Kobold Kunnilingus

It was a bar. Squirreled away in a wealthier section of uptown, behind a front-facing fine dining restaurant. A hard waitlist, no guests, no friends, and phones got boxed at the door. The place had a rugged feel: brick walls painted black, and mahogany furniture gave the place a sense of heritage, despite the fluorescent bulbs in fixtures all around the walls.

A man took a pause from watching the froth in his glass to look up at the ceiling, head swaying to one side in his quest for the chandelier. The torso attached threatened to follow it too far, but the sudden lack of back support in that direction righted the issue.

Ruefully, he pushed the glass away, ignoring the impulse to spoil his tastebuds with more. He leaned back and sighed, reflexively reaching to adjust his tie. His fingers met air, instead crashing into the thicker fabric of the polo he’d worn tonight. He froze in that position as his brain sloppily pieced together why that was.

Ah, yes. Company party, but with none of the pizzaz compared to this place. Them…their team…he? Someone had done something very important, and there’d been patted backs and cheers, then nothing. Dissatisfaction that’d followed him on the road home, with the sun higher in the sky than usual. That’d lingered with his tie on the floor. The couch did nothing to drain it.

He sighed, lifting his hands to navigate the table’s grooves by touch alone. The day’s unease felt distant now, smothered in a sense of contentment and belonging. There was a pull to this bar, and getting reeled by it felt so good.

Footsteps tapped past his left. The man brought his head down, focusing first on the palm casually resting there, and then the arm sleeved in latex attached to it.

“It seems that your usual dish is out for tonight. What would you like to have instead?”

A smile slid across his lips as smoothly as he’d drunk their liquor on hearing himself be addressed. All the waitresses used this same practiced speech, yet each brought an experience uniquely their own. In the distance, a doe stood with her back toward him, tail swishing as she passed out menus; a crow serving a few tables closer tapped her beak thoughtfully, making a subtle hip twist that accentuated her raised tailfeathers to her guests. The variety here was a real boon. He turned his head over, eyes starting a path up her arm, then slipping off to admire her torso. His gaze settled higher than he'd expected to stare, but from it, he caught the tip of one very long ear.

So tonight’s server was a hare—lean. Tall and lean, with coarse-looking fur in swirling patterns all across her abdomen. From this angle, her shoulders were mostly hidden by pert underboobs. There was no waste in her physique, yet he found himself arguing for the appealing tuft between her legs to count when it obscured the mound between her thighs so well.

Here was another cause for the grandness of this place: the standard waitress uniform here was anything but. The leggings covered the entire limb, bordering at the transition into the hip; a ‘dress’ top cut so high up from the bottom that only the collar remained to connect it over the chest, putting cleavage, chest and much of the back on full display. The material was all latex, save for the collar and wristcuffs on the sleeves.

She stood just far enough away for any 'accidental' contact to be impossible. If he crossed it to get closer, he would do so knowingly. That realization started pricklings of a new force at his back, a pull between him and her abdomen that a liquid courage was more than willing to supply. The fur there looked so inviting. These tables were…comfortable, or they had to be, from the hints of wealthier guests here. Or the drunken ones.

The hare's stare was cool, her angular features giving away nothing beyond the slight twinkle of amusement in her eye. Waitresses of this establishment were allowed quite many freedoms in relation to their guests. Perhaps, even more than the class of the clientele, these permissions were why they were content to linger at every table.

Her eyes flicked over to his sole glass on his table, half-full with one of their many signatures, and narrowed hungrily.

“Shall I refill that for you, sir?” she proposed.

Without even waiting for his answer, the waitress began a slow, deliberate lean across the table, sliding her hand up to the glass, missing it, and continuing past. A classic move that strained the material against her body, pulling his eyes and ears to where the latex protested. Her watchful eyes showed that the man was well hooked: ogling over the previously unseen territory of her arched back, gazing hungrily at her tail.

However...his hands, though they twitched as if to feel her, stayed put.

The hare chuckled, watching a shiver race down the man from a coincidental press of her hips against the tabletop. For now, he still had his wits about him. For now. She curled one paw around the glass, and lifted herself off, choosing to halt her tactics there. This had to be ‘service’ after all, not ‘solicitation’. Good tips came from a job well-done.

Hints of moisture seeped into her pubic tuft at the thought. Sparing him a final smile, she turned away, beginning the trip to another patron. Her gut had a good feeling about this one. Perhaps another a certain coworker could break through...

