Weasel Presents (20 page)

Once the shock of his mistake had worn off, though, he couldn’t keep away from the sheath, brushing closer and closer to it, around the bear’s huge sac, until that was the only part white with dust and he could no longer put it off. Glancing again at the towel, he drew the brush up the long sheath and then down the sac, then repeated the gesture again, working the dust into the thin fur.

He didn’t register the engorgement of the sheath immediately because it happened gradually, but when he saw the pink tip show at the end of the dark brown sheath, he blinked and pulled his paw back. How long had he been stroking? And the customer hadn’t...he hadn’t...

The bear had twitched the towel free and was looking right at Roffi, a small quirk of a smile on his muzzle.

Roffi’s knees gave way, dropping him to kneel on the floor of the cabin. “Oh, sahr,” he said, “my apologies. Your grooming is done.”

“Mmm,” the bear said, and stood up from the dust bath, shaking himself. Dust and pine filled the air. “Not quite,” he said, turning around so the otter could see the patterns of dust in the fur on his back.

“Oh, yes!” Roffi scrambled to his feet, applying the brush as high as he could reach. When he’d finished, he looked up at the bear’s shoulders, still sprinkled with white. “Um, if sahr could...”

“Of course.” The bear knelt, allowing Roffi to groom his shoulders.

“All done, sahr.” Roffi smiled. His heart was starting to return to something like its normal pace. He wasn’t going to get in trouble for fondling the k--er, his customer. He might even get a good tip.

That statement remained lodged in his head as the bear turned around and Roffi saw the long pink shaft held in one loose paw, the thumb and finger still working along the length. The bear must have been...all the time he was brushing his back...and that meant...that meant...

“Now,” the bear said, “perhaps you would kneel for me?”

Too many words crowded the otter’s throat for him to speak. He just nodded and dropped to his knees, and even so, he had to crane his head up to reach the proper height. The bear helped, angling the tip of his shaft down so Roffi could take it into his short muzzle.

It was bigger than the bobcat’s, much bigger, but the bear was gentler, allowing Roffi to go at his own pace. He closed his eyes and sealed his lips around the warm flesh, bobbing back and forth and reflecting that the bear’s musk was far preferable to the cat’s. As he slid his muzzle as far down as he could, he lifted a paw to fondle the dangling sac that spilled over the edge of his fingers, and the bear lowered a paw, but only traced the fur around Roffi’s ears with a claw as the otter pulled back and slid forward.

Musk filled his muzzle, but not the full musk of climax, just more and more pre drizzling down his tongue. He gulped and felt his own arousal growing at the intoxicating taste of bear, and his tail curled around his ankles as his body shivered. And then the bear was pushing his head back, and Roffi licked his lips, looking up. “Sahr?”

The bear smiled. “Do you have any...oils?”

“Oh, yes sahr!” Roffi reached below the bath and brought out the small bottle of flaxseed oil. “Would sahr like...”

The bear dropped to one knee and brought his huge paw up between Roffi’s legs, rubbing the otter’s erection as Roffi gaped at him. “Sahr would like,” he said. “Would you?”

And again, Roffi could only nod. The bear pushed up gently until Roffi got to his feet, tottering unsteadily, and then the bear tugged his shorts down.

Roffi stepped out of them, carefully, as the bear’s paw had returned to feel his length, stroking up it with a thumb and forefinger. “You’re quite delightful,” the bear said, and smiled.

“Th-thank you, sahr,” Roffi said.

The bear kept smiling as he put the flaxseed oil into Roffi’s paw and turned him around gently. The paw that had been stroking his erection lifted his tail and held it there.

Roffi dumped the oil into a paw and slapped it under his tail, pressing a finger into his tailhole and making himself as slick as possible. He felt as though this might be a dream, that he had dozed off in the waiting area and was dreaming that he was standing in this cabin about to get the k--a noble inside him. A small part of him made him use another paw full of oil, reminding him that dream or not, the bear was pretty big.

He dropped to all fours when he was done, and the bear’s bulk moved quickly over him, covering his body with dry, pine-scented fur and muscles. One huge arm moved under him, lifting him partly off the floor and holding him tight to the broad belly.

