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"Why I let you talk me into this, I'll never know." It was the first time Sylvia had said those exact words that night, but not the first time she'd expressed the sentiment. She twirled her fork around and around in her spaghetti, well past the point of wrapping the noodles around it. Her appetite was slight to the point of not existing - not when she was just waiting for the punchline of the joke.

To Qhala, merely watching Sylvia the bunny trying to coexist with her unfortunate equine genitals was great fun; but there was nothing she enjoyed quite like making her miserable. She always masked her intent, acting as if she were a well-meaning older sister. The reality was that, while she was greatly affectionate toward Sylvia and would do anything in her power to keep the shy rabbit from being mistreated, tormenting her was one of the great joys of Qhala's life. The smile she wore upon hearing the bunny's lamentations for the umpteenth time was a mildly condescending one. "Oh, dear Sylvia," she tutted, wagging her bread stick back and forth in a tsk-tsk-tsk manner, "do you really think everything I do is to make you squirm and suffer?"

The look Sylvia shot back was out-of-place on her perpetually nervous face, but Qhala knew what it said: of course I do! The pretty reptile couldn't help but chuckle into her palm, but she hid it with a demure cough, then further stifled herself with a bite of her bread stick.

Just as Sylvia took a big bite of her spaghetti, Qhala leaned back in her chair and, to the delicate, albeit canned violin tune, began to rub the head of Sylvia's penis where it bulged out her pantleg like half of a bellbottom. All at once the bunny shrieked, earning many a concerned look. One young fox close by clearly having dinner with his girlfriend politely asked, "Are you all right, miss?"

"Yes. Yeh--, yes, I'm all--, all right, _ yes," _ Sylvia waffled, miserably clenching her jaws. She glared daggers into Qhala, whom smiled and continued to rub. "Qhala, please," she hissed.

Even as she rubbed the fat flare of Sylvia's cock with her naked toes, Qhala nibbled on her bread stick and thoughtfully said, "The food here is just delightful, isn't it?"

Sylvia could have pulled her leg away, but Qhala was never so easily deterred. She would have just kept it up some other way. She puffed and squirmed, looking like a little girl too bashful to tell her mommy she needed to visit the restroom. "Mmmmf. For god's sake, Qhala," she whined.

Qhala dipped her bread stick in the marinara sauce smeared on her plate; it was all that remained of her pasta meal. This she lasciviously licked off with her long, forked tongue, and all the while she maintained eye contact. Sylvia blushed crimson and bunched up the skirt of the table in her fists. An enormous dribble of precum from her oversized shaft wet her pantleg, soaking it all the way through. Slowly but surely, the heady stink of horse musk began to overpower the ambient smell of garlic and oregano. Patrons, particularly the fox close by, sniffed at the air and gradually turned their attention to Sylvia but said nothing out of politeness.

The reptile pressed the flare into Sylvia's leg, compressing the malleable flesh, making it ooze precum like a squeezed orange. Sylvia made a strained, stuttering gasp which caused her mild bust - far inferior to Qhala's deep, mesmerizingly blushing cleavage - to heave in her little halter.

A little chuckle was Qhala's reply to the bunny's plaintive face. Smiling wide and intending to take full advantage of the low, moody lighting, the well-stacked reptile slipped underneath the skirt of the table, much to Sylvia's chagrin. Sylvia winced and gripped the tablecloth as tight as she could, squeezing it in white-knuckle fingers.

Qhala didn't care at all that the skirt of the tablecloth only hung six inches over the table's edge. She acted as though she had complete privacy, and also as though the bunny she were undressing wasn't fit to die of embarrassment. Over Sylvia's soft physical protests (squirms and kicks, mostly), Qhala pulled down her jeans, baring fat black balls, but more importantly a cock big enough to be a third leg. This was the reason Qhala loved Sylvia so much, and as she lifted it and began to stroke its equine flesh, her reverence couldn't have been more obvious.

Proving to Sylvia that her life was supposed to be spent in shameful misery, the handsome skunk maitre'd approached and asked, in his gentle and obliging way, "Would miss care for a top-up on her cola or perhaps another helping of bread sticks?"

"Nuh--, no, that's fine and thank you just so much," Sylvia said through a hideously forced grin, the scope of which was so wide and Jokeresque that the skunk recoiled and uncomfortably smiled himself. The rabbit bit her lower lip, continuing to stare at the maitre'd until he awkwardly, slowly backpedaled, then turned to attend to other guests. He was all too eager to pretend his staredown with the rabbit had never happened.

Beneath the table where she was only half-aware of Sylvia's clumsy dealings, Qhala brought the swollen flare of the bunny's horsecock to her lips and took it in as though scarfing down a banana. She was not at all subtle, in fact fast filling the air with noisy sucks and gurgles and groans which slowly but surely got the closest patrons to look around curiously for the source of the sounds.

