House Special
Vixie's Full Service was not your usual highway stop. Nestled about a mile off of I-80, on the Nevada border, it was one of those spots you only found if you were looking for it. Its only form of advertisement was the soft pink glow of its neon sign, humming over the roof of the nondescript brown building.
Lucky for Vixie, the stereotypically busty owner and hostess, word of muzzle was enough to keep her place well stocked with patrons. The dearth of advertisement, along with the plainly visible sign reading "No patrons under 18 years of age permitted on or about the premises," made it clear that this was hardly a family friendly locale. Even still, the large lot behind the building rumbled constantly with the idling engines of trucks, the hiss of air brakes engaging and disengaging, and the tired groans of truckers making a routine stop on their way into state.
Phil was one of those truckers, parking his unloaded Vision DayCab with a guttural choke of the engine. The polar bear heaved himself out the door, his boot landing heavily on the metal grate that served as a stair to the cement below. The massive machine barely even nudged to the side with the bear's weight, before he landed on the ground and slammed the door shut behind him.
Phil adjusted his worn cap as he pushed through the double doors leading inside. The cool winter air about his rounded ears gave way to the welcoming warmth of Vixie's smile from across the counter of the bar positioned along the entryway. "Hi there! Just one tonight?"
"Just me, yup." Phil grunted, always having found it hard to look her in the eyes, even if she was so friendly; maybe even because she was so friendly. He patted the stretched t-shirt covering his round belly, following the vixen around the corner of the bar and into the main dining room. The familiar scent of grease-laden burgers and fries was immediately obvious to the black nose positioned atop his stubby white muzzle.
The place was busy, as always. The tables were large, sturdy oak and seating was organized into, mostly individual, booths. Folks like Phil didn't come to Vixie's with friends to chat around. They came for the staff. Perhaps it would be better to say 'staffs', for the one thing every waiter in the room shared was a clearly visible sheath hanging between their legs.
Phil's eyes watched the very male, very nude, wait-staff bustle about the room, his black lips curling into a hungry smile. Vixie escorted him to an empty booth and laid a laminated menu down in front of him. "Any requests?" she asked as Phil's weight sagged against the cushion comfortably.
"Is Geoff working tonight?" the bear took off his cap and tossed it on the table, squeezing his fingers back across the matted fur between his ears.
Vixie smiled, but shook her narrow muzzle politely. "Sorry, he's off for the week. Family business. But I can get you Timothy, he just started with us last week, so he's a little green." She admitted, leaning over the table with a sly wink, "But he's got an ass to die for. You'll see. I think he's just coming off break, now."
Phil simply nodded up at the hostess, picking up the menu and focusing on it to relieve some of the awkwardness he always felt, discussing his waiter. "Sure, never been disappointed yet!"
"I'll send him right over to you. Enjoy!" Vixie trotted off toward her post at the bar, leaving Phil to his booth and menu. The music was muted, but loud enough to keep his mind occupied until his waiter arrived. Phil lifted his eyes from the map of standard dinner items plastered across the menu to see a small grey fox approach his table.
A loosely fit pink nylon collar hung about his neck with a nametag hanging off of it, though Phil couldn't make it out from where he was sitting. Besides, Phil wasn't concerned with the nametag. He was watching the more interesting bits hanging between the boy's thighs, the plump grey sheath swinging back and forth freely as it bounced between them.
"Hi there, welcome to Vixie's Full Service!" Timothy slid himself up onto the table, resting his bare rump on the oak and draping his tail luxuriously over the far edge. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
Phil leaned against the back of his booth, grinning at the younger, healthier fox and taking a better look at the intricate peppering of black and white fur that lined his back, rusting into a more traditional red along the backs of his ears and along his sides before finally tufting into a bleached white across his slender chest. Geoff be damned, this kid had him beat on all fronts.
Timothy lowered his ears, a little bashfully as the bear eyed him, silently. He still hadn't gotten the hang of his entrance, or how to react to the attention his body won him, around here. "Erm," he cleared his throat quietly, "Can I get you anything, mister?"
"Oh," Phil blinked, "a Coors, in a mug." The bear looked back to his menu, feigning a sudden disinterest.
"Great! Should I get you some water with that, too?"
"Not unless I can't drink the beer." Phil chuckled.
"I'll be right back with it, and to take your order." Timothy hopped back off of the table, disappearing momentarily from view and leaving Phil to adjust the tight bulge along the front of his jeans. He hadn't gotten a good look at the fox's rump, but if it was anything like the front, he wanted it just as bad.
