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The Right to Remain Silent
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The PDI
rubyabelly.doc
Keywords male 639698, wolf 111544, vore 14636, badger 3243, moogle 2112, suggestive 2015, digestion 1593, victorian 353, belly-rubber 1, street-urchin 1
Rub ya Belly?

© Tsumi Moogle '12

Characters © Themselves.

The sky stalked drearily from sight beyond thick and foreboding clouds and the hundreds of blackened plumes that bellowed from chimneys and smoke-stacks. The threat of snow on the crisp morning was no dissuader to life on the cobbled street. Such as it was.

Workers, busy along their crowded store-fronts, catering to the curt and the curious. Smiles were reserved by the workers, facades to maintain in front of the stoney faces of those that could afford the wares and goods on display. An eager tip of the hat, and a hearty greeting to all that passed into the store. ...Well, most people at the least.

'Oi!' barked the otter sharply, his smile forgotten for the piercing glare directed off to the side of the offended looking beagle. 'Clear out, Y'chavy! This ain't no place for your ilk.'

Pursing his lips at the lutra, the moogle he'd been addressing gave a mocking bow and turned to leave airily.

'Bloomin' 'ell, mister. Keep yer rudder on! I'm goin'! Sure ain't no place for me, F'it's gunna cost me bull for an apple!' And closing the door behind himself, the moogle smiled. His thumb playing gently over the silken handkerchief he'd pilfered from the beagle. The dressy cove wouldn't miss it. Probably had a hundred like it at home.

'Chased out again, mog?' Quipped a hare falling into step with the young lad, weaving neatly among the tides of heavily cloaked pedestrians.

'Yeah, no suprise. Ol' Bill's gettin' less gulpy every week. Probably gotta look f'somewhere else to pick up Billys.' He waved the handkerchief a moment and grinned as the hare oggled it.

'Cor, mog. That's a fine one. Mind you don't attract no blue bottles, you'd be done in devil's claws in no time.'

Snorting lightly, the mog pocketed the fine cloth.

'Right, Quin. Like any crushers're gunna look twice at a thing like me.'

'Well, just mind yourself, alright? I don't wanna hear you got the boat, or worse.'

'Yeah, F'I was that lucky, I'd be down in one o' the colonies with me da, wouldn't I?' The mog retorted dryly, keenly aware of what the police could do if they had their way. 'Anyway, See you later, right? Abbess down on twelfth's running a buffet.'

'Mind you don't end up crapped, mog-boy. Plenty of stoolies in our line.'

'And who knows 'em better'n me, kupo?' Grinned the mog, veering off from the hare, the moogle adjusted his shirt. The patched fabric worn, and too thin for this time of year. But beggars really couldn't be choosers, particularly given how tightly the police had started to crack down on things, since the prohibition. Briskly weaving his way among shops and houses, he eyed over the broad, soot-darkened lines of buildings, probably once a bright and proud white marble.

He grinned as he reached the building he was looking for. The tall building more wood than stone, with dark mullioned windows that were covered from the inside and a nearly nondescript sign hanging over its heavy door, currently shut tight. A lone figure stood out front- a broad badger, in a modest long-sleeved shirt under a vest and some threadbare tweed pants, sweeping along the doorstop. He eyed the  young mog over, clearly trying to be inconspicuous.

'Top o' the mornin' Mr. George.' Tsumi smiled as he approached. Tapping the toe of one of his scuffed, buckled shoes and tipping his slightly too-large newsboy cap. His attentive eyes having passed for other strays on the street.

'Mornin'.' Grunted the badger, extending a hand. Taking it, the boy shook warmly, fluttering his tail as he palmed the badger two silver coins.

'Same old?' beamed the scruffy street-urchin. 'Missus keepin' you well?'

'Mostly out of trouble, near's I can tell.' rumbled the large badger with the faintest of grins cracking his aged face.

'As a man of your stature should, guv'! Now, if'n y'don't mind, I'll be set up 'round the corner.' smiled the young entreprenuer as the badger pocketed the coin with a simple nod.

His Apple box was still there, snug and smartly tucked out of the way, beside an old, repurposed barber's chair, that he tugged a cover off of. About the only thing he owned, other than the clothes on his back, the mog began dusting it off, grinning for the age, and rump-worn velvet, once a rich scarlet, now a murky burgandy. At least the finer carvings of its wooden frame remained. Turning, and hopping onto the creaky box, he eyed over the nearest of several street-goers. There was never really a shortage of business around the restaraunts. Not always the finest foods to be found, in this area, and age but certainly some of the heavier.

