How It Goes - Tom's Tale
#1 of How It Goes - Tales
While the main story goes on a bit of a hiatus - mostly due to NaNoWriMo, to which I devote most of my writing time this November - the story has reached the point where Tom's Tale fits chronologically.
The premise is simple, really. This snippet is told from Tom's point of view. I am hoping for more Tales to come too, though as I am preoccupied for the current month, it might take some time.
Do enjoy.
The Ox de L'Amour brims with patrons. Over by the corner a leather-clad bear is towering over a fox dressed in a tight pair of shorts who's baring his midriff. A burly rhino is snogging his equally burly partner over in one of the corner couches. The smell of alcohol, tobacco and sex is pugnant in the air, as Tom asks for a rat's ID and fills up a tankard of beer.
"Good to go," he says with a forced smile as he double-checks the date. He sends the tankard over to the bear who ordered it, and the bear gives a hearty cheer in response. The otter shifts behind the counter, and takes the empty glasses and flagons scattered over the bar counter. He carries it into the kitchen, where one of the other bartenders is filling a steam dishwasher.
"Typical Friday night, innit, Tom?" the weasel says with a weary grin.
"Wonder if it'll be worse tomorrow."
"Prolly. I'll take 'em, just put 'em over there."
"Thanks, Walt." Tom heads back out behind the counter to watch Paul, the bouncer, throw a pair of horses out. Tom goes over the register and the orders, as he listens in to the nearby conversation.
"Why the grin, Ted?" a fox asks his tiger friend.
"Somebody's on the other side of the glory hole," the tiger responds. "Just finished a piss, saw the mouth, shoved it in. Good muzzle, gave him a quick mouthful."
"Think I'll go join the fun, then."
"By the time I was done, there were four other people waiting to get blown."
"Well, never mind then." He chugs down the remainder of his tankard. "Another beer!" the fox calls to Tom, who obliges.
"Building up quite the tab today, Rick."
"Weekend, y'know." Tom nods absent-mindedly as more orders come in. "Going to take a piss, be right back."
Tom hands the tiger a glass of whiskey. The tiger gives it a whiff, takes a sip, and glances over at the otter. "So, you gay?"
"Hm?" Tom looks up. "Does it matter?"
"Nah, just looks like you give good head."
Tom's lips tighten and he glares. The tiger looks taken aback. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."
"You don't say," Tom says sarcastically. The fox returns shortly after with the biggest grin.
"What, you got to the front of the line?"
"Nah. But this bull more or less broke down the door to the glory hole stand. Was a wolf. The bull bent him over and fucked him bareback. Great view."
Tom rolls his eyes, and he carries on behind the counter.
As the hour closes on two, the bar starts to empty. Paul starts to usher majority of the crowd out of the bar, the loudest and drunkest of the lot. With less than ten patrons left, Paul walks over to the counter. "You're closing today, right? You can get them out on your own?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I'll be heading home then. Walt left already?"
"Hour ago."
"Right. See you tomorrow, then."
Tom watches the lion leave. He looks over the remainder of the guests, who are all preparing to leave but one. After Ted and Rick leave, there's only one remaining wolf. There's a bit of a gut on him, and he's dressed rather out-of-place for the Ox de L'amour.
"You waiting for someone?" Tom asks. The wolf looks uncomfortable.
"Was supposed to meet somebody, but they didn't show. I should probably just go."
"If you're here about the Furtree ad, you're waiting for me," Tom says matter of factly.
"Oh." The wolf blushes a bit.
"You're not backing out, are you?"
The wolf fidgets. Tom notices the wedding ring on his hand. "No! I mean..."
"Give me five minutes."
"So, uh. You do this thing often?"
"Does it matter?" Tom asks, looking out the car window as they drive through the rain.
"No, I guess not. You promise to be discreet, right?"
"I'm a bartender. It's my job to listen, not talk."
"Yeah, of... of course. Here we are, then." They stop outside a family house, somewhere out in the suburbs. "I'm home alone, so..."
They get out of the car. The rain whips across Tom's face, but he impassively follows the wolf into the house. The hallway is dark with a soft light from the kitchen.
"I'm Trevor-" the wolf starts.
"Don't care," Tom cuts him off. "I'm here to suck your dick. You give me a mouthful, and a place to sleep for the night. Names don't matter."
The wolf looks taken aback. "Yeah, I...of course. So, uh. Couch?"
"Go for it." They walk into the living room. The wolf walks over to the windows, lowers the window blinds, and pulls the curtains. Tom watches him quietly as the wolf walks over to the couch, and sits down.