Phil had barely finished the well-practiced art of perusing his menu when Timothy returned, two large mugs of bubbling yellow fluid in his paws. Clapping them onto the table and sliding them both in front of the bear, he slipped into the booth and pressed his lithe little body up against his patron's side.
"Brought ya an extra, in case you drink faster than I can piss." The fox joked, rolling his body over and straddling himself across one of Phil's round thighs. "I'm told Geoff has a pretty paws-on style." He sat up in front of the bear, resting both his small paws on the larger male's chest and kneading them against the stained white t-shirt.
"He um, he does." Phil stammered, swallowing hard and hoping his racing heartbeat wasn't too obvious to the fox's exploring paws. "But you don't have to, I mean, I like you just fine, too." He lifted his paws to grip around Timothy's wrists, the size difference between the two suddenly clear as his fingers wrapped easily around them.
Timothy put on his smile, to hide his nervousness, leaning forward and licking the truck driver's lips. "What can I get you, tonight?" He pulled his paws back, guiding the bear's fingers to his sides, where they took over, groping their way into his softly groomed fur.
"The...oh, right." Phil laughed at himself, staring down the boy's extended torso at that beautifully full sheath, covered in a dusty white fuzz that brushed dangerously close to the curve of his own belly. "I'd like the steak. Medium rare."
"We have a lot of steaks, here." Timothy grinned, feeling his confidence returning as he recognized the hungry stare in the bear's eyes. He pulled one of the white, meaty paws across his hips and lowered it, decisively, until its fingers lay over the warmth of his sheath. "Do you want the eight, sixteen, or twenty ounce?"
Phil grit his teeth and closed his fingers around it, easily feeling the fox's heart beating through the semi-soft shaft held within. His own was furiously hard and pinned against his body, waiting for any excuse to tear through the loose zipper containing it. "As big as it comes."
"I thought you might say that." Timothy panted softly over the bear, unable to deny the excitement of having those digits playing across his sensitive flesh, peeling it back to expose his wet tip to the air before rolling it forward again. This was probably why, he thought absently, Vixie told him not to touch before dinner.
After an awkward silence, the fox gently peeled himself back, rolling off of Phil's thigh. The bear's paws lingered on his fur as he crawled free of the booth. "I'll put that order right in, for you! Anything else I can get?" He stood attentively, in front of the booth, a good inch of his pink shaft poking into view as he worked his breaths to calm himself down, eying the front bar incase Vixie saw him.
"A little more of that, but I can wait." Phil grunted, closing his paw around one of the mugs that had been condensing on the table. He nursed the beer as Timothy disappeared from view again, the menu lying forgotten across his table. His heart was still racing and his nose could still smell the fox's arousal...or what was still left of it, sticking to the ends of his probing fingers.
He reached under the fold of his shirt and unbuckled his belt, to help loosen the pressure his excitement had placed there. A deft flick of his thumb unbuttoned his jeans, allowing the zipper to slip down and revealing the sticky black head of his cock under the table. He worked it free of his jeans with a grunt, slapping his fingers around it and beginning to tug at the taut flesh while the other took a long swig of his beer.
The things he'd do to that boy, if he had him in bed. Phil grinned, huffing short breaths in time with his strokes. He'd pound that little bubble-butt until it was raw. Come to think of it...Phil paused his stroking, dragging the menu back toward him and flipping it over. He squinted near the bottom, under the drink selection.
There it was. Phil's black member swelled, appreciatively, between his fingers as he read the item. After dinner service, $45 an hour. Please tip separately. He'd never bothered, or even desired, to take advantage of it before. He usually went back to his truck, after dinner, and slept it off. But there was something about tonight, or perhaps something about this fox, that really set him off.
Phil felt like he had barely gotten started, when Timothy returned with a wide platter and set it down in front of him, "Be careful, it's a bit hot." He warned, leaning over to push the food in front of his patron, his nose only then noticing the scent wafting from beneath the table. The fox paused, his mind racing with how to handle himself.
"You know," he finally decided to speak, as Phil pulled the guilty paw out from under the table and placed it, innocently, next to his plate. Timothy peered over the upside-down menu and placed a delicate finger on an item, "we really are Full Service, if that's what you're interested in."
Phil followed the finger, reading the item curiously. Under the Table Service. $15.99, $5.99 with dinner. Was this the same menu as last week? He stared up at his waiter, who added a steak knife to the table to empty his paws. Timothy took one look at the bear across the table, and peeled his lips back in a confident smile.
