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Confluence

By Ziegenbock

The early evening breeze drifted in from the sea, stirring the sails of the moored ships and carrying the salt-air into the harbour town. The busy waterside was filled with shouts and hustle. All across the docks and the warehouses, beasts were working with ropes and tools and crates, making their ships fast and unloading their cargo. Soon, those hard-working animals would make for the town. For those who called this town home, there was the promise of seeing one's children, before retiring with one's partner for the night. How many animals would cry out in pleasure that night, as their lovers took their fill after weeks of carnal starvation? For those whose home was elsewhere, there were inns and guesthouses to relax in after a hard day of work.

A bell rang out across the dockyard, signalling the end of another shift. For most workers, the sound of the bell was a welcome end to the day's labours. For one otter though, it came all too soon.

Oh, not again!

Sid turned his tail to the harbour and scurried through the town. He wove among animals carrying goods or tending to their houses or simply strolling along. He bumped into a few animals with a hasty 'sorry' before hurrying on. The narrow streets sloped upwards, away from the harbour through narrow cobblestone alleyways, which twisted between stone cottages nestled into the slopes, with flowers and hanging baskets on every doorstep and stairway. No time to stop and admire them though. No time at all. Sid knew this was the quickest way to his workplace, but he was going to be late, no matter what. But every minute later that he was, the greater the wrath he faced from his employer. By the time the young otter had reached the inn, panting for breath, the front door was open for customers.

Blast!

Indeed when he went inside, three or four patrons were already seated. Nobody behind the bar though. Maybe if he was quick, he wouldn't be spotted.

"Here y'are, boy, late again."

But no, there was Mrs Prudence, the badger landlady and his employer, waiting for him in the back room. Sid shivered. He knew that look. Grown sailors would back down at it, needing no further hint that yes, it really was closing time, or that yes, they really did need to take their argument outside. If battle-hardened flotsam and cutthroats were left to flounder at that stare, a small river-otter stood no chance. So he dipped his head to the big brock.

"Yes Mrs Prudence, I know, I'm sorry I'm late."

The badger lady scoffed. "You can apologise all ye want. Don't mean anything if you don't actually change your ways. You know I'm doing you a favour, givin' you employment. Most folk wouldn't look twice at a little shrimp like you."

"I know, thank you."

"And this is how you repay us. I tell you, I will get you to turn up on time, one way or another. From now on, I'm docking you one farthing for every minute that you're late. So that's five farthings just for tonight alone."

The little otter's heart sank. Between food and his own lodgings, he could scarcely afford a cut in pay. Still, he knew not to argue back. If he did, five farthings could become ten, or more.

"Let this be a warning. Now I want ye in the kitchen on the double. Some big ships came into port today, so it's gonna be a busy night."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Prudence."

Of course, Sid knew all about the ships. He had spent a good long while that afternoon by the waterfront, leaning on the iron railings, watching the comings and goings of the sea-beasts. Rats with teeth like twin yellowed chisels. Canines with no discernible breed in them - the word 'mongrel' didn't do them justice. And of course, there were the otters. Not peaceable otters from the streams and ponds further inland, but great brawny and bristle-furred brutes, sea-otters of the deep and briny. Sid still harboured a dream that one day, maybe one day, he could join them. For now though, that was just a dream.

And as for tonight, the kitchens awaited.

Sid didn't work as a chef. True, Mrs Prudence and her husband seemed to enjoy that kedgeree he once made. Or at least, they didn't say they disliked it. But they weren't about to let some little otter from some backwater creek loose in their kitchen, with no experience of the catering business. Besides, they had a chef already.

"Trouble with yon Mistress again?"

Tufnell, mole and head chef, poked his head out of the larder. Sid sighed and nodded his head.

"Well, I ain't gonna punish you as well. But they'll never make you a sous chef if you keep on turning up late. No matter how much they likes your kedgeree."

"I know, Chef."

"Alright then. Now I suggests you get ready. Gots us a busy night ahead."

"Yes, thank you, Chef."

