Zoo

The heavy, wrought-iron gates, adorned with tasteful but unmistakably erotic bas-reliefs, swing inward without a sound. The line was indeed short, just as you’d nervously observed from the parking lot—only a handful of people, all looking as casually determined as someone waiting for a coffee. Now, standing inside, the scale of the place unfolds before you. It’s less a zoo and more a sprawling, beautifully landscaped park, with winding paths leading to distinct, architecturally unique sectors. The air is warm and carries a complex perfume: blooming jasmine, clean fur, ozone, and something else, something primal and musky.

A pretty young attendant, her smile professionally serene, takes the card from your hand. She doesn't look at it, simply pocketing it before handing you a sleek, cool tablet. "Just pick from what is on offer on screen," she says, her voice a pleasant murmur, "or type in the box at the bottom what you would like to experience and one of our attendants will come and get you as soon as the scene is ready for you. If you have a piece of media you would like to have a character brought from, they will come collect that and you at the same time. We hope you enjoy your first visit to the zoo."

With a final nod, she gestures you toward a central plaza. As you begin to walk, the tablet screen lights up, displaying a menu that mirrors the world around you.

To your left, a path curves into a vibrant, candy-colored area named Loli Land. It looks like a cartoon village, with oversized flowers and gingerbread-style houses. Through a large picture window, you see a man in a comfortable armchair, reading a storybook to a girl who couldn't be older than twelve, her head nestled against his shoulder. Her laugh tinkles through the glass, high and innocent, as she points at a picture. Further in, another guest is being led by the hand by a giggling pair, their small forms draped in frilly sundresses, toward a room filled with plush toys and a giant, waiting bed.

A branching path to the right winds through The Milf Farm. The aesthetic here is one of rustic, comfortable luxury. Women of all ages and body types lounge on porches or tend to small, decorative gardens. They wear everything from elegant silk robes to tight jeans and flannel shirts. One, a stunning silver-haired woman in an apron, is feeding grapes to a younger man lying with his head in her lap. Another, a brunette with powerful, curvy hips, has her back pressed against the porch rail, her legs wrapped around the waist of a guest who is fervently kissing her neck, her fingers tangled in his hair.

You continue through the plaza, passing the entrance to The Dude Ranch. It’s designed like a high-end western lodge, all dark wood and leather. Men of every conceivable type are present. A dad-bod type in a soft henley shirt sips a beer by a firepit, offering a warm, inviting smile to a passing guest. Near the stables—which are impeccably clean—a pair of chiseled, shirtless men with the physiques of Greek gods are oiling each other's shoulders, their muscles rippling under the warm light, while a woman watches from a nearby bench, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

Ahead, the sounds change. Soft chirps, deep purrs, and the rustle of leaves emanate from The Park. You catch a glimpse of a clearing where a woman with the ears and tail of a fox is nuzzling the neck of a enraptured guest. Further along a wooded trail, you see a powerful, sleek panther, its intelligent eyes watching as a man runs a hand down its spine, the cat arching into the touch with a low rumble. The line between anthropomorphic and purely animal seems beautifully, intentionally blurred.

A chill, unrelated to the temperature, makes you shiver as you pass a stone archway leading down into The Pit. The light here is dim, tinged with a faint purple glow. A succubus with leathery wings and eyes like smoldering coals is tracing a clawed finger down a guest's chest, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. In a nearby grotto, a translucent, shimmering slime creature envelops another guest, its form pulsating gently, their muffled moans of pleasure echoing softly from the damp walls.

In the distance, a sparkling Story Book Castle pierces the sky, its spires reaching for the clouds. As you watch, a woman who is the spitting image of a famous sci-fi heroine from a blockbuster film strides past, clad in form-fitting armor, leading a eager guest by the hand toward a starship simulator. From an open balcony, a prince from a classic fairy tale serenades a small crowd below with a lute.

Finally, you see a nondescript, modern building marked simply The Ect. Its entrance is plain, its windows tinted black. A couple is led inside by a blank-faced attendant, the woman whispering something into the attendant's ear. The attendant nods, her expression unchanging, and presses a button on her wrist. A soft, mechanical hum is the only sound as the doors slide shut behind them, sealing off whatever private, darker desire is about to be indulged within.

You stand in the center of it all, the tablet warm and heavy in your hands, the menu glowing, waiting for your choice.