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A hand on the left pocket of his coat, checking for the changes he always kept in it, the coins rolled and tumbled between the gloved knuckles as his gait lad him forward.

Martin exhaled softly and admired the breath condensate before it was carried off by the harsh breeze, chased away likewise to the pedestrians who had deserted the main avenue.

But this always happened in the small city of Oakridge, as there were only a few reasons for people to oppose the harsh weather, even downtown.

Despite being located near the coast and the superb panoramas, the town remained small and non-touristic compared to those around. And there was no recent project to expand the city as it had grown along the line of the main avenue.

And so was the center where naked trees stood in their planters, scarcely hiding the Georgian-inspired buildings aligned, their wide windows already lit as the winter's sunlight declined. Their red-bricks fronts offered promises of a warm place, while some of them had been rebuilt to include a shop at ground level, although many were closed or showed next to no activity.

Here was the Louis' general store, a small boutique compared to the big department store of Alabaster, an hour away from Oakridge.

Martin fondly watched the old Dog at the register through the window front. Despite his old age and graying fur, the man remained capable of working and was handing a filled bag to a customer, a Lion, with a benign smile. Shyly, Martin gave him a short sign through the decorated window before he took off, unaware if Louis had answered. After all, the old Bruin was almost late and a few intersections away from his prize.

And so he pounded the pavement, smiling.

Old, almost reaching his 60s, Martin could have been described as a portly gentleman. His black fur was cut short, while his white hair was waxed and pulled back, falling onto his neck. His short muzzle was complimented with a handlebar mustache of the same color above his fish-eating grin. Even now, his ears flapped and turned towards his source of interest despite the left missing a third due to a past wound.

As for the rest, his attire could have been described and descried as a black coat, cut to embrace his square shoulders and buttoned with only two buttons. Enough to expose his buttoned green shirt and that green-and-white chevron tie.

His ironed and properly zipped pants were tense as his waxed black shoes led him to his desideratum.

At the corner of the main street and the fourth stood a small building, also of Georgian inspiration. His ground level had been modified while its facade was not toward the main avenue but remained lovely, with an awning protecting people from the inclement weather. Its presence brought shade when needed and garnered attention to the painted front window on which had been written, with a pure 1920's style, "The Milk Bar".

Even the front door was of rough wood, albeit probably reinforced: all to promote the old-school theme that continued inside.

Despite not being a "proper" Bar, the place looked just as well. The floor was of polished cedar wood, crepitating beneath the shoes, while the brick walls were adorned with mock-ups of advertisements for the bar as if coming from the previous century.

As usual, at this hour, nobody was there. So nobody was batting an eye as the old teller entered the place, the door closing behind him while he advanced through the thin center row. On his right were booths, only a handful due to the tables' size. On his left was the bar itself, unmanned at the moment, though the stools had already been arranged. Compared to the usual bars, there was no alcohol bottles displayed behind, just empty milk bottle. Of all ages and shapes, an oddity only contested by-

"Martin, you are early!" boomed a deep voice with a Canadian accent. Its mere presence startled the old bruin as he turned to the back of the bar and met with a familiar size.

Jean, a massive golden-furred Bull whose huge arms were already open for an embrace, his body flexing as he stepped close and quickly hugged Martin, popping a few articulations on the way.

"Hrphh... I- am a bit late." commented the bruin as he darted his green eyes into the blue eyes of his touchy-feely friend before being let go.

"Nonsense! You are always early, even my boys have not arrived yet. Go on, take your seat."

That man, this bull, seemed to be around his 40s and offered such an earnest smile. Which had surprised many due to his body, akin to a military, his buzzcut haircut, and his strength.

He ushered the bruin to the last booth, the furthest from the entrance, and seated his favorite client at the table. There, he pulled a notepad from his apron... Hemm.

The truth was that despite being in the middle of the city, within a bar open to the public, Jean wore nothing but this apron.

Cinched around his waist and attached around his neck, the leathery clothe hardly covered those broad and roundish pectorals, nor did it hide his backside, displaying that muscular ass to anyone behind him. Luckily for both, nobody was there at the moment, and Martin gladly eyed that body...

