"Boss! Come quick! Bessie's messed herself up good!"
"Son of a bitch," Jimmy muttered, throwing down his pencil. One wouldn't think that being a farmer involved much paperwork but it did, more than one might think. Taxes, licenses, goods and supplies to be bought, produce to be sold, planting schedules to be kept track of... the list went on and on. Jimmy didn't mind the physical labor of farming but he hated doing paperwork. Now that he'd psyched himself up to it wasn't the time for an interruption. But Carty wouldn't have burst in if it weren't important.
On his way out the front door Jimmy grabbed an ancient, battered Stetson from the hat rack and jammed it down on his head. The province of West Mazama was better known for its rain than its sun but Jimmy had a very fair, almost pallid complexion, and he'd fry like a rasher of bacon given even the slightest provocation. There were lotions and such not, but covering up carefully cost less and served nearly as well.
Carty waited by the donkey, which was a small, six wheeled vehicle with balloon tires, a bench seat, and a tip bed. The donkey's combination of small size, low ground pressure, and excellent maneuverability made it excellent for getting into places where the truck, or even a tractor, might get bogged down. Such as down in the lower fields, near the stream, where the ground could get positively gluey.
As soon as Jimmy's bottom touched the seat Carty stomped the accelerator and they took off. Jimmy held onto his hat; the donkey didn't go especially fast but it did bounce around a lot. Carty kept both hands on the wheel; in any case he wasn't wearing a hat, nor even shirt: he managed with naught but a pair of overalls. He didn't need any more; his rugged, nut brown hide resisted the sun far better than did Jimmy's.
Carty was a Morph, which meant that he combined elements of human and animal in his construction. In Carty's case, the animal in question was a horse. His head was unquestionably that of a horse; he had hooves, and even a tail, poking through a slit in the back of his overalls, though he kept it bobbed. In between, he looked human: two arms, to legs, upright posture, and so on. He was covered with fine, chestnut hair, just like an actual horse would be. Also, he was big. He stood a full head taller than Jimmy, who may not have been a giant or anything but certainly wasn't a shrimp, either. He outweighed Jimmy by a good two and a half times, every gram of it solid, rock-hard muscle. His trunk was as thick and solid as a tree's, his arms and legs massive and powerful. He'd been working, so he smelled like a horse, too. Jimmy didn't notice; having spent most of his adult life in Carty's company he'd gotten used to it. Besides, if Jimmy had been out in the fields working he'd have smelled just as bad.
The trip didn't take long. Around the barn, down the hill, across the creek on the old stone bridge, and into the pasture where Jimmy grazed (non-Morph) sheep and horses when he had them. At the moment he didn't; the pasture's sole occupant was Bessie, the farm's milk cow. No sooner had they reached the gate then Jimmy knew something was terribly wrong. Bessie lay in a heap near the fence; Jimbo, the other farmhand, crouched beside her.
"What happened?" Jimmy demanded as the donkey slid to a stop.
"She stepped in a gopher hole, boss," Jimbo replied, shaking his head sadly. He looked like nothing so much as an older version of Carty. One might even think they were father and son- if one didn't know they were both geldings. Jimmy knew a dozen operators who'd swear up and down that their intact horse Morph stallions did ten times the work an equal number of geldings but they all had crews of human overseers. Even cold blood stallions were prone to violence and Jimmy worked his spread all by his lonesome. Carty and Jimbo did enough work and they were gentle souls despite their hulking appearances. Jimmy wasn't about to upset a system that fit everyone involved as comfortably as old jeans. He'd already had his share of civil strife with Darla, thank you very much.
"Son of a bitch," Jimmy muttered, pulling off his hat and scratching his dirty brown hair. Bessie hadn't just stepped in a hole. She'd stepped in a hole and snapped her leg like a dry twig. The hoof on her right foreleg flopped loosely; blood stained her hide where jagged bone ends had torn right through it. "Somebody get the rifle," he said, squatting down on his heels and fanning himself with his hat. Three bloody milk cows lost to gophers in six months. Twelve hundred Tars down the bloody drain.
Carty offered the rifle butt first. Jimmy rose and took it, drawing the bolt and inspecting the chamber before loading a round. He put the rifle to his shoulder, flicked off the safety, and stroked the trigger. Crows in the field took flight at the sharp report. Jimbo caught the spent cartridge out of the air when Jimmy drew the bolt to eject it. "If that son of a bitch who sold us those worthless gopher traps ever comes back around, I swear I'll put a bullet in him too."
"Amen to that," Jimbo muttered, his ears flicking back.
Jimmy sighed heavily, thumping the rifle's butt into the ground and leaning on it like a cane. "Nothing for it, I guess. Dress her up like the last one. At least with the county fair coming up maybe I can buy a new one without getting scalped too badly."
Jimmy walked slowly past the line of pens, sipping at an iced lemonade, admiring the beautiful cows. Beautiful, expensive cows. Every time he looked at one he saw it sprawled on its side, some leg or the other flopping loosely, bleeding from a perforated fracture. Every time that vision came to him he felt an acute pain in his wallet.
"Say, buddy. You looking for some dairy livestock?"
Jimmy turned. A small, skinny fellow with a Kaiser Bill moustache and a loud sports jacket stood there, grinning insincerely with a set of gleaming white, perfect teeth. City slicker, Jimmy thought. "Maybe," he allowed. "What's it to ya?" He didn't feel particularly social right now, especially not to a hopped up city kid like this.
"I happen to have some that I guarantee you is a better deal that any of this lot," the stranger said with a contemptuous sniff at the penned cows.
"Really." Jimmy crossed his arms. "How could you be so sure? You don't exactly look like the farming sort."
"I ain't," the stranger countered. "I work at a germ plasm lab."
Jimmy uncrossed his arms. Germ plasm labs produced Morphs. That being so it wasn't at all inconceivable that the stranger was telling the plain truth. But then why was he hawking his wares at the Brooks county fair, a place not exactly in the center of things even by local standards?
The stranger's grin widened. He knew he'd piqued Jimmy's interest. "I hear you lost a cow to gophers," he said.
"How-" Jimmy began, then cut himself off, cursing silently. Because if he didn't know I just told him. Not to mention that Brooks County had a very efficient rumor mill and any number of old biddies who'd talk your ear off given half a chance.
"Lotsa folks having problems with gophers recently," the stranger continued. "Lucky for you I happen to have just the thing to solve that problem, too."
Jimmy frowned. His bullshit-o-meter was moving rapidly into the yellow. "And what might that be, pray tell?"
"Well, since you ask," the stranger replied expansively, "Why don't you step on over to my tent and I'll show you. She'll produce as much high-grade milk as any of those heifers over there and eliminate your gophers at the same time."
"What exactly is she?" Jimmy wanted to know.
"A milk vixen," the stranger replied.
"A-" Jimmy's brow furrowed. "Pardon me, but did I hear right? You said a milk vixen?"
"That is correct."
Jimmy rubbed his temple. A vixen was a female fox. Foxes, as he recalled, were small canids who sometimes broke into the chicken houses and made off with his hens. Trying to imagine one with bags big enough to produce as much milk as a dairy cow made him shudder. "I suppose she eats gophers, too," he added.
"Sure does," the stranger agreed. "Digs 'em right out of their holes."
Jimmy stroked his chin. This was starting to sound more and more like an elaborate practical joke. "She's in your tent, you say?" he asked.
"She is." The stranger nodded. Then, for a moment, his smile wavered. "And she'd not some cockamamie story cooked up by a bunch of your hick friends, either."
"All right," Jimmy agreed suddenly. The stranger's aggravation had just enough of a ring of truth about it to tip the scales. If the man really did have a milk vixen in his tent he'd have a devil of a time convincing people it wasn't a joke. Besides, Jimmy's curiosity had been aroused.
"Right this way, sir," the stranger said, bowing from the waist and gesturing for Jimmy to precede him. Jimmy wondered if he wasn't the first person who hadn't laughed in the fellow's face. At the end of a brisk walk they arrived at a tent just outside the area normally used for livestock showing. It was in fact in the area where the sideshow operators set up, though it remained slightly separate from them- as if trying to distance itself- and lacked a sideshow attraction's traditional flash and glitter. A single small, neatly lettered sign advertised the attraction: See the Milk Vixen, one Tar.
