A Bad Day
Warning! Warning! Warning! This story contains all those things your mom and dad said they'd tell you about when you grew up, in hopes you'd never ask again. Avert your eyes, lest this missage burns itself into your retinas, for I can't be held accountable for your marred purity! And all the rest. You know the deal. 18 blah blah don't read blah blah legal blah blah... Okay, enough on with the story. Warning! Warning! Warning! __________________ A Bad Day - By Kandrel
- * * It had been a bad day. First there had been the incident at the mill, and now the debacle at the tannery; at this point, Fyodor was willing to admit defeat. All he needed was a lucky break, but he was ready to concede that the break might just have to wait for tomorrow. He collapsed in his shoddy bed, remnants of goose down fluttering into the air in a cloud to either side. He nipped half-heartedly as the feathers drifted down around him and propped his head up on crossed arms. The idea had been such a good one to begin with, he mused to himself. Take his maul, find someplace with people who've got money, threaten said people with said maul, and leave with said money. He was a hulking gnoll, damnit, why wasn't he now rolling in his plundered goods? Well, technically, he knew why. He hadn't really counted on the milner's three sons being home, and it'd also slipped his mind that the milner was a bear. More specifically, a big, gnarled grizzly toughened from years of lifting heavy grain sacks and replacing solid stone mill wheels by hand. Hell, if he hadn't been rather quick on his feet, he would have been significantly flatter than he was now thanks to one of those mill stones. The tannery hadn't been much better. He'd checked beforehand, but who would have known that old honeybadger was such a crazy geezer! Fyodor had been lucky to get away with his hide, let alone more than just a little satchel he'd grabbed on his way out. Thinking of the satchel, he reached down and pulled it from his belt, slowly toying with the clasp at the top. It was his first ill-gained goods, hopefully the first of many. A great deal many, if he could figure out how his axe was supposed to be applied correctly. With a deft flick of his claws, the clasp fell away, and the contents of the sack spilled across his belly. Most of the small items were wrapped in a mussed and fragrant cloth. Nothing inside was immediately identifiable: a wooden ring too large for a finger, a leather strap studded with metal with no obvious clasps, and a small stoppered flask. Fyodor opened the flask and took a greedy gulp, then immediately wished he hadn't. The liquid was greasy and coated his tongue, making it tingle. He coughed and spat, then tossed the flask into a corner. The items on the bed quickly joined it as he started to unwrap the cloth. His eyes were immediately drawn to a gleam as the last folds of the cloth fell away. Reaching into the mess impatiently, his claws fumbled with a hard, circular object, until he lifted it into the light. Gold! His first successful foray, and he'd come away with gold! Eagerly licking his lips, he inspected his newly gained treasure. On one side pranced a naked otter, hands in the air and tail to the side. Already approving of the nature of his ill-gotten coin, he flipped it over. On the flip side in bass relief was a sign, the image of a demure otter winking engraved on it. At this, Fyodor's clever brain jumped into action. He hadn't exactly been the runt of his litter, but he wouldn't have made it to the prominent position he was in (still alive) if he hadn't coupled his large gnollish form with an equally sly and clever semblence of intelligence. Mind a-whirl, he flipped the coin over and over in his hands, claws clicking on its hard surface every time it twirled. This wasn't a normal coin, but the casting quality was too high to be a gimick. Given the sign on one side, it's obviously a store, or a pub, or a tavern. So if he were to assume that this coin was special currency or mark for an establishment, and that the establishment could afford to hand out golden coins, it must be fabulously rich! And making the last leap of logic, Fyodor clasped the coin in his paw, muzzle wide in a smile: there's no wealth that a judicious use of "Maul" can't liberate! Quickly readjusting his loincloth and hopping to his feet, he grabbed his heavy implement from beside the door and hefted it across his back. Coin in paw and weapon at the ready, he aimed his jaunty stride towards the nearby village. By the time Fyodor arrived, his enthusiasm had been dampened. Along with it, his fur, his loincloth, his harness