The evening started steady enough. Tufnell and his cook team fired their ovens and heated their pans, and began to cook the first food orders of the day. The hiss and the sizzle of fresh frying fish filled the kitchen, and the animals moved between their stations, preparing their dishes, all under the watchful eye of Tufnell, who was quick to intervene the second a sauce started to boil, or a fillet started to burn. Who said that moles were blind? Sid, meanwhile, set a basin of water over a fire, and before long, the first glasses and plates were piling up on the counter. Sid grated some dish-soap into the basin, picked up the first plate and a wash-rag, and set to work. The water was hot and the soap was harsh on the little otter's paws. But by the time he had washed a plate, rinsed it, dried it and buffed it clean, it was spotless. As the sun set and the evening set in, the otter worked away. Sometimes he headed front-of-house too. The badgers didn't let him serve food: they had waiters, a stoat and a ferret, or else they brought the food out themselves - "All part of the personal touch", Mr Prudence would say. But sometimes, if the cutlery was running low, Sid himself had to search for more. The tavern was packed, and Sid squeezed his way around the ranks of sailors and traders passing through this town, among the men guzzling ale and tucking into their first home-cooked meal in weeks, among the rugged laughter and the cards and the darts and the whole maelstrom of a busy night in the tavern. He gathered what he could: a dirty plate here, a fork off the floor, even a broken glass which he had to sweep up. The otter returned to the kitchens, his paws loaded with glasses and plates covered in food scraps and chicken bones. He scraped off the leftovers, and set the dirty dishes down, cleaning each one in turn.

Now and then, his dishwater ran cold, and he took the basin to the passageway out back, where he poured the foaming water into the gutter. This also gave him a few blessedly cool minutes, away from the heat and the noise of the tavern and kitchens. The next time his basin needed emptying, he asked Tufnell to be excused. It was nearly time for his break anyway, so the mole let him off early.

It was a cool, clear, starry night. The sound of chatter and laughter carried from the open tavern doors, and from the two or three other establishments nearby. Compared to inside the tavern, however, outside was an oasis of calm. The gutter was a few paces from the kitchen door, among this twisting sloping warren of passageways. Sid sluiced his water out, watching the suds and the water disappear down the slope. The flow of the water receded, replaced once more with the sounds of the tavern, and in the distance, the gentle swash of the sea under the early evening sky. Sid sighed, taking it all in. Well, he was on break now, so time to enjoy the fresh air. He set down the metal basin and slipped around the corner, enjoying this moment of solitude, when another animal joined him in the alleyway.

It was another otter. However, that was the only thing they had in common. This was a sea-otter. Tall, proud, and fearsomely broad. He was dressed in a cloak mottled with deep aquatic hues, blues and purples, fastened at the front with a gold-coloured brooch. He also wore leather boots with shining buckles, a sword and a holster at his belt, and a tricorn hat atop his head, decorated with what looked like a parrot's feather, long and multi-coloured. Sid marvelled at the big animal: his strength, the poise and balance of that thick rudder-tail, the roughness of his muzzle that spoke of a thousand miles of voyage. Was he a beast of rank, a captain even? He certainly had the swagger. He noticed Sid, and tipped his hat to his smaller cousin.

"Good evening."

And with that, he turned to a nearby wall, sweeping his cloak back, rolling his shoulders and head with a grunt of relief. He took a wide stance, slipped a paw into his pantaloons, and slipped out the thickest otter-cock that Sid had ever seen. The river-otter could only stare, muzzle open. The light was fading, but the keen-eyed little otter saw everything. The animal was hefty, with thick veins running the length of his maleness, and a delicious amount of folded foreskin covering his broad cockhead. And at that moment, Sid swore he could smell the otter's male musk, even at a distance. The sea-beast wrapped a webbed paw around his flaccid length, clearing his throat and exhaling deeply. He teased and squeezed his maleness, and it swelled in his grasp. So confident, so shameless. Did he know Sid was still there? Or didn't he care who saw? A moment later that cock spurted into life, spraying hot otter musk halfway up the wall, from where it trickled down into the gutter. Sid couldn't move. Another man, a stranger no less, was attending to his personal needs... in full view! And judging by how hard the otter was spraying, he certainly had a need. Then again, given the size of that otter, he looked like he could put away half a dozen tankards of grog and still walk straight. Sid pretended to look away, inspected his paws, stared at the cobbles and the gutter, where the otter musk now flowed right by his paws. Anything except actually leave.