"Sooo, what can I do for you today? The usual, A medium cup with some whipped cream?" asked Jean, already removing the pencil attached to the notepad to write down the commission, and his restless legs ready to run to the bar.

"No- Not really," mumbled the bear. Usually cold and clinical in his work, he was here reduced to a mess before those artless eyes and the upbeat attitude.

"Awh, you want some novelty? Daring, aren't we? Tell me what you want. I'll do it for you right away."

"Well... Hmm," now fidgety, the Bear twiddled his thumbs before the Milk Bar's owner until he grumbled, coughed, and spat the truth with a timid voice. "I'd like the Quarter fill."

"Hmm? Sorry? I don't think I have heard you well. Can you repeat?"

"I want the quarter fill, please."

The bovine stopped in his track and tapped his notepad with the pencil, pensive before the gulping Bear. But then, Jean grinned and put both aside.

"Alright, I wondered how long it would take before you asked for one!"

"I- You won't tease me if I do not last?" asked the skittish bruin, all while the Bovine bent to grab something beneath the table until a mechanism suddenly clung.

"Of course not! Nobody should be judged at the Milk Bar. Now, hold on to your belly."

And there, the old teller inspired and retracted it before the table suddenly moved and was lifted, pending until it leaned against the wall where a series of little claws anchored to it... Leaving the booth space empty so Jean could walk in.

"Thanks, dear. Now, if you may. I need to check if you're ready for the Quarter fill," commented the Canadian with a smile as he leaned towards the bruin, gripping his chin with those large fingers. Calloused from the efforts, they were, however, gentle in their handling as they guided the Bear to lift his head while the thumb tugged on the lips.

Jean pulled the Bear into a kiss. Loud, undelicate, brutal, unnerving. Yet, the Bear felt the mouthful of that appendice pushed between his teeth and play with his tongue, starting a dance between. From the Bear came a raw aftertaste of flesh and coffee, while the Bull brought a more fruity counterpart... Pineapple?

Instantly, and unable to maintain the kiss any longer, the Teller pushed against the Bull's chest with his hands. And broke in laughter before the Bovine in askance, the left brow raised.

"What?"

"Pi- Pineapple! Are- Are you serious?" roared the bear, holding his belly as he took a deep and long breath to stop himself.

"You haven't complained about it before, and neither do my clients. But..."

The Bull brought his thumb and wiped the saliva over his lips. And nodded.

"You're getting the green light. With or without the Apron?"

"With it."

"You're the boss, dear."

Motioning closer to the Bruin spreading his legs, Jean winked and undid the knot in his back until the apron was left floating, tantalizing. Until he pulled the leather away, just enough for Martin to witness what was beneath.

The first sense to be assaulted was his nose, as came a waft of hot air and heady bovine musk, brutal and enticing the bear. Then came the sight of those massive testicles, slightly darker than the rest of the coat, hanging low and swinging at each step. Each easily filled an adult's hand by their size.

Finally, above stood the distinctive sheath with the ridges incensing that musk mixing precum and sweat. From it, the flat tip slowly pushed through and rose, pulling small strands of precum in his wake until they broke and projected fluids on the sheath. And as the corona passed, the folds began to unfurl.

Before Martin's eyes, that massive cock grew and towered. All while its owner smiled, grinned.

Especially as the Bruin drooled all over himself, his mouth agape. Soon, the erect shaft throbbed, and its growth jumped from heartbeat to heartbeat. The tip angled higher and straighter until it stood in all its glory. 11 inches of dick, almost as girthy as a can, a monster to behold.

Yet, its owner pushed it down with a teasing index, pointing it toward the predator's mouth. There, the cocktip was at the threshold of those agape lips.

"Last chance, sir, we can change your order."

"Mhhm," mumbled the bear. Then growled and slapped his cheeks. "No-. I'll do it!"

"Fine by me. Now say... "Ahhhh"," ordered the Bull, imitated by the bear.

Once the mouth opened enough, he pushed the cocktip in that mouth, inches by inches. All the while, he stroked the Bear's face in a sort of encouragement.

"Okay, so here are the rules. One tap, continue or move. Two taps, I stop moving. Three taps, it ends now. One tap if you got me."

