, thudding pulse in Madison's ears. She stood there, shivering, her hands still desperately clutching her breasts and her crotch as if she could physically hold her dignity in place.
But she knew it was a lie. She could feel the cool night air swirling around her nakedness, mocking the thin illusion of privacy she was trying to maintain.
Her mind became a frantic, swirling vortex of self-loathing and hyperawareness. She looked down at herself, attempting to see through the haze of her own tears.
She saw the ridiculous black fur of the ears, the way the silver collar caught the moonlight, and the long, shameful tail that felt like a heavy, pulsing intruder in her rectum. She felt utterly grotesque.