The big otter's stream slowed to a trickle, and he looked sideways. Straight at Sid. And without hesitating a second, the corner of his whiskery maw lifted into a grin.

"So. You're still here. I did have my suspicions about you, little one. No doubt you're wondering if I'd... care for a moment of your time."

There was no surprise in the sea-otter's voice. The big animal leant against the wall, next to his fresh mark, full of confidence. Sid meanwhile was speechless, his paws limp by his side. He wanted to run, he wanted to stay, he wanted to hide. In the end, he didn't move at all. Even when the sea-otter slipped that big cock out of view, adjusted his dress, and closed in. His boots were heavy, a solid thump-thump on the cobblestones. Sid gulped.

"Alright then, let's see what we have here. Young, short, clearly new to the profession..."

Profession?

"But you are handsome. And an otter like me, which is always a benefit. Okay, little one, I like what I see."

Oh.

Wait.

Did the otter think he was a...

"So tell me, guppy, where do you work? Are you one of Mirabel's boys?"

Now there was no doubt. Though Sid had never met or indeed seen Madame Mirabel, the townspeople and tavern-goers spoke of her and her establishment as openly as they spoke of trade or the tide times.

Yet, still unable to speak, Sid simply shook his head.

"So a freelancer then. Admittedly, I don't always go for the street-walkers. Not when there are a good number of whore-houses where one can pay a little extra, and have some lodgings and repast alongside my puppy for the night. But, all animals have to ply a trade. And trading requires buyers as well as sellers."

The sea-otter was deep in Sid's personal space, looming a good foot over his landlubber cousin. Sid had to gaze up, even lean back slightly, to maintain eye contact. Yet that was hard to do, given the intensity of the otter's deep brown eyes. And though he looked younger than many sea-dogs who dropped anchor in this port, there was still something storm-worn about him, something maybe in the steadfastness of his stare, which showed experience far beyond his years. This was an otter who had travelled places, who had seen shores and lands which Sid could scarcely imagine.

"And I am not going to pass up an opportunity like this."

And Sid wanted more.

"So... if I can show some philanthropy to my fellow animal, I will. And if we both enjoy it, then so much the better. Plus I saw you looking. New to the game or not, I know you want this."

He had Sid there. Sid tried not to squirm, which was made harder when the sea-otter slipped his paw back inside his waistband. Slowly, smoothly, confidently, the animal pulled out his gloriously thick tackle, this time retrieving his low-hanging otter-balls as well.

The sea-otter braced one paw on the wall above Sid's head. Sid tilted his gaze up, and there he was, a lithe and sinewy beast. And a decidedly erect beast at that. The sea-otter flashed a grin full of sharp fish-tearing teeth, at least one of them glinting gold in the lantern light.

"So go ahead. Touch it."

Sid did. He didn't want to waste any more time, nor did he want to deny this animal. With one paw at first, as gingerly as he dared, Sid reached out. With his breath wavering, he touched the otter, slowly closing his paw as best he could around the big animal. So similar to himself, so firm, so ready. And yet so different, not least in size. Sid tightened his grip, the slightest amount, and the whole arousal twitched, hard. Sid used his second paw to tackle his catch, balls and all, trying his best to fathom the size and the heft of the animal before him. Growing up, he had seen other male river-otters, and he knew that sea-otters were bigger. But this much bigger? The sea-dog was patient, yet his arousal was fearsome, throbbing, demanding attention. Sid obliged, giving his first careful stroke, tracing a fingertip along one prominent vein. All of that foreskin was loose, and Sid carefully slid it back to show the animal's cockhead. The musk reached his muzzle instantly, ten times stronger, a mixture of the sea-otter's recent release and the precum that had pooled in the folds of that foreskin, making the animal's tip glisten in the low light. Sid sheathed the otter's weapon, and all of that wet precum pooled at the animal's tip, thick and dripping over Sid's hand-paw. Slick, musky precum covered the webbing of the little otter's paw. Such a generous beast.

