Intention
My fifth entry in my weekly Shorts for Summer for 2012!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and all characters are copyright © 2012 K.M. Hirosaki
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Declan knocked on the door three times, nice and hard. He didn't fidget at all as he stood there in the hallway and waited patiently for Jarret to answer. A lioness from two doors down walked by him and paid him no heed.
Soft footsteps came from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of the deadbolt being undone. The doorknob clicked and wiggled and then twisted, and the door swung inward to reveal Jarret, dressed up all sorta-fancy in a pale blue dress shirt and neat black pants. The thin lines on the shirt almost made the otter look tall.
Any such illusion of height disappeared once Declan stepped inside. The skunk was almost a full head taller than the otter, and looked plenty tall even without help from his natural stripes, mostly hidden underneath his own shirt.
The smell of grilled fish and cooked vegetables filled the air of Jarret's apartment. The second hand of the clock on the dining room wall ticked faintly under the sound of the refrigerator and air conditioner both running.
"Hi," Jarret said with a smile and a twitch of his whiskers. "I actually just finished dinner."
It was three minutes to seven. Declan knew that Jarret was a fastidious and punctual sort and had wanted to be on time. "It smells good," the skunk stated. It didn't smell amazing, not four-star or even three-star restaurant great, but good.
"I thought I remembered that you drink wine," the otter said as he padded away towards the dining room table. The tablecloth was off-white, and the chairs were a dark walnut color. A small basket of bread was set in the middle of the table, and the two place settings had utensils and glasses of white wine, but no plates yet.
Declan took a seat as Jarret trotted into the kitchen, his thick tail swaying behind him. "I'll have your dinner out to you in just a second," the otter called. The blunt claws on his bare feet clacked against the tile on the kitchen floor. Cookware and plates clattered around, out of view, as the otter got things ready.
The scent of warm bread rose up from the basket in the center of the table. The skunk looked at the bread, and then at the tiny dish of butter next to the basket, but didn't take any. Still more fussing sounds came from the kitchen. "Sorry!" Jarret barked. "I'll be right out."
Then the otter reappeared, a fully loaded plate in each paw. He set one down in front of Declan, first, before taking his own seat. Bright red and yellows and greens from the vegetable medley were arranged with minimal artistry next to a scoop of lumpy mashed potatoes (dusted with chives) and a grilled fish filet, sprinkled with simple seasonings.
"I know it's nothing fancy," Jarret said. Deep in his tiny ears, he was blushing; Declan couldn't see it, but he was sure of it.
The skunk sat and watched as the otter took a sip of wine, then ate a bite of fish, then stopped, fork still between his webbed fingers. His tiny muzzle worked open and closed a few times as his eyes widened with the onset of mild panic. "Oh, shit. You do eat fish, right? I thought I'd asked before."
Declan was quiet a moment longer. Then, looking the otter right in the eye, he asked, nice and calm and level, "What is this?"
Jarret swallowed, though he didn't have any food in his mouth. "What's what?"
The skunk gestured with a paw at the plate of fish and vegetables and at the wineglass and the basket of bread. Even as he did so, he didn't take his eyes off Jarret's. "This. All this."
"Do you not like it?" Jarret asked. Declan was already getting to his feet. "I mean, you haven't even tried it yet. Do you not eat fish? Because--"
The pale brown dining room rug was thick and soft between Declan's own bare toes. The slightly slick fur on the back of Jarret's head was smooth and warm against Declan's fingers. The otter had washed up before dinner. Now he squirmed in his chair as the skunk tilted his head back.
"Let's cut to the chase," the skunk said. "We both know why I'm here."
The otter's nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. His whiskers twitched. His eyes flicked over towards the dinner table. "But I cooked you dinner."
"Why?" Declan asked. "So you could pretend that I'm your boyfriend or something?"