"I thought you'd like that, too." He offered before sinking to his knees, his eartips disappearing under the table until Phil felt those two small paws grope up his shins. Timothy pried the bear's huge knees apart, peering head-on at the engorged thickness hanging in the air before his nose. He ran his fingers along the seam of the fabric, letting his knuckles brush against the flesh as his fingers began to pull up the fold of the bear's belly hanging over it.
The scent of a long day's drive was strong against his nose as he held the bear's stomach, circling his free fingers into a tight grip at the moist base of the sheath and squeezing it. He could hear a pleased groan from above the table, coaxing him forward to press his lips against the oozing tip.
The two thighs bounding his cheeks clamped against him, at the sensation. He stifled a surprised yelp, doing his best to pry them apart again before opening his muzzle to place the gently throbbing head between his lips. His tongue swiped across the slit, tasting the strange and bitter mixture of piss and pre-cum that had collected there before settling into its place tickling the underside of the shaft.
The t-shirt covering the bear's body slipped upward to reveal the dirty white fur around his belly button, taking Timothy's paw with it. He pulled back to grasp at the warm fold of flesh, again, his fingers digging into the coarse fur directly now as his lips descended further onto the cock. He formed a seal around it and suckled softly, listening as he was taught for the sounds of the bear making progress on his dinner.
His nose sank under the shadow of the belly, the bear's scent becoming undeniable as he felt the stubbly fuzz of the crotch tickle his whiskers. He kneaded his fingers along the remainder of the shaft, feeling it pulse and throb in response. His tongue coaxed a fresh glob of pre-cum free of the slit, swallowing it down before rolling the muscle back across the ridges along the roof of his muzzle.
Phil stared at his half-eaten meal, his maw chewing in slow, deliberate motions as he felt the fox nurse on him beneath the table. He dug his feet into the floor and panted through the food, even as he swallowed it down and cut himself off another slice of the steak, dipping it in a slather of sauce before popping it between his lips to chew again.
Timothy let go of the bear's belly, allowing its weight to relax over the top of his muzzle. He gasped, for a second, around the thickness as his nose was cut off from the air. He nuzzled around the base of the shaft until he found a pocket through which he could breathe, though each intake brought a fresh scent of the bear's arousal and sweat.
His jaw began to feel the ache of being held open by the girth of the black cock. He sealed his lips and began to work, in earnest, tightening his grip and slipping his tightly pressed muzzle back and forth along it. He could feel it jerk, excitedly, keeping his tongue slick with healthy doses of pre-cum oozing almost constantly now.
He allowed his freed paw to hook itself into the crux of the zipper, peeling it down entirely and groping his way inside to cup his fingers around the two tightly constricted orbs within. He rolled them forward and rubbed his middle claw lightly across the warm fold of fur behind them, listening to the low rumble of pleasure and feeling it vibrate down over and into his muzzle.
It didn't take much of that, at all, before he felt the sudden grip of the bear's paw clamp down over his ears, pulling him forward to meet a hard thrust of the hips as they lifted off the bench. Timothy gurgled quietly as the thick head of the cock pried at his throat and his nose, once again, was pinned into the musky crotch fur. He opened his muzzle wider, to breathe, just as a flood of sticky bear cum splattered against his tongue.
He clamped shut immediately, swallowing to avoid the mess as his lungs screamed for another breath. His fingers worked, squeezing tightly after each pulse of seed and milking it out onto his tongue. He played the stuff around the inside of his muzzle, the ropey fluid collecting between his teeth before being coaxed down his throat. The pent up bear held him tightly while he obediently drank the last drops of the stuff without so much as a whine.
The paw eventually released him, allowing him to ease off the shaft and gasp a long-needed breath. He peeled his paws free of the bear, wiping the saliva and residual cum off of the shaft with the bare fur of his wrists before giving the tip a parting kiss.
Timothy's head appeared, shortly, from the other end of the booth. The fox pulled himself up and cleared his throat, leaning over and grabbing the near-empty mug of beer. He lifted it, to his lips, and swigged the remainder in one long motion. "I'll get you a refill." He smiled, and turned for the bar.
Phil watched his waiter pad away, his tail swinging side to side in a confident gait. His eyes were on the other end, however, as the fox was sporting an impressively sized hard-on, slapping between his thighs. The dull, satisfied throbbing between his own legs left him with just one desire -- to finish his steak.
"Can we interest you in some dessert?" Vixie asked, as Timothy bowed next to her to clear the table. Phil sat, comfortably full, and staring dubiously at the small plastic card of desserts that had been offered to him. "Its one of our lesser known specialties."