and gear, and his hammer. The sky had opened, and downpour had turned his trail to mud, clotted with dead leaves. His legs were covered in muck to his knees, the black, tar-like earth running from his fur with each step as he finally stopped in front of the Sign of the Winking Otter. He glanced side to side along the abandonded street, the rain obscuring vision past a few doors down each direction. Shaking himself and glowering at the door in front of him, he limbered his arms and weapon. Tossing his scariest snarl onto his face and bristling as much as his wet fur would allow, he pushed the door and burst inside. It took all of his attention not to immediately melt as he stepped into the warm and inviting saloon. The muted greys and blues of the (wet) outside world were replaced with the amber of a crackling fire, illuminating a large lounge decorated plushly in oranges and golds. His paws squelched messily in a soft rug, just as richly tan as as his own fur. In front of him lounged otters, too many to count, lazing across sofas and chairs, laying on the thick rugs, or sitting in front of the enticing fire. They were all manner of tans and browns, looking like nestled chocolates amongst the gold wrapping of the room's furnishing. Even stretched out, it was obvious that even the largest of them was no more than two thirds of his size, and the majority just over half. They were lithe, graceful, obviously flexible given the strange positions in which they were lounging, and most startlingly, every single one of them was naked save for supple leather modesties for their groins. Each and every one of their glittering eyes turned, resting unconcernedly on the gnoll that had just invaded their lair. Clutching his maul in one powerful hand, he turned to one side, where an otter sat serenely behind a labeled podium reading "Please sign our guest book before waiting for service". He grasped the otter around the throat and lifted him into the air. "Make with the gold or people start getting hurt, starting with this guy right here!" Countless pairs of eyes gazed at him impartially, the room silent and unmoving. He snarled and lifted his victim further into the air, the otter squirming a little bit in his grip. "Are you all daft? Your friend is about to die! I know you got gold, I got one of these!" He tossed his pilfered gold coin onto the rug, then lifted his maul threateningly. "Now get me the rest of them!" Another dead silence met his words, and just as he was about to scream in frustration, he felt a tug to his tail. Startled, he dropped the writhing otter and almost dropped his mallet. Spinning and looking down, he saw one of the numerous otters tsk'ing at him. "Messy hyena, tracking in muck all over our rugs." The otter's voice was high and musical, and if there hadn't been a lack of equipment on the otter's chest, Fyodor would have mistaken it for a girl. Behind him, another voice perked up. "But he had a gold coin." Another to the side chirped in, "Is it really a gold one?" Fyodor spun, finding himself increasingly surrounded by the sleek forms. The one behind him bit down on the coin Fyodor had thrown and chirped happily. "It's a real one all right!" "Well then, the mess on the carpet's alright I guess." "Better more than guess, this is an honored visitor." Growling in confusion, the gnoll slammed his mallet down. With the thickness of the plush carpet, it made rather less of a thunk than he was hoping for. "Stop messing around! I demand you fetch golYAAAP!" The end of the sentence ascended into a startled squawk as nimble hands reached under his loincloth. Dropping his mallet and holding his hands tight to his crotch, eyes wide and wild. "Are you all insane!?" "We can be for you, Mr. Gold coin," chirped another sourceless voice to his right. More and more of the lithe shapes flowed and bounced from their cushions to surround the startled gnoll. Voices started to mix, and Fyodor only caught one word in twenty. "Where'd he get a gold coin?" "Does it matter? It's a real one!" "I like his tail." "Bet he cleans up nice!" "You should see what's under that cloth he's got." "Is it much?" "I'd do this one for free!" Ears flat against his skull, Fyodor spun towards the portal he'd just recently burst through. His feet, tangled between hot little bodies, tripped and sent him sprawling onto a swirling sea of ruddy brown fur. "Oof! He's a heavy one!" "Shush and get him into the studio!" "Someone got the coin right?" "I've got it here, we're good." Countless small hands gripped his chest and legs gently, hoisting him into the air. The sea of otters beneath him began to flow, pulling