Chapter Three
Country Girl, Shake It For Me
“Hello, ladies, gentlemen, and that beautiful technicolor rainbow in between!” The DJ’s voice blared over the sound system with infectious enthusiasm. “It’s time to give it up for your falcon fave, the absolute queen of aerial acrobatics, the cutie who puts the cunt in country — Cinnamon Skye!”
The crowd erupted into a roaring applause. Wrenley, or Cinnamon Skye when she was on stage, could easily pack the Den, but her “Hoein’ Down” set was a fan favorite among the regulars and newbies. As darkness and silence fell, my whole body stiffened with alertness like it always did.
For a time, it worked, but only off the football field.
But that was a different game with different rules.
For one, I was damn good at it. There, I was strong and powerful, and it meant something, especially as I earned a full ride scholarship to college.
More so, for supernatural football, your gender under uniform didn’t mean shit.
There were a few transfolk on my team, which helped me inevitably realize that I was trans, too.
By playing, I learned to embrace every part of myself.
I could be masculine and feminine in different ways, and that was okay.
Gender was just patriarchy’s imaginary friend they refused to let go of as they grew up.
That didn’t mean that being able to become a wallflower didn’t have its perks.
Despite how inclusive the American Supernatural Football League was, there were still so few who did because of the attention and scrutiny they got off the field.
I wanted no parts of that, which was what made me decide not to go pro.
Shrinking helped people to eventually overlook and forget about me.
Now, I still knew how to fold myself into something smaller.
Most patrons didn’t clock me, even if I was standing next to them.
I was so boring compared to who they had paid to throw money at.
Suddenly, a spotlight lit the far end of the stage. Her voice came on over the opening notes of Jessica Simpson’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”:
“Are you ready, boots?”
“We’re ready!” The regulars responded.
Her chuckle resonated through the theater. “Yee-fucking-haw.”
The click of her cowgirl boots echoed through the venue. Coming onto the stage, she had added in the final piece of her ensemble: the matching black cowgirl hat. It was pulled low with a curtain of beads obscuring most of her face. But a smirk teasing her dark red lips peeked through.
How was it possible for something so small to make me want to cum so quickly?
Cinnamon Skye strutted onto the stage. As sexy and confident as she was before, it now radiated off her with an almost visible shimmer like summer heat waves off asphalt.
The seductive swish of her hips, that perfect arch in her back, and each pronounced step would have a succubus weeping.
It was damn near predatory. Yet, I knew every motion was practiced until it was pure muscle memory.
Wrenley had been dancing since before she could crawl.
She loved it and being the center of attention.
It was why, despite being good at cheerleading, she had left it to become a stripper.
She missed making her own routines, being the only one everyone had their eyes on, and not just moving to tide folks over until the game started again.
Here, she not only had the space to do that, but she owned the space for it.
As she had done more times than I could count, Wrenley reached the pole just as the chorus ended to “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.
” As the mix continued cycling through song samples, her movements remained simple.
Wrenley did body rolls and grinding against the pole to “Pony” by Ginuwine, twerked to “My Truck” by brELAND, and did easy spins to “Buckle Bunny” by Tanner Addell.
To “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,” she added flips.
The crowd went wild with each and every landing.
Then, she started to strip.
The corset came first as always. When it was undone, she revealed her stomach like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon to a crowd going wild.
She tossed it behind her to magically reappear back in the dressing room.
The audience lost it, seeming to lose their wallets, too, as they made it rain money all around her.
Next were her boots. She came to the front of the pole and gripped it above her head.
Through the curtain of stones, she couldn’t help but smile, knowing what was about to come next and I couldn’t resist doing the same.
She lifted herself out of her boots with a well-rehearsed ease.
She flipped into an upside-down split, her dainty human feet now replaced with the golden scaly feet of a large bird with a candy-red pedicure on each curved talon.
Wrenley turned and gripped the pole with them, allowing her to do even wilder moves.
In a flash, her chaps vanished, too. Her lush legs and thighs were laid bare for a moment as she twerked her fat ass.
Once she went back around the pole, they were quickly taken by rich chocolate-brown feathers on the outside and downy pale ones along her inner thigh.
A short, wide, feathered tail, the same color as her fiery curls, rose above her thong.
Feathers threaded themselves through her ringlets that were revealed once Wrenley flung her hat away.
Saving the best for last, her arms transformed into broad, rounded wings that matched the feathers on her legs, with her hands remaining.
She was magnificent and breathtaking, but watching her dance was transcendent.
Her moves required an amount of strength and control that seemed impossible, even for supernaturals.
At one point, she rode the pole like it was a mechanical bull, making my bull buck with jealousy.
Later, she danced her way up to the top of the ten-foot pole.
Then, she dropped, taking my heart and stomach with her, before landing into a twerking split.
The audience roared. The energy was charged with adoration, lust, and a respect for the performance as a craft.
I would give up a year’s salary just to watch her dance. Even though I got to do it all the time, it never stopped being the best part of my shift. It was a good thing I had supernatural abilities to sense a threat, since I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her. Her body had me under a spell.
As if she could sense my thoughts, Wrenley made eye contact with me. A heat bloomed in my chest. Everything vanished until it was just her and me. There was the same hot desire within her eyes as I felt. It was the same need that made my dick twitch with interest.
Suddenly, she changed her usual routine.
With her eyes never leaving mine, she danced even more sensually.
Every body roll was a message. Her groping her own body was like a confession.
All of her moves felt like they were secrets for me.
It was a language only we could understand.
I drank in every detail, each way her body curved, and how much her body demanded to be worshipped.