Phil's interest was peaked. Though he was satisfied, in roughly every way imaginable, he peeled himself forward and took the menu from her. The usual gamut of ice creams, pies, and cakes were all present and accounted for, though a second column of prices caught his eye. "What does 'house special' mean?"
Timothy had wandered toward the kitchen, with the plate and mugs, but his ears picked up on the question with a wince as he pushed past the doors. He hated dessert. He tossed his armful into the wash bucket and glanced at the door to the cold room. He really, really hated dessert.
Vixie pushed her way into the kitchen with a wide grin on her muzzle, and Timothy flattened his ears at the expression. "Please, Vixie, I'm really tired..." he whined, "nobody asks for dessert, this late at night."
"Well, evidently you've got his attention, kid." The vixen laughed, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders and squeezing. "It's not that bad."
"He could use a workout, not a dessert." Timothy growled.
"Now now," Vixie lifted a finger to shush the fox's muzzle. "We don't talk about our patrons, that way. Everyone has to pull a long shift, every once in a while. Look, I'll even give you double-time, tonight."
The fox's ears perked, slightly. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. You did a great job, and you sold yourself perfectly. I'm proud of ya." Vixie beamed. "But now you've gotta make him a house special."
Timothy felt a mixture of pride and regret, setting his muzzle in a scowl. "What kind?"
"Do-It-Yourself Sundae. Vanilla."
"Vanilla. Fine."
"Double-time, kid. Double-time." Vixie turned and swished her voluminous tail on her way back out of the kitchen, leaving Timothy to stare at the cold room in apprehension. With a sigh, he reached out to the handle, yanked the heavy door open, and stepped inside.
The blast of chilling air hit his naked fur like a wall. He let the door shut, behind him, and crouched down to drag a large plastic tub of vanilla ice-cream out from under one of the racks. Grunting with the weight, he slid it out into the middle of the small room, watching his breath condense in front of his nose.
Prying the lid open with a dull snap, he tossed it aside and leaned both of his paws onto the ridge of the tub, staring down at the ice-cream scoop like it was a hot brand. He bit his lip and stood up, looking around for the ice bucket. He found it, sitting nonchalantly in the corner of the room. He hated the ice bucket, too.
Reaching into it, he picked up three small cubes of ice. He let them sit, on the pad of his paw, for a few moments before pressing them against his chest, rubbing them slowly down his belly until his paw hovered over his sheath. The thin edge of one of the cubes pressed down, nuzzling its cold surface along the rim of the sheath's opening, exacting a nervous grunt from its owner before he shoved it inside in one swift motion.
Timothy gripped himself, panting and hopping from the searing cold as it slipped and melted its way around his cock. "Fucking..." he growled through tightly clenched teeth. It only took a few seconds until he felt the cold liquid remains of the cube and inserted the second, then the third, clamping his thumb over the entrance as the numbness began to spread around his shrinking member.
He whimpered at the feeling, the chilled air around him doing nothing to relieve it as he gently squeezed the melted water back out of his sheath. "Why can't we just use a god damned plate?!" He swore at the top of his lungs, knowing nobody outside the room could hear him while he cradled his sheath in the warmth of his paw, crawling over to the ice-cream bucket and reaching for the scoop.
It took three scoops to make a house special sundae. Timothy lifted the first up, staring it down as though it might just go away. He peeled his sheath's ring open with his forefinger and thumb, lowering the frosty scoop over it and letting the ice cream sink inside. The warmth of his body began to melt it, already, but that only made it easier to prod into the malleable entrance, the chilled cream quickly occupying the available space.
Timothy shivered as he reached for a second scoop, knowing he had to work fast, now, if this was going to be even remotely presentable. His sheath swelled with the weight and he could feel the gooey liquid melting. The second scoop was easier to coax in, the pain completely numbed now as he focused on the work. The third nestled gently on top, sinking slowly into the filled confines as he straightened up.
"Great, now where are the toppings?"
Phil waited at his booth, checking his watch idly. He hoped he heard Vixie right, when she described the sundae to him. His eyes watched the entrance to the kitchen as he rapped his fingers lightly across the wood of the table, dabbing his lips with his tongue in anticipation.
The doors swung open, and the young fox teetered through them, gliding between the tables with his paws quite full. Heads turned from all around the restaurant as Timothy called out "One house special, Do-It-Yourself Vanilla Sundae!" in as excited a tone he could muster, his fur crisp with condensation from having just left the freezer.