him deeper into their den. No amount of kicking and squirming would dislodge the creatures, as when one would lose its grip, another would immediately step forward to take its place. Beneath him, one little useful fellow had his paws right over the gnoll's loincloth, and spent more time groping and exploring then supporting. Back through a door in the back of the parlor the gnoll was carried, kicking and growling the entire way. The plush foyer melted into clean, smooth walls of a hallway, spattered on either side by heavy wooden doors. Turning ponderously to one side, the otters manhandled Fyodor to the end of the corridor, where double doors stood closed. There was a jangle of a keychain that the gnoll couldn't see from within the crowd, and after a moment, the doors spread wide, opening the way into a palatial chamber. The thick rugs continued into the room and spread out in a rather suggestive oblong pattern on the floor. Bright candles flickered away merrily in little bunches around the room, supplemented by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The mixture of fixtures lit the place to bright radiance while making the shadows dance. The swarm of bodies carried him to the centre of the room, where a wide plateu at knee height sported a lush mattress, shiny sheets and towels, and a wide range of bottles arranged to one side. The soft hands deposited him on the mattress, then released. Freed, he sat up sharply, then settled. What the warmth earlier had failed to do, the incredibly soft sheets beneath him were succeding at now. Fyodor had heard of silk sheets, though he'd never felt them. His leathery pawpads and fingers felt the shimmering material, marveling at its frictionless glide. It took a few moments of glorying in the soft caress of the material before he realized that his tail end was experiencing the same sensation. Somewhere between the front room and this palace, he'd been freed from his loincloth, and he now sat naked on the luxurious mattress. Around him, the crowd dispersed with expert care, leaving just three of the brown bodies standing alertly on their short hindpaws, gazing at him curiously. After another half-hearted growl, Fyodor tried his voice again, "Um, hi. I came for your gold..." "Oh, we know sir. We three are the best at the winking otter, and you'll get your gold's worth, we guarantee it!" "But no, I meant I..." "Well, if you need more of us, all you have to do is ask, sir, but why don't you see what we can do first." Fyodor, sinking further into his dejected confusion, shook his head. "I'm not here for treatment, I'm here for... ooooohhh..." One of the three otters had stepped forward and grabbed his dirty footpaw, pressing a skilled thumb into the base of his heel. The gnoll's breath caught in his throat as another stepped forward, repeating the process on his other foot. After hours of tramping around in the uneven roads, then later in the mud and rain, the skilled fingers of the miniature masseuses sent jitters of cool pleasure up his legs. Unconcerned with the mess the wet and muddy gnoll was making on their silk sheets, their hands pulled and kneaded at the large canine paws, chatting under their breaths to each other as they rubbed. "Big paws on this one. Biggest hyena I've seen." "Don' think he's a hyena. Looks like a gnoll." "A gnoll with a gold coin? Getting all kinds in the village these days." "Never treated a gnoll before. Think they're built like hyenas?" "If this guy's any gauge, bigger." Fyodor's conscious mind slowly melted into the attention his poor, battered feet were receiving, and even the lure of gold faded from his mind. Paying no mind to their rambling, he laid back, putting hands behind his head and truly relaxing for the first time since he'd been a pup. The third otter appeared at his side, a small comb in his grasp. "Would sir like to be combed clean?" Brandishing the comb and a smile, the otter put a paw on Fyodor's chest and started combing down the gnoll's spotted hide, leaving clean and significantly drier trails where wet, mussed fur used to be. Deciding not to complain, Fyodor closed his eyes as the otter with the comb climbed up onto the mattress with him. The curry comb dragged slowly through his chest fur, tugging lightly here and there as it worked out each snarl of fur. The mustelids at his feet matched motions, each of them grasping his calves and starting to maneuvering his legs up. With his knees bent and feet pads-down on the mattress, their fingers started to meander through his calf and thigh muscles. In his own slice of heaven, Fyodor's thoughts drifted, daydreaming of wealth