'Rub y'belly for a tuppence, guvna?' The mog smiled brightly to a broad ferret plodding past. The mustelid waved an airy hand, shaking his head and rumbling something through his thick moustache.

Unperturbed, the mog turned, his proposition offered several more times before he struck gold. The familiar face of a mephit in a lengthy red coat helping himself to the chair and lifting his booted feet expectantly.

'Always a pleasure, master Russet.' Tsumi smiled, nudging the box onto its side with a foot and smartly sliding it under the skunk's heels. He tugged a small lever on the chair, watching as it reclined with a faint creak and several clicks of gears. Laid out, the skunks broad middle was all but offered to the mog as he eased himself neatly over the larger male's lap.

'Indeed, it is.' sighed russet as he watched the young buckle-loose get to work. Deft hands laying the rich-threaded coat and the finely kept shirt beneath, open. Exposing the snowy streak of his rounded stomach and chest to the young mog. Immediately, Tsumi's hands got to work- pressing smoothly; kneading along the softer mass of the mephit's gut, eliciting a momentary grunt and a low sigh of pleasure as his terse gut began to relax. As he worked, the young urchin felt carefully with his palms and fingertips. In a sense, seeming as though he were enjoying himself for the cushy feel, and in others, trying to discern the contents.

'So what news o' the high-life, Mister Russet?' Smiled Tsumi, working dilligently, savoringly spreading his padded fingertips into the mephit's paunch, stretching fur and flesh, and making the contents of that stomach churn languidly. The yielding flesh sunk an inch or two inwards, making the mephit groan fondly and lick his lips as he felt the mog massaging slowly. Several times, he'd watched the boy almost sink his face against his belly, like a pillow, or perhaps as some secret street-urchin trick for helping ease stomach-aches. Few of the Belt-loose's were as dedicated as the mog.

'Do I look like a patterer, Tsumi?' smirked the skunk down to the boy.

''Course not, sir. More like a pampered beak from 'ere.' The mog grinned, remarking on the magistrate.

'Pampered, yes. And You'd be lucky that I am no beak. Hear tell they're issuing a number of raids. Any of your friends still down by The Lady?' The skunk asked lowly, talking of another brothel several streets over.

'Too rowdy, even f'the likes of us, Mister Russet. Y'know me. Quiet life and all.' Tsumi smiled, fluttering his wings, knelt studiously and mooshing the broad stomach about beneath him, his paws working deeper, kneading slower and starting to ease back.

'So you say.' Rumbled the skunk, smiling as the mog scritched along his stomach in slow circular motions, before re-buttoning his shirt up and easing down to start polishing the skunk's boots.

It was a rather modest way to make a living, to say the least. He could probably have managed pretty well as a Flue-flaker, but he'd heard tell of a number of folk in that line simply up and go missing, with several of the corner news boys calling about the 'unfortunate accidents' Chimney Sweeps could suffer. As if things weren't already risky enough. Dock-worker would have worked well, if he didn't turn green to the smell of fish..

Shaking his head, the moogle refocused on his job.

'Any word from Mr. Benjamin on the docks?' The skunk asked, able to relax and recline, his gurgling meal enticed to soften quicker.

Lifting his gaze, Tsumi took a cursory glance around before inclining his head expectantly.

'S'a tuppence for word on him, Mr. Russet.' The boy grinned, watching the skunk tut and fetch a pair of coins from his pocket to offer down to him. Taking them, he looked them over momentarily, before pocketing them. 'Word is 'e's coming in tuesday week. Big shipment, but with all them blue bottles about, he's gotta take the trip nice and slow-like.'

The skunk nodded lightly, smiling. The mog was never wrong with his facts. Knowing people who knew people, and at a fair price at that. The urchin was soon done with his boots, leaving the leather polished to a shine and helping him to his feet. Tugging another couple of coins free for the lad, he adjusted his top-hat and smiled.

'Wonderful as ever, Tsumi. Until next time.' The skunk gave the boy a light clap on the shoulder and walked past, tail waving smartly as he vanished off into the crowd.

'Pleasure as always, Mister Russet!' the mog called.

Grinning lightly, the mog set up his chair, and then his box once more. The number of people on the street having picked up since, it seemed the Abbess was done with her buffet. Taking to his box, the boy cleared his throat.

For a bigger crowd like this, one to one propositioning would lose him business.. And from George's hint, there were no police in their crowd. Prime time for a chaunting lay.