Somewhere in that hypnotic intensity, I realized she wasn’t Cinnamon Skye anymore. No, she was Wrenley again. My Wrenley.
Is this foreplay? Maybe this is how we finally—
A man with a menacing sneer stood up abruptly near the stage. It was more than enough for me to make my way toward him. My bull stomped their hooves, already sensing trouble.
Then, as Wrenley was twerking, he cocked his hand back.
His slap across Wrenley’s ass was hard enough to cut through the music.
In an instant, everything went red.
The roar that came from me was like a bullhorn, making the walls and glasses on the tables rattle like chattering teeth. I didn’t think. There was no deliberation about professionalism. No, it was just my bull’s rage and desire to come to the surface. I didn’t try to fight it.
My sneakers burst around my hooved feet, and I kicked them away as I prepared to charge.
I didn’t have time to worry about losing yet another pair of good sneakers.
That didn’t matter. As my frame swelled with muscle, my jeans grew tight enough for my brown hide on my legs to peek through the seams. My tail snapped out.
My clenched fists shifted into partial hooves themselves, my four fingers fusing into two on both hands.
My horns curved high and fatally sharp from my afro curls.
My ears popped as they became my new bovine ears.
I watched my mouth and nose lengthen into a partial muzzle.
When I snorted, my breath came out in hot clouds. I roared again.
People stared with wide eyes. I didn’t give a shit.
Wrenley was all that mattered.
Wrenley didn’t wait for me to respond. While my body was shifting, Wrenley turned easily on her feet and clawed at the man with her talons. Blood flowed from three deep gashes on his face, and I caught a glimpse of white in one of them before it started healing.
That’s my girl.
Then, the fucker’s eyes flashed a bright yellow. He snarled, showing his lengthening fangs.
A fucking werewolf. Of fucking course.
As Wrenley went to return to her routine, the fucking dog grabbed her ankle and pulled.
My turtledove went down.
Hard.
Her head bounced on the stage’s floor. The resulting smack knocked something loose in my chest.
Wrenley’s eyes fluttered. As she passed out, she shifted back to her human form.
I wanted to go to her. I wanted to check on her. But I wasn’t in control.
Check later, my bull snorted. Protect now.
My bull was right.
So, I charged.
I rushed toward the wolf, horns first. They both caught him right in the chest, going clean through. Fucker should be thanking every deity that he was a shifter that would heal eventually. Luckily, it would hurt like a motherfucker.
Before any blood dripped into my curls, I swung my head. The dog’s body crashed through the bar area. He hit it hard enough to crack the wooden bar top and send bottles to the ground. He groaned, still conscious.
Good. I wanted him to feel every suffering second.
I approached him slowly, the crowd parting around me.
Above him, behind the broken bar, was Ira, nodding with fierce approval in her eyes like she wished worse on him.
When I reached him, I stomped on his hands with my hooves.
I heard the vindicating, sickening crunch of his bones breaking.
Just when they started to snap back into place, I stepped on them again.
His screams filled the Den. But I felt a savage satisfaction at every note of his agony.
He deserved worse for touching her — for even thinking about it.
After a few times, I grabbed him by his throat.
My hoof-hand crushed his windpipe enough to make breathing difficult.
I snarled at him, my voice mostly bull and ground shaking anger.
“Leave and never return. If you ever think about coming back here, I’m going to turn you into swiss godsdamn cheese and break your tiny dick just like I did your hands.
Keep them to yourself from now on, dog.”
The dog whimpered. He tried to beg around his damaged throat.
An acrid scent hit my nose as some pee trickled down his leg.
I scoffed and tossed him toward the exit.
His ass skidded across the floor. His friends, a pack of cowardly mutts, scrambled behind him.
Low and threatening, I growled at them as they fled.
They practically fell over each other to get out the door.
“So sorry, folks! We’re going to take a brief interlude. Stick around for our next incredible act!” The DJ’s voice announced.
The audience did what they always did when things went sideways.
They threw money on the stage until you couldn’t see the floor underneath the bills that covered it.
It wasn’t because they enjoyed seeing Wrenley get hurt.
Far from it. Most were regulars who cared about the performers.
Threads were around mainly for tourists since they were guests who only came once or for special occasions.
Once Wrenley left, the stage’s magic would collect the money and deposit it into a special bucket in Wrenley’s locker.
“I’ll take care of things out here,” Ira said. Then, she winked. “Go and seal the deal finally.”
I rolled my eyes. “She needs care and attention, not sex right now, Ira Mae.”
“I’m not hearing the difference in your words.”
I shook my head, letting her laughter fade as I went to Wrenley, who was already coming to.
I leapt onto the stage to watch her wake up.
It was slow as if she was surfacing through deep, thick water.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she groaned. It was a hard as fuck fall.
If she were human, she would need to go to the ER.
Thankfully, as a supernatural being, she healed quickly.
That didn’t ease my bull from being close to the surface still, remaining on edge with how vulnerable Wrenley was right now.
When her eyes opened, they met mine immediately.
There was no pain or confusion in her eyes.
There was only Wrenley. Just her looking at me with eyes that were as bright as ever, sharing their color with my favorite bottle of bourbon with sunlight streaming through it.
My chest swelled with emotion that was more than just relief.
As carefully as my hooved hands would allow, I moved a stray curl from her face.
Her sigh at the motion was so sweet and soft that I could have crumbled just then.
“Come on, sugar, let’s get you somewhere safe,” I whispered, my voice still rough and deep with my bull’s presence. She nodded curtly before I carefully picked her up and held her in my arms. She fit so well there, like she was made for it.
But then, she nuzzled into my chest.
Suddenly, I wasn’t sure how much longer we would last as just friends.