Sylvia rolled her eyes and tilted her head back, as if to plead with a god that wasn't there for safety from the cocksucking pleasures of Qhala the reptilian slut. If any one query could sum up her troubled life, it was: why am I - the most bashful bunny alive - the owner of a gigantic horse cock? If you needed a second query, it was: why am I stuck with someone like Qhala?

Qhala was of course the foil to the terribly shy rabbit. She was outspoken, sex-positive, well aware of her assets and happy to share them with the world. Her raison d'etre was to be a slut, and she was cognizant of the sharp contrast she made with Sylvia... but it wasn't the reason she associated with the bunny. It was just her cock, plain and simple. Her cock and her balls, actually, but Qhala felt that was splitting hairs. As her energetic suckles and eager caresses along the shaft proved, Qhala appreciated Sylvia's meat one way or the other.

Slowly but certainly, Qhala was working Sylvia's dong deeper into her mouth. It was slow going to force such a gigantic cock into so small a hole; and Qhala, despite looking like a cobra with her hood, could not actually unhinge her jaws at will (although she wished for such an ability, and for just this reason). She was bound and determined not to have a repeat of her first incident with Sylvia, however: not a drop of that thick stallion spunk was going to be wasted this time. As she worked the fat flare against her throat and kept pushing forward, she made it abundantly clear what she hoped to do.

But while Qhala was in her own little world, Sylvia was suffering the consequences above the table. It was easy to tell herself to be calm, to not puff and groan and claw at the table, but the reality was that she had no willpower and Qhala was exceptionally good at sucking cock. Sylvia therefore made quite a spectacle of herself, squirming and whimpering as she was. All manner of patrons were looking at her now, all of them realizing what the shadowy (and slightly aglow) figure under the table was up to. In a civilized setting such as a restaurant, at least a couple of them should have gotten up and left in disgust; but that didn't happen. They just looked. Even the maitre'd watched. All of them observed with glazed eyes and debauched smiles affixed to their faces. It had become dinner and a show.

"Oh god, Qhala, please," Sylvia blubbered, doubling herself over the table. She put her pretty white halter into her spaghetti. "Qhala-a-a..."

On and on went that fervent sucking and slobbering. Qhala sounded like a slavering beast, gulping on the hapless bunny as she was. She crept forward, driving that cock down her neck like a post down a hole until she could rub the bunny's fat, dangling ballbag, the flesh of which sported a thin veneer of sweat earned from this embarrassing ordeal. Qhala was getting damp too, albeit for different reasons. Her arousal made the many breathtaking markings on her dark hide glow, and the ghostly silhouette she thus made under the table inspired awed gasps.

"Ooh, fuh--, frick!" Sylvia self-consciously corrected herself, biting her lip and smushing herself down into her food even more. The top was ruined but she didn't care. She didn't even seem to know, and ordinarily, ruining an article of clothing would have destroyed her for a day. "I'm gonna--, I'm--, oh god, Qhala...!"

If you're going to, then please... do it soon, Qhala thought. As much as she was enjoying every second of this cold-hearted cocksucking, her throat was in fact very sore. Breathing was a difficult task with the bunny's horsecock impaling her from the front. The sooner she got her dessert from the bunny, the better.

Sylvia was right on top of her climax. Suddenly enough that the maitre'd and several patrons jumped, she cried out: "Oh, fu-u-uck, I'm cumming!" Most partners Qhala had were being hammy if they said it like that, but with Sylvia, the exclamation was well-deserved. The thick baby gravy which slopped down into Qhala's gullet - which already had a full meal in it - was like the high-pressure gush of a fire hose. It just poured out, sometimes a jet and sometimes a big, loose slop. As she came, her penis often throbbed to nearly twice its diameter, gouging Qhala's throat and pulling her esophageal flesh tight like a drum. As with any labor of love, Qhala was happy to bear the pain, and she didn't mind the tears in the corners of her eyes.

Only when the torrential gush of the bunny's climax tapered off did Qhala pull back. It was actually easier for her to pop that fat flare out of her throat than it had been to swallow it down.

Qhala wiped the drool on her chin off on the table cloth, then slipped back up into her chair. She left Sylvia bottomless, left the slobber and precum on her low-cut cleavage, left the patrons staring in awe of what they'd been witness to. Concerning the first two, there were some things she couldn't be bothered with; and as for the third, she hoped the show had been as good to watch as it had been to put on. She looked across at Sylvia, smiled and winked, then beckoned the maitre'd, whom tentatively approached.

The wry smile on her face showed that Qhala had been dying to say these words all her life: "Check, please."