I worked at a local water park in my first year of university. When I first got the job, I thought I’d be selling drinks at the kiosk or telling kids not to run by the pool or whatever. But no, I was told to turn up on Saturday morning and put on the mascot costume. Buddy Beaver.

I turn up on the day wondering whether I would last the whole shift, let alone the whole season. 

The park manager, Frankie, shows me to a small changeroom area with some lockers and a small fridge. Some costumes are hanging in the corner and a bench is partitioned in the middle.

“Blokes that side,” Frankie says, “the ladies on this side. The shower is through there. Take a break every two hours and finish at three. Any questions?”

“Sounds fine to me,” I say.

As Frankie shows me around, a  young woman walks in, about my age. Short blonde hair and very fit looking. She wore running shorts and a white tee shirt. She threw her bag on the bench and then smiled at me.

“You must be the new guy?” she said, “I’m Chelsea. Frankie tell you how hot you’re going to be?”

“Hi, I’m Tim,” I replied, suddenly unsure of myself.

“Didn’t Frankie tell you there were two of us?” she asked, “you’re Buddy Beaver. I’m Betty. Don’t worry, just get your costume on.  I’ll talk you through it.”

“Well, if you two have this under control,” Frankie interrupted,” I’ll get on with my work. Twenty minutes, Chels, don’t be late.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Chelsea waves him off.

I put on the costume and realise how hot it’s going to be. Before I put the head on, Chelsea brings me a Gatorade.

“You’re going to sweat buckets,” she tells me, “get this into you.”

The first two-hour swing goes pretty quickly. All we have to do is wave at kids as they come in, and mostly they ignore us. We head back inside the changing room. As soon as we can, we take the heads off and unzip our costumes to our waists. Chelsea’s white tee shirt is soaked in sweat and stuck to her.  I find myself staring at her tits, visible through her shirt.

“Getting a good look there, Buddy Beaver,” she accuses me.

“Oh, sorry,” I say.

I curse myself for getting caught and feel like an absolute idiot. I grab a drink and sit around the other side of the bench. 

“Don’t feel bad,” she reassures me, “everyone who works with me sneaks a peek.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” I tell her, “How long have you worked here?”

“Four years,” she replied, "since I was sixteen.”

“Always in the beaver suit?”

“Yep, when I got here I was a gymnast. I had acne, braces and no tits. So Frankie put me in here. Same reason you’d be in here. You’re pretty skinny.”

“It’s like that, is it?”

“Not totally. Frankie’s OK,” she said, “he’s all above board, but everyone has to look the part.”

“You look the part now,” I tell her. 

“Don’t tell Frankie,” she says. “Nobody wants to sit at the top of a water slide all day. Come on. Time  to get back out there.”

The rest of the day passes slowly. By the time we come back in, I feel like a puddle. I strip off the costume as Chelsea hands me another Gatorade and switches on a fan. 

“Another perk is there are some beers in the fridge,” she tells me, “but get a bit of this into you before you have one. I don’t want to carry you out.”

She sits on the bench beside me as we rehydrate.

“So, how did I go?” I ask her. 

“Well, you didn’t collapse, or swear at any kids, so you’re probably gonna be alright to come back next week.”

“That’s good,” I replied, “I need the job.”

“Go and get in the shower.  I’ll grab us a beer.”

“Do you want to go first?”

“It’s big enough for both of us. Go on in.”

I’m unsure what to make of that comment, but I do as I’m told and go to the shower area. It is big enough for two, maybe more. I strip off my sweaty clothes and throw them in a pile. I turn the cold water on and step under, closing my eyes as cool water runs all over me. When I open my eyes, Chelsea is standing in front of me, holding two beers. Completely naked. She hands me a beer as she steps under the cold water. 

She drinks the whole bottle quickly and then places it on the floor. She kisses me passionately, stroking my hard cock.

“I lost the braces and the acne,” she tells me,” and my tits finally grew when I quit gymnastics, but I’ve still got a trick or two.”

She runs her hands down my chest and grips my hips as she manoeuvers into a squat. Bracing herself in front of me she lowers her pussy onto the beer bottle and lets out a low moan. Sliding up and down on the bottle as she takes my cock in her mouth. Soon she settles into a rhythm, the muscles in her strong legs rippling as she gives me the best blow job of my life. I feel her fingers dig into the backs of my legs as she moans onto my cock. Never once does she break the almost airtight seal on my cock. 

“Ohhhhh,” I let out a huge groan as I shot a load into her. 

She lets my cock slip out of her mouth as she rises again, kissing up my body until our lips meet again. 

“Does Buddy Beaver have it in him to fuck Betty Beaver?” Chelsea asks teasingly. 

“Yes, he does,” I answer. 

“Good,” she says, “Now don’t go slow, my boyfriend picks me up at four.”

She wraps a leg around me, drawing me in tight. My dick finds its way into her tight pussy. As talented as Chelsea was with her mouth, she was ten times that with her pussy. We step towards a wall to get some extra traction. Soon she has both legs around me, her thighs squeezing me and driving me fucking faster. 

Soon, she presses her mouth into my shoulder, stifling a moan. Her pussy contracting around my cock finishes me. My moan is not stifled. 

As we untangle, I try to thank Chelsea. She puts her finger on my lips to shush me. We finish our shower and get dressed.

As we leave the water park Frankie yells to Chelsea.

“How did the new bloke go, Chels?”

“Pretty good, Frankie,” she replied. “Worth sticking with..” 

She smiled slyly at me as she said it. 

“Good. See you both next week.”

I went back the next week and every week for the next two years. Every shift ended the same, with Chelsea turning her gymnastic skills into mind-blowing sex. I never once saw her outside of work. I didn’t even have her phone number. Hell, I don’t think I ever knew her surname. But for two years we were Buddy and Betty Beaver, and it was unforgettable.