"Do I pay you a Tar to get in?" Jimmy asked.
"Absolutely not." The stranger sniffed disdainfully. "That's to keep the gawkers away. You, sir, are clearly a rural professional of some note and a prospective client at that."
Jimmy suspected that he'd been insulted but let it pass. He wanted to see the milk vixen. The stranger lifted the tent's flap and waved Jimmy inside. As he waited for his eyes to adjust he tested the air. An animal was kept here, without a doubt, and it wasn't a cow though the tent was large enough for at least a couple. It smelled like... a dog, perhaps? Maybe there really was a milk vixen after all. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw her.
She wasn't a fox, at least not the four legged variety. She was a fox Morph: humanoid in the body like Carty and Jimbo, with a fox head, paws instead of feet, and a long, fluffy tail. Silky fur the color of firelight reflected in burnished copper covered her all over except for a white patch running from her chin to her crotch and reaching out along the insides of her upper arms and thighs. On her arms up to the elbows, her legs up to the knees, and the backs of her ears, the fur was black. Finally, a white tag decorated the tip of her tail. Jimmy need not have worried about the size of her bags; her breasts were quite large and she possessed a second pair mounted just below the first. Taken all together they appeared at least equivalent to a cow's udder. Breasts that size would have looked odd- if not grotesque- on a regular sized woman but the milk vixen probably measured around three meters tall standing up. At the moment she knelt in the straw lining her pen, her hands upon her knees, watching Jimmy with large, yellow-gold eyes. The rest of her figure matched the promise of her mammaries: fulsome and voluptuous but still reasonably firm. She looked pretty strong, too; thick, well-defined muscle showed on her arms, shoulders, back, belly, and calves. Her wrists, ankles, hands, and feet appeared quite sturdy but not disproportionately so. Black, canine style claws adorned her feet; her fingernails matched the color and while not claws per se did come to blunt points. At the very least she shouldn't have any trouble tearing up a gopher burrow.
Ever so slowly Jimmy pulled off his hat and fanned himself with it. It seemed hot here in a way that had nothing to do with air temperature but did have to do with the fact that the milk vixen sat with her knees apart and wore not a stitch of clothing. "How does she... stay up?" Jimmy heard himself asking. The milk vixen's ample curves seemed to defy gravity in a way he'd never seen in a human woman, at least not without the aid of specialized support garments. The milk vixen, by contrast, wore no such things. In fact, she wore absolutely nothing at all. Her entire form, in all its glory, lay revealed to Jimmy's discernment.
"Through the miracle of genetic engineering," the stranger replied, smiling expansively. "A network of ligaments just under her skin acts like a brassiere, girdle, and hose, all built in." He gave Jimmy a conspiratorial wink. "Don't you wish your wife looked like that?"
Jimmy found himself thinking of Darla, who had looked like that, albeit less amply developed. "I don't have a wife," he replied shortly, catching himself before adding anymore. "How much does she produce?" he added. He was here to replace a milk cow, after all. If the milk vixen couldn't produce she wasn't worth the money no matter what she looked like.
"We've had her up to about twenty liters a day," the stranger replied, once again all business. "According to the bigwigs she'll do thirty. That's with a midnight milking as well as morning and evening, which we didn't do in our trials."
"Is she producing now?" Jimmy wanted to know.
"Absolutely," the stranger assured. "Milk vixens lactate throughout their adult lives."
"Hmm." Jimmy rubbed his chin. A milk cow had to be bred before she'd produce. If a person owned only the one, that meant stud fees, which Jimmy could do without. On the other hand, the calf could be sold for profit, eaten, or kept, if it looked to be a good producer. Morphs couldn't breed, so making the milk vixen pregnant in order to start her milk production wasn't possible. Which, in a way, was a relief. The milk vixen was interesting, to be sure, but he didn't think he'd want to breed them. What would he do with the babies? Especially if he couldn't sell them? He could imagine his place becoming overrun with milk vixens, and shuddered slightly. Besides, where would he find a stud? Put an ad in the paper? Wanted: stud for milk vixen. Must be willing to make love to giant, four breasted female. The scary part was, Jimmy could imagine all sorts of people showing up. Including plenty of humans men, who'd be glad to give it a try even they weren't the right species.
Jimmy almost walked out right there. He had a vision of a of a cow stepping in a gopher hole, breaking its leg, falling on its calf, and crushing it to death. He winced.
"I want to see her produce," Jimmy decided. "That is, actual milk from her actual nipples." He wanted to get away from the whole question of breeding; it made him uncomfortable. Besides, milk was the point of this whole exercise. Without it, the whole thing was a non-starter.
"Of course," the stranger replied. "Alysa, fetch the stool and bucket. This fine gentleman requires a demonstration."
"Yes, master." Alysa spoke with a deep, sexy voice. A bit too deep for Jimmy's tastes but only to be expected given her size. She rose smoothly to her feet. Jimmy's eyes followed her up, his mouth hanging slightly open. She was every bit as tall as he'd estimated: double his own height, and maybe a bit more. She didn't bother opening the gate to her enclosure; she stepped right over the fence, giving Jimmy an excellent view of her legs and backside as she did so. They were, Jimmy had to admit, every bit as powerful and perfectly sculpted as the rest of her. When she squatted to pick up the stool and bucket tucked away in one corner of the tent, Jimmy got an even better look at her backside; her tail lifted up, out of the way. No, she wasn't wearing anything at all, not even panties. She had... all the right equipment, in all the right places. Scaled to her size, naturally.
Alysa placed the three-legged milking stool directly behind Jimmy. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him down. For all its delicate, fine-boned appearance, the hand was twice the size of his own. The palm wasn't as hard as field hand's but it wasn't baby soft either; whatever Alysa had done before coming to Brooks County, she'd definitely worked. She was strong, too; every bit as strong as she looked. Up to a point she had to be, just to support her own weight. But it was more than that. She had a well developed, well toned physique, and she knew how to use it. If Jimmy had resisted Alysa could surely have forced him down without much effort at all. As it was, his knees folded and he dropped onto the stool with only a touch. Alysa placed the bucket in front of Jimmy, then got down on her hands and knees, waiting expectantly.
A moment or two passed before Jimmy responded. West Mazama wasn't nationally famous for its dairy products, like some other places, but it did well enough. There were plenty of dairy farms and pretty much everyone had a cow or two. Jimmy had grown up on the farm and been milking all his life. In addition to cows he'd milked goats, ewes, and on one occasion a mare. He'd never milked a woman, though; Alysa might be a Morph but despite their abundant size and number, not to mention being covered with fur, her breasts were structurally identical to those of a human female, a fact of which Jimmy found himself intensely, uncomfortably aware.
You came here to buy a milk cow, Jimmy reminded himself sternly. If you can't handle the milk vixen then march your ass back to the stock pens. He would have left right then had not more images of a cows with a broken legs flashed through his mind. Even if Alysa did step in a hole and break her leg she could be treated. Presumably she had the brains not to do it in the first place, which couldn't be said about most cows. An image of Alysa with a mangled, bloody gopher carcass clenched in her jaws flashed into his mind and his face split in a grin of savage glee. The idea of her turning them into milk that could be sold at the farmer's market was much too deliciously ironic a notion to discard lightly. Let the little bastards put some money into his pockets instead of taking it out in the form of lost cows and useless traps.
"Dip?" the slicker inquired, offering a can of bluish gel.
"Thank you." Jimmy scooped some up with his finger and rubbed it on his hands. The dip cleaned and disinfected his hands so he wouldn't convey infection either to Alysa's breasts or the milk she produced. It also softened his skin so he wouldn't chafe Alysa's nipples by handling them. He reached under her torso, stroking her lower left breast from base to nipple. In the process he squeezed and probed gently, looking for lumps, sores, or any other inconsistency in texture that might indicate ill health. He found not a one; Alysa's breasts felt as perfect as they looked. They were a bit firmer than he was used to, and the coating of soft fur was also a new thing. Moreover, since Alysa had four separate breasts instead of an udder with four teats, the nipples weren't exactly where he expected to find them; he had to grope around a little.
