Ledgers
A kind of informal trade with Rufellen, featuring his rat character and my otter! So what happens when two critters with loose morals meet up?
Spoiler: sex
Orel was napping in his quarters when the knock came at his cabin door, forcing him from an immediately forgotten dream. When he sat up, the hat resting over his eyes fell to the wooden floor of the cabin and the light filtering through the shutters made him immediately curse under his breath. It was the middle of the afternoon, but it had been a long, stormy night for The Naralan and he'd had to stay on deck for most it to guide the ship to safety. He was used to sleepless nights, however. It was the celebratory drinking when they'd arrived in port that had got him.
The knocking came again, timid but insistent. Without bothering to reply, Orel slipped naked from the bed onto his feet, looking around for some clothes to pull on before returning to the deck. Not that he particularly cared, but they were in port and wearing trousers seemed like the captainly thing to do. He was the rat captain of The Naralan after all, known across the seas and the subject of rumours in every port. He had an image to maintain.
He spotted a pair of trousers made from a loose blue cloth and stepped into them, pulling them up so that they sat neatly on his hips, tied with a red belt. Opting to leave the hat where it fell, he tied a red bandana over his head and grabbed his cutlass, which for some reason he couldn't remember had been left embedded in the wall. Slipping it into its leather sheath, he tied it to his belt. Always better to be safe than sorry.
His mouth tasted like salt and ash, which he remedied by downing the half-tankard of ale he'd left on his desk the night before. As ready to face the deck as he was ever going to be, he padded over to the entrance to his cabin, flicked open the latch and opened the heavy door inwards.
Orel felt his head clear slightly as the salty, fish-tinted air of the dock filled his lungs. One of the cabin boys was stood outside, a new recruit who switched sides during a raid on a galleon a week back. He was a lad of no more than 18 or 19, quick to learn but still wet behind the ears. Orel suspected that his previous employer hadn't been kind, and the lad was still nervous in the captain's presence.
Orel sighed. "Pick yourself up, lad, you can't be starting at the sight of the likes of me if you want to be a pirate. Tell me what you're after."
The smaller wererat hurried to pick himself up from the deck, almost toppling over again his rush. When he was finally upright, he threw a salute at his captain. "Sir, there's an inspector here. Wants to check our records. His identification checks out."
Orel stretched and stepped out onto the deck, the short brown fur on his bare chest reflecting the warm afternoon sun. "So be it. Does he have a name?"
"Yes sir, but... but I can't remember it."
Orel sighed again, untying his sheathed cutlass from his belt and handing it to the cabin boy, whose paws drooped under its unexpected weight. Responding to the timid wererat's questioning gaze, he said "I can't be meeting the man armed to the teeth now, can I? Hide it below decks until the morn."
The inspector wasn't hard to spot among the bustle of the docks immediately surrounding the ship. The tall otter dressed head to toe in official finery, a stark contrast to the shirtless workers and ragged dockhands going about their routines. The otter's face was a professional smile and he raised his webbed paw to shake Orel's hand as the rat approached.
"You must be Orel, the captain of The Naralan, correct?"
"Aye," said Orel, raising his own paw in return and looking up to survey the otter closely. The most striking thing about the otter was his deep red eyes, the colour of blood. It was an unnatural colour, but they somehow lent themselves well to the strange, confident demeanor of the inspector.
The otter held up an inspection form, marked with a name and a red wax stamp denoting its official status. "My name's Ramothgilead Greenstorm. I'm here to check the records of your docking tax and import duties. I apologise for the short notice, but if you give people too much warning they tend to sail away next time there's a breeze." The otter's tone suggested he was joking, but Orel picked up on the warning underneath. He chose to ignore it.
"Jeez, you must have had some parents with a name like that."
"They were odd," the otter admitted with a wave of his paw, "but while I'm here you can just call me Rudder. Most people do."
"Well then, Rudder, I'd be delighted to welcome you aboard The Naralan" Orel said with an exaggerated flourish that bordered on the sarcastic.