and power, and moreso, of his own collection of otters rewarding him with this treatment at the end of each day. Lulled into sleepyness by the comb now dragging over his lower ribs, he laid his head back against the silk covered mattress, letting the courtesans do their work. He felt paws on his chest again, and fluttering his eyes open momentarily, he saw the otter with the comb straddling his belly to reach the far side of the gnolls broad chest. With a greedy smile on his muzzle, Fyodor laid his head back, letting the trio do as they please. The paws climbed up his bent legs as he slipped further into his reverie, muscles long neglected twitching and relaxing as the skilled fingers worked their magic. Head clouded almost to the point of dizziness, Fyodor's tail twitched between his legs as one of the pair brushed it out of their way. Without missing a beat, the otters massaging his thighs moved as one to his rump, the dextrous digits gripping and kneading. The gnoll distractedly smiled at the new sensation, until he felt a feather-light touch on his exposed sac. Head lifting in alarm and a growl escaping his lips, he started. "Hey, what are you doing down there?" The one with the comb straddling his belly smiled sweetly down at him, responding for the pair, "Gold coin buys Sir very personal treatment. You want value for your coin, yes?" "But I didn't want to spend the... Um... Wow..." The otters, past masters at deflecting awkward questions when their talents were being called into question, had taken that opportunity to put paws firmly on his sac and sheath, kneading them just as they had the muscles futher southward. With his knees bent and legs spread, the mustelids had free access to the gnoll's entire range of anatomy, and jumped at the chance to explore it. Fyodor felt two sets of curious muzzles and clever hands dive at his crotch, the two slickly furred bodies spreading his legs wider. "As I say, spend gold coin, go home completely fulfilled in every way. At Winking Otter, we are professionals!" Two tongues traced their way along his thinly furred perenium while the paws on his sheath squeezed and stroked. Against his conscious will, his fuzzy pouch quickly began to fill and fatten, while the otter on his belly purposefully slid himself backwards. One paw appeared from between his spread legs and picked up one of the bottles to the side of the matress, and Fyodor smelled a brief surge of lilac. "But I don't... I'm not..." Those same skilled fingers wrapped around the emerging tip of the gnolls pride, and slid slickly over the fat head. A liquid, presumably from the bottle, dripped into his sheath fur as more of the slick was spread in teasingly light strokes onto Fyodor's quickly lengthening member. The otter on his belly lifted himself to his knees as he glanced back. "My my, Sir is quite a customer." Still clutching the comb, the lutrine settled, and Fyodor felt a weight settle on his hips as his tapered tip met something invitingly warm and smooth. "Does sir approve?" Fyodor was long past any complaints. The smooth, slick hands had erased any indecision, and as the two tongues converged again at his pendulous sac, the gnoll relaxed back into his rising exstasy, hoping and praying fore more attention. He opened his muzzle, and all he could force past his disobedient lips was, "More." "Sir is quite right! More it shall be!" The otter sitting so warmly atop his spire turned his head and let out a shrill chirp. From the doors where they'd disappeared, more of the otters emerged, some five more in addition to the three already servicing the gnoll. They converged, one settling above his head, the nameless otter's legs spread around Fyodor's ears while hands caressed his temples. Two more took his arms and stretched them out, beginning the same thorough treatment his legs had received not so long ago, while the remaining two unbent his legs, pulling them spread-eagle and pinning them while fingers dug into his footpads again. "No, I meant I wanted more of..." The otter atop his now-straining erection flicked his muscular tail, and Fyodor felt a warm pop at the tip of his shaft, as the hot ring of flesh stretched around his girth. "Oh, yes. That." Pushing up with his legs and tugging at his arms, he suddenly realized that the extra otters had him well and truly pinned. Struggling and straining to thrust up into that accomodating rump, the gnoll began to growl again. "Sir must take it slow, or else he will be spent too quickly." The otter sitting astride his hips brushed his own loincloth aside, a long, tapered, and intensely pink shaft popping into sight. With a