Ryan hustled into the bathroom as quickly as the heavy door would let him, and was unzipping his fly even before he’d reached the urinal. He fell against the wall above the flush handle and let out a long-held sigh of relief as an uncharacteristic flood streamed out of him and down the porcelain wall. His bladder must have had the whole pitcher of beer in it. Well … he had been the only one to drink from it, and it was empty; she just kept sipping from her huge soda cup as she refilled his pint glass. He was just glad he was a quiet, happy drunk, or he’d really have embarrassed himself in front of her tonight. He’d been dopey enough watching her big brown eyes bat at him while he listened to her talk, while he kept nodding for her to continue; he could still feel his ears sagging, but at least the world wasn’t sloshing around in front of his eyes any more. At least she’d been friendly enough to do most of the talking for them after the first time he felt her tail flick over against his leg and noticed that sitting beside her in the booth filled his eyes with the cleavage framed in her scooped sweater. That was about the time all of his words started come out stammered and incoherent.
He’d known he had to go to the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago, but like a fool he’d waited until he was sure his bladder would burst before finally interrupting to excuse himself; somehow it had seemed like rude. When he finally did say something, she just grinned, covering her mouthful of cheeseburger behind a lady-like hand, and told him to go ahead, motioning for him to shimmy across her lap.
He knew it was bad form for the woman to sit on the outside of the booth bench, even if he was the smaller of them. Even for an antelope he was short and lean – a smaller creature really than these booths were meant to accommodate – but for a cow she was massive. She wasn’t quite twice his height, but with all her curves – her round belly and bulging breasts squeezed into the sweater; her thick meaty thighs and ass squeezed into that short denim skirt – she outweighed him by a factor of three, at least. She was nearly too big to fit into the booth; only a few spare inches separated the bottom of the table from her legs. Still… He didn’t think it had only been the tight fit that had trapped him between the table and her thighs and the stretched hem of her skirt. He was sure she had been smirking when she told him the only way out was to slip down between her legs to the floor beneath the table. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get to the bathroom, he would have been smirking, too.
Even after the flood had slowed to a trickle and even the occasional drop had dried up, Ryan continued to lean over the urinal. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the bathroom, so he didn’t think he was violating any kind of man-code, but he was still new to the city and it’s faux-macho culture. He really needed just a few minutes to catch his breath and compose himself, to put on a better face. He’d been behaving more like the immature youngster that everyone thought he was out there with her, rather than the proud young buck she deserved, that she expected of him, he imagined. Blushing? Stuttering? Too embarrassed even to touch her back, or compliment her? A hundred times he’d thought of saying how lovely her tan fur sheened in the night-time lights, of telling her how beautiful her brown eyes were (though maybe she’d take that the wrong way, now that she was wearing makeup), of finding something nice to say about the way her skirt hugged her rump that didn’t sound completely perverted. This was a date, after all, and she’d given him every subtle green light imaginable-
He heard the bathroom door squeal as it swung shut, and the heavy clomp-clomp of hooves on the floor tiles crossing toward him. Once he’d shaken off the initial stupor of his interrupted reverie, Ryan hurriedly pushed away from the wall to find his balance and tuck himself back in; at least until he was knocked back forward and had to catch himself on the wall. He yelped in shocked protest, but his stiffening spine melted as a wide, flat tongue slopped up his neck and curled around base of his ear. A tan hand with neatly-trimmed hoof-like nails pinned his wrists against the wall, while a matching hand slid down his shirt, over his belt, and found his flaccid penis. A few quick, groping squeezes, combined with the swipe of the tongue moving across the back of his neck, brought it to life. Hot breath, heavy with the smell cheeseburgers, washed over along his cheeks and eddied around his face. “Don’t tell me you’re in such a hurry to put this away just because I walked in.” Her voice, of course. It was unmistakable. It was that sweet, breathy, honeyed drawl that had hooked him in the first place.
-
He’d met Eleanor on the first day of his assignment to the temp job; even if he hadn’t been walked right into half-glass office in the corner of the Customer Service department, he didn’t think he would have missed her. It wasn’t just that she was so big, or that her VP’s office peered out over her rows and rows of half-cubicled customer service agents. She had a presence. Whenever a call had transferred up the tiers of managers and made it to her, he heard her voice right away. She spoke softly, but her voice filled the entire department, even with her door closed. It was sweet, engaging, and soothing. He couldn’t imagine any customer, now matter how livid when he got to her, who could stay angry for more than a minute on the line with her; she just had that kind of effect. Even the other VPs seemed to respect her, though she was just a cow and not a predator species like the pumas and wolves and foxes that filled the rest of the upper management offices. Ryan had spent many an afternoon during his temp stint waiting in a chair in her office while she typed up RMAs for him to run to the warehouse; whenever the COO came through her door, she waited for Eleanor to finish what she was doing and look up before she interrupted. Anyone else and that badger just snarled and bared her fangs; Ryan had gotten more than one growl from her just for standing in the aisle she was walking down.