The two cut back through the crowd, and walked up the boarding ramp to the ship's deck. A few of Orel's wererat crew were scampering about repairing parts of the ship that had been damaged in the storm. Orel's first mate, a naga cobra by the name of Jormungandr, was nowhere to be seen. Orel assumed he'd be in the town already, looking for a way to earn some quick coin.
The two crossed the deck, heading directly to the Captain's cabin. The door was still unlocked, and Orel entered first, immediately picking up the discarded hat and opening the shutters to allow some light in. Placing the hat over the empty tankard on his desk, he pulled a thick book of records from the shelves behind and handed it politely to the otter as he entered.
Orel sat down on his bunk, giving the otter room to work. He'd done this enough times before to know that if he showed too much concern the otter would just look twice as hard. And if he looked twice as hard, he was bound to discover that there wasn't a single genuine record in the entire book. The Naralan had raided a ship of officials a few moons back, and the seals they'd stolen were enough to make their forged records appear genuine at first glance, but Orel wasn't naive enough to think the scrawled records of his pirate crew would stand up to scrutiny.
Nonchalance was usually the way to go.
"If you don't mind me," Orel said, lying down on the bunk, the loose, low-cut trousers showing off the neat inguinal hip crease leading to his crotch, "I'll just be resting my eyes. Long night, you understand." Rudder nodded, his eyes lingering on the reclining form for just a moment too long, and then returned to work.
All in all, the inspection took a little over an hour, and it was late afternoon when Rudder closed the thick ledger, the slam pulling the rat from his light sleep. "Well, I'm satisfied. You keep good records, Mister Orel."
Orel sat up and padded over to the desk, deftly picking up two glasses with one paw and a bottle of strong rum with the other. "Thanks, Mister Rudder. Care for a drink before you leave? My way of saying thanks for not prejudging us, like. Most people see the ship and the rats and think we're pirates, and they're never happy after".
Rudder smiled and graciously accepted the drink, sipping the rum lightly at first. Orel was relieved. He'd never met a dock inspector who'd turn down a free drink, but sometimes they insisted on going through the whole charade of insisting that they shouldn't before they inevitably gave in. Orel didn't have the patience for that today, he could feel the hint of a hangover drifting into focus and wanted to jump straight to the hair of the dog.
It wasn't always enough to just pass the inspection. The inspectors weren't stupid, sometimes they got halfway back to their office before the doubts set in. When they eventually returned to confront the captain, they either demanded more evidence or gold for their silence. Getting them nice and drunk was a good way to stop them thinking, and Orel was willing to bet that he could hold the drink better than this foppish office worker, even with the size difference.
It was a bet he would have lost. Before Orel knew it, he'd finished the bottle, and his vision was blurring. The inspector was talking about... something unimportant, but he seemed to be holding himself enviably.
"More rhum," Orel slurred. "Wesh should get more rhum. There'sh a bar nearby. Hash a sauna. Nishe place. Let'sh go. On me."
Orel didn't remember actually walking to the bar. It felt like he'd made the suggestion and they'd just arrived. He was starting to regret using his strongest rum for this gambit. The bar itself positioned itself as a general purpose entertainment venue for weary sailors. It was filled with good rum and strong ale, and often had live music performed by a band of opossum women with a piano. It also boasted the only wood-fire sauna in the whole port, a godsend for bones aching from the long voyages at sea.
As the sun set, it was Orel who suggested that they visit the sauna while it would be at its quietest. They downed their drinks, paid a coin each for the privilege, and padded off together to the secluded area behind the pub that concealed the sauna itself. The smell of burning wood filled the air as they approached.
Orel wasn't sure if it was the alcohol lowering the otter's inhibitions or a natural lack of modesty, but Rudder had already begun to shed his clothes by the time they arrived at sauna's outer door. Taking the cue, Orel tugged off his bandana, loosened his belt and allowed the trousers to fall to the floor under their own weight, exposing his body to the flickering lamplight. He'd walked to the sauna barefoot, so he had no footwear to remove. He wasn't worried about his feet being dirty, he knew from experience that the floor of the sauna was baked earth, and as people began to sweat, muddy paws became inevitable anyway.
