Weasel Presents (19 page)

Helfer and Volle are also featured in the novels
Volle
and
Pendant of Fortune
, and in the anthology
The Prisoner’s Release and Other Stories
, all available in print from sofawolf.com and as e-books.

Roffi rolled out of his cot in the morning right on top of Shikka. “Sorry!” he said hastily as she sat up, shaking herself awake.

“I had to get up anyway,” she said with a yawn that showed off her pointy little teeth. All over the room, on the floor and on cots, the other otters and weasels were stretching and yawning and scratching bed-matted fur. One or two had looked over at Roffi’s yelp, but were soon back to their waking rituals.

“Still not used to all the people being here,” he said, grooming himself.

“Only another few days,” Shikka said. “Then back to normal, yah.”

“Yah.” Roffi nodded. The Burning Waters was the closest resort to the governor’s mansion up the mountain, where the king and his court were vacationing this year, though why they wanted to be up on the cold mountain rather than down in the nice warm valley he couldn’t figure. Maybe they were all thick-furred and liked it cold and wet. But the ones he’d attended down here in the last few days had certainly seemed to enjoy the heat. So maybe there was another reason.

“Give my paws a rest,” Shikka said, stretching. “Even with all of us here it’s so busy!”

Roffi nodded, looking around the room again. Usually no more than five otters at a time stayed here, but all twelve on staff had been retained for the weeks of the king’s visit, with the promise of the chance to wait on royalty, or, failing that, generous tips. That meant, among other things, that they all slept in the small boarding room, taking turns between the cots and the floor, and that Roffi hadn’t been able to travel back to his home in the south of Vellenland to celebrate his birthday today.

Birthdays in his village were usually close family affairs, with lots of cavorting in the pools of his village and a great deal of playing. Some of his friends said it didn’t really matter whose birthday it was, because everyone had a great time, but since Roffi had gotten his very nice job at Burning Waters, he only really went home for his own birthday. He could go home any other time for someone else’s, but it was a week’s trip, so it was hard to take the time.

If he told the other otters here, they would insist on doing something, and everyone was as worn out as he was, so no one would enjoy it. He didn’t want to be the cause of that, and besides, he was working himself up to feel good and sorry for himself, which would not replace a birthday party but was nearly as self-indulgent, and so he felt it appropriate.

Mick, the weasel they all reported to, poked his head in the door. “Sunrise on the way,” he said, and vanished as quickly as he’d come.

Everyone groaned, and then Shikka waved her paws. “Happy faces people! Today we serve the king!”

Roffi grinned and cheered with the rest of them, his sad mood temporarily forgotten. They had not yet seen the king himself, and had been told they would not, but they had seen a couple noble bears, and it was a sort of competition between them to see which one would get to groom the king after his bath if he did come down to the resort. Each of them had promised to make a full report to the others in that case, and each of them hoped to be the one to sit at the head of the boarding room telling his or her story to the rapt audience.

Roffi spent a few extra minutes patting down his sleek fur and examining his hips and waistline from every angle, adjusting his shorts to be modest yet alluring, a little lower on the hips than was absolutely necessary. Shikka adjusted her little white tunic similarly, letting it hang down off one shoulder and hiking it up past her knees. “How do I look?” She spread her arms for Roffi.

“Delicious,” he said. “How about me?”

“Good enough to pin down and tickle.” She grinned at him, wiggling her claws.

“You don’t have the energy,” he said, laughing, and she joined him.

“Right. Let’s go meet the sun and the king.” She hooked her arm through his and he walked out with her.

Shikka was his oldest friend at the resort, as they’d joined the same year and were still working three years later when most of the other staff had been replaced. They walked out together and reported in to Mick, and then stood and gossiped while waiting for their first customers. Roffi kept reminding himself to be depressed, but it was hard around Shikka.

“Did you see Yelty and Dinn sneaking back in?”

“No! I saw Yelty sneaking out with Chima last night though.”

“She gets around. But listen, Dinn woke up Hux and went right back out again.”

Roffi shook his head. “I can’t believe anyone has the energy after working all day.”

“Well, Dinn doesn’t exactly work all day,” Shikka said, indicating the bathroom.