"No, I just--"
The skunk grabbed hold of Jarret's jaw--gently, but it was enough to make the otter stop talking. "Are you trying to pretend that you asked me over here for some reason other than to fuck you like a little slut?"
Jarret's eyes couldn't go any wider than they already were, but they did twitch. The muscles in his jaw tensed underneath Declan's thumb and fingers. "I just thought it might be nice," the otter squeaked.
"You know what would be nice?" Declan reached down and took hold of the zipper of his jeans and tugged it down. "If you stopped trying to act sweet and domestic and just shut up and sucked my dick."
The skunk had his cock out through the front of his pants before Jarret could finish forming even a single syllable in protest. His little nose twitched again, and then so did his throat. "Come on. Open wide," Declan said, releasing the otter's jaw to instead cup the back of the his head and tug it in toward that firm spike of black flesh.
A faint squeak died on Jarret's lips as they spread apart around that swollen, leaking tip. Declan pulled harder on the back of the otter's head, and the otter didn't resist. He did reach up to adjust the collar of his shirt, though.
"There's your dinner," the skunk told him. "Be a good otter and make sure you get it all."
Jarret slid further forward without further urging from Declan's paw. The skunk's lips curled into a smile at the sight of it. As the otter started to suck, nice and gently, the skunk let out a quiet, shaky sigh.
That soft rug under Declan's feet made for nice, springy cushioning as he rocked forward on his toes, the subtle motion encouraging Jarret to bob his head more properly, whether consciously or not. With that taken care of, the skunk leaned his head back and stared off into space. The walls of the otter's apartment were a pale duck's egg blue. The clock on the wall, second hand still ticking, read close to seven o'clock even.
Soft sucking noises joined the sounds of the clock and the refrigerator and the air conditioner. A tiny, warm, smooth tongue swirled around the stiff flesh of Declan's cock, slow and attentive and dutiful. The skunk reached down to the dinner table and picked up one of the wineglasses--Jarret's, because it was closer--and took a sip. Chardonnay, he thought. The bottle was right over there on the counter behind him, but he didn't bother to look. He took another sip and curled his fingers in around one of the otter's ears. He was pretty sure it was Chardonnay, yeah.
"That's it," Declan murmured in between his second and third sips of wine. "Get that nice and slick and dripping wet so I can fuck you, you little bitch." His claws (they weren't too short) pinched in against Jarret's ear to punctuate that point. In response, the otter whimpered, but sucked harder. The throaty moaning drowned out the ticking of the clock.
After a fourth sip, Declan set the wineglass back down on the table. Then he took both his paws, grabbed hold of the otter's head, and began to thrust into his blunt muzzle. "No, I said nice and slick and dripping," the skunk growled. "Like this." The otter gagged and sputtered, and the lack of control did cause plenty of warm, thick drool to escape the broken seal of his lips. Declan reached down to collect some with his fingers and smeared it across the otter's cheek and whiskers. "Here, does that help?"
Jarret's whimpering got louder. Hungrier. Declan kept thrusting, and the otter willfully pushed his head as far forward as it would go, burying his nose into the front of the skunk's pants, choking himself on that thick cock for a half-second at a time before the motion of the skunk's hips caused him to pull free. Saliva built up inside the otter's warm, willing mouth.
Declan grabbed onto the scruff of Jarret's neck and pulled his head back. The otter gazed upward, his muzzle still gaping open for a moment later before he shut it. His eyes drifted up and down, between the skunk's face and then his dick and then his face and then his dick again. "Out of the chair," Declan told him. "Get on the floor and take your goddamn pants off."
The otter knocked the table as he slipped out of the chair, nearly causing the two wineglasses to spill. He caught one of them, started to mutter an apology, then silenced himself and got down onto the brown rug, on his paws and knees. The skunk absentmindedly undid his belt and worked his jeans the rest of the way off as he stood next to the table and stared down at the otter's backside. "Go slow," he told Jarret as the otter reached back to fiddle with the tail-clasp of his slacks. "Pretend like you care about impressing me and not just getting a cock shoved under your tail."