'Let me rub your belly~ A tuuuuppance per scriiitch~

C'mon, lemme heeelp ya sate that irksome tray-riiiich~

A full lunch buffet, or some hapless feeeeey~

I promise I won't tell, Just don't treat me, the saaame?'

The eyes he drew from the song alone spoke volumes. Knowing grins, daring glances and the odd trail of a tongue over jaws for the cover of his words. But it seemed they thought a little better of someone so close to their brothel. Many padding off, others seeming perturbed, perhaps their first time indulging. What was the saying Quin told him? 'Y'don't crap where you eat.'

Tsumi was a little shocked as he stared out after the number of Toffs completely passing him by. That number usually got him at least a small line-up. Ears laying, he huffed silently, before a throat cleared sharply behind him.

Pausing, the mog turned about, to be faced with a rounded middle, which he stepped back from. His repositioning brought into view the amused grin of a tall, rather dapper wolf in very smart black garb and knowing grey eyes behind a pair of simple glasses. With the belt-loose's attention, the wolf slipped his top-hat onto a nearby hook.

'Oh! Mister Forest, sir!' The boy squeaked in honest surprise. 'So sorry, kupo! What can I do you for?' The mog smiled, as the wolf leaned in a moment and gave him a brief hug. It didn't usually do for accountants to hug street urchins, after all.

'Just the usual, I think.' Rumbled the wolf, helping himself to the chair and groaning as it reclined smoothly beneath him.

'Right away, sir!' The mog smiled, tugging out the handkerchief from his pocket and laying it out over the box-top before he slid it beneath the wolf's heels.

Wagging his tail through the hole designed for such, Forest smiled pleasently as the young mog clambered up into position, starting to delicately fold open his coat and vest. Even with the shirt still holding to the head-accountant's, Tsumi knew his powerful acquaintance had all but made the most of the cheap food-offer of the nearby brothel.

'I knew ma'am was 'avin' a buffet, guv. Not an all-you-can eat.' oggled the boy, unbuttoning the silk-shirt and rubbing over the rounded belly. Normally soft, it now was quite beyond padded. 'Hope'n y'don't mind an extra couple deaners for this, sir.'

'Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, Tsumi. Provided you have any news for me?' The wolf smiled, easing a few coins into the belt-loose's pocket before resting back. One of his hands reached up, taking the fine glasses from his muzzle-bridge, to take to with a cloth of such finery that the handkerchief beneath his boots rather came across as refuse.

Looking to the face of his acquaintance, the mog's hands paused for a moment or two. It was a little startling how the simple lack of glasses changed the wolf's features. Seeming that much harder, sharper..

'Plenty, mister. Street's been abuzz the past couple days. The lady, Fancy-fawn and Mecks Luggers are all gett'n the squint from the beaks. Hear there's a raid or two commin'.'

The wolf tutted gently, his handkerchief returning to his pocket. His hand lifted to grasp the moogle's frozen hands, and eased them against the bared, snowy fur beneath them, grinning and rumbling lowly, particularly as he saw the young urchin's eyes widen a little. He'd felt it in an instant. Something was struggling in there.

The moogle blushed for several moments. His fingertips curled gently, feeling the distinct bulges slothenly roiling about beneath his palms. Whether under their own power, or the wolves, he couldn't tell.

'Wasn't aware Ma'am had buffets like that, sir.' swallowed the young mog. He was not altogether unfamiliar with people ending up under his paws, though it was still somewhat.. harrowing to feel. The accountant grinned gently.

'Quite. Rather a fine meal, for this part of town, if I do say so myself.' Forest rumbled contently, his silver eyes sweeping the street a moment, before his hand lifted, grasping behind the moogle's back, and pulling the young belt-loose against his swollen belly. The rumbling town lowered to an almost  whisper.

'A fine meal, delivered by an even finer young Judy. Long ears on her, and the cutest little puff-tail.' He reminisced, unable to help his tongue tracing his lips, as saliva evidently built up in spades to the memory of his meal.

Frozen in place, the moogle could only listen as his acquaintance's hand kept firmly pressed between his wings. Slowly kneading, the wolf rubbed the small form against his stomach, groaning soundly and eliciting several thick, audible gurgles to escape beneath the cushy, domed flesh. Tsumi shivered, with the warm, furred flesh pressed up about his sides some, swallowing as he swore he could hear the faintest of whimpers from amid the bubbly soup beneath him. He near mimicked that sound as he felt the wolf's broad hand slowly kneading him in place. Finger-tips splaying, flexing his claws just so against his wings and shirted back.