"A fine start, small fry. And who knows, if you carry on being this adorable, I may throw in a little extra gratuity."

The sailor opened a coin pouch at his belt. With two claws, he pulled out a coin, just enough that Sid could see the glint of gold.

"Just don't try and swipe it. Remember, I cross swords with the fiercest beasts and corsairs on the seas. A little guppy like you would have no chance."

"I... I'll behave."

"That you will. Now drop your trousers."

Sid froze.

What, here? In the back alley? What if someone saw them?

The sea-otter crossed his arms, his thick rudder-tail laying heavy on the ground. His smile was whiskery, confident, aroused. Sid stuttered.

"I... I..."

"And a little less of the 'coy boy' fantasy, if you don't mind. You're the nicest tail I've had in weeks, and I am more than keen to claim it. Now drop your trousers or I'll cut your belt."

The seafarer dropped one paw to his blade. Sid gulped and did as instructed. The big otter growled, a low, soft, deep murr of appreciation, at the little otter denuding himself. Trousers were set aside, and on instinct, Sid crossed his paws in front of his crotch, feeling the warmth rising in his cheeks on this fresh summer night. His cousin countered with a mirthful smile.

"I do wish we weren't so prudish about our own bodies. It's a shame we're conditioned that way. We are all animals, you and I both appreciate our fellow male... and believe you me, you are a handsome lad."

The warmth built under Sid's cheek fur. "You... you think so?"

"Yes. And for my part, I have no qualms about showing my body. At the appropriate times, of course. Despite certain rumours you might have heard, my men do not indulge in sodomy nearly as often as you might think. A ship doesn't sail itself, you know."

Paws held onto Sid's side. Strong, weather-worn, sure. They guided the otter to turn, to face the wall, to trap him there with a beast of the seas.

"And speaking of appropriate times..."

The sailor lifted Sid's tail, held the little otter's flanks, and dropped to his knees. He took a firm grip on Sid's hips, and lifted Sid so that the river-otter stood on his tiptoes.

Wet thick flesh pressed at his tailhole. But it wasn't the otter's cock. It was far more flexible. And goodness did it feel good. The otter dug deep with his tongue, tickling and teasing with his whiskers, and Sid crooned with pleasure. A finger and a thumb closed around Sid's short muzzle.

"Hush, little one. You have some reputable neighbours. They wouldn't take too kindly to hearing you announce your trade. This is a residential area, not a fish market. Remember, discretion is the watchword in your profession."

The sea-otter released Sid's muzzle, and Sid whimpered.

"Sorry, it's just... um ... I didn't expect your tongue..."

Sid gasped the last word, as an aftershock made his tailhole quiver.

"My friend," the sea-otter continued, unfazed. "I have spent nigh-on a month, on-board a tub, with some of the grimiest men to ever walk on land or sail the seas. By comparison, little one, preparing your tail is like tonguing the Duke himself. He likes lavender soap, if you're curious..."