Rudder took longer to undress despite his head start, his formal clothing consisting of several uncomfortable layers, but eventually he'd worked his way down to just his underwear. The otter's build wasn't at all what Orel had imagined. Despite appearing lanky when dressed, now that his sleek fur was exposed it was clear that he was in good shape, his toned body lacking the natural litheness of the rat's, but still slim. Elaborated black painted patterns spread over his chest and down one of his arms. Orel leaned nude against the wall, gesturing at the otter, trying to pass his enjoyment of the view off as impatience.
"Took you long enoughf," Orel said, still slurring though he'd begun to get a hold of himself, "though you still can't go in dreshed like that." The comment had its desired effect and Rudder flashed him a grin, hooking his thumbs into his underwear and tugging them down.
"I see why they call you Rudder, then." Orel said with mock awe. Though he was just trying to butter up the inspector now that he'd regained some clarity of mind, the otter was still an impressive sight. Completely soft, his large uncut dick hung between his legs, swaying slightly with his movements.
"You're not bad yourself, captain," came the reply, and Rudder drunkenly gestured towards the rat's sheath. It was then that Orel knew he'd won.
The sauna was pitch black, and gloriously hot. Orel began to walk to the back of the small room when he felt webbed paws on his hips, guiding him to the side. Rudder leant down and whispered "Sit at the side. It's darkest so we won't be seen if someone comes."
No sooner had the rat sat down on the wooden bench lining the sides of the room when he sensed the otter stooping down in front of him, his outline vaguely discernible in the darkness. Moments later, Orel felt a wet feeling around his sheath as the otter's muzzle surrounded his hidden flaccid length, coaxing it free. Groaning happily, the rat instinctively spread his legs, his manhood quickly hardening against the otter's tongue as it trailed over the opening of the rat's sheath.
It wasn't long before Rudder began to bob his muzzle, eliciting small yips from Orel which were in part due to the amount of rum and ale running through his veins. The rat relaxed back against the wall, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness well enough to see the otter working his cock. Evidently Rudder's eyes had adjusted too, as he locked eyes with Orel and flashed him a knowing smile. He moved his muzzle down to the rat's balls, leaving Orel's pre-soaked tip jutting into the air, the otter's muzzle gently nosing and licking at the rat's large sack, causing Orel's long pink tail to flex behind him.
Just as Orel was beginning to pant, he felt the otter's muzzle withdraw from his shaft, leaving his aching cock throbbing in the air between them. Orel was aware of a faint, needy ache in his balls. He grunted, the feeling of being brought to edge stirring up his domineering captain's instincts. "I didn't say stop," he said, flatly.
Even in the gloom, the grin on Rudder's face was unmistakable. The otter picked himself up from the floor of the sauna, leaning into the rat's large round ears.
"I saw how you looked at me out there, captain. I just wanted you horny enough to ride it." Rudder whispered.
Orel's dick gave a noticeable twitch at the words. Rudder sat down next to him, mimicking the rat's pose, legs far apart to show off his assets. The otter was hard now, and he was just as impressive as he was when he was soft. His cock was a notch above "well endowed" but a few below "absurd", proportionally thick with one vein running along the underside. Rudder's foreskin had pulled back slightly as he'd grown, but still comfortably covered his engorged head.
Without shifting from his seat, Orel leant sideways to take the shaft into his muzzle, supposing that pre and rat spit would be a better lube than nothing at all. He trailed his tongue along the ridge of Rudder's foreskin, using his muzzle to play with the silky flesh. It didn't take long for the taste of the otter's pre to fill his mouth.
When he was confident that the otter's cock was as slick as it was likely to get, Orel got to his feet, moving in front of the aquatic mammal, noticing the rising heat in the sauna for the first time as he stood up. Rudder was clearly feeling it too, his sleek, mostly waterproof otter fur was beaded with sweat all over.