The fox quickly found his table, unceremoniously dropping a bowl of strawberry topping, a canister of whipped cream, a squeeze bottle of hot fudge, and a last bowl of cherries before scrambling his way onto the table with a heavy grunt. He knelt down, in front of the astounded bear, spreading his thighs apart and resting his paws on either side of his sheath-turned-sundae. "P...please enjoy. But please enjoy...quickly." He added, in a soft whisper, feeling a sticky trickle of melted cream seep into the fur between his thighs.
Phil just stared at the scene before him, reaching out instinctively for the bottle of chocolate topping. "No spoon?" was all he could manage, lifting the bottle and turning it upside down over the boy's sheath.
Timothy stared down at the bear with a look that could only be described as horrified. "I. I." He stammered, nearly biting his tongue as the bear squeezed the hot chocolate over the melting ice-cream in long, circular ropes that dribbled across his belly, thighs and balls. "I forgot the spoon. I'm so sorry."
"Who needs it, eh?" Phil grinned, slapping the bottle down and reaching under Timothy's legs. His fingers pried forward the two cold balls that had pulled in tightly against the fox's body. His thick muzzle descended after them, a broad black tongue extending to lap the chocolate from the matted white fuzz that surrounded the orbs.
The warm sensation pricked at Timothy's dulled nerves, but his sheath still felt unpleasantly heavy with the weight of the fast-melting cream. The bear's tongue worked its way up its length until it met the glob dribbling out the tip. With a satisfying slurp, the lips pressed against his entrance and drank the mixture of vanilla and chocolate.
The powerful paw clamped around the cold fur surrounding Timothy's sheath. Slowly, it began to squeeze around it, forcing the ice-cream out at a steady pace while the bear licked it up, casually allowing some of it to spill over his knuckles and onto the table. The warmth of his paw began to work its way into the shivering fox as Phil leaned lower and locked his lips about the sheath, sucking the remaining liquid free and swallowing loudly.
Timothy watched as his sheath was peeled back and his limp cock was slurped into the wide maw. He winced at the sight, not feeling an ounce of it until the bear held it between his lips. The pricks of warmth caused him to gasp and hunch forward, pushing his paws into the bear's shoulders as he held himself inside.
He could feel the warmth returning to his loins. Phil pulled his head off of the limp member and reached for the hot fudge, again, squeezing the warm goo along the exposed member as his other paw held the sheath back. As the cool pink cock dribbled chocolate onto the table, he pulled it back into his lips.
Timothy groaned as the feeling rushed back into him. His fingers gripped the bear's shoulders tightly now as his cock began to swell, the broad, warm tongue swiping along his flesh and goading him to hump against the blocky white muzzle. He paused, as the realization of what he was doing struck him, but a powerful grope at his rump pulled him forward into another thrust, and that was all the permission he needed.
He lifted a paw onto the wall behind the booth and slammed his hips forward, his nude little body straddling his patron's face as his cock filled out. The sticky remains of dessert still matted his thighs as he pumped, some of the stuff rubbing off on Phil's cheeks as the fox needfully poured his weight into him.
A second paw joined the first, on the wall behind Phil's head as the bear struggled to keep pace with the excited fox. He slapped a paw onto the boy's inner thigh to slow him down, bobbing his lips along the length until he felt it twitch. He tried to force the pace, but the fox was determined to thrust. The abused member grew, the swelling of its knot forcing the remainder of his sheath to peel back and lock behind it as Phil wrapped his digits over the ball and squeezed.
Timothy froze, a short cry of pleasure escaping his lips as he shot a spurt of his vanilla-laced seed into his patron's throat. The bear suckled on him, forming a deliciously tight seal around the beginning of his knot as he spasmed and sprayed the remains of his climax into the eager maw.
Timothy pulled his blue jeans up around his waist and buckled them shut, zipping up his fly before heading for the front bar. He grabbed his winter jacket off the coat rack with a tired huff and began to thread his arms into it. He smiled over at Vixie as she mopped down the bar. "Thanks for, you know, the pep talk."
Vixie shook her muzzle. "You deserved it, I told ya."
The grey fox laughed quietly, zipping up his jacket. "Well, if it's all the same, I'd love it if we just took those damn desserts off the menu."
"Not a chance, kid."
"Thought it was worth a shot." Timothy leaned over the bar and kissed Vixie's nose. "So I haven't seen this week's timetable, yet. When am I back on the clock?"
Vixie let out a short chuckle, "You're not off the clock yet, Timmy."
Timothy cocked his head, curiously. "But, its an hour past closing. I cleaned up the tables, everyone else left already. What else did I miss?"
Vixie reached under the bar and pulled out a worn out menu, flipping it over and placing it in front of Timothy. She pointed at a menu item in the lower corner, right under the drinks.
After dinner service, $45 an hour.