The stroking served another purpose as well. Udders- and breasts- were not merely bags of fluid waiting to be drained; their internal structure was more sponge-like. Milk collected in thousands of tiny sacs; stroking caused the sacs to squeeze their contents into a network of ducts that eventually emptied into a chamber just behind the nipple. Muscles surrounding that chamber contracted when the nipple was stimulated, causing it to eject a squirt of milk. It wasn't tugging or squeezing that got the milk out, as many non-farmers tended to think. One merely took advantage of the breast's natural pumping mechanism.
When Jimmy did finally get his hands on the nipples they felt wrong: they were too small. Alysa had nipples, just like a human woman, though twice as big, obviously. (Or maybe a bit more; even if she'd been human sized Alysa would have had large, prominent nipples.) Point being she did have nipples, and not teats, like a cow. Groping for them like this made Jimmy think of Darla, which caused him to flush hotly. Fortunately the stranger stood behind him and Alysa couldn't see his face.
The pumping mechanism in Alysa's breasts worked exactly as advertised when Jimmy took a nipple between his fingers and squeezed gently; it obligingly discharged a generous spurt of milk into the pail. Jimmy squeezed off a couple more squirts, inspected the product, then tossed it out before moving to the next nipple.
Cows spent a lot of time outside; they lay down in the dirt or other filth, and they didn't bathe. "Stripping" the udder helped to flush out anything that might pollute the milk. For her own part Alysa might smell somewhat dog-like but she obviously bathed regularly and otherwise took care of herself; her breasts looked clean and the milk did, too. Since everything looked fine Jimmy started milking in earnest, doing both nipples on one side, just as he would with a cow. In short order the bucket was half full; he started to rise but Alysa beat him to it, straightening up, turning around, and going back down on hands and knees, presenting her other side. Jimmy stroked, inspected, then stripped the breasts on this side, then proceeded to fill the bucket the rest of the way. Alysa's milk flowed easily and generously, and from the look of things she had plenty more to give. Jimmy nodded in satisfaction; she may or may not produce twenty liters but she'd produce more than enough for himself, Jimbo, and Carty.
"Here, try some," the stranger suggested, dipping a cup into the bucket and offering it.
Jimmy took the cup. He could tell it wasn't cow's milk; the consistency wasn't quite the same and the color slightly off somehow. Nevertheless it smelled quite good, and it radiated lingering body warmth through the cup. He brought it to his lips and took a sip.
No, it definitely wasn't cow's milk. It was richer, almost like cream. Sweeter, too. And... with a curious undertone. Somehow, it reminded Jimmy of a milkshake, though he couldn't exactly say why. It wasn't that sweet, nor as strongly flavored. But there was something, to be sure. Jimmy took another drink, swirling it in his mouth like a wine taster. "That's it!" he exclaimed aloud.
"What is?" the stranger asked, looking, if anything, mildly amused.
"Malt," Jimmy declared. "It tastes like malt."
The stranger grinned. "Tasty, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Jimmy allowed. He'd started to say it was too sweet to drink with breakfast. That may have been true, but it was amazingly good. It might not be the same as cow's milk but Jimmy found himself looking forward to it even so. He smiled, but the smile vanished almost at once. Thinking of breakfast reminded him of something important.
"What does she eat?" Jimmy asked. Regular foxes ate chickens, and lambs if they could get them. He could just imagine how fast a vixen that must weigh around four hundred kilos would go through his hen house.
"The short answer is anything you'd eat yourself," the stranger replied. "The slightly longer answer is anything you'd feed a horse, except for raw grain and grass. Her digestive system could handle it but she doesn't have the teeth to chew it. She can eat raw potatoes, raw greens, and such so long as they aren't too hard to chew. You can also feed her raw meat and raw fish. Just remember she's not a horse; for best health she needs some meat."
"Okay," Jimmy replied. "Let me look at her teeth, then."
Without waiting for direction from the stranger Alysa rose and turned to face Jimmy squarely. Having her tower over him from such close range startled him into jumping to his feet. All that accomplished was to leave him staring at her belly button. Then she sat down on her heels, which lowered her face to a level only somewhat higher than his eye level. She lowered her head and opened wide.
Jimmy flinched; he couldn't help it. Like a dog, Alysa could open her mouth a lot wider than could a human. Her long canines and sharp incisors were unquestionably those of a predator and seeing them from the business end, as it were, unsettled him. Still, they were clean, bright, and quite solid looking. Surely no gopher stood a chance against them. And... seeing them gave Jimmy an idea. The question of how to keep Alysa fed without spending a fortune had troubled him. With choppers like that, though, she could easily handle meat that might be too tough for human consumption. Of which there was plenty in Brooks County, if one knew where to look.
Despite that the railroad brought many wonderful things, draft animals were still the prime mover in these parts. And every user of animals eventually faced the question of what to do with ones that could no longer earn their keep. Some got sick or wounded and had to be put down. Others simply got too old. Disposing of them was an industry in itself. With fairly little effort a person could obtain such animals for next to nothing. Some operators would give them away, just to get rid of them, provided the taker handled transport and disposal. Jimmy could buy one, have Alysa butcher it, eat what she wanted, then smoke or salt the rest. Every few weeks he'd buy another. That way, he didn't have to turn so much valuable produce into feed.
"Not bad," Jimmy allowed, still inspecting Alysa's teeth. Then he took a step back and turned to face the stranger. Alysa closed her mouth. "I'll give you five hundred for her."
"Just because I'm not a country bumpkin like you doesn't make me a fool," the stranger replied. "Fifteen hundred."
Jimmy recoiled in shock. "You city folk think we grow money out here along with everything else?"
After some friendly haggling they settled on equitable price. Alysa might be pretty as all get out but that didn't count for much in a place where she'd have to work for a living, especially in light of her non-standard size. On the other hand, she was strong and healthy; she might not be ideally suited as a labor Morph but she'd do. Besides, it was evident that the stranger hadn't enjoyed much success in trying to sell her, if he'd found it necessary to go looking for buyers instead of waiting for them to come to him.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. MacGregor," the stranger said, fondly eyeing Jimmy's check. "One thing."
"What?" Jimmy asked.
"Watch out for tods."
"Tods?"
"Male foxes," the stranger clarified. "They're a randy lot, foxes are." He kissed the check then put it away in his breast pocket. "Alysa, I'd like you to meet Jimmy. He's your master now."
"A pleasure to meet you, Master." Alysa bowed while remaining seated.
"You too, Alysa." Jimmy offered his hand; Alysa took it- engulfing it in her own- and shook gently. "One thing," he added.
"Yes?" the stranger replied.
"By any chance does she have any clothes?"
Whistling tunelessly to himself, the stranger finished loading the folded tent on the back of his truck. He climbed into the cab and drove, leaving the fairgrounds for Brooks proper. He parked at the railroad cafe and went inside. Catching the eye of the short order cook, the stranger produced a dime, holding it up where the cook could see before placing it on the counter. The cook nodded. The stranger nodded in turn and stepped up to the telephone. The railroad cafe was the only place in town with a phone that was available to the general public.
From his back pocket the stranger withdrew an object that seemed to be a pair of heavy plastic disks fastened together. He separated them with a deft twist; they remained connected by a wire. One disk went over the phone's mouthpiece, the other over the earpiece. An indicator light on the mouthpiece disk came on, glowing red. The stranger punched his code on the keypad, then turned the crank. The phone made a single ding to indicate that the code had been properly sent. The light on the mouthpiece turned yellow and started blinking.
There was a click in the earpiece when the phone at the far end of the connection picked up, but no one spoke. The stranger also remained silent, watching the blinking light on the mouthpiece. After a few seconds it turned steady green. "Hello, Professor," the stranger began. "I got a sale." He fished the check from his pocket. "James Fennimore MacGregor. Box 28, Rural Route 14, Brooks, West Mazama, ANR-476." The stranger laughed. "No, it wasn't hard. The milk did the trick." He dropped his voice, after scanning the room with only his eyes. "No, no one saw me who might recognize me," he said softly. "I'll be back soon. Goodbye." He detached the disks, screwed them back together, and returned them to his pocket before hanging up the phone. On the way out he winked at the waitress, who was a young skunk Morph female. She giggled in return. Whistling tunelessly to himself, the stranger got back into his truck and drove off.