Orel stepped on the wooden bench, his lithe form and sea legs allowing him to effortlessly straddle the otter until the large mustelid shaft pressed under his tail, noticeably warm even against the background heat of the room. As an afterthought, Orel wrapped his leathery rat tail around Rudder's right leg to steady himself, before sinking down onto the engorged shaft.
The rat closed his eyes as he felt the otter's thick meat pushing into him, pacing himself until his hips touched the sweaty fur of his partner. As Rudder's cock hilted inside the rat, Rudder let out a moan of pleasure which seemed to echo around the empty room. Sex in the sauna was commonplace, but patrons were at least encouraged to be discrete about their encounters. Fearing discovery, Orel pressed his lips against the otter's to silence him, pulling their chests together in an embrace as he began to ride.
The sauna filled with the creaking of their wooden bench as Orel moved his hips, sometimes grinding against the otter's crotch, sometimes pulling back just to feel the length being pushed back inside him as the otter bucked.
Orel's head swam from the heat and the booze, and the dark room around him melted away as he focused only on the otter's fat manhood bucking inside him. It wasn't long before the constant pressure on his prostate caused his balls to tense, a thick string of pre dripping from his tip and smearing against the otter's sweaty chest with each thrust. Orel began to stroke himself, and within moments he was shooting his thick seed over the otter's stomach. As he came he felt himself tighten around Rudder's shaft, and sensing another moan coming from the otter he leaned in for another kiss
His instincts had been right, and Rudder only managed a handful of shallow, irregular thrusts into Orel's ass before he came, and Orel felt the warmth inside him as the otter filled him with his cum. Orel leant forwards, pressing his chest against the otter's, the rat's cum squishing between them and matting in his fur.
As the afterglow began to pass, Orel spotted a thick glob of cum glinting in the faint light as it dripped down wooden wall of the sauna behind Rudder, and realised that he must have been more pent up than he'd realised. He'd shot hard, painting most of the Rudder's chest, a few patches of the wall behind him, and landing one shot straight across the otter's cheek. Though when Orel shifted his weight slightly and felt the otter's spent dick slip from him, he knew that the inspector had probably given him as much in return.
Rudder reached up and wiped his cheek with a webbed digit, sucking it clean as he locked eyes with the rat. "Care for a quick dip in the ocean to clean off?"
Orel stumbled back onto The Naralan in the early hours of the morning. Most of the crew were on shore leave, likely either drunk or spending their gold in a brothel. A small contingent of guard rats remained, acknowledging their captain with the faintest of nods as he boarded. As he placed his paw on the door to his cabin, a small voice rose behind him.
"Captain, sir! How did it go?"
The young cabin boy from earlier looked at him eagerly, his eyes full of genuine excitement. Orel was too tired to dismiss him, and replying seemed like the path of least resistance.
"Smoke and mirrors, boy," Orel grunted, "work hard enough to keep someone just distracted enough and you can pass almost anything under their nose. We'll have to thank the crows for their warning about the inspector and his tastes in the morn, managed to get him off our backs without giving up a single coin."
Without waiting for a reply, Orel slipped into his cabin, shed his clothes, and collapsed onto his bunk.
Rudder strode into his office the next day, taking great care to disguise the amount he'd drunk the night before. Drinking on the job was strictly forbidden, of course, but there wasn't a tax man in the city who hadn't broken that rule at least once. He placed his notebook down on the desk next to a freshly brewed cup of tea, and turned to the short fox sat opposite. Rudder nodded. "Morning, Sam."
"Morning, Rudd. How'd it go with the pirates yesterday?"
"Surprisingly clean, actually, all paid and accounted for at other ports." Rudder said, the lie coming easily. "Thanks for switching with me, by the way. It was interesting, at least."
Sam sighed, a knowing smirk on his face. "You're a sucker for the cute ones, Rudd. I knew as soon as you ran into him in that bar you'd want to see him again."
Rudder sat down at his desk, sipping the tea gently. "You know he was so blind drunk that night that he didn't even remember me?"
"That's pirates for you," the fox shrugged.