“I guess not, but still.Yelty does.”

“Yelty’s fifteen. Remember when you and I were fifteen?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, and then Mick came around and handed him a stack of towels.

“Cabin three. It’s not the king,” he said, as Roffi opened his mouth to ask. “Weasel’s tail, I’m sick of you people asking. It’s a bobcat.”

Roffi waved to Shikka. “See you tonight,” he said, and composed himself before going out to the cabin.

Cabin three was for medium-sized customers, taller than Roffi’s four and a half feet in height. He sniffed the familiar piney aroma emanating from the pile of white dust in the long wooden bath in the center of the cabin, and padded to the corner to make sure there were enough towels there. Keeping one ear open, he took the long-handled rake and raked the dust, more to fill the air with the aroma more strongly than to smooth out the dust.

The bobcat strolled in, his fur damp and scraggly from the baths. He had only a towel around his plump waist, which he cast aside as soon as he walked into the cabin. For a moment, he stood naked, scrutinizing Roffi, and the otter lifted his chin and chest. Here was where tips were doubled or tripled, as the customer made the decision about how much “grooming” he wanted.

“Hmph.” The bobcat lay down in the dust without another word.

Up close, the wet cat smell overwhelmed even the pine, no matter how much dust Roffi scooped on top of him. He tried brushing it through and snagged the fur in the brush several times, twice in the short tail, and even though the customer didn’t say anything, he was upset at himself. “Turn over, sahr,” he said when he was done, and the bobcat levered his bulk around to lie on his back.

Roffi scooped more dust onto him and brushed more carefully through the matted fur, making it nice and soft. He guided the brush expertly around the sheath, and then, even though he didn’t really want to, teased the bristles lightly up it, holding his breath.

And, unfortunately, the bobcat was getting hard, already showing at the tip.

Roffi finished his brushing and sighed inwardly. “Anything else, sahr?”

“Yes,” the bobcat said, waving a lazy paw down at his crotch. “You can finish that.”

“Yes, sahr,” Roffi said, trying to look pleased at the prospect. He reached down to stroke the bobcat’s growing hardness.

“With your mouth,” the cat said, and lay back and closed his eyes.

“Yes, sahr.” Roffi leaned over and put the tip gently between his lips, keeping his paw wrapped around the base and squeezing gently as the bobcat got stiffer, his pink length sliding further out of his sheath until Roffi’s little mouth was nearly full. The salty cat taste wasn’t so bad, he supposed, bobbing up and down on it and licking the warm flesh as it dripped pre. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing he’d had to do, and it was all business.

“Unh,” the bobcat grunted, and Roffi could feel the twitching in his shaft. He curled his paw around the tightening sac and massaged with gentle fingers as the large hips thrust up towards him, forcing his head backwards. The rapidly leaking tip brushed the back of his throat as he leaned back, and then the bobcat’s meaty paw was on his head, forcing it back down.

It took a great deal of restraint to keep from gagging. He struggled against the paw, but could only reposition his head so that the thick shaft didn’t quite hit his gag reflex. Fingers closed around his ears and pushed him up and down as the bobcat shuddered, his body rippling under the fur. “Unh, yes, good little servant...”

Roffi closed his eyes and let the customer guide his head, concentrating on not gagging as he was pushed up and down the cat’s shuddering erection. His fingers felt the spasming in the base of the cat’s shaft, which gave him a moment to prepare himself before the hot seed hit his throat. He coughed, trying to get some room to breathe, but the inexorable pressure of the cat’s paw kept his head imprisoned around the hot shaft as it continued to spurt seed into his mouth. He tried hard to swallow and keep his mouth closed, but he couldn’t help a few drips down the length as the bobcat continued to come.

That seemed to go on forever. He swallowed two mouthfuls, and then finally the bobcat sighed and relaxed into the dust, sending clouds of pine scent into the air that Roffi could barely smell around the thick odor of cat musk permeating his nose.

It took him three cups full of spiced tea to get the taste out of his mouth, but at least the bobcat left him a good tip. Happy birthday, he thought morosely, relaxing by himself in the waiting area and munching a piece of dried fruit.

“Roffi!” He jumped to his feet as Mick leaned around the door. “Cabin thirteen.”

