It’s the most comfortable ride in all of Ivalice.

	It’s not the fastest way across the planet, sure. An Airship is cheaper, and will get you across the globe in hours, where the train takes days. The heavy seat, tubby, pig-like race known as Seeq have a reputation for being penny-pinchers, money-grubbers, rude and all around for profit. So perhaps I was a bit out of place in the dining cart.

	My name is Marty. By appearance, I’m no different from any other Seeq you might find at your local markets. Some would say fat, I would say Healthy. Rotund even. 250, 280 pounds, somewhere in there. Nice healthy creamy belly, good strong blue mottled back. Can’t help the fat look, It’s in my people’s genes after all. I do a lot of my own work though. I’ve earned my riches, So I’ve got the endurance of the finest chocobo, I assure you. I don’t dress any different either. Simple sheepskin loincloth so I don’t.. ahem, offend the other more sensitive races. Our bodies get damned hot.

	So.. Given the slobbish reputation of my kind, and given that I well.. Looked no more refined then the next seeq, I found it no surprise that I was waiting for service. No one wants to serve a rude, lousy tipper. I was used to this sort of.. ahem, reluctance. I thought I could hear the word seeq a few times spoken in the next cart. Though, That’s likely my imagination. Imagining perhaps one waiter or two arguing with the manager about who has to serve me. I don’t mind though. I’m used to it. And this was a relatively comfortable dining cart after all. A lovely view of the rumbling thunderstorm just outside, covering the grassy plains in cooling rain. My personal thoughts were interrupted by the sweetest little child’s voice.

	“Hay, You’ve been sitting here forever, kupo!” I looked down, and there was the sweetest little fuzzy thing. A moogle of course, sky blue fur, no doubt dyed, bright icy eyes. The kind of impish yet sweet smile only the truly young could still have. Dressed in a blue vest and puffy red pants. With a curved sword on his belt, it’s possible he wasn’t as young as he looked or sounded. It’s hard to tell with his kind sometimes. And his fuzzy pom. Who could forget that perfectly fuzzy, bouncy little ball. The sunflower yellow fuzz didn’t match the moogle’s otherwise blue theme at all, but that somehow made it perfectly okay.

	I reached down to touch, I had to touch. My palm against his cheek confirmed for me, His poofy cheek fur felt just as cloudy and soft as it had looked. I assured the boy, “That I have,” I snorted. An amused one, My kind can’t help snorting anymore then moogles can help doing that bubbly, rapid adorable kupo-ish noise they make. “But I’m patient. Hungry [snort], but patient, my little friend.”

	The moogle seemed to enjoy my touch, and I think he even rested his cheek in my palm, for just a moment. That sweet smile of his grew mischievous, And he told me, “Let me help, kupo. I can get you some good food right quick, big friend!” I was sure he was teasing me, using my casual title for him in kind to me, but my heart didn’t care. He was chancing calling me, a seeq, in a positive way. He turned, and I watched his tiny tail as he bounced his way to the cook’s cart. He returned with the slow-paced chef following behind. The chef had green smooth skin. A Tonberry, a race once called monsters, today more known for being natural cooks and chefs then stabby murderers in the dark. Still, the way he clutched the kitchen knife in his green fingers, It put me on a bit of edge. The little moogle didn’t seem afraid through, he seemed proud, pulling up a taller, short-race designed chair up to my table.

	The chef spoke, “Mine apologiez, mon ami, Ze serv-airez.. Zey ez intimidés by your gut! Cependant, I vill compensate, Zis meal, It ez on me if I may have your erm.. grâce? indulgence? forgeeevnes. Yes, That ez it. Your forgeeevnes. Vous and vous petite gosse!” The chef’s accent was thicker then my.. ahem, we’ll get to that part later. I sort of understood, I looked across the table to my little friend, who winked to me, and told the chef tonberry he wanted a nice tart flan. I told him I wanted a nice rare steak with the chef’s favorite sauce. The stout green guy seemed to like hearing that, and stepped carefully back to chef’s cart.

	I was absolutely curious of course, so I asked the fluffy little critter, “That was really kind of ya! [snort] I’m impressed! What’d ya tell em?”