"What'd you say she was again, Boss?" Jimbo asked, looking up at Alysa somewhat doubtfully. Neither he nor Carty were exactly short but still she towered over them. She wore a pair of overalls and a white cotton tee shirt. It sounded like enough to easily satisfy the needs of decency but it wasn't. Not the way Alysa wore it, at any rate. For starters, the overalls had been tailored to show off her form, rather than the traditional loose, comfortable fit. Also, there was a fairly large opening in the back for her tail, with only a button at the top to hold it closed. In all fairness it didn't reveal that much, but the top of the cleft between her buttocks was clearly visible. And the shirt... Jimmy could hardly have imagined a garment that covered so much while leaving so little to the imagination. Alysa's breasts stretched the material like fruit in a bag. When she walked they swayed back and forth. It was rather painfully obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. She did have a top, but it was made of shiny black leather and decorated with silver studs. Even so, if Jimmy had anticipated that things would be this bad he would have told her to wear it under her shirt.
"A milk vixen," Jimmy replied. Saying it out loud to Carty and Jimbo embarrassed him more than he cared to admit. But damn, he'd paid his money. If he was going to back out now he'd need a better reason that simply because his delicate sensibilities were shocked.
"Huh," Carty said, somewhat dubiously. That's what he said when he didn't think his audience would appreciate what he really thought.
Jimmy wasn't in the mood for it. He shot Carty a baleful look and patted the truck bed. "Up here, Alysa."
"Yes, Master." Alysa sat. The springs groaned and the bed sank precipitously. It didn't quite bottom out. The bed was rated for half a ton and Alysa probably came pretty close to that all by herself.
"Hoo boy," Jimbo commented, scratching his ear.
"She'll be fine," Jimmy declared with an assurance he didn't feel. From the standpoint of weight distribution he should have put Alysa in the stock trailer. But for her it would be narrow and confining; she'd have to sit in the dirt and filth. She might not be human but she wasn't an animal, for goodness' sake. So Jimmy put her in the truck and transferred all the other good they'd bought into the trailer. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The story of my life, Jimmy thought gloomily.
The worst part was they way everybody smirked knowingly. Jimmy was a young- youngish- single man. For several years now, since the ending of his marriage, he'd lived with naught for company but his two (male) Morph farmhands. Now he comes to the fair and buys a sexy female Morph. It don't take a genius to do that math.
It's not like that! Jimmy wanted to scream. He felt like his face was burned permanently red. He didn't say anything because even he could see that making effusive protestations while Alysa stood behind him with her boobs hanging out all over the place didn't exactly enhance the moral authority of his position.
Besides, it wasn't as if Jimmy were the first. Not even close; stuff like that happened all the time. At least Jimmy was single; quite a few who engaged in such things still had wives. Or husbands; not all of them were men.
To be sure, Jimmy appreciated the allure of sex on demand with a partner who couldn't talk back. He could even allow that a woman might enjoy such an arrangement as much as a man. He simply couldn't believe it really worked that way. A wife was supposed to respect and obey her husband. Darla had never openly defied Jimmy- except at the very end- but she'd never been anything like obedient. A Morph would be property, with even less right to object. Which, in Jimmy's mind, didn't change a single thing. If she were unhappy she'd find ways to make his life miserable. As her owner Jimmy could replace her, but that cost money, just like replacing a wife. And the replaced concubine would spill her guts to her new owners, who would surely pump her for all the juicy bits. (Jimmy had seen that happen, too.) Far better to stay out of the whole mess. For those who absolutely couldn't do without, there was Grandma Jenny's Comfort House. Technically it was a bed and breakfast- sort of a boarding house with rooms rented by the night- but it was an open secret that the girls provided extra services, for a consideration. Once upon a time Jimmy had frowned upon such behavior. Now he saw it as more of a refuge for the casualties in the War of the Sexes.
Jimmy climbed into the truck's cab. Jimbo joined him. Carty got in back with Alysa. With all of them on board Jimmy knew the truck was over its weight limit. Oh well; nothing for it. He switched on the fuel cells and waited for them to warm up.
"Where we gonna keep her?" Jimbo asked, with the air of someone just making conversation.
Jimmy's hand froze in the act of punching "Forward" on the drive selector panel. It took a great effort not to curse. The question hadn't even crossed his mind. She was too big for the house; if he put her in the field worker's shack with Jimbo and Carty, none of them would have any privacy. Putting her in the barn troubled him for the same reason as had putting her in the livestock trailer: she might be a Morph but she wasn't an animal. Which left- which left-
"We'll clean out the storage shed," Jimmy decided. "It's just full of junk anyway, and it's got a stove." He congratulated himself on coming up with that as if he'd had it in mind all along. Unfortunately, Jimbo had noticed that it took Jimmy several beats too long in order to respond. By now Jimbo knew his master far better than Jimmy would have been comfortable knowing. But Jimbo merely nodded, taking the response at face value. It really didn't matter in any case. They'd get by somehow, like they always did.
Jed Hagar and his wife, Trina, drove by in their truck with their six sons in the back. Jimmy smiled and waved; Jed and Trina smiled and waved back. The boys whooped, hollered, and wolf-whistled, their attention clearly focused on Alysa. She waved, which caused the truck to sway alarmingly. Jimmy grimaced and gripped the wheel more firmly.
"Everybody in West Mazama's gonna know about this by sunup," Jimbo commented.
"Yeah," Jimmy agreed, hunching his shoulders. In formulating his plans he hadn't given much thought to what people would say, as usual. To avoid talking to Jimbo any more he looked at the fields on the opposite side of the road. A horse-drawn reaper- guided by a horse Morph- cut hay and fed its output into a fuel-cell powered bailing machine carried in the bed of a horse-drawn wagon.
Though born and raised in farming country Jimmy found the juxtaposition of advanced and primitive technologies oddly unsettling. That was, perhaps, because he'd always had more of an affinity for machines than livestock. That was how he, Carty, and Jimbo managed to run a farm essentially on their own. Unlike a great many farmers in West Mazama Jimmy understood machines. He could judge the cost of hardware as compared to what it could produce; not merely in terms of the up-front price tag but maintenance and other long-term considerations. When machinery did break down he could usually repair it himself without resorting to expensive service calls. Everything that had to be done was mechanized to make it as efficient as possible and Jimmy avoided growing crops that couldn't be mechanically processed. Perhaps by doing that he didn't earn so much as some of his neighbors... but he maintained a steady, comfortable income in no small part by avoiding costly labor problems. There were some who might, if pressed, say that Jimmy MacGregor got along better with machinery than he did with people.
What bothered Jimmy the most was that people acted as if Morphs were somehow distinct from machinery when, in a technical sense, they were machinery. In the distant past, some time before the Cataclysm, human scientists had invented Morphs. Modern germ plasm labs created new Morphs but they used ancient technology they really didn't understand. The machinery survived because it was capable of self-reproduction. When Jimmy tried to imagine the pyramid of knowledge required to actually invent that stuff- instead of merely copying it- his mind boggled. And yet it had existed... before the Cataclysm swept it away. Nearly all of society, so far as Jimmy could see, was built on the wreckage of what had once been. Nobody else seemed to care but he couldn't help wonder what that boded for the future. That might also account for why he wasn't much of a socialite. He couldn't shake the feeling that he and his entire civilization existed on borrowed time.
With great relief Jimmy pulled into the barn yard back home. It was an end to the harrowing journey and relief- at least temporarily- from what the local folk thought of his latest addition to the family.
"Right," Jimmy declared, climbing out of the cab with some relief. Alysa merely stood up. "Let's clear out the shed. Come along, everyone."
The barn and the main house framed the barnyard on the left and right, respectively. At the far end, opposite the drive, stood the chicken coop, the field worker's shack, the shed, and the bath house, which had remained half finished ever since Darla's departure. Jimmy decided at once that he would complete it; aside from the wash station in the barn, it was the only place Alysa could bathe.
Unfortunately, the padlock on the shed had rusted during the winter. Even after oiling it liberally Jimmy couldn't turn the key. When Carty tried, the key broke off on the lock.
"Nuts," Jimmy exclaimed, without much heat. He should have expected something like this. "Oh well. Carty, go get the crowbar."
"Righto." Carty hurried off.
When Carty and the crowbar returned, Jimmy slipped the bar through the hasp of the padlock and was about to give it a pull. He paused. "Alysa," he said, "Get this thing off for me, won't you?"
