Walkies - 8K (Patreon)

Deep in her Monday paperwork, Rebecca has no time for Baloo's foolishness. It's bad enough that he wrecked the Sea Duck again and lost all its cargo to the air pirate, but now she has to put up with his shenanigans around the office until the plane is airworthy again. As usual, Baloo wanders in around noon, still reeking of whichever dive bar he'd stumbled out of in the early morning hours.

Baloo: Top o' the mornin' to yuh, Beckers.

The overweight bear leans against the office door frame, tipping the rim of his flight cap with his index finger in a half-hearted salute. Rebecca says nothing, ignoring the already half-sauced drunkard as he produces a flask from his back pocket. Taking a slug of whatever cheap liquor was on sale this week, Baloo faux shivers in enjoyment, and then tilts the flask towards his employer.

Baloo: Lil' liquid breakfast, boss lady?

Rebecca: It's noon, Baloo.

Baloo: Fine. Suit yourself. Over the lips, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes!

Baloo turns up the flask, yet again making the same full-body shiver of enjoyment.

Rebecca: Is there something I can help you with? I'm a little busy here.

Rebecca gestures at the stacks of invoices and bills of lading that cover her desk. Baloo, in stereotypical dirty-old-man fashion, eyes the she-bear's expanse of exposed cleavage with a raised eyebrow, smirking as his eyes then gravitate to his crotch. Rebecca wrinkles her nose in revulsion, an expression that clearly communicates "Not even if you were the last bear on earth."

Baloo: As you say…  Crashed my aeroplane.  Now I got nothin’ better to do.

A little sneer of a smile crosses Baloo's face, having both successfully tormented and repulsed the she-bear yet again...he'd long since figured out that he isn't going to get into her pants any time soon, and nowadays just torments her for the sport of it. Looking around the deserted warehouse, Baloo pouts out his lower lip with an expression of faux concern before turning back to his boss.

Baloo: So, where's that young, lil' cub of ours at? Ain't he supposed to be workin' today?

Rebecca: Since you wrecked my plane, and his job is obviously to load cargo onto said plane, I give him the day off.

The bear completely ignores the backhanded comment, frowning as he swirls his now empty flask.

Baloo: Oh, by the way... G'know he got a new dog? Yeah... Was walkin' past his place last night on the way home and heard the thing barkin' and carryin' on.

Rebecca said nothing, looking down at her desk. Baloo, however, notices the flutter of her eyelids, betraying her seemingly uninterested outward appearance. He knows full well what sort of a freakish streak Rebecca has... The stiffened walk she so desperately tries to disguise when she wears her favorite butt-toy to work. The false bottom in the drawer of her desk, full of all manner of vibrating, manhood-shaped cylinders. Even the Shibari-style rope-suit she tries to hide beneath all those layers of businesswoman's attire.

Baloo: Quite the howler he's got there. Could hear that thing yowlin' and yappin' a block away.

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Original Art by VylfGor

Colors and Edits by Phillipthe2