It felt like being lifted into a warm bed, but Roffi didn’t relax, waiting for the pressure under his tail. When he felt the probing tip, he relaxed as best he could, and a moment later the shaft was sliding into him.

He panted, one dangling paw moving to his own erection and stroking. The bear kept pushing, until Roffi thought there couldn’t possibly be any more inside him, his gut feeling warm from the hard length. Then the bear grunted and pushed, and Roffi squeaked despite himself, and the bear pushed again, and Roffi squeezed his own shaft, gasping at the pain and pleasure of being stretched so wide.

Finally, the enormous length slid out of him almost all the way, and then pushed back in. The second time wasn’t nearly as bad, and the third time the pain began to subside. The bear grunted again, and his paw held Roffi tighter, lifting him higher off the ground until the otter was just hanging over his customer’s muscular arm, squirming as the thick shaft thrust into him over and over. Roffi stopped even stroking himself, because his own shaft had become so sensitive that he worried he’d come all over the cabin floor. Instead, he closed his eyes and just let himself enjoy the sensation as his customer buried his length inside his tight rear, spreading it wide again and again, thrusting faster and grunting more loudly as he did.

His own shaft felt like it was on fire, and Roffi realized that he was going to come anyway. He tried to brace his legs against the floor, but he couldn’t reach any more, so he braced them back against the bear’s legs and tried to thrust back with his hips, squeezing the bear’s shaft as best he could inside him. There was a small echo of pain, but his customer shuddered and moaned, and the thrusting quickened, so he did it again. Above him, the belly rippled and the bear gave a throaty moan, and the thick paw holding Roffi tightened around him.

Roffi closed his eyes and braced himself, moaning himself now with each thrust of the bear into him, and he couldn’t stop his paw from stroking anymore. He squeaked as he came, spurting over his paw and onto the cabin ground, his body trembling and clenching around the bear’s quickly moving shaft.

Above him, the bear growled and moaned again, and jammed him down hard on the rock-hard length. Roffi spurted one more time and cried out as he was lifted and jammed down hard again and again, and then pressed down and held down while the bear panted and growled and shuddered in climax above him. His insides warmed as if someone were holding a hot towel to them; his feet twitched against the bear’s legs no matter how he tried to hold them still.

He braced himself there, relaxing as his own climax subsided, and curled his tail under the bear’s sac, rubbing as best he could until he felt the large ursine form relax. He was dropped abruptly to the ground, the shaft withdrawn in a smooth motion.

Roffi squeaked again in relief, ignoring the warm ooze under his tail. He turned, on his knees, and reclined on his tail and paws, letting his sore rear rest. The bear looked down at him with a smile, already reaching for a towel to wipe himself off.

“Excellent service,” he said, and then held out a paw when Roffi tried to get up. “No, no, stay like that. I like the view.”

Roffi flicked his ears to hide the warm flush in them, but he obeyed. The bear pulled several towels from the pile and cleaned off his long shaft, and then called outside, “Shorts.”

The shadow on the curtain moved for the first time, and then the curtain itself moved aside just enough to allow a hand to pass through, holding a folded pair of shorts. The bear took them and put them on, stopping Roffi every time he tried to get up, until he was dressed. “Now,” he said, “you may get up.”

“Thank you, sahr,” Roffi called as the bulky shape moved past the curtain, and out.

He took a towel to clean himself up. His knees were still shaky, but he couldn’t stop smiling, even when he rubbed the soreness under his tail. It was the king, he was sure of it.

He cleaned up the cabin and then went to tell Mick that he was taking a short break. He grabbed another piece of dried fruit and started to compose his story, thinking that perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad birthday after all.

1

I found this journal in my bag tonight. Thanks, Mother. I’m going to take your advice. It doesn’t feel like it right now, but I’ll give it time. You haven’t been wrong before. 

The carriage ride took forever. Just getting down the mountain pass from Vinton was half a day and so uneven I felt like my seat was as cracked as the wall in the playroom back home. But I didn’t cry, not about that.