"Do your thing."
Without hesitation Tom walks over to the couch and kneels in front of the wolf. He buries his face into the growing bulge, and the wolf gasps. Tom moves his hands to the belt buckle. He pulls down the wolf's trousers all the way, and takes a whiff of the wolf's cock through the briefs. The otter slips a paw into the underwear and pulls out the wolf's balls. Listening to the wolf moan, Tom starts to maw and slobber at his orbs.
The wolf huffs and gently pulls Tom off of his balls.
"My cock," he utters.
Tom almost rips the wolf's briefs opp, and he downs the length in one go. The wolf shudders and tugs Tom's face away.
"Holy shit," he mutters. Tom starts to maw the underside of his cock, and he returns to his balls. As the wolf starts relax, Tom begins to work the head, slowly sinking the length into his mouth until his lips kiss the base of his dick. The otter bobs his head, slobbering the wolfdick, as saliva drips over his balls. The wolf's breathing grows faster, and in accord, so does Tom's sucking.
"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna..."
Tom slides off his cock and lets his lips run down the underside of the wolfhood. A squirt of cum coats his cheek, as the wolf starts to howl and shudder. Massaging the base of his cock, Tom feels most of the load splash over the side of his face before he moves up to swallow the rest. The wolf shudders and tries to pull Tom off of his cock, but the otter relents until the canine collapses in the couch. He milks the wolf's member until it grows soft in his mouth, and only then does he pull off.
"Shit..." the wolf groans.
"Bathroom?" Tom asks, as he wipes some of the cum off of his face. He licks it off his fingers.
"Uh... other end of the hallway."
Tom leaves the wolf to bask in his afterglow. He dunks his head underneath the water stream and washes the fur with soap until the stains are gone, drying it with one of the towels on the walls. The wolf knocks on the door. "I, uh. Put a blanket and pillow on the couch."
Tom opens the bathroom door. The wolf's gotten his underwear off and is holding his trousers and belt over one arm. "Thanks for the head."
Tom says nothing, as he walks to the couch. He can hear the wolf walk upstairs, as he puts his head on the pillow and drapes the blanket over himself. The rain pours outside, and Tom stares at the window for a long time until sleep grabs him at last.
"You awake?"
"Am now," Tom grunts, rubbing his eyes. "What, you want more head?"
"No, I'm still shaky after yesterday."
"Right. I'll just be off, then."
"Oh." As Tom gets out of the couch, he sees the wolf standing by the kitchen door. "Figured maybe you wanted breakfast."
"What do you have?"
"Just a cheese sandwich."
"Yeah, sure." Tom doesn't throw the wolf a second glance as he walks over to the bathroom, and once again dunks his head into the sink to run water across his face. Within a minute he pulls out and wipes his face. He enters the kitchen to find a sandwich on the table, which he eats in two bites.
"So, uh. Would you want to meet again?"
"If you have a place to for me to sleep, you know where to find me." Tom rubs his forehead. "Thanks for the mouthful. I'm off."
"Right. Yeah. Of course..."
Tom leaves the wolf in his confusion. Outside the rain has subsided. Tom checks his phone to find that it's eleven o'clock. With his hands in his pockets, he heads toward the bar.
The air is vibrant with sex as the Ox de L'Amour trembles under the weight of a heavy bass. Most of the tables and chairs have been pushed aside to make room for the dance floor. Tom watches idly as most of the patrons indulge shamelessly in dancing with strangers. Heavy-set leather-bound daddies grind against both burly and slink younger patrons; some of them enjoy the attention, others try to leave the floor - a difficult feat in the thick crowd.
"Hey. The usual." Ted the tiger takes a seat next to the counter. Tom finds a tankard, fills it, and hands it to the tiger. "Thanks. Listen, sorry about the comment yesterday..."
"Doesn't matter," Tom grunts, as the orders start coming in.
"No, but seriously. It was inappropriate."
"It's odd that you care," Tom carries on nonchalantly. "Where's your mate?"
"Somewhere in the hurricane. He was looking for somebody to fuck him, so I'm more or less alone tonight."
"Mm. There's always the glory hole."
Ted rolls his eyes. "Not really in the mood, rather want to see the guy's face as he goes down on me."
"Meant for your pal."
"He prefers the grunty, sweaty-"
"Don't care," Tom sighs. A larger crowd enters the bar, and the open space shrinks rather severely. Before the tiger has a chance to respond, Tom slinks into the back room.