The sailor resumed his duties. The otter's tongue was as smooth as his words. This was no hasty lick, as no doubt many horny-handed cut-throats delivered before they communed with their fellow man. No, this otter was caressing him, a practised move, lapping around the rim of Sid's little tailhole before delving past his resistance, those wondrously strong paws holding him in place just firmly enough as the big nameless otter made his smaller cousin tremble in pleasure. Sid wanted to moan, but the sea-otter may have admonished him, and Sid didn't want to do anything to displease the beast and bring their assignation to a halt. So instead he stood there, shuddering, webbed paws on the wall, penetrated by that thick lutrine tongue. And to think what would follow that up... Sid murred, his own little rudder hard and twitching. When the tongue slipped free, exposing his tailhole to the sea breeze, Sid almost shuddered from the sudden coolness. But soon something far warmer and more male took the place of that tongue. Despite his youth, he knew that only one thing could be that warm, that firm and ominous. Sid went wide-eyed, willing his tail to relax, as much as possible, anything to make that firm hard probing questing flesh slip inside easier. He knew he would feel the next part, even with the drool-for-lube, though even that was slowly drying. The sea-otter found his target, and he pushed forward, and forward, until Sid's tailhole started to yield. Sid was no stranger to his fellow male. Most boys on Sid's stream were stronger than he, and after one of their tussles, they used to pin him, rub on him, hard erections pressing through their clothes. At first it was just play, and Sid even enjoyed the feel of it. But soon, the rubbing became more deliberate, meaningful, grinding over Sid's clothed rear, a blunt stab over Sid's tailhole where he was most vulnerable. And if Sid ever tried to resist, they would just pin him harder, and press right in. Tonight, however, was different. More sizeable, and no troublesome clothing in the way. His tailhole began to ache, and still the big otter pressed forward, gentle thrusts to ease Sid open. Sid could have said something, could have asked the sea-dog to prep him more, but instead he kept quiet, right up until the hard animal slipped past his resistance and he squeaked, freezing at the sharp pain. The big otter grunted, and he throbbed. And with a schlick of parting flesh, the big sea-otter sunk his main-mast under Sid's little tail. Now the little otter called out. He couldn't help himself. Immediately the big otter wrapped a paw around Sid's short muzzle to stifle the moan. Three meaty inches of otter-cock were buried inside Sid, and they twitched, then twitched again. Ha. The sea-otter smirked. Even in the profession, they struggled to take him. The big otter felt the precum trickle up his cock, only to spill into this tight little mustelid on the very next twitch. Meanwhile Sid felt the animal, inside him, outside him, with untold inches of the foreskin-clad beast hard and virile beyond. Precum eased the penetration, but barely, and when the sailor drove his powerful stern, Sid trembled on him, yielding barely an inch before the pain began to burn. The sea-otter noticed though and he wrapped a powerful arm around Sid, holding him close, there for him. Everything about the sea-dog was firm: his body, his paw, and especially that thick lutrine erection, working into him one short sure buck at a time, each buck sending a twitch to the tip of Sid's tail. Soon Sid had settled and yielded enough for the sea-otter to roll, an inch or two back and forth, smooth and incredibly hard. Saliva and generous precum were helping, but it still hurt like billy-oh. Sid tried to resist, then bring his strength to bear, but he relented in the animal's strong grasp and simply flowed along. They mated, two animals built to swim, to snake and knife through the water, flowing in sync with one another, matching each other's strokes until a sharp buck made Sid yip and skip a stroke. There was a chuckle from above, soft and hearty, before the sea-otter set a quick cadence, just enough for Sid to keep pace, albeit with shortened breath. The otter erection was deeper now, harder, stretching him more. And when the sea-otter stepped up to the next gear, Sid was lost adrift. Each thrust knocked the air from his sails, making him stutter and gasp, shrouding his thoughts in a mist of pleasure. The big otter was twitching already, and though each thrust was driving into Sid's prostate, right then only one animal's pleasure mattered.

As it should be.