"Yes, Master." Alysa moved forward and took the crowbar. In order to work effectively she had to sit; she did so with her feet tucked under her buttocks and her knees spread, just as she had in the stranger's tent. She slid the crowbar through the hasp so that half its length stuck out on either side. She rotated the bar until it bound, then set her hands and heaved. The loop attached to the door frame broke with a band. With one hand she returned the crowbar to Jimmy; with the other she shoved the door open. It squealed on the tracks but it went.
"Very good," Jimmy pronounced. Well, Alysa was strong, no doubt about it. "Now, let's see..." He cast an eye over the contents of the shed.
Most of what the shed contained was junk, pure and simple. Stuff Jimmy had put away because he'd meant to fix or strip it later. Of that, the vast majority had been rendered irrelevant by something that had happened since: he'd changed his mind about the design, he's gotten rid of the equipment the parts would be for, or he'd bought a new replacement part instead of refurbishing an old one. So, with the exception of a few bits needed for the bath house, it all went on the scrap pile. Which left the shed empty, but badly in need of a cleaning. So Jimmy and Alysa swept, dusted, and mopped while Jimbo and Carty put away all the stuff bought at the fair and got dinner started.
"There," Jimmy pronounced, leaning on his mop. "Ain't that nice?" It had been a heck of a lot of work but he couldn't help grinning. Having a female in the household made Jimmy care about things he hadn't before.
"Yes, Master," Alysa replied. The shed had a peaked roof but not interior ceiling, so she could stand up.
Jimmy licked his lips. "Alysa-" he began. In truth, the whole 'master' thing was getting to him. Yes, Jimbo and Carty were technically his property, but they'd all lived together so long the formal distinctions had blurred to unintelligibility. Alysa was every bit as polite and deferential as a slave should be, which only served as a constant reminder to Jimmy that she was one.
There were people who ruled over their Morphs like the Lord God Almighty. As a child Jimmy had never noticed; he accepted it as the way things were, like the weather. After Darla, though... she'd lorded over him. Not as overtly, perhaps, but it had been painfully obvious that she considered her husband to be a member of a lower order. After her departure Jimmy had felt a tremendous relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Now, every time Alysa called him Master he felt like he was becoming something like Darla, and that bothered him greatly.
"Alysa, you don't have to call me Master," Jimmy said, getting it all out in a rush.
Alysa blinked. "Master?"
"Call me Jimmy," Jimmy tried. "We... we're not so formal here. We're just... a little family, y'know? So there's no need for all that 'sir' and 'master' stuff. Okay? Please?" Jimmy knew he sounded desperate. He couldn't help it; he felt himself teetering on the edge of an abyss. Yet another thing he should have anticipated and hadn't.
"Yes, Jimmy, I understand," Alysa replied after a brief pause.
Jimmy grinned with relief. That sentence was the first time he felt like he'd spoken to the actual Alysa instead of the dutiful servant persona she'd adopted for herself. It was a subtle distinction- there wasn't any significant change in her tone or demeanor- and yet it made a huge difference. Jimmy slapped Alysa... hip, since that's what he could reach. "Wonderful," he pronounced. "Let's go see if dinner's ready." He turned and went skipping off without waiting for an answer.
"Okay, Jimmy," Alysa replied. Since he'd turned away, Jimmy didn't notice Alysa's expression or the tone of her voice. If he had, he might have been very, very alarmed.
Like the horses they resembled, Jimbo and Carty ate no meat. Usually they stewed up a mess of greens supplemented with bread or grits. Other times- like today- they made meatless vegetable soup with oats or dumplings in it. More often than not Jimmy ate it right along with them, because it was easier than fixing his own food separately. When he absolutely had to get meat he'd bake a chicken or get something from the smokehouse. Today, there hadn't been time. For himself Jimmy wasn't unduly concerned but he worried a little about Alysa. As it turned out he needn't have; she seemed perfectly happy with the vegetable soup, bread, and a pile of raw cabbages.
While sopping a piece of day old bread (which was probably more than just a day old), Jimmy watched Alysa eat. They'd set up a table in the yard so Alysa wouldn't have to try wriggling into the kitchen. She picked up a head of cabbage, dipped it in her soup, then sprinkled some salt on it. She took a bite, using the side of her mouth in order to bring her back teeth to bear. They sheared a collop from the side of the cabbage without any difficulty, like a regular person taking a bite out of an apple.
"Thank you very much," Alysa said to Jimbo and Carty, after swallowing her mouthful. "The soup is wonderful, and this cabbage is delicious." She took another bite with evident relish.
"You're quite welcome, ma'am," Carty said, pleased and embarrassed at the same time.
"Oh, you don't have to call me ma'am," Alysa said with a chuckle. "We're all family here, right?"
"Oh, it's my pleasure, ma'am," Carty replied, his eyes shining. "May I get you some more soup?"
"Yes, please," Alysa replied, handing over her bowl. Carty ladled more soup into it.
"You like cabbage?" Jimmy inquired.
"It's nice, but I prefer spinach," Alysa replied. "In the city it's hard to get the really good fresh kind, though."
"No need to worry about that here," Carty put in. "We grow all this stuff ourselves. Can't get any fresher than that." He chuckled; Alysa laughed with him.
Jimbo, who had been following the conversation but saying little, gave Carty a kick under the table. Carty started, then subsided quickly, clearing his throat.
"What did your previous master feed you, Alysa?" Jimmy asked. He'd been debating with himself whether or not to ask about her previous owner. Sure, he was curious. But just as much, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. That leatherette getup spoke volumes all by itself.
"Raw beef, mostly," Alysa replied, dipping a bun in her soup and taking a bite.
"Raw?" Jimmy asked, blinking.
"Yes, it helps keep my coat shiny," Alysa replied.
"Huh," Jimmy commented. "What about chicken?"
"Not to speak of," Alysa replied. "I'd like to try it, though, if I could."
"We can arrange that," Jimmy replied. "Ever butchered one?"
"No," Alysa admitted. "My meat always came pre-cut. Still cold, often as not." She made a face.
"We'll look into that tomorrow," Jimmy replied. The coop's egg production was slacking off; he had a bunch of old hens who'd reached the end of their productive life. He'd intended to slaughter them anyway; now he could have Alysa do it.
"That sounds wonderful," Alysa said, which only proved that she had no experience slaughtering chickens. She put down her cabbage. "Would you like a glass of milk, Jimmy?"
"We don't have any..." Jimmy started to say. No, there wasn't any milk in the cooler. The only milk nearby was on Alysa's person, as it were. Surely she didn't mean-
"But we do," Alysa says with a mischievous giggle. She shrugged the straps off her shoulders, letting the front of her overalls flop down. Then she rolled up her shirt, baring her breasts.
You stop that right this instant. The words formed in Jimmy's mind but didn't make it to his mouth. What did come out was a dab of spittle that he sucked back hastily. Alysa plucked his glass from his limp, unresisting fingers and poured the water out. With her other hand she aimed a nipple into the glass and started massaging. Remarkably few spurts later, the glass was full. Alysa placed the full glass back in Jimmy's nerveless grasp.
Jimmy's jaw didn't drop but his eyes bugged until they looked ready to fall out of his face. He stared at the glass because that's where his eyes pointed and he couldn't seem to move them. You bought her because she's a milk vixen, remember? whispered a mocking voice in the back of his mind. He turned the glass, feeling the warmth of Alysa's body still in the milk it contained. "Right," he said, raising the glass in salute. "Thanks." He took a drink. Once again he was struck by the smooth, sweet flavor. For a moment he was transported back to his childhood; his mother used to prepare sweet milk for him, warming it on the stove and adding a pinch of sugar for flavor. At the time he'd thought it the best thing he'd ever tasted. So it had remained, right up to the point when he'd first tasted Alysa's milk. It had only taken him a while to realize it.
"May I have a glass?" Carty asked, hopefully.
"Sure," Alysa replied. She filled one for him and another for Jimbo.
Jimbo studied the glass a moment, swirling the contents and sniffing them. Then he took a sip and his eyes widened. He took another sip, than a gulp. "Damn," He exclaimed. "That's good!"
"Ain't it, though?" Jimmy put in, taking another pull. "Like a warm milkshake."
"Better," Carty added.
"I do my best," Alysa said. Her words and tone were modest but she beamed with pride.