'Er-.. M-Master Forest? Sir?' the urchin squeaked. The wolf's eyes blinked a moment, and his reverie apparently broke. The broad, predatorial shadowy that crossed his grinning face for a moment receding as he slipped his all-but forgotten glasses back onto his muzzle-bridge.

Shivering faintly, the wolf looked down to the mog and relaxed his face into a smile.

'Mnh.. So sorry about that, my dear boy. I do get a little.. carried away when I have a meal that.. succulent.' His tongue once more traced his lips, whilst his hand ruffled the scarlet-faced moogle before relaxing back to his side.

'N- Not at all, mister. S-so as I was uh-.. as I was sayin'.. The beaks and blue bottles're really crackin' down on the eat-easies.. Didn't have no clue Ma'am was becommin' a Gulpin' Ken.' The mog murmured honestly, hands kneading firmly about the belly, though they shivered whenever he felt a bulge beneath him. Already though, in those few moments, the mass had softened. His hands sinking deeper as the wolf rumbled.

'Mhm.. with times being so hard, she's had a number of new ladybirds through her doors. So, she said she could.. spare a few.' The wolf grinned, watching the moogle swallow. 'Tell me. Have you heard anything about a Mr. Hunter?'

The urchin looked up from his work, though he remembered to keep his paws in motion. His fingers finding the point that the broad belly tautened, and kneaded his fingertips deeper, spreading and squeezing the flesh slowly.

'E's that new real estate mogul, inn'ee?' Tsumi quipped, getting a slow nod from the wolf. 'S'a bit of chatter floating about him. Lotsa people've heard of 'im, but they won't talk. E's got business everywhere. Down the docks, even in some o' the warehouses. 'asn't approached me yet, though.' The mog smiled.

Forest's eyes lay closed as he took the information in, nodding and groaning faintly. The expertise of those hands kneading his belly doing wonders for him. A sleepy torpor threatening to haze his mind as he licked his lips again, smiling. In the back of his mind, he could still feel the struggles of the squeaking lapine as she slid over the back of his tongue. The taste of her, exquisite, if a little over-rich..

When he felt the moogle finally relent on his belly, he watched the boy slipping down to his boots, already finely kept, and giving them a perfunctory once-over, re-shining here or there and smiling.

'There y'go, Master Forest, sir. As always, a pleasure.' The Belt-loose tipped his hat gently, before the wolf lifted a hand for assistance getting up.

Taking it, the mog's smile faltered, as the wolf, rather than pulling himself up, purposely pulled the young urchin down against his pillowy belly, rumbling gently and smirking almost nose to nose with his young acquaintance.

'Oh, the pleasure was all mine, as usual, Tsumi. Perhaps next time, buffet pending, you will too.' He rumbled lowly, slowly tracing his tongue along the mog's face, smearing the light fur. Albeit a little grimey, there was a delightfully fresh, sweet tang to the boy.

Frozen against the wolf, Tsumi could only squeak, barely aware as the accountant eased to his feet ponderously, and gently eased the mog's buckled shoes to the ground too. Brushing the belt-loose's shoulders gently, the lupine began re-doing his clothes back up. Licking his lips once more and considering the taste lingering there, he tugged a five-pound note from his pocket to ease into the urchin's.

'Until then, Tsumi.' Forest smiled, the broad grin replaced by that relaxed, good-natured smile as he   slipped his hat back on and passed the boy, tail wagging quite keenly from beneath his pristine black coat as he made down the street, humming the tune of the urchin's song.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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by Mooglit

A gift story to compliment a picture the wonderful forest-wolf did for me when we were chatting several nights ago.

Here we find a young street-urchin in the middle of victorian-era london, a well-practiced belt-loose. A belt-loose being a term for one who rubs bellies of the rich. Kind of similar to a shoe-shine. Also similar in being a veritable well of gossip and information from around town. Always an important thing in a town where there's a predatory prohibition in effect.

And in such hard times, no job is without risks, including this one!

There's alot of Slang and Jargon from Victorian-era London contained within. Let me know if you don't know what on earth is being said. :D~

Keywords
male 639,698, wolf 111,544, vore 14,636, badger 3,243, moogle 2,112, suggestive 2,015, digestion 1,593, victorian 353, belly-rubber 1, street-urchin 1
Details
Type: Writing - Document
Published: 4 years, 3 months ago
Rating: General

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