The logic was simple, and yet the Bear was already losing himself to the luscious taste falling all over his mouth. There was an aftertaste of sweat, cum, precum... And even a tad of piss. Nonetheless, he gave one tap and an approving groan.

"Great, now control your breath," encouraged the owner and waiter. And those eyes closed.

Slobbering, the predator rubbed his tongue over the dick as it entered, consuming the musky coating. Although he almost jumped when those large hands plopped on his shoulders. Half of the length was into his mouth, the medial ring rubbing against the tongue tip before it was the uvula that came to be tickled. Tickled, and gently nudged by the dick.

No, invaded as it did not stop there and pushed through. No, rammed through and stretched that throat, using Martin like a prostitute.

And yet, here he was, struggling and gurgling. His winces were muffled by the cock as it squeezed his vocal cords and bulged through his throat. His feet tapped the floor while his knuckles clenched then released, and so was his esophagus. The pain from the penetration came in waves of searing heat, spreading to all corners of his body. But he did not tap, not even once.

Not even as the Bovine massaged his shoulders and dug within the fatty skin to uncoil the tense muscles. Not even as the Bull readjusted his stance and stopped.

And then, it stopped. No waves, no pressure, just the dull fullness as the Bull's groin was an inch away, if not less, from touching his nose.

The shaven groin almost here, for the out-of-breath and slobbering predator.

"Are you good? One tap, sir," somberly asked Jean through his moans and exhalations, adjusting the position of his hips once more to align them with the bruin.

A tap came, then a sigh.

There, the hands moved from the shoulders to the Bruin's head, each on one side, one thumb dedicated to stroking the ears and circle within. The Bull remained there for a second, for a moment, and clasped his palms. He pulled his lips back. The lower part, the median ring, the upper half, the corona, the tip, they passed and bestowed their texture to the Bruin's tastebuds and palate.

From the caress came the taste of Martin's own fluid, followed shortly by the sensation of air rushing to his mouth and lungs. The massive dick was plopped out of his sore jaw, leaving him hanging and desiring.

The old man extended his tongue, lashed it while attempting to reach for the savory precum.

A taste that came back once the bull aligned the tip. Martin slobbered, licked, cleaned. And then received the thrust.

The hips pushed, the bear gurgled, and his snout met with the groin. He felt the weight of the testicles, churning and hot, against his chin.

And then, another pull.

And a push, more swift than before, more brutal.

But the teller did not tap, nor did he think about it. His mind was... Appeased. Lulled by the Bull's movement.

Whenever he pulled back came an inspiration, slow and steady as the bull minded the bear's rhythm. And when he pushed, followed by the gurgle and the smack of those massive cum-churning nuts against his chin.

In and out, the groin rubbed against the Bear's nose, enrapturing his mind with the heady musk. His trousers tensed.

But the movements slowed. The clasped hands pressed further, the thumbs no longer circled. And the bull pushed, hilting himself entirely within the mouth.

Jean's legs trembled, his chest inflated. Pressed against Martin's nose, the groin pulsated with energy, with purpose. A strength unleashed as the skin taut, and the muscles contracted. Churning, that was the Bull. And there, Martin felt the jolt through the shaft within his mouth, the pressure... Followed by a stream of hot liquid directly pumped into the bear's stomach.

Warmth spread inside his belly, akin to a soothing wave over his pained guts and arthritis-plagued legs.

Each of the old man's moans was throttled. But he delightfully stroked his belly, feeling the shirt and coat tense up due to the added pressure, and yet, he eagerly let that man stuff his mouth and guts. His mind, deprived of air, began to tumble and fall onto ideas, snared by lust.

Until... Until the Bull pulled back, and rich air filled the lungs. It hounded that light-headedness but left that beatitude untouched, unscathed.

It retreated, retreated further. From the tip leaked more cum, anointing every spot with its warm presence. It sprinkled the throat, then tongue, then the lips. And there, the Bear clasped his mouth shut around the tip.

Nursed on that shaft, he sucked the rich and viscous liquid, his eyes closed to the world. He was reduced to this yearning.

"Hhah. That's good. Still ten minutes to go!"

