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Olin's Friday night
🕑 Added 2025-03-01 01:00:41 +0000 UTCExclusive for Patrons of Zippers (and all the naughty minds who keep our servers busy after hours)
The zipper hissed down the back of his bodysuit with a slow, deliberate zzzzziiip, peeling away his work uniform like the skin of a ripe peach. The restaurant was closed, the lights dimmed, the only glow spilling from lion’s camera, its little red recording light blinking like a heartbeat.
Olin stretched across the bed, his long tail curling, pale pink skin glistening in the soft sheen of sweat from a long shift of balancing trays and bending low to wipe spilled drinks off tables, always aware of how customers' eyes followed the bounce and sway of his “borrowed” curves in the suit. But now? Now it was just him and Owen, no clothing, no fake tits, no forced smile for the tourists snapping pics.
Tonight, the real Olin was the star of the show.
Comments
Jan Baer
He looks incredibly mice
Anonymous Anomani
Hufff