gentle tug, the otter removed the garment completely, and as Fyodor watched, spread his legs and began to sink slowly down the gnoll's veined cock. Whining in anticipation and arousal, Fyodor grunted and bucked, finding that no matter how he tried, he couldn't seem to force himself deeper into the tight and wet oriface. The otter leaned back, his short legs wide, and light shined on his strained and pulsing pucker. Half of the gnoll's straining shaft still glimmered slickly outside the wet entrance, but as Fyodor watched, the otter crept forward. With painstaking slowness, hot velvetty walls gripped his cock, an inch at a time, until after minutes of purposefully slow penetration, the mustelid's fuzzy rump kissed against the gnoll's sheath. The otter impaled on his shaft tilted back up, and without any further attention paid to the thick gnoll excitement filling his backside, he picked up his comb. With slow, purposeful strokes, he once again began to groom the gnoll's hide, starting at Fyodor's lower chest and brushing down to his toned stomach. Realizing that he was at their mercy, Fyodor laid his head back against the knees of the otter attending to his head. All of his limbs relaxed, and sensing his acquiescence, the paws continued to knead and caress. Losing track of the number of hands stroking his body, he closed his eyes and simply whined under his breath. Every time he forgot that there was more to the massage than just the skilled fingers, the otter's rump would squeeze down like a vice around his shaft, and he would answer with a throb of his own. Slowly being dragged into their lazy, langorous pace, Fyodor's natural wit and cunning floated to the fore, and an idea occurred. Flexing his fingers and toes in the gentle but strong grip of the otters at each of his extremeties, the gnoll twisted his wrists and worked his ankles. Sensing difficulties, the gnolls tightened their grips, but escape wasn't what the gnoll had in mind. Groping blindly, Fyodor reached and felt until his left hand encountered foreign fabric. Lifting it and venturing intently forward, his hand found its way beneath the otter's loincloth and cupped the mustelid's balls. Unsurprised, questing fingers found the otter's shaft hard and dripping beneath the loincloth, and without hesitation, he curled his powerful canine paw around the short, pulsing member. After just a few more seconds of searching, his right hand found the same place on the otter to that side, and within seconds he had the mustelid eagerly humping his paw. Atop him, the otter with the comb gave a squeeze around the gnolls shaft and smiled, chirping out, "Sir is generous!" He felt the mustelid's muscular tail flip down between his legs, curling around the canid's balls and squeezing lightly. Still unmoving except for the brush grooming his belly fur, Fyodor felt the walls around his shaft contract in a slow wave, and his concentration wandered in the induced bliss of stimulation. Not to be outdone by their fellows at the gnoll's hands, the fingers at his feet were replaced with harder, wetter organs, and the fuzzy bodies hugged themselves to his legs as they rubbed themselves against his broad footpads. Squeezing, flexing toes, and biding his time, Fyodor's plan slowly budded into fruition. Starting with the eager otter to his right, followed by the one on his left, the shafts in his large hands began to throb wildly. Anticipating his opportunity, he kept his grip as slipperily liquid began to spray across his arms. A thick musk filled the room quickly, and perhaps goaded on by the smell, the two otters humping against his feet followed suit, thick ropes of cum staining his newly groomed feet and calves. Sensing his chance, Fyodor tugged. Slickened by liquids and weakened by orgasm, the otters restraining his limbs barked in alarm as his hands and feet pulled free. Before he could be restrained again, the gnoll flipped, tugging the otter impaled on his shaft with him. Now on his back in the silk sheets, the otter flailed and squirmed, but Fyodor's paw quickly folded around his neck. The object of his attention (and lust) restrained, Fyodor pulled his hips back sharply, most of his long shaft leaving the otter's tight rump in a rush. With just the tip still spreading the pucker wide, Fyodor gave a feral growl before shoving his hips forward, propelling his throbbing cock deep into the squirming mustelid. "Sir... is eager... Sir must be careful not... to hurt the staff..." Unrestrained, anxious, and pent up, Fyodor barely heard the lutrine. Tugging his hips again, he repeated his previous thrust. The tight hole opened obediently