And with that exclamation, something fell on the Bear's face and shoulders, something leathery. Jean's apron.

That time, he was entirely left in the dark.

The massive hands clasped around his head, halting the Bear from moving away.

And there, Jean thrust anew. The balls smacked against the chin, the groin rushed to meet the sensitive nose, the cock slid inside with a renewed slickness. Cum... Cum flooded the Bruin's thoughts as his drool fell all over his pants, similar to droplets coming from the Bovine.

But the teller did not mind, entirely dedicated as he was to his breath and controlled mouth. He no longer foamed, no longer gurgled, he was breathing. And focusing on what was to happen.

"Hey, Antonio! Yeah... An early client! ... What? No! You know I wouldn't dare!"

Above him, Jean spoke with an unknown presence, a nameless and faint voice. Nothing could be said or cried above the sound of those smacking nuts and slobbering mouth.

But during the exchange, the Bull had slowed down. Only to pick up the pace with a renewed intensity as other voices began to echo, further.

"Yeah! You can joke all you want. No, that's a great mouth! ...Hrmph! I'm sure you'd love to talk with him!"

A grunt, a groan, a whisper. And again, the cock throbbed, plunged with all its length inside while cum was pumped into the Bear, filling him and adding to the mass. And yet, those balls kept churning.

"Hrmphh! I wouldn't! Contrary to you, vile beasts!"

Jean spoke with levity through his grunts, huffing whenever he gave that chin another smack. In the distance rang the doorbell, and a hand left the head for a second before it returned.

It returned and violently tugged the Bear against the groin, forcing the old teller to bend over.

The movements were faster, frantic, but no longer reaching the depths of this delicious throat. No, those hips pistoned within the mouth only to retreat, imposing a hellish rhythm on the gurgling bear.

It wasn't a man, but a machine wrecking the back of the throat.

Yet, there was no tap as another ejaculation came, another flow that backtracked to his nose and filled it with that intense perfume. It... Was divine.

The stream continued, gracing the bear with that luscious liquid, filling and stuffing his stomach despite the pressure and slight ache.

But then... He heard it. SNAP! SNAP!

And the pressure of his coat released, enough for him to exhale through the facefuck.

In the distance, he heard something fall on the ground but instead continued to stroke his belly before the movement slowed down... Died out. Stopped.

Above him, the Bull huffed and heaved, his hands released their grasp... And then, he pulled the apron away. An intense searing light hit the Bruin, who only noticed at this instant he had opened his eyes. A burn he weathered to see the satisfied smile from the bull.

"Sorry, I added five minutes because there are not a lot of customers, ton-"

Beneath it, Martin was a mess. Snot and cum escaped from his nostrils. His lips were glazed with cum and precum, like the surrounding fur caked with fluids. His slick mustache was only a faint memory compared to this messy substitute. As for his hair, he needed a firm brush.

His green eyes seemed blind as he breathed slowly and then blinked. His mouth, loose and emotionless, uncurled then fell... Again, until he shook his head and attempted to regain some composure.

"I-" he spoke. Or instead croaked, his abused vocal cords signifying their disapproval. "I-"

The Bruin brought a hand to his swollen throat, opening and closing his mouth while a shrill sound escaped it. A view stopped by the Bull's laughs.

"Do not try to force your throat, Martin. Give it some time, and if you're still sore, I'll add syrup with your next milk."

The Canadian man spoke with experience as he also offered something to the Bruin, his coat's buttons.

Instead of being fastened adequately around his belly, the plump guts were exposed and only concealed by the straining shirt. A shameful display for his stature he quickly hid with one arm while graciously receiving the buttons.

"Perfect! Do you want to subscribe to our loyalty program? After four quarter fill, the fourth is gratis."

The Bovine asked, but the Bear was now looking around.

The Bar had become crowded during the quarter, or rather twenty, fill. Though, mostly with waiters: others preys who wore the same attire as Jean. They bickered, chatted... And from what the predator could heed, someone else was enjoying his fill.

A detail coming from the voracious gurgles, which made him a little tense... And ashamed as he stroked his belly and answered.

"Sure. And I will take the usual... With some syrup."

"With pleasure!"