"Walter, where's Sam? Large crowd entered."
"I'll send 'im out, he's out fer a smoke."
"Tell him to hurry." Tom leaves the weasel alone and returns to the register, and he starts to pour drinks as swiftly as he can.
"Shit, a lot of folks tonight," Sam says, glancing over the bar. "A lot of studs out there, though."
Tom pays the horse no heed. Sam turns to the otter."If you want a break..."
"Don't need one."
"Right, okay, no need to be so grumpy," Sam says apologetically. Tom frowns, but he changes his posture, puts on the smile and he returns to the register. Slowly, the dance floor grows smaller as more and more seats are brought back out - the bass still makes the floor rumble, but the music is more subdued to accommodate the larger number of people snogging in the corners. The toilets have a queue, and patrons leave with grins and looks of content.
"Another evening for some lucky guy," Ted says, looking at Tom.
"Mm. Who's luckier, the receiver or the giver?"
"The receiver, I reckon. Takes some great love of cock to want a lot of strangers' mouthfuls."
"Almost poetic." Tom fills another flagon and gives it to the tiger.
"I didn't order one."
"On me."
"Oh. Thanks." With a grin, the tiger takes a chug. "Why the change of heart?"
Tom looks up with a questioning look.
"Well, you're so prickly. Got the impression you didn't like me."
"You're a patron," Tom shrugs. The tiger looks slightly confused, and doesn't respond. As several patrons approach the counter for their orders, Ted takes the flagon and leaves to sit down at a table elsewhere.
As the clock ticks closer to three in the morning, the bar starts to empty. Paul ushers the drunkest of the lot out, as he announces closing hour to the rest of the patron. When there are less than eight guests left, Paul takes his leave.
Ted approaches the counter. "You look tired."
"Mm," Tom mutters, as he goes over the register.
"Where do you live?"
"Doesn't matter," Tom replies. Soon enough it's only the tiger and otter left.
"Only, I saw something on Furtree earlier tonight. In the last half hour you've been the only otter here."
"You want head, is that it?" Tom asks bluntly as he gathers the few remaining flagons.
"Yes. 'Course, I only have the one bed."
"Does that matter to you?"
"Nah, not really."
"Give me five minutes."
"Here it comes..." Ted gribs the underside of Tom's muzzle, and bucks into his hungry mouth. Tom slurps down the tiger's length, relentless in his sucking. The tiger groans loudly as he shoots a thick load into the otter's mouth. As he lets go, Tom continues to devour every inch, leaving Ted a quiet, quivering wreck. "Holy shit..."
Tom laps at the slowly limping cock until not a drop more drips out from the tip.
"I knew you'd give good head," Ted chuckles. Tom rolls his eyes as he wipes his lips. "You've had a lot of practise."
Tom doesn't say anything, He crawls to the foot-end of the bed, into the corner.
"Going to sleep already?" Ted asks. He pushes himself up into a sitting position.
"Yes," Tom grunts, and he curls up into a ball.
"Y'know, you could always undress and share the covers with me. It's only courteous, considering you swallowed my load."
"No thanks."
"Suit yourself." Ted slips out of his shirt, and yanks the blanket from underneath Tom. He turns off the night light, and it doesn't take long before the room is filled with Ted's snoring. Tom gazes at the tiger, and he bites his own tail in the quiet.
Wednesday morning beams in from the window. Ted huffs and squirms as Tom laps up the excess cum from the tiger's balls, his snout coated with seed. "Shit, I could live with this daily..."
Tom grunts and slides down Ted's cock, milking him for every drop until the tiger pulls him away. "God, you are so hungry for cock."
With a shrug, Tom sits up and wipes off wads of tiger from his snout. He slides out of bed and heads for the bathroom, where he cleans his face with warm water. When he returns, Ted is still splayed all over the bed with his arms behind his head. Tom finds his shirt, and starts to button it up.
"Oy, you leaving already?"
"Yes."
"Guess I'll see you tonight, then."
Tom doesn't even look at Ted. He puts on his shoes. As he's about to leave, Ted sits up.
"Why are you doing this?"
Tom glances at the tiger.
"I'd rather sleep in a bed than on the ground."
"You always lock up the bar. You could've just slept in there. Instead you...what? Go home with strangers and suck their cocks for a couch or bed to sleep on for one night?"
"So what if I am?"
"It didn't occur to you that some of the people you meet up with could end up raping or killing you?"
Tom shrugs. "Thought about it. I find I don't give a shit."