For a few seconds marked by the ticking clock, Jarret was still, and he shivered in place before nodding and going back to taking off his pants. One webbed paw worked at the catch in the front while the other slipped back to his rear end, inside the waistband, and pushed downwards. The slick brown fur of his backside came into view one slow, careful inch at a time. He wasn't wearing underwear.
"Look at you," Declan said. "Look how fucking desperate you are, going commando inside a nice pair of slacks."
Jarret didn't respond with more than a wordless whimper, denying nothing as he continued the slow process of pulling his pants down to his knees, leaning forward with his weight on his paws afterward. Declan stepped out of his jeans and boxers and then knelt down on the soft brown rug behind the otter. He pulled the slacks the rest off the way off of the otter's legs, then folded them up and stuffed them underneath his own knees.
"Tell me why you cooked dinner for me," the skunk asked. He leaned forward and pressed his spit- and drizzle-coated shaft into the crease of the otter's rear. One of his paws took hold of that thick tail and held it out of the way.
Jarret sucked in a deep breath. "I thought it would be nice."
Declan took his free paw and brought it down against the otter's rump with a sharp, solid smack. "Tell me why you really cooked dinner for me."
A fresh whine rose from the otter's throat. "Because you're my guest and I thought--"
The skunk's paw came down again in the same spot, harder this time, the sound sharper and crisper in the air. "Tell me the real reason you--"
"Because I didn't want you to think I was just a little slut!"
Declan stayed his paw before he could bring it down again. "And what are you?"
"I'm a little slut." Jarret's voice was quiet, but completely audible.
"And why did you ask me here?"
"Because I wanted you to fuck me."
The dripping tip of the skunk's cock nudged against the tight entrance beneath the thick base of the otter's tail. "You don't mind if I fuck you with just your own spit for lube, right?"
Jarret hesitated. "Well, I--"
Another yelp filled the air as Declan brought his paw right back down in the same spot for a third time. "I said, 'You don't mind if I fuck you with--'"
"No, please, just fuck me!" the otter squealed.
Declan ran his tongue over his teeth and then his lips. He took hold of Jarret's hips and growled in contentment as he pushed forward. The otter was small, tight, and without real lube he squeaked under his breath as the skunk forced his way inside, first one inch, then another. The skunk sighed, admiring the sight of that perky backside and his own black dick starting to disappear inside it. He got another half-inch, then progress slowed.
There was a moment of fumbling hesitation as Declan pressed his fingers between Jarret's lips, but soon the otter took those furry digits into his mouth. "Suck," the skunk commanded, and he pumped those fingers in and out, slowly, as the little otter whimpered and drooled around them. With his fingers wet with saliva, the skunk then reached down and smeared some more makeshift lube around his shaft.
The clock on the wall read 7:04 as Declan pressed his hips flush against Jarret's backside. He squirmed against the otter for good measure, paws still gripping those slender hips. The slacks underneath his knees acted as a sort of cushion between his fur and the rug. "How many times did you almost jerk off this afternoon while thinking about me coming over?" the skunk asked.
"Like three or four," Jarret said. His small body strained against the pressure on his rump, and his arms wobbled but kept him propped up. "Kinda lost track."
"Surprised you were able to keep your paws off of your sheath long enough to cook a fucking dinner," Declan said. "Was I the first person you asked this afternoon to see if they were free tonight?"
Jarret drew a breath to answer, but before he did, the skunk lifted one paw up in warning. The otter swallowed, the sound faint and tacky, then said, "No."
"What number was I?" Declan asked.
"Three."
The skunk swung his paw down and smacked the otter on the rump again. "That's for the first guy you asked before me." Immediately his paw came down once more. "That's for the second guy." The skunk drew his hips back a few inches and then thrust back in hard. The otter's elbows buckled and his face was nearly pressed into the brown rug on the dining room floor. "Who are you going to ask first the next time you're so horny you'll raise your tail for any random guy willing to fuck you?"