	The moogle braced his paws on the table and looked accross back to me, and told me, “I’ve been tipping well right? Well, I told ‘em you were my adopted father, kupo, and that I didn’t like getting such sloooowww slow service after a good day yesterday!” Heh. It’s hard to remember moogles scheme and scam quite a bit between those adorable, rabbit like ears. I knew I was a tool to his design to get a free meal, But I did not mind at all. He was after all, kind enough to share the spoils of his scam with me. And of course. He wern’t the only clever one in the cart.

	“Ooooh, I see. Daddy now is it? What kinda ride you got? How long you got?” Now I never prided myself on any sort of poker face. I said this through the widest of grins, head resting on my arms braced on the table. The little moogle told me he was riding coach, which I think is just awful. “Coach? [snort] How’d ya like to ride with me kiddo? I got a bed. I got a private cart! We can take this daddy thing as far as you want.”

	They might be floppy, but they’re good ears. They heard the boy’s tail thumping on his stool. “Kuu popokupo! I mean! I’d love to! Really kupo!” He seemed so excited I figured he could hardly speak. That’s good. I was so excited it’d be indecent exposure if I stood up. Good not to be alone on that. Our food arrived. I could spend a paragraph or two telling you about the chef’s supreme skill, how we stuffed ourselves, how I left the biggest tip in my life, But that’s not what I want to write about, and I’m sure that’s not what you want to read about.

	On our way through the coach carts, though the private booth carts, the train lurched, the little critter lost his balance and his little face landed right on my rump. It lingered there too. Nice warm air pushed right through the crack of my fat bottom. I wash every day, But it was late, so I know it couldn’t have smelled polite under my tail back there. This made me smile, and snort to the blue boy, “Ya okay back there?”

	He stood straight up, like he was shocked, and quickly chirped, “Y-yeah, kupo! Fine!” I peeked behind me. He was absolutely cute, especially the way his blushing red color crawled up the inner lobes of his long ears. I let my short tufted tail give him a tickle on the nose, and we continued on. The private carts were double deckers, one rich guy on the top, and this rich seeq on the bottom.

	I showed him my cart. Everything one could expect from a full living space. A dresser with a mirror, nice long couch, biiiig big fluffy chocobo down bed, too. curtained off was even a toilet and a big shower stall. Big enough for man of my.. ahem, rotund stature to move and sit comfortably in. I’d already hung my loincloth by now, Little moogle nosing, sniffing, touching everything with such a childlike curiosity. I was crawling in the bed, yawning, covering myself when I told him, “Make yourself at home, Kiddo, I’m a heavy sleeper. [snort] Blankets in the drawers, soaps in the shower.”

	I’ve no clue too much what the little cutie did after that. I was tired. I had eaten a wonderful meal after all, I could feel it’s weight in my tummy. THe dull clacking of wheels over traintracks were almost hypnotic, too. I needed time to let my body work on my meal a bit, So I was right sleeping, on the spot. The moogle could have robbed me blind and I wouldn’t have noticed.

	Of course.. Sleeping right after supper has its hazards. A hazy dream with far too many rivers, rainfalls and lakes later, I woke with a pressure in my bladder something fierce. I sat upright, My eyes adjusting to the haze of light, My mind adjusting to the haze of reality. THat’s when I heard it.. A bit faint, but as I focused more out of my dream and into where I was now, I could hear something.. familiar. A sort of faint, mute wet slapping noise I knew so well in the back of my mind I simply couldn't quite recall.

	Conveniently, The peculiar noise was coming from behind the washroom curtain, which was exactly where I needed to take my bladder. Between the curtains through, I decided to peek, and there was the most wonderful sight ever. On the toilet- On MY toilet, was the little moogle I’d nearly forgotten I sorta kidnapped. There was the moogle boy, eyes closed in intense concentration, his little paw grasping his slender, animal like red flesh, pumping furiously. I could see jets of his preseed squirt up into the air in quick spritzes. I’d never seen pre that watery- Mine’s rather thick you see.