Ryan never could figure out what Eleanor had done to earn that kind of respect; he’d never seen her be anything but amiable and fair and flirty. Especially with him. Especially flirty.
From the first day he’d met her she’d called him “Honeybutt” instead of the “Mr. Blackstripe” or “Ryan” he got from everyone else. She always sent him off with the RMA and a “please” (even if running the stupid forms was his job), and frequently the please was punctuated by a squeeze of the tuft of white tail that stuck out from the back of his pants. She gave him dollars to buy something from the snack machine when she saw him eating ramen in the breakroom every day. That afternoon that she was having trouble with her mouse and complaining about worthless IT – of course he’d offered to help, no matter how little he knew about computers – she’d sent him crawling under her desk to check where the cables plugged in. But once she had him on all fours down by her ankles, she’d rolled back into place, crowding him with pantyhose-covered knees while he fiddled with connections and she tested the mouse. She was wearing a short skirt with her suit that day, and it had hiked up just enough that when her thick thighs spread that little bit around him… Oh, god – there was nothing but pantyhose between him and her, and he couldn’t help but look. And again, and again! Hell, he was doing more staring and fantasizing about burrowing up under her skirt than fiddling with the mouse, but she barely seemed to notice. When she was finally satisfied that her mouse was working again and rolled away to let him free, his cheeks and ears were magenta and his brow thick with sweat, but she just winked at him, pinched his tuft of a tail, and said, “Thanks, Honeybutt. That was just what it needed. I’ll let you know if it happens again.”
In fact, they were on such good terms – she never missed an opportunity to waggle her fingers in greeting when they passed in the hallway – that when the position opened up in Customer Service before his month of temp assignment was up, he was sure he was a shoe-in. He put in his application, made sure his name was neatly printed at the top, and waited. But the last week of the job ran out without so much as a mention of his application, and that last Friday morning he saw Eleanor standing in the aisle, leaning over the shoulder of some hare while she taught her how to use the phone and headset.
Ryan was crushed. He did everything he could to avoid going back to Eleanor’s office for the rest of the day, even if it meant he had to spend the afternoon out in the warehouse where there wasn’t any air conditioning. Still, she managed to corner him in the hall by the drinking fountains at the end of the day.
“Hey, Honeybutt! Where have you been all day? I would have thought you would have at least swung by to say hello once on your last day.” She placed her hands on her hips, and he realized she was wearing that same skirt suit that had caught him out beneath her desk.
There was nothing for it but honesty; he furrowed his brows and looked her in the eye. “Well, Ms. Eleanor, I was kind of hoping today wouldn’t be my last day. I’d applied for that open position, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” A smile spread over her face. “I almost gave it to you.”
Ryan did his best to hid his disappointment, but his best wasn’t very good. “Why didn’t you? Wasn’t I qualified?”
“Oh… enough. Nothing too special, not enough that HR would question me. But… You see, Honeybutt: if I was your manager, then we couldn’t plan any …extracurricular activities, could we?” Confusion spread over Ryan’s face, so she added, “You couldn’t ask me out, for example.”
He shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t've-” A nudge from her knee cut him off, and finally confusion made way for surprised comprehension. “Oh! Would you like to go out, Ms. Eleanor? With me? Tonight?”
“It’s just Eleanor, now, and no, Honeybutt.” Comprehension turned to hurt, but only for the moment until she snickered and nudged him again. “Tonight I’m busy. But if you’re free evening, it won’t come soon enough for me.”
That was yesterday. Since Ryan was still new to the city and barely knew his way around the two blocks surrounding his closet-sized apartment, Eleanor had picked a place near him – a burger joint she’d been wanting to try. Of course they served salads and bean patties for folks like him, but Eleanor had ordered a tray full of burgers for herself. Thankfully (and against his insistence) she paid. “I can’t stand the thought of you paying on a credit card when you’re unemployed, Honeybutt.” She winked at him and added, loud enough that the cashier could hear, “Don’t worry. As long as you keep me happy, I’ll take care of you.”