for his lust, squeezing and throbbing in waves around the gnoll's shaft. Caught in his humping frenzy, he barely felt paws on his tail, lifting it to the side. The tongue on the gnoll's tailhole did get his attention however, and as a second joined the first, his concentration wavered. The tongues dipped and swirled, caressing his bare flesh as the tight hole of the otter beneath him squeezed and contracted again. Shortening his thrusts as not to dislodge the two otter's licking at his rump, the gnoll began to build a constant snarl under his breath. A weight settled around his shoulders, pulling his chest to the ground. Two more, perhaps the same he'd serviced earlier, sat slickly astride his legs, fuzzy rumps and balls sliding across his cum-stained calves. Undettered, Fyodor's hips slammed away against the otter beneath him, each thrust becoming harder to hilt as his canine knot formed and began to balloon. The squirming otter riding his shaft chirred and chirped cutely, lifting his legs around the gnoll's frame, and tugged hard. Stars exploded in Fyodor's vision as his knot sank into the otter. He heard a loud slurping sound, then the otter under him yipped, spraying the gnoll's chest with musky mustelid seed. The entire tunnel around Fyodor's shaft constricted and squeezed, and just as the pucker clamped down around the base of his shaft, he lost his tenuous control. His thick shaft pulsed once, twice, then on the third throb, a torrent of pent-up gnoll spunk splattered against the otter's insides. Fyodor's balls jumped in his sac, his pucker winking under the attention of the two tongues, as he filled the lucky otter on his shaft with his liquid exuberence. Throb after throb left to squirt after squirt into the tight hole, and runny gnoll cum began to leak out around the thick knot, dripping onto the silk sheets below. Riding the high as it slowly crashed into afterglow, Fyodor's throbs became pulses, then pulses became twitches, then twitches became dribbles. Jittering and still tied to the otter beneath him, Fyodor let out a long-restrained breath. Hands to his side and bowed from the otter sitting on his shoulders, he relaxed in the afterglow of his glorious orgasm. So distracted and lazy in the haze of exhaustion, he didn't even notice as otters swarmed over his hands and feet, pinning him even more firmly than before. The otter beneath him wriggled and squirmed, still stuck on the thick knob impaling his backside. Oblivious to it all as the last few drops of his orgasm dribbled from the otter's tailhole, Fyodor closed his eyes. His eyes shot back open just moments afterwards, as the two soft tongues on his tailhole were replaced with something significantly harder. He tugged again at his limbs, but this time he was firmly stuck. His hands didn't even have enough room to reach or twist, so restrained was he. Whining and barking, the gnoll tried to shift and escape, but firm masseuses' hands on his rump kept him still as the short, tapered otter cock wormed its way into his tailhole. The owner of the cock in his rump was eager, and without waiting, immediately began to buck and thrust. Given their small stature, the intrusion did little to hurt the gnoll. Instead, the intense feeling of flesh across flesh brought a twitch of life to his own shaft, still embedded in the willing otter beneath him. Unable to move more than an inch or two, Fyodor humped back against the intruding shaft, eagerly enjoying the new sensation. Too soon for the gnoll's pleasure, the otter behind him grunted, and the shaft in the gnoll's rump twitched and spasmed, spilling hot liquid into the upturned pucker. Whining needily as the shaft was removed, Fyodor didn't have to wait long as it was quickly replaced by another, equally as thick, but just a few inches longer. Without pausing, the new shaft thrust quickly and eagerly, the otter's balls slapping against the gnoll's own. Interrupting his new sensation, the gnoll felt a tap at his muzzle. Expecting more avenues for pleasure, the gnoll opened his jaws. When just another tap came, Fyodor opened one eye, then both, as he found a larger, muscled, and obviously older otter standing before him. "You enjoy hospitality, yes? But is not your coin." The otter slamming against his rump stopped and held himself hilted, another splatter of mustelid seed coating the gnoll's insides. The owner stepped away and was quickly replaced, another unfamiliar shaft digging beneath Fyodor's tail. "No, is honeybadger's coin. He's good customer, we know him. We not like so much when good customers stolen from." And otter enthusiastically banged away at his