The sea-otter was strong, his body lithe yet packed with muscle, hewn and honed for a life on and beneath the waves. He held Sid steady with a paw on the side, and the river-otter admired the paw, resting his smaller hand atop it. Both animals were webbed, but where Sid's arms were slim, and his paws slightly only slightly roughened by soap, the big sea-dog's paws were strong, rugged, and properly rough, no doubt the result of hauling ropes and rigging sails for days and weeks at a time. As for the way he worked that body... breath and haunches powered in sync, a growl simmering under his breath that betrayed his pleasure. His grip grew tense, tight, and his thrusting stayed true. There was nothing mindless about those thrusts, given how he carved all along the river-otter's inner walls. He knew what he was doing. He knew the exact depth, the exact rate of knots to drive himself forward... and to tug the little otter along. Through glowing cheeks, Sid was dimly aware of a webbed paw on his cock, sending a pleasant shiver through him before a salvo of powerful thrusts inundated him, each rapid thrust crashing through Sid like a wave as a portentous growl rumbled through the sea-dog, a storm which broke with a fearsome bite to Sid's scruff, the only feral moment of the encounter happening right before the sea-beast snarled into his mouthful of waterproof fur, his body jolted, and he fired a surge of otter-cum, followed by another, then another. Both animals knew what was happening, and the mental image combined with the very real physical sensation was something to behold.

Mere, furious seconds later, the storm stilled, the twitches of sea-dog cock easing off. They never settled to a gentle ebb, however: how could such a powerful otter do anything but shoot? The animal was still hard as he withdrew, slowly and shudderingly pleasant right up until that final pop and the otters uncoupled from each other. Sid steadied himself on the wall: sore, used, with lutrine cum trickling from his aft. The sea-otter, meanwhile, caught his breath within seconds, and started putting himself back in order.

"Oh, I do love pulling into this little harbour. So picturesque at first glance. Yet even here, there is tail to be found. And once one knows where to look, one need only walk a few minutes to find a lady of the night... or a gentleman. Truly the best of both worlds."

Sid was dripping, from his cock and his tail. As an experiment, he reached behind himself. His under-tail was tender, and when he looked at his paw, it was coated in otter semen.

"I am a copious animal, aren't I? Very well, I suppose it's only fair I help a mate in need."

The sea-otter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to Sid. It was silken, and soft... at least until it was saturated in otter cum.

"Now I trust you can conceal that evidence."

Sid nodded. He could slip it into the kitchen waste on his return. The fish would just about cover up the scent of horny otter.

"Thank you, um, by the way. That felt... nice?"

The big otter smiled. "Believe me, the pleasure is mutual. But tell me. On my next visit, whom do I ask for?"

"Um... Sid."

"Trevelyan. Enchanté."

Sea-otter and river-otter shook paws.

"Now, the small matter of your remuneration... that means payment, by the way. I think you'll find this more than fair recompense for your time. One for the ejaculation, and another for your trouble."

And true to his word, Trevelyan returned to his coin pouch, and crossed the little otter's webbed palm with two large, heavy, gold coins. One one side there were symbols, which Sid knew to be some symbol-language from the eastern seas, but which he could not read. He turned one coin over. The other side was engraved with a snarling Oriental tiger.

"Now, judging by how intently you're studying those coins, I suspect you aren't familiar with this denomination."

"No Sir. I am not."

"Well, suffice to say that will buy a lot of feesh. Just be sure to stash it away from prying eyes. And be careful how you spend it. Though I'm sure you'll handle it wisely. You seem like a resourceful fellow."

Trevelyan had a point. Sid would have to find a money-changer to convert these coins into smaller currency. If he, a humble otter, handed one of these to a regular trader, he would be marked as either a thief or a whore.

Trevelyan meanwhile was rearranging himself. Sid caught a final fleeting flash of otter-cock. Trevelyan noticed his smaller cousin staring, and laughed with joy.

"Neptune's beard, you are a hungry little pup, aren't you? But don't you worry, you'll see me again soon."

The seafarer checked his clothes and his sword one final time. He swept his feathered hat from his head, flourishing it while he bowed to his cousin. Sid, who owned no headwear, responded with his best approximation of a Ducal Navy salute. Trevelyan smiled.

"A long time since someone honoured me thusly. Very well then, young Master Sid, I bid you adieu."

The sea-otter turned on the spot, his cloak sweeping about him, before he strode from the alleyway and into the streets. Sid watched him all the way, before re-clothing himself. He stashed the coins into separate pockets, so they didn't jangle together. Then, he gathered his wash bucket, and waddled back to the tavern, trying not to wince.

All in an evening's work.