Just then a car drove by on the road. Jimmy started, nearly tumbling out of his chair. The car didn't slow and the passengers couldn't possibly have seen anything but it reminded Jimmy that he wasn't alone out here, whatever it might look like. "Alysa, put your shirt back on," he said shortly. By now Jimmy was surely the hot topic all over the county. Already everyone thought they knew why Jimmy, lonely bachelor, had splurged on a sexy, four-breasted Morph female. If someone happened to see her half naked like that-
Jimmy shuddered. He was used to being the town pariah; even as a boy he'd never been overly social. He was the one the other boys always picked on. Then Darla came along and he caught ten kinds of Hell because of that. After she left it was even worse. Everyone said that taking up with Darla had been a mistake. Then they acted as if losing her was even more of a mistake. What the Hell do you people want from me? Jimmy wanted to scream. I did everything I was supposed to. When I didn't get married, everybody talked. When I got married, everybody talked. When it all turned to shit everybody talked ten times as much as before. With a snarl he slammed his glass down on the table. It didn't break but the sound echoed like a shot and plates jumped. Milk slopped out, spraying in a fan across the wood.
When he looked up, Jimmy saw that Jimbo, Carty, and Alysa were all staring at him. Jimbo and Carty looked like people watching a madman have a fit. Alysa had her shirt back down and her overalls half up. Her expression revealed nothing at all. She'd reverted to her 'polite servant' persona.
Jimmy swallowed. Alysa's reaction hurt him the most. He'd told her they were a family. She'd believed him and acted as if it were so. Sure, expressing milk right there at the table was a bit much. But what had he expected? She hadn't been built for farm work. Her last owner had probably had her in a strip club or a brothel. Or... there were stories about private clubs. Places you went in the big city, where you only got in if you knew somebody. And what happened there... Jimmy didn't believe most of what he heard. It was simply too fantastic. Still, he vividly recalled how Alysa hadn't shown the least discomfit at being naked in front of him the first time they met. He suspected that she'd deliberately flashed her bottom at him while getting the pail and stool. She could have squatted, but instead she bent over. Of course Alysa was a sex Morph. She was merely serving her new master as she'd been taught. And he'd snapped at her because he'd been too wrapped up in his own problems. Now she'd think all that stuff about being a family was nothing but hot air.
It was something Darla would do. Had done, often enough.
Jimmy surged to his feet. The thought of being like Darla made him want to throw up. He licked his lips. "I..." he began. But what could he say? He felt a decade of pain pushing at the inside of his mouth, struggling to escape. For any of it to make sense he had to explain all of it. And that... was too much. "Look, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Jimbo, Carty, the soup was wonderful, like always. And thank you for the milk, Alysa. It's good. It's really, really good. But I'm... I'm not feeling good. I'm gonna go lay down. Jimbo, would you milk her this evening? And finish getting her room set up? Thanks." He slouched off, shoulders hunched and his hands thrust into his pockets.
Jimbo rose slowly to his feet, his eyes fixed on Jimmy's retreating back. "Carty, you clean up here, okay?" he said. "Alysa-" he took her hand gently- "Let's go up to the barn and take care of the milking. There'll be plenty of soup left over if you'd like something later."
"Okay," Alysa replied. She didn't return the pressure but allowed herself to be led.
Carty made a face, as if he were about to protest. Jimbo glared at him. Carty subsided with ill grace and started picking up the supper dishes.
In the barn, Jimbo went about collecting the stool, a pail, and a milk can in a leisurely fashion. Alysa looked around, then sank to her knees. She watched Jimbo work, her gaze curiously intense and yet detached.
"Jimmy had a wife, you see," Jimbo began, as if apropos of nothing. "She wasn't a good woman. She didn't like him for who he was. She liked him for what she could get out of him. She married him 'cause she thought she could make him do what she wanted. She could, too, mostly. But only to a point. Jimmy don't have the fire like some folks. He ain't out to take the world by the horns. He just wants to get along. Darla realized that, finally. So she left."
"Just like that?" Alysa asked.
"'Course not," Jimbo replied. "She did it in the worst possible way, that would hurt Jimmy the most. I think she wanted to punish him for not being good enough for her. Anyway, he's always been kinda shy about women. Darla only made it worse. So what I'm sayin'..." he paused briefly. "I know you're just trying to be nice, but please don't try to... entice him. He won't go for it. It's nothing against you, he's just... not that sort."
"You mean he won't have sex with me?" Alysa inquired.
"Uh... yeah." Jimbo fiddled with the milk can in order to cover a flash of embarrassment. There were advantages to a male only household.
"You mean he really only bought me for the milk?" Alysa exclaimed. She sounded as shocked as Jimbo had felt when she pulled up her shirt at the table.
"I think he bought you because you're pretty, and he wanted something pretty in his life," Jimbo replied. "But he also needed milk. Just... don't expect to be his- his-" there was a word for it, Jimbo knew. Like a personal call girl, but somehow more respectable.
"Concubine," Alysa suggested.
"Yeah, that's it," Jimbo agreed. "He'll like you to look at- he isn't that sort- but don't try dancing naked on his back or anything." Then Jimbo laughed. If Alysa danced naked on someone's back, they'd better be awfully darn strong or she'd pound them into pulp.
Alysa chuckled too. Then her expression changed. Her eyes flicked down to Jimbo's crotch, then back to his face. "What about you?" she inquired.
"I'm a gelding," Jimbo replied, taking a seat on the milking stool. "That stuff don't make no matter to me."
"Really." Alysa's tone made it clear she didn't believe a word of it. Casually, she shrugged the strap off one shoulder, then the other. Then she gathered the hem of her shirt and slowly, languidly, rolled it up, turning the act of undressing into a strip-tease.
Jimbo watched. This wasn't anything new; there were some females in town- and a couple human women, too- who apparently thought he was only pretending to be a gelding and kept trying to catch him out. He'd never understood why it mattered so much to them. A few diehards kept right on trying, no matter how often he failed to respond. This wasn't even the first time a female had stripped for him in an attempt to get him aroused. On the other hand, it was the first time the stripping had been done by a professional. Jimbo may not have appreciated Alysa as a sex object but he did appreciate craftsmanship, and Alysa was very good at what she did. Jimbo admired her, and her performance, just as he would have a singer or an instrumentalist.
Alysa finished by unbuttoning the flaps that gathered her overalls around her waist and let them slide off. Then she stepped out of them and stood before Jimbo in all her naked glory, She tossed her head, initiating a motion that propagated down to her shoulders and hips in turn, transitioning slowly from facing him squarely to offering him a three-quarter view of her back, standing hip shot with one hand resting casually on her outhrust pelvis, gazing at him over her shoulder with an expression that was at once coy and challenging.
Jimbo applauded.
Alysa turned on her heel. She wasn't acting any more but the motion was no less precise than before. Her gaze dropped to Jimbo's crotch, studied it for a moment, then returned to his face. "You're mocking me," she stated. There wasn't anything accusatory in it; just a statement of fact.
"Not at all," Jimbo protested. "You're beautiful, and it was a beautiful performance. I don't have to get randy as Hell to appreciate that. Fact is, I think not getting randy lets me appreciate it more."
"You really are a gelding," Alysa observed
"Toldja," Jimbo replied. "Now, if you don't mind, can we get on with the milking?"
"No." Alysa turned away, her arms crossed over her chest. It didn't help as much as it might; her lower breasts bulged out to the sides, sticking out under her arms.
"Why not?" Jimbo inquired.
Alysa looked back over her shoulder. "I'm no cow, Jimbo, and I refuse to be treated like one. You want something from me. I want something from you."
"And what would that be?" Jimbo inquired.
"Show me," Alysa replied. "You say you're a gelding. Take off your clothes and let me see for myself."
"Why should I?" Jimbo responded.
"Because you're not my master," Alysa pointed out. "You don't have the authority to order me. You could ask Jimmy to do it, but you won't. Because he's not that kind of master. Having to lay down the law would hurt him terribly. You're going to sacrifice your virtue to me in order to protect him."
Jimbo got to his feet, his expression stern. "Stop this, Alysa. You're being silly."
"I'm totally serious," Alysa replied. "You want milk. I want a look. You can't force me. Sure, you could call the sheriff or something, but you won't. You'd have to explain to Jimmy why you'd done it, and that would bother you a lot. Besides, you're the one who said that stuff don't make no matter to you. Why should you care if I want to embarrass myself?"