	Well.. This was the best time to.. break the ice, so they say. I half closed my eyes, pretended to still be mostly asleep, and I pushed aside the curtains, holding my semi-swollen shaft in my hand, I stood over the very startled moogle, simply letting go. I could feel my own cock swell with fluid, Nice wide peeslit bursting out with a thick, powerful stream of piss that just blasted the boy’s chest, soaking his fur a nice neat shade of yellow. That nice, pleasant salty musk got to my nose before the feeling of relief. I ventured a glance down. The cute little guy looked indignant, or was trying to, ears all folded back, a disappointed grimace on his muzzle. I could see the smile tugging the edges of his lips though, And his cock I swore had only gotten more stiff. I offered a modest little apology, “Whoops, Sorry lil guy,” I snorted, having trouble not grinning, “Didn’t see you down there.”

	His fur was soaked. The blue color I described earlier? It was dye. That blue color only covered his limbs, and everything above his neck. The rest of his fur was white. Was white anyway, before I soaked it down in a thick torrent of piss. His grimace seemed to morph into that odd little grin, The kind the devil himself gets before a wicked deed. He placed one little paw over the fat head of my shaft, which bobbed eagerly, pushing back against his palm. “You know I get to do the same to you, right, Kupo? It’s the only way we’ll be even!” The moogle leaped off my toilet, and my own cock slapped the underside of my hefty gut, springing up to life. I really thought that was going to be the closest this little cutie would let me at em. Moogles are alwase very suprising unpredictable things though.

	I planted my cushy rump down in the toilet seat, takeing up the position I’d found the little moogle before, And he just up and stood on my legs over me, Fur all dripping with my pungent scent. My big hands steaded his smaller form over my body, While he took aim with his little cocklet. His pee had a lighter color as it flowed fourth, Moogle having fun aiming his stream over my chest so it’d flow down my belly. He continued watering my lap, Aiming for the head of my stiff girth, His pee mixing with thick preseed already drizzling from my own fat cockhead.  His stream grew weak, but he decided to squat down, and then set, right in my lap, stradling the girth of my shaft, Warm, fuzzy little cheeks hugging my cock. It was just lovely, His stream dying down, both of our chests dripping with a salty dirty smell.

	His hips were rocking. He was such a little tease, back and fourth, soft bum caressing my length. His fuzzy pom bounced on my snout a few times, and I snorted. I suppose moogles have sensitive poms, because when that warm breath blew his antennae back, those little arms of his clung to my wet gut. Short on shame, I grabbed for a nice handfull of mooglebutt. “Feel good down there lil guy? You’re pokein’ my belly with that cute lil’ cock ‘o yours.” I whispered along his antennae. Just as I’d hoped, His ears filled with a nice, pretty shade of red, embarrassed. A bit rough perhaps, but I was feeling brave, empowered. Possessive even. A chubby digit from my palm snuck between the cheeks of his rump, tip of my finger tracing around the rim of his soft little pucker. A bit oily to the touch, I remember, But so warm, warm enough my head swelled with impossable thoughts. My cock head mind you, I don’t think my noggin head were working anymore.

	“Kupo.” He puffed over me, breaking me from my moment of mindless lust. “Dah.. Daddy gunna.. Stuff his little boy?” I guess that’s just what I needed to hear at that moment. Both my palms now had nice big handfulls of his fuzzy rump, lifting his body. I lowered him down, Dribbly thick head of my shaft resting just on the button of his tiny butthole, The fluttery, tickly feeling of his tiny tail flutteirng over my head. I’d have skewered the poor boy right then too if reason didn’t interrupt me. A little moment of sanity in this insane fit of lust.

	I asked my little moogle pal a very important question. “Hay.. You sure there pal? I get a little wild.” I’d snorted, this time against his cheek. “Havin a happy lil buddy is a lot more important to me then havin’ a hurt hot little fuck.” I tried to make my words as tender as I could, Which isn’t easy for a piglike race like mine, Especially when you got your cock nudging and teasing the hottest little asshole you’ve ever known in your life.

	Those little paws of his grasped my cheeks, held me in place, and the sweetest set of lips pressed to my flat snout, a kiss that made me absolutely melt. We have veeery sensitive noses you know. When his lips pulled away, I remember his words- I’ll always remember his words. So smutty but so sweet to hear from such a little body. “I’ll be alright. I wanna be your little fuckbuddy, kupo! An if I get hurt, I’ll still be your pal, I promise. But I’m not a little frail goblet, kupo! So you really can FUCK me.” He chirrped for me, His legs let my gut go, so gravity would pull him down. He grunted, he strained, he even pushed, And without my help at all, It happened!