Ted scrutinises Tom, his face furrowed in disapproval.
"It's not like it matters," Tom says flatly, as he opens the dorm door. "Nobody would care if I disappeared. Or died."
Before Ted can respond, Tom steps out into the dormitory hallway. His eyes follow the ground as he, as with every day, heads toward the Ox de L'Amour.
"I like Tuesdays."
Walter takes a couple of bottles from underneath the counters.
"The quiet, you mean?"
"Yup. Means I don't hafta spend most o' the evening doing dishes." Tom watches as Walter mixes multiple Haemorrhages. He grins at Tom as he goes to deliver the order.
Tom sighs and looks over the stock. As he scribbles down what goods they lack in the bar, Walter returns, and gives Tom a slap on the arse. Tom jumps and turns to the weasel with a scowl, only to see him smile embarrassedly. Tom stares for a bit, his cheeks warm.
"Tom?"
Tom looks up to see Cecil come towards the counter. "Oh. Hello."
"I didn't realise you worked here." The bunny looks around. "Pretty seedy place, isn't it?"
"Yes," Tom mutters. "Very popular during the weekend. Are you even old enough to be here?"
"Yep, turned 18 last November."
"Right. Want anything?"
"Couldn't really afford it, to be honest," Cecil shrugs. "I'm just checking out the bars in the city."
"The gay ones, I assume."
"Well, duh." Cecil grins. "Tell me about this place."
"We spend most of the weekdays scrubbing cum off of the toilet walls," Tom says dully. Cecil shifts a bit, looking uncomfortable.
"That kind of bar."
"Glory holes in the bathroom stalls, blowjobs in the corner where drunks don't care who sees them, a lot of drinks. Place reeks of sex come Thursday evening to Sunday night."
"Right. Remind me to bring Scott on a Wednesday or so, then. Place looks pretty subdued right now."
Tom grits his teeth at the mention of the wolf. "Tends to be. Mostly those who need a drink and a slice of pizza after work."
There's a loud cheer, followed by shattering glass. Tom sighs. "And sometimes there's twats who drink their heads off every day of the week."
Cecil snickers. "You'ven't changed much."
Tom freezes at the remark and glances over at Walter. "Excuse me."
He walks over to the weasel. "I need a small break, you can handle the bar on your own?"
Walter smiles. "O'course. See ya in a bit."
Tom slinks out from behind the counter and heads over to the toilets. The stalls all look as fresh as when he washed them earlier, and he hurries over to the furthermost stall. He locks the door behind him and sits down on the toilet. He stares at his hands for a while, before he whispers to himself, "What the fuck am I doing?"
The toilet door opens up. Tom sighs heavily as whomever just entered picks the stall next to him. The sound of piss hitting the toilet water echoes for a while, and then there's a flush. Tom glances at the wall for a moment, only to realise there's a hole there. A thick finger pokes out of the hole, wiggling. Tom feels his collar grow tight, and he unbuttons the upper part of his shirt. He reaches out and points his finger through the hole - and within a couple of second, a thick dark limp dick and heavy furred balls is shoved through the hole.
Tom kneels down on the ground, his hands grabbing the cream-coloured orbs. He starts to slobber over the head of the cock, and he runs his lips over the underside. It stirs, nestled against his cheek, and Tom continues to lap over the member until it throbs against his lips. There's a grunt from the other stall as the otter starts to gobble down on the cock; his enthusiasm stops only momentarily when he chokes on the girth.
There is a groan from the other stall, and there are soft thrusts into Tom's muzzle. He hastily starts to work over the dick, letting the tip slide into the depths of his throat, only to let the head rest at his lips. He can hear the grunts and huffs from the other side of the wall; Tom doesn't relent, continuing to suckle and bob his head. As Tom goes faster, the moans shift to a growl. "Faster, bitch..."
Tom huffs and draws breath momentarily, the fat dick resting on his lips. The growl grows frustrated - until Tom dives down with lust. There's a grumble of 'fucks' and 'oh shit', but Tom pays it no mind, downing the entire cock once, twice, thrice. On the fourth, the growl turns into a full-on resounding roar, and the first squirt glides right down Tom's throat. The otter pulls away very slowly, his muzzle filling up. Meticulously, he swallows every drop bar a couple beads that dribble down his chin. He milks the head of the dark cock, what little he can see of the person on the other side trembling.