As time passed, the man made a slow return to the tipsyness he’d been aiming to maintain for the night. It wouldn’t do to miss out on anything from blackout drunkenness, good or bad, especially when a fee could easily come attached. The salve for that was ordering food, which, between the increasingly thick scent wafted behind the hare's check-ins, made each sip exquisite.

He’d gotten a good burn going by the time the last bits were cleaned off his plate. The idea of stretching his legs seemed appropriate about now, with how vivid the colors and sounds had become to his senses. With the familiar weight of glass in hand, he set an easy pace away from his table, not quite decided on his destination.

A burst of sound sharpened his focus, a riff that tickled certain parts of his brain well and made his limbs feel lighter. He swung his head in that direction for a look. Farther away was a group of figures on stage—the band, his brain recalled. His anticipation about their scheduled performance raised, which also made his next destination an easy choice. As for getting there, the direct route meant weaving past more tables than he’d care to—or could—dodge, while the other route only needed him to walk a little further along this bar counter to hit a clear path over. Looking at his glass, there was still about a quarter of it left over from the last refill. As long as he only held the glass, he’d end the trip past their bartenders with the same weight in his hands.

Absently, he spied a waitress was on his side of the bar, casually leaning her back against the counter. A kobold of lilac scales and a rosy pink underbelly, staring ahead at the stage like no one else was around. For the hare in his mind, he swapped out 'lean' for 'toned'. This kobold—there was a light gloss on her chest, which was a penchant for pristine scales, but at this distance it looked just like skin. The curve of her stomach, the small pectorals of her chest...svelte, promising their softness in his ears. A short, sharp snout, and a pair of horns that curled in on themselves behind her skull, like a ram’s. He could imagine how they felt on his palms. His eyes couldn’t find a single rough patch on her.

The glass was placed aside as he drew closer, growing increasingly sidetracked by this waitress. Was she really soft? Could his fingers tell whether she wore skin or scales? As his path gradually led the perspective past her obscuring latex, his gaze sank deeper and deeper between closed thighs until her sex finally came into view.

A simple pair of lips, furless and in the rosy-pink of her underbelly, yet rosier still—like blood had settled there. Swelling that'd make the labia more sensitive, more tender. She seemed caught in a bout of terrible arousal, which could explain the behavior.

Maybe he could…

There was a jolt he felt through his palm as it settled on her body. It was like warm silk. The man's body was moving on autopilot now, hopelessly lost in this kobold's assault on the senses. A short dip brought his fingertips to a split of pillowy flesh, yet he might've sworn it was touching air. A hot cocoon slid down his middle finger, slick racing along the digit as he—

Four fingers gripped his thumb and yanked it, hard. The pain snapped the man to reality, a yelp escaping his throat before he took stock of the situation: caught in front of her by the hand he'd taken to plumb her cookie jar. The warm string still connecting them was soon forgotten as her grip tightened, sending spasms up his forearm that only threatened to make the pain worse.

She aimed a stare of…corporate-level incense at him, like he was the 10th customer of the hour to waste her time. The latex around her inner thighs had a greater splotch of sheen than he’d first noticed, yet she faced him like it meant nothing. Like there wasn't a maddening urge to just take care of it pounding on the walls of her mind.

The kobold aimed a hiss up at him, apparently tired of his gawking.

“Touching costs extra.,” she growled.

It was advice. It was a warning. There were obviously rules that came with this place, and they used the only useful collar for keeping this clientele in check. Some waitresses warned, some simply let their patrons rack up the bill, but the rule was iron. Their one pay to play, so to speak: viewing was free, touching meant fees.

“...Sir?”

The leak between her legs hadn’t dried up. She was nowhere near dry. The tone carried an edge to it, but the man was starting to see more to the cause than mere irritation. He fancied himself a glance to where he’d left his cup, and found that it’d already been taken. He needed a drink. A nice, tall glass of pink. It’d dull the pain. His eyes locked onto hers—a pair of vibrant red pupils.

“I understand.” He wouldn’t take back his actions, even as the potential bill of the night slowly settled in his mind. He quietly shut that rational part of his brain away.

She gingerly released his thumb, letting him return the smarting hand to his side. The man didn’t bother rubbing the joint, and instead dropped to his knees in front of her. To his chagrin, her nether lips were still below his mouth at this height, which wouldn’t do.

“Miss,” he began, “could you sit on the counter?”

The twitch that ran through her legs was unmistakable, now that they filled most of his vision.

“As…as you wish.”

The kobold hoisted her rear over the lip of the counter, going just far enough to stay comfortably seated on the bar while keeping her swollen labia easily accessible for him near the edge. Now, it was perfectly at mouth height, and it would be a shame to let all that she had on tap go to waste.