"Okay," Jimbo replied, slipping the straps off his shoulders. "Go right ahead and embarrass yourself." His overalls fell at his feet. His hips were smooth and straight, his belly flat and hard, for all that he was somewhat past his physical prime. He did have good genes; he'd been designed to have an optimal physique. Farm life gave him plenty of opportunities for exercise and even during the slow periods he contrived to stay active; sitting around too much left him feeling bloated and lethargic. He stepped out of his overalls and waited patiently.
"Shirt too," Alysa directed. Jimbo's shirt ended just above his crotch, so it didn't hide what she'd asked to see. Nevertheless, he took it off and laid it on his overalls. He stood, awaiting Alysa's judgement, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
Alysa looked Jimbo up and down. He had a very nice body. Solid and quite heavily muscled, but artfully sculpted even so. His creators probably hadn't cared much about appearance, but in making him strong and healthy they'd also contrived to make him strikingly handsome, if not overtly beautiful. Farm life had marked him with a few scars here and there, but Alysa felt they added far more to his character than they detracted from his physical perfection.
And finally... Alysa's gaze arrived at, and lingered upon, Jimbo's manly organs. The corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile; though flaccid, his penis was as large and powerful as the rest of him. Erect, it would be as long and thick as a summer sausage. She couldn't imagine any reason Jimbo needed such impressive wedding tackle, so it must have been pure conceit on the part of his designer.
Alysa's smile faded. Jimbo had told her he was a gelding and he quite evidently was. His impressive member didn't in any way conceal his lack of testicles. It made his crotch look somehow misshapen, way out of proportion with the actual size of the missing parts. Alysa slipped a hand under his penis and lifted it. His scrotum wasn't completely gone; there was a bit left, with a faint scar running down the middle of it. The surgeon had done a good job, at least. Alysa moved her hand upward, caressing his belly and chest. Losing his testicles didn't appear to have cost him any muscle mass, though his coat did feel a bit softer than she might have expected, and his body odor seemed slightly muted.
"Finished?" Jimbo inquired. He'd stood calmly, stoically enduring the manhandling.
"No," Alysa replied. All the touching apparently hadn't affected him in the least; his penis remained as soft and limp as an overcooked noodle. Alysa knelt, sitting on her heels so she could reach Jimbo easily with both hands. She ran a hand up onto his chest, massaging his pectorals, while at the same time stroking and squeezing his buttocks. He had an incredibly nice ass. The coating of hair made it sleek and silky, even more of a pleasure to touch.
"Enjoying yourself?" Jimbo inquired.
"You bet," Alysa averred. "Don't you think maybe you're overdoing the gelding thing a bit?"
Jimbo sniffed. In truth, Alysa was probably right. But she had insisted on making it a point of honor.
"We'll see about that, won't we?" Alysa purred. She licked his nipple, then nibbled at it gently. Her hand slipped between his legs, caressing his scrotum and stroking the underside of his penis.
Jimbo drew a sharp breath. He suppressed it, but not quite quickly enough. Losing his testicles had pretty much eliminated his sex drive, but that hadn't deprived him of the ability to experience sensual pleasure.
*******************
Losing his testicles had considerably reduced his sex drive. Over the years it had faded away completely. Losing his testicles had pretty much eliminated his sex drive, that was true. But cutting off his body's supply of testosterone had also left his naturally occurring estrogen to do its work unmolested. Some geldings actually developed breasts. Jimbo hadn't, but his nipples were somewhat more developed than they might have been otherwise. And, as a result, they were very, very sensitive.
Alysa sensed that she'd discovered a gap in the defenses and she attacked it mercilessly. Her lips, tongue, and teeth assaulted Jimbo's nipples, drowning them in sensation.
***********
But it wasn't erect. It hung there, as limp as an overcooked noodle. Alysa slipped a hand under it and stroked Jimbo's crotch with her fingertips. As promised there were no testicles; just an empty space with a little flap of scrotum covering it and a small scar. "I aim to get everything I can out of this." She knelt, with Jimbo standing between her knees, so she could use both hands. She caressed his neck and shoulders with one hand and fondled his buttocks with the other.
*******************************
really are a gelding."
"Toldja," Jimbo replied.
"You enjoyed the show," Alysa pointed out, stroking the back of her head.
"I did," Jimbo admitted. "It was beautiful, and so are you."
"But you still don't feel anything for me?"
"Didn't say that," Jimbo corrected. "
For a moment Alysa didn't respond. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't believe that. I can't believe in a world without love."
"Love and sex ain't the same thing," Jimbo pointed out. Darla had proven that, beyond any shadow of a doubt.
"They aren't the same thing, no," Alysa allowed. "But they're connected. They're the opposite sides of the same coin. You hug and kiss people you wouldn't have sex with, just like you have sex with people you don't love. But most people are in the middle, where the two sides blur together."
*******************************
Then, slowly, she slid the straps of her overalls off her shoulders, letting the front of her overalls fall into her lap. Slowly, slowly, she removed her shirt, stretching languidly in the process.
Jimbo knew exactly what she was doing: she was testing him. It wasn't anything new; there were some females in town- and a couple human women, too- who simply couldn't believe he had no interest in such things. They'd try to entice him, as if they thought he was fooling. Jimbo had never understood why. If they wanted it so much, why not focus their efforts where it would do some good? But no; they only wanted him, and when he failed to respond they redoubled their efforts. He waited patiently until Alysa finished.
Alysa ended up once again on her knees, now entirely naked from the waist up. She clasped her hands above her head and stretched languidly. Jimbo had to admit that she was good. The females in town were motivated, and some very experienced, but Alysa was a professional. She'd trained her whole life for this, and it showed. He found himself enjoying the performance, even though he didn't feel any stirrings of lust. He didn't need a raging libido in order to appreciate beauty. If anything, he suspected it got more in the way than it helped.
*******************************
"Either you're a gelding or you're a really good actor," Alysa commented, dropping her arms and examining Jimbo's crotch.
"Toldja," Jimmy responded.
"Huh." Alysa crossed her arms. Her upper breasts bulged out over her arms, while the lower pair bulged out below. "Let me see," she said.
"What?" Jimbo blinked in surprise.
"I want to see for myself," Alysa announced, snaking out a hand and catching the front of Jimbo's overalls. He pulled back, but she had a grip on one strap and it came off his shoulder. She responded with a deft tug, at just the right moment while he was still off balance, and he stumbled back toward her. Somehow she got the other strap off and his overalls fell down around his ankles. Alysa had broad, sharply flared hips that held the overalls up even when she let the straps off her shoulders. Jimbo's hips were smooth and straight, as befitted someone who'd spent his entire adult life working on a farm. The overalls bound his legs and he would have fallen on his face if Alysa hadn't caught him. He ended up leaning against her torso, his body cushioned by her breasts, her arm around his waist. Her other hand she slid down his belly and explored his crotch.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Alysa purred into Jimbo's ear while her hand caressed his genetalia. "In fact... let me show you something. Something wonderful."
"No, I-" Jimbo began. He didn't get a chance to finish. Alysa lunged forward; Jimbo ended up flat on his back with the weight of Alysa's torso pinning his legs. She scooped up his penis, massaging it wing her fingers. It didn't stiffen but Jimbo couldn't help gasping at the sensation. Then Alysa licked the glans and drew her fingertip along the underside, from base to tip. She sucked the whole thing into her mouth, like a noodle, and started kneading it with her lips and tongue.
*******************************
"Would you like a glass of milk, my lord?" Alysa inquired.
"I'd love one, but we haven't got any," Jimmy replied, taking a drink of water.
"That's what you think," Alysa tittered, taking the glass from Jimmy and pouring out the water. She unfastened the shoulder straps of her overalls and let the front panel fall, exposing her breasts. Holding the glass in one hand she took a nipple in her other hand and massaged it until it produced a stream of milk. Once the glass was full she set it on the table, curling Jimmy's nerveless fingers around it. For a dizzying instant he found himself transported back to childhood, thinking of his mother working at the stove. He stared again at the glass, wondering why it should have that effect on him. Raw milk wasn't anything new, not even straight from the cow- or vixen, in this case. He took another drink- and as soon as the milk touched his tongue he understood. It didn't quite taste like he'd expected. Slightly sweeter, with just a hint of- of-
Jimmy passed the glass to Jimbo, who took a drink. After a moment he took another, this time swirling it around in his mouth like a wine taster. "It's malted," he pronounced.