It took the otter a few seconds to catch his breath after the spanking. "You," he squeaked out.
"That's right, slut. And don't you forget it." Declan patted Jarret on the shoulder, and the simple gesture made the otter wince. The skunk smirked, then began thrusting anew, slowly, but pushing in nice and deep.
After a few thrusts, in a warbling voice, Jarret choked out, "Actually, you were fourth."
Declan smacked the otter on the backside so hard that he lurched forward far enough that the skunk's dick slipped free from inside him. "That's for talking when I didn't tell you to," the skunk growled. He brought his paw down twice more, not giving the otter a chance to recover from reeling. "That's for lying just to get me to spank you again." He started to line his shaft back up with the otter's stretched entrance, then paused to spank that upturned rump three more times, and this time didn't bother saying what it was for.
Snugly back inside the otter, Declan went back to thrusting, harder now than before. Jarret tried to brace himself against the force of the skunk's hips, but soon found himself needing to keep his limbs less rigid so that he could better bounce with the steady, jerking movements. The skunk saw one of the otter's paws twitching against the soft brown rug of the dining room floor, like he wanted nothing more than to grab his own dick and start jerking off, but the skunk didn't voice permission for him to do so, and the paw stayed right where it was.
Losing himself in the rhythm of his own thrusting, Declan spaced out again, once more staring straight ahead at the duck's egg blue wall. His knees rocked against the folded slacks on the floor, and his hips slapped against the otter's backside, which was clearly sore from the harsh spanking because each time he slapped against it hard enough, the otter squeaked or yelped or whined.
There was nothing in the way of finesse. No technique. No fancy tricks. The skunk just thrust and pumped and bucked forward and pulled back. His hips found the rhythm of the second hand on the clock. Tick tick tick tick. Pump pump pump pump.
"Hold still," Declan commanded.
He pulled his dick out, then released the otter's hips. He took hold of his cock and started jerking away furiously, and also took hold of the otter's tail, keep it lifted up. Gritting his teeth and grunting, he started to blow his load, streaking the otter's rump with ropes of white. He aimed for that stretched hole, for the back of the otter's balls and for the underside of his tail. Leaning forward, he squeezed out a few final drops onto the small of the otter's back. Then he shifted his knees, pulled the otter's slacks free, and used them to wipe his dick clean.
The otter stayed there on his paws and knees, his hindquarters covered in that sticky mess as Declan leaned over, dragged his jeans closer to himself, and fished his phone out of his pocket. He lined up a quick shot of his handiwork, snapped a picture of it, then got to his feet.
Now the sound of the otter's rushed panting was the most noticeable noise in the air. Declan slipped his jeans back on, did them up, and stepped back to the dinner table. He took the seat he'd been in before, picked up the knife and fork, and started eating. He ate about half of the fish fillet, then had a few bites of both the vegetables and the potatoes before setting the utensils back down. It was lukewarm, but not bad. He washed it down by finishing off the half-drunken glass of Chardonnay in two heavy sips.
Jarret was still there on the floor, still in his dress shirt, still on his paws, thick jizz slowly liquefying in his water-resistant fur. He looked up at Declan as the skunk got up and walked to the apartment's front door. When the skunk opened it, the otter started to say something, but didn't, nor did he move despite the fact that he was in full view of the hallway for a few seconds before the skunk stepped through it and closed it behind him.
Declan stood outside the door. No longer could he hear the sounds of the air conditioner or refrigerator or clock or panting otter inside the apartment. He waited in place a moment, tongue swirling around the inside of his mouth, tasting fish and vegetables and wine again.
He padded down the hallway towards the elevator. Halfway there, he pulled his phone out of his jeans again and sent a quick text to Jarret. "Thanks for that."