Abruptly, the mystery man pulls out of the hole. There's a zip, the stall door opening, and rushing water. Tom leans his back on the toilet wall, and catches his breath. He wipes off the small drops of cum from his chin with a finger, and licks his lips. His small smile dies as the realisation hits him like a hammer, and he looks down on his work clothes. With no dignity, Tom rises from the floor and takes another deep breath. He waits for a bit, until the sound of the toilet door opens and closes echoes throughout the stalls. Only then does he unlock the stall door, and he steps out into the dim light.
Paul the bouncer stands over in the doorway with a glimmer in his eye. When he spots Tom, he smirks and mouths thanks, before he leaves. Tom stares at where the ram stood for a long while. When his reverie breaks, he walks over to the mirror and sink, washes his chin and face, and exits.
The bar remains quiet, with fewer patrons than before. Tom slips behind the counter, where Walter is making an order. The weasel looks at Tom with a smile. Where his face was happy and embarrassed before, Tom notes the sadness there instead. He looks around for Cecil in the bar, but his search bears no fruit. Tom grits his teeth and strides towards the register. There, he puts on the smile and waits for the night to end.
Tom puts away the last of the glasses. He reaches for the dishcloth and scouring cream, and starts working over the kitchen surfaces. The door to the bar opens, and Paul enters, still smirking. Tom looks at him once, before he continues shining the counter.
"Damn good job you did earlier here," Paul grins, grabbing his crotch.
"Mm."
Paul swaggers towards Tom. "You know you shouldn't suck cock during work hours, right?"
"You shouldn't shove your dick through glory holes either."
"Hah. Fair enough."
Paul glances over Tom for a while. When Tom's finished with the surfaces and puts away the dishcloth, he approaches Tom.
"You up for an encore? My dick's hard already, waiting for your mouth."
Tom doesn't even look at him. "No."
"No?" Paul unzips and pulls out his cock. "Come on, you did it once already. You are one cock-hungry otter."
"I said no," though Tom can't help but glance at the length. Paul's grin dies. Tom sighs. "Not unless you have a place for me to sleep."
"Hah. Get on your knees."
Tom looks up at the ram, his neck hot. With sharp breaths, he looks at Paul's member. With a curse on his breath, he gets on his knees.
Paul roars as he grabs a hold of Tom's muzzle. The first stream shoots right into Tom's throat, but the ram pulls the otter's face off his cock and squirts all over his face. Tom closes his eyes and jerks away from Paul's grip, and he falls onto his back. Paul huffs as he jacks out the last couple jets of cum, shooting over Tom's clothes and on the floor. As Tom sits up, Paul zips his pants and starts to leave.
"You said you had a place for..." Tom starts.
"Said no such thing," Paul smirks. "I told you to get on your knees, and you did, you little bitch."
Tom bites his lip. "Fuck you."
"Hah. Guess I'll get to enjoy your mouth tomorrow. Clean up and close shop, like you're supposed to."
Paul swaggers out of the kitchen, leaving Tom trembling. He glances over his clothes: there are multiple stains on his shirt and trousers, and thick wads of cum on the floor. He scrambles up on his feet, and finds the dishcloth.
Curled up on one of the couches inside the Ox de L'Amour, Tom gazes at Scott's number on the screen of his phone. The morning sun already peers in through the window. Tom's thumb hovers over the call button. After a long while, he instead rummages through the rest of the contact list. He shivers when he sees Brian's name; he shakes his head quietly when Cecil's shows up. He ignores Sam's and Paul's, gazes longingly at Walter's number... and when he sees Theo's number, a madness strickens him.
He calls.
Theo's voice is drowsy and annoyed. "Who's this?"
"Tom."
"It's..." Theo yawns with half a growl. "It's fucking five in the morning."
Tom stares at the opposite wall.
"You there?"
"Sorry. I shouldn't have called."
"Tom, what's going on?"
"...Nothing. Forget I called."
He hangs up, and gazes up at the ceiling. After a couple of minutes, his phone buzzes.
Hey. I figure you don't want to talk about whatever's bothering you. I won't mention you called. You wouldn't call me, of all people, if it wasn't something important, right? If I can help you, I will. Call me if you need something.
Tom stares at the message for a long while. With a sigh, he starts to type frantically until his eyes water from the light of the bright screen.
Kidlington, 18/M/Otter - I give you a blowjob, you buy me lunch. 1 o'clock. Promise to be discreet. You have a place.
He reads over it twice before he presses send. He sets the alarm for 12 o'clock, and puts his phone aside. On the couch reeking of seed, he waits for his body to let go.