Mother and I took a trip once, to see a friend of hers in Tistunish, and we stayed in an inn. But that one was clean and quiet, not small and cramped like the one my driver found for the first night. I had to share a room with two other travelers, a large wolf who snored and a weasel who wouldn’t stay still all night. I tried to pretend Mother was just in the other room, but it didn’t work very well. And then the next day, I was back in the carriage, alone.

I’m fourteen years old, nearly of age, and I shouldn’t be crying. The fox who delivers our milk, Kili, he was married when he was fifteen and his wife was expecting a cub, the last time I saw them. He’s only a year older. He wouldn’t be crying.

That was the last time, I promised myself. And I didn’t cry the next two nights, even though I got to stay in my own room the second night and only shared with an old raccoon the third. He didn’t snore, or toss around all night, and I was so exhausted I fell asleep right away. Today we arrive in Divalia, at the palace, and I will see my father for the third time in my life. I don’t remember the first, and I didn’t enjoy the second, and I’m not looking forward to the third.

2

I don’t think I’ll ever get a room to myself again. My older brother is as unhappy as I am about the arrangement, but there’s nothing we can do until one of us is important enough to have our own room. That’s not what my father says, but that’s the truth.

It’s so strange living with these other foxes who are related to me. They don’t feel like family, though I can tell they are from the scent. Volyan especially doesn’t act anything like me. He offered to take me down to the pub and introduce me to some girls he knows, but I told him I didn’t like ale. That was after he made fun of me at services for gawking at the Cathedral (sweet Canis, the Cathedral!). I think Father told him to be nice.

My father is trying to act all concerned about me, like he couldn’t have taken four days to come down to Vinton whenever he wanted. I pretend to listen when he talks, but mostly I just tune it out, and then I tell him I want to think about my studies.

That’s only half a lie. I thought the tutors in Vinton were hard. Teeth and tail, the tutors in the palace are smart as Mother, and they all seem to think I haven’t learned anything in fourteen years in the “provinces,” as Master Ovile says. He’s an old porcupine, bristly and snappy, and he seems determined to show me up, always asking me things I couldn’t possibly know. And when I’m tired of him, I get to go work on my swordplay with Master Cobalt, a big stag who wants me to learn the sword even though I’m already really good with the short bow. I asked if I’m going to be learning poetry and painting and my father said he’d try to find someone. I’m supposed to learn Diplomacy, but the master he wants me to learn from is away, not to return for a couple months.

It’s too bad, because then I might be able to tell him what I really think of him and his
consort
without fearing he’d kick me out of the palace. Though maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I’d get to go home.

3

He
keeps trying to be all friendly with me.

I manage to stay out of the chambers most of the time. Volyan takes weapons practice with me, and we all eat together at night. I think Father told him to talk to me more, because he’s started asking about Vinton. He doesn’t remember it at
all
; half the things he asks me about I can tell he just knows from here and is pretending they used to be there. The one place he does remember is Valiot’s Park, so I told him they built a school on top of it. He’ll never know.

Otherwise I’ve been wandering around the palace, exploring it. It’s so big. Our little castle-house in Vinton could be dropped into one wing, along with the governor’s mansion, and still have room to walk around them. I only got lost once, though: there are six large staircases, each one marked with statues of one of the Houses, so if you just keep walking, usually you’ll find one. The time I got lost was because I didn’t know where all the stairs were yet, and I kept walking until I got to the Rabbit stair, then I somehow got turned around and went back to the Wolf stair.

It’s called the Wolf Stair because the statues are all wolves, even though there are coyotes and grey foxes and red foxes in Canis as well. I don’t feel offended. Even in my “limited” history lessons in Vinton, I learned why my kind are only beginning to be accepted again in the capital. Why it’s important for me to be a good leader and a lord.

But what I haven’t learned is, if I have an older brother, what am I going to be the lord
of
?

4

It is so not fair that Volyan will be lord of Vinton and I won’t. I know the people there and he doesn’t. I
like
the people there, and he doesn’t. He calls them “provincial.” Like I don’t know he’s talking about me at the same time. So what if I didn’t know what “cardamom” was. As strong as it smelled, anyone might have sneezed.