The otter’s eyes widened. “Thirteen? Is it...”

Mick grinned at him. “Ay, don’t know, but might be. Go, go!”

As fast as he could, he ran to the wide shadow cast by cabin thirteen, the large cabin they’d built just to accommodate the king’s court. The bath it held was a full eight feet long and six wide, big enough to hold eight otters and weasels, and they’d had to prepare a huge pile of dust for it. Roffi had heard that they’d had to import ten more gallons of pine oil. It had been used three times so far, all for bears who were not the king.

They didn’t have any larger towels, but they’d prepared twice the normal number. Roffi checked three times to make sure there were enough, double-checked the basket to make sure it was empty, raked the dust until the air smelled like a mountain forest, and then fluffed up his chest fur, smoothed down his sides and groomed his tail, until he heard someone approaching outside. He stood up and snapped to attention.

A tall, young stag stepped into the cabin, dressed in a loose tunic. Roffi blinked, but managed to keep his ears up. “Oh,” he said. “Welcome, sahr.”

The stag looked around the cabin and then approached him. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Please excuse the imposition.”

Before he had time to ask ‘what imposition,’ the stag had knelt down and placed both hands on Roffi’s shorts, feeling and squeezing them from all angles. He was gentle on the otter’s sheath, not so gentle on his rear, and when he was done, brushed his fingers along Roffi’s legs. From there, he checked Roffi’s tail and then stomach and chest, and finally stood.

Roffi blinked, bewildered. He’d never had a customer be so straightforward about expressing interest in him, and on top of that, the stag stayed impassive throughout. “If sahr would lie down,” he said timidly, but the stag ignored him, striding back to the entryway.

“Come in, sir,” he said, and the doorway was blocked by a massive shadow, and Roffi understood everything.

The bear ambled in, his fur matted and damp, but his smell wasn’t nearly as objectionable as the cat’s had been. He raised a paw and smiled at Roffi. “On my back or stomach?”

Roffi’s eyes flicked to the stag, who stepped quietly out of the cabin and drew the curtain. His antlered shadow stayed fixed on the fabric like a stitched pattern. The otter looked up at the bear. Despite the cat and all the tea, his mouth was suddenly very dry. “Stomach first,” he whispered, “then back. Sahr.”

“All right.” The bear lay obediently on his stomach, filling the air with clouds of white scented dust.

Roffi set about his grooming, noting as he did how well the bear’s fur was kept, and how even though he had a soft layer of fat under the fur, it wasn’t nearly as thick as the obese bobcat’s. Roffi could feel the powerful muscles underneath easily, even from just the motions of the brush. He grew nervous as he brushed the small tail and rear, but he forced himself to brush with firm strokes.

He worried that the bear might be asleep by the time he was done nearly half an hour later. It had never taken him that long to brush someone, and it didn’t help that he kept going over the same areas on the backs of the thighs, up the slope to the base of the spine, and the backs of the massive arms, just to feel the muscles there. But when he coughed lightly and said, “Turn--turn over now, sahr,” the bear responded immediately with movements so smooth and gentle that he barely raised any dust at all.

And there was his chest, twin plateaus of muscle above a well-rounded belly. And on the other side of his belly, a thick sheath as large as Roffi’s wrist. He couldn’t stop staring at it, wondering what it would look like when fully erect. “Here, sahr,” he said, draping a towel over the bear’s muzzle. “For--for the dust.”

“Thank you,” the bear said in his deep rumble from under the towel.

“You’re welcome, sahr,” Roffi said, fidgeting and finally scooping dust onto the bear’s chest, belly, legs, and sheath. Starting at the chest, he began to brush through the wet fur, taking his time to admire the statuesque proportions.

He traveled next up the broad hill of the bear’s belly, smoothing the fur in regular patterns down the body, admiring the thickness and how well it lay with the dust. Misremembering how long the sheath was, he didn’t see it under the dust and brushed the tip of it with the bristles.

The bear didn’t react, but Roffi jerked his arm back, heart pounding. The towel covering the bear’s features didn’t move. He licked his lips, and then continued brushing as if nothing had happened, moving carefully around the sheath and down the thighs.