	The most perfect warmth, the most perfect squeeze, slick, slick oily walls all around the fat mushroom of my cockhead. Not a drop of slime oil or lube at all, Just his sweat, my preseed.. Maybe something else in there to help things along. Something oily, something /dirty/. THat was it, too. That moogle practically begged for it, And he broke me, He broke my sanity, he broke my restraint. 

	I’d grabbed his hips in my palms, and just pulled, sending a big surge of horny seeq flesh deep, deep into his guts, Alllll the way inside his body, my hips ground up against his bottom. It might have been my imagination, But I could swore I could see a nice outline of cock pushing against his tummy. I watched his little body squirm and struggle with my size, grinning all the while. There was pain, I could tell that, But the guy wouldn’t stop grinning himself. I think he liked the pain a bit, His legs all wiggling, wings all aflutter. I blew over his fuzzy pom, And he rewarded me by clamping his little rump all around my shaft!

	His struggles were growing calm, his hyper breath slowing.. little bubbly kupo-kupo noises fell from his lips now and then, I think he was trying to talk.. Around all those noises though, he managed to tell me “D-d.. d-don’t stop Papa.. Ssssstuff me, kupo!” And so I stuffed him, Just like he demanded, bouncing my hips up, bouncing his little form on my thickness. I grabbed and held his squirty cocklet in my smooth hand, My shaft forcing loud, lewd sputtery noises. He wasn’t clean inside, I could smell the earthen sort of dirty scent, but it was only a flavor added to the musky sweat, the lusty stink of sex, the salty flavor of piss.. We were dirty, We were sleezy, we were having fun, and we loved it, ever moment, every bounce and push, every time my huge girth managed to hilt itself into that impossibly tight little moogle hole, everytime his body sqweezed so desperately, I loved it, even the dirty noises I forced from the boy, I loved it, And I know he loved it too.

	I know he loved it, Because all too too quickly, I could feel his shaft swell up in my hand, Swell like mine did before, Except he had a thicker load to shoot. And it shot forcefully, moogle’s cream splattering against my chest. As he was shooting, he got so tight, He squeezed so hard around my shaft, I felt my own balls pull up.. one, maybe two more bounces, And I pulled him down, filling his bowels with my own cream, Giving my boy a thick, hot spoogey enema right there! Our orgasms were quick, bestial, needy.. At the same time, we both slumped, I down on the toilet, him against my chest, his piss damp fur sticking against the spoogey mess he left on my belly. I still had his spent little shaft in my hand, but it soon slipped out, back to his sheath. I’d long grown soft, but I was naturally thick enough to stay in his tight rear, even while soft. I could feel him leaking around my, leaking over my balls, leaking my cream, laced and marbled with dirty moogle mess.

	We relaxed, just like that, bathing in the warmth of after glow. Two sweaty, sticky guys just holding one another, stinking of the sleeziest kind of sex. When I glanced down, There he was, looking up to me with that precious little smile of his. We didn’t need anymore words really. What we needed was a shower, and we were in no rush to have one of those. I must of held my little buddy in my lap, sitting on that toilet for what must have been hours. Because it wern’t until the light of the sun started shining though the dull old train windows that I stood with him, My limp flesh falling from his abused, leaky little rear. I carried him to the shower, and he let me take care of him, soaping up his fur, scrubbing his feets, playing with his little butt a little more. He cleaned his own antennae, And he even scrubbed my back for me.

	We napped, in the bed together, Until we were woken up by the steward’s voice over the loudspeaker. It was his stop. He hastily scrawled out his address on a little piece of paper and pecked me on the cheek.

	I haven’t seen my little moogle in three years now. Business you see. Busy busy busy. Today I’m retired, and today, I’m scared out of my wits end. The taxi I’m riding in has stopped, and I look up at a rather.. ahem, impressive manor. This is the address that was scrawled out on that little paper the moogle gave to me. But that was three years ago. A lot can change in three years. People can move out, people can have families, new lovers. People can even forget. There’s a thousand reasons why I should just tell the taxi driver to take me back the airships, But there’s one reason why I’m getting out right now. That little moogle might be there, waiting for me.

	I’m getting out of the taxi now. Wish me luck!