He leaned in, rising above her sex to plant kisses around her lower abdomen. The tiniest bump of scales registered against his lips, and the warmth lurking beneath her skin only promised good things of what came next. His non-wrenched hand rose to feel along one thigh, squeezing at the latex. Her breathing was getting heavier, coming down on the back of his neck in hot blasts. The scaly body against him flexed with her every breath. Harnessing it, he slowly hunted out the treatment that made her quiver on the outside, reading each signal to his ministrations. At some point, her four-fingered palm clapped over his, staying there as her squirming around him grew more frequent.

Between her thighs, his head, and the table, the man had made himself a comfortable pocket to marinate in the scent of her own fluids. Knowing that the puddle building on the wood came from his efforts sent a shiver up his spine, and an intoxicating surge through his skull. Overwhelmed for a moment, he lowered himself back to her nethers, exhaling heavily against her. The waitress spread her legs wider for him, anticipating the next step as much as he was.

He descended on her mound with a slurp, menacing around her puffy outer lips as he tried to tongue off every last bit of slick that clung to them. She hissed sharply, then arched to bring her snout close to his ear, moaning urgently. The sounds egged him on, shuffling closer as he curled his tongue past her lips, tracing natural lubricant all the way to the door of her cavern.

Another hiss squeezed into his ears. Wordless, urgent, and perfectly encapsulating the pleasure that was being wreaked upon her body right now. Her jaw gently grasped at the top of his ear, driving him to groan against her. It felt good. He started a series of brisk passes over her entrance with his tongue, aiming to coax out more streams of juice to pass down his gullet before diving in proper. This kobold made him want to enjoy every inch of her scales. The way her hips twitched, just shy of a thrust against him, the heat of her flesh, and the occasional ripple that forced a larger stream out for his tastebuds.

He felt her hands settle at the back of his head, gripping his hair. She was getting comfortable. He squeezed her thigh in response, contentment welling in his chest. It mattered little how time passed, nestled between her legs. Each tease at his ear was enough to go all night, as far as he cared. The waitress poured more fuel on his fire, raising her hips in a slow grind against him, pulling him gently, firmly, into herself.

“More,” came her terse whisper.

Eager to oblige, the man rolled his tongue against her one final time, then worked the muscle into her, pushing and wriggling against her walls as he went. She moaned in gratification above him, gyrating herself in small movements to eke out even more sensation from his entry. The man settled into the glass-smooth scale massage on his face, playing off her motions, idly twisting and tracing his tastebuds around her depths her to see what she liked most.

There were at least two regions, bumpier than most, that he found he could reach. Passing over either would make her clench him in varying intensity, while running another stream down his questing tongue. The man started aiming for both in one stroke, racking up a mental tally of how often he outmaneuvered her vicious clamping. The kobold was closer to a faucet now: try as he did to have all for himself, some leaked from the edges of their union, now mixed extensively with with his own saliva.

Swallowing with a tongue deep in kobold canal came out more like a fierce suck at her tunnel than not, but her enthusiastic responses kept him going. The waitress' body agreed, finding more within itself to spill for his mouth, kicking off a near constant feedback loop that left her breathing ragged.

Weight settled on his shoulders as she swung her thighs over his shoulders and locked them over his back. Releasing his head, she flopped back onto the counter, grabbing at the edge on the bartender's side for leverage to thrust and grind. He welcomed it readily—the angry pulsing against his tongue already told him how close she was.

As the first surge of her hips came, he pushed firmly into her cunt, sending his tongue into a frenzy. The lock over his back tightened, her movements growing shorter and more erratic until the grip over his back approached crushing. He found himself mooshed even further against her body, shoving his tongue deeper than he could've gotten otherwise.

The waitress rode out her climax breathlessly, arching higher and higher off the table with each tremor seizing her body. Her head rolled, tongue lolling out of an open mouth as she ignored everything to ride this patron for all he was worth. She held on the peak for what felt like an eternity, before the strength drained from her limbs.

He caught her limp torso before she could properly fall, and rested the spent kobold on the table, slowly extricating himself from her still-twitching entrance, then took a moment to watch her chest rise and fall. The waitress was still breathing, at least. Job well done.

Turning around, he met the hare who’d served him earlier. She looked past him at her coworker, then smiled.

“Will that be all today?” she purred, passing him a handkerchief.

He promptly folded it into a pocket, forcing his eyes to stay above her shoulders. It wasn't time to dry himself. Not yet.

“Yes. Check, please.”