backside while the older otter stood in front of him impassively, scowling slightly at the gnoll. Caught between fear and excitement, Fyodor's own shaft twitched and drooled, and the tight walls around his shaft pulsed as the otter it was buried in wriggled in pleasure. "So we keep you here tonight. You no good at cleaning, we can tell, so you serve my otters, until they sated. It be long night. Hope you saved your strength." The shaft in his rump twitched as the otter over him chirred approval. The shaft retreated, and was replaced again. "But you nice enough gnoll. We like you." Around him, he heard a chorus of appreciative chirps and whistles. "So this is offer. We teach you tonight not to steal from Winking Otter customers, then you go free, yes?" Fyodor's attention slipped as the shaft in his rump dug deep, forcing another squirt and shiver from his own canid shaft. "Pay attention, gnoll! We offer you good deal. One night for forgiving you for stealing from Winking Otter customer, yes?" Fyodor's heart sank. Already he was beginning to feel tired and used, and his tailhole squeezed listlessly around the shaft pounding enthusiastically into it. Another tap on his muzzle brought his eyes forward again, and the older otter's paw clamped down hard around his ears. "But you ever threaten otters again, you never leave this place. Understand?" Fyodor nodded mutely, and felt a spray of liquid across his backside. Another took his place beneath the gnoll's tail, and Fyodor consigned himself to a long night. *** *** *** *** *** Intensely bright light brought Fyodor from the depths of his troubled sleep. Opening his eyes blearily, he shielded his gaze until he slowly acclimated to the glare. He was laying against the wall outside of the sign of the winking otter, a gold coin laying on his chest. Memories of the previous night came flooding back, and he immediately jumped to his feet. Fyodor came crashing to his knees as soon as he found his feet wouldn't support him. Sore and bruised, his legs felt shakey and used, as if he's run for miles without stop. His tailhole burned sorely, and his wrists ached from being restrained. He'd lost track of the number of otters he'd serviced. Perhaps he'd even taken care of them twice or thrice or more. He seemed to remember the comb otter wriggling off of his shaft, only to be replaced by another similar one while the rest took turns beneath his tail. Holding his rump and whimpering in pain, he held the wall as he slowly got to his feet. Finally taking into account his surroundings, the pain began to fade. Wrapped around his waist was a stylish and bright loincloth, soft, silken, and snug. Instead of his old mallet, against the wall near where he woke was a double-edged battleaxe, cruelly sharp and broad. He hefted it appreciatively and found it suited his build. As he twirled it, though, he noticed a piece of paper fluttering to the ground, and snatched it out of the air. On one side was the sigil of the winking otter, and on the other, a letter. "To Sir Gnoll, We enjoyed your company tonight, and hope you may return for more of our professional treatment. Below you will find a list of our loyal customers, whom, if you remember, you shall stay well away from. In addition, I will list objects of great interest to us, owned by people who choose not to patronize our fine establishment. If one or more of them were to find their way into your posession, then perhaps we would be willing to trade services for your newly gained goods. Looking forward to your return and future dealings, -The Proprieter." Hefting his shiny new axe, Fyodor considered the letter. With a shiny and sharp new axe, whole new realms of threatening and extortion lay before him. What a small price to pay, staying away from a few certain targets. Even better was the offer of another night of bliss like his last, without the unpleasant conclusion. Whistling badly, Fyodor stumbled off back towards his hovel, clutching at walls and trees for balance. Favoring his tender ass and weaving like a drunk after a bender, he had to admit that things were looking up for him. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad day after all. _________________________________________________________________ (Fin! Fyodor is copyright his player, while all other characters in this story are copyright J. Fox Rosenberg. Any resemblance to other characters is only incedental and unintentional. Reposting is permissable, however, all reposts must be in original form, and must contain the author's name unaltered.) Send Kandrel mail! fox at foxyonline dot com Comments and suggestions are welcome!