"Really? Lemme see," Carty asked. Jimbo passed the glass; Carty took a sip. "Creamy, too," he added, then finished it off, smacking his lips. "Swell!" he exclaimed. "Malted milk, straight from the cow! Er, vixen." He grinned.
"Hoo boy." Jimmy rubbed his temples. I'd better make sure no one ever finds out about Alysa's other outfit. As if having bought a giant- and exceptionally sexy- four-breasted vixen that gave flavored milk wasn't enough already to set tongues wagging all over the county, if not the entirety of West Mazama.
"May I have another?" Carty inquired hopefully, offering the glass.
"Since you like it so much, you can milk her this evening," Jimmy said shortly. He could just imagine the local kids flocking over to leer at Alysa. Great; he'd have his own bloody sideshow on top of everything else. Why, why couldn't he ever think of these things before taking the leap?
"Bitchin'," Carty exclaimed, grinning. He didn't seem at all sorry for the extra duty, a rather surprising change from usual.
"But- aren't you going to milk me, my lord?" Alysa asked.
Jimmy sighed. "I'll get it in the morning," he said. In his preoccupation he didn't consciously notice the emotional loading in Carty's and Alysa's words. Jimbo did and frowned, glancing at one then the other. "I've got paperwork to do so I probably won't see any of you until morning," Jimmy continued, rising and gathering his dishes. "An excellent meal, as always, Jimbo, my thanks. Let me know if the place burns down."
"Sure thing boss," Jimbo said to Jimmy's retreating back.
"C'mon, darling." Carty jumped to his feet and headed for the barn, beckoning for Alysa to follow. When she didn't come at once he paused, looking back.
Jimbo looked at Alysa. Not her chest, as Carty was, but her face. She looked after Jimmy, with what Jimbo interpreted as a wistful, worried expression. "Go on," he said gently. "If he said he'd be along in the morning then he will. Now go with Carty like, like his lordship said."
"Okay," Alysa said abruptly, starting toward the barn. She kept glancing at the house, though.
Jimbo gathered up what remained of the dishes. Jimmy was a good master as such things went. He didn't lord over people- or Morphs- simply because he could. He treated Jimbo and Carty like- well- employees. Which was a Hell of a lot better than being treated like, say, servants or slaves. As a supervisor Jimmy understood his limits, meaning that when he gave someone a job he left them to it. If he thought he could do something better himself he did it. If experience demonstrated otherwise he let someone else do it next time. When underlings got into trouble he helped them. When problems came up he worried more about fixing them than assigning blame. Where it came to women, though, Jimmy MacGregor was not only woefully ignorant but shockingly naive. Darla proved that clearly enough. That's what comes of marrying the first woman you ever slept with and only because she turns up pregnant, Jimbo thought. He still felt Jimmy should have divorced her when the baby turned out not to be his but Jimmy wasn't like that. So he endured ten years of marital strife that ended only when Darla ran off with that farming machinery salesman. Now there was Alysa. Jimbo couldn't shake the feeling that Jimmy had managed to block out the fact that she was a woman as well as a strong worker and milk producer... and that the people who built her hadn't intended her to work in a dairy. Even a forty-six year old gelding like Jimbo could see it. That Jimmy apparently couldn't wasn't a surprise, actually; Darla had scarred his emotional receptors. Finished with the washing up, Jimbo carried the dishes into the house and put them away. Out of deference to their long relationship he'd watch to see if things improved before talking to Jimmy. Carty, on the other hand-
Jimbo grinned wickedly. Talking might not be necessary. If the young fool got so hypnotized by Alysa's tits he forgot that she could break him in half without hardly trying she might just remind him in a very pointed way. His grin vanished; if things came to that it would probably hurt Alysa more, in the long run. But a person could dream, couldn't they?
Jimmy awoke as dawn lit the eastern horizon. He stayed in bed until the last of morning's stars faded from the sky then got up and dressed. Across the gulf of years he heard his mother's voice, berating him for being such a slug-a-bed. He missed the fresh bread she baked every morning for breakfast. He could bake it himself- she'd given him the recipe and he seemed to have a knack for cooking- but it just wasn't the same when you baked it yourself. You couldn't wake up to the smell of it. Darla refused to get up that early and couldn't cook worth a damn anyway. She told him to buy a Morph cook if he couldn't live without fresh bread. He couldn't rationalize the cost so he did without. He ambled into the kitchen; no bread this morning, not even day-old. With the fair yesterday none got baked. Potatoes, cabbages, turnips, carrots, beets... no shortage of vegetables around here. A bit of salt pork. He could fry up the pork and potatoes, using the grease for gravy. Without biscuits or bread to round it out, though, it didn't seem very appealing. He could stir-fry some cabbage with a bit of garlic, a shot of cooking sherry, and some pork thrown in for flavor. That would go down better without bread. Living with a pair of horse Morphs- more importantly, sharing cooking duties with them- induced him to learn more about cooking vegetables than most people bothered with. How often could a person eat vegetable soup without meat, after all? He set a cabbage on the cutting board and selected a knife from the rack but stopped there. Even stir fry didn't excite him today. What he really wanted was- was- a glass of milk. Assuming Carty had done his job last night there'd be some in the cooler. On reflection, though, he didn't want it cold. He wanted it like- like last night. Blood warm, just the right temperature to bring out the malty flavor. He could warm some on the stove, true- but why bother when he could have it pre-warmed, straight from the source? He had said he'd do the milking this morning. Whistling happily he sauntered off to collect the pail, stool, and an empty milk can. With everything set up he went to fetch Alysa.
"Come in," came the reply when Jimmy knocked and announced himself. He slid the door open and stepped inside.
Alysa lay on her belly, supported by a pile of cushions and blankets she'd pushed up against one wall. She wasn't dressed- her overalls hung from a roof beam- and her legs weren't anything even remotely like together. "Sorry," she gasped. "I have to... lay my egg. I'll be... ready in a moment."
Jimmy didn't respond. Some things are simply too much for a man to take before he's had breakfast or even a cup of tea. (Jimmy didn't drink coffee; he didn't care for the taste.) He could only stare as Alysa took several deep breaths and strained. Muscles in her belly tightened, the lips of her vulva parted, and a white spheroid oozed forth, dropping onto a conveniently placed cushion.
"There." Alysa rolled off the cushions, retrieved her overalls, and pulled them on.
Jimmy stared at the egg. In shape, color, and texture it looked exactly like the ones his hens laid. But it was huge. Bigger than a grapefruit, smaller than a honeydew; about the size of a cantaloupe. A coating of vaginal fluid made it glisten. "So... you lay eggs too?" he heard himself saying.
"Every other day, give or take," Alysa replied. "Didn't my previous lord mention it?"
"No, it must have slipped his mind." Jimmy couldn't look away from the egg. All he could see, seared into his mind's eye, was the vision of Alysa's labia stretching to pass the egg then not quite snapping back after it emerged. The scene played over and over in his head.
"Go ahead and take it," Alysa offered, securing the straps on her overalls. "I could never bring myself to eat them and I wouldn't want it going to waste. I'm ready."
"Sure," Jimmy agreed. "Go... go on up to the barn. I'll meet you in a bit." He entered and picked up the egg. The shell felt much sturdier than that of a chicken egg, but nevertheless he gripped it with both hands; he guessed its weight at around two kilos. It felt warm, almost hot; it retained the heat of Alysa's body much more effectively than would a smaller thing. Drying fluid made the shell tacky under his fingers and radiated a mild but very distinct odor. Jimmy hurried back to the house, holding the egg at arm's length; the combination of warmth, tackiness, and odor conspired to remind him how much time had passed since he'd been even this close to a woman's reproductive organs. The realization made him uncomfortable.
Inside Jimmy set the egg in a bowl on the kitchen table but instead of going at once to the barn he sat down. He wasn't surprised the stranger hadn't mentioned Alysa's egg laying; it would have been enough to convince him the whole thing was just too ridiculous. And yet it all made sense in a twisted sort of way. Obviously someone at a germ plasm lab had decided to indulge himself. What man wouldn't find a voluptuous, four-breasted vixen appealing? Since it's all fantasy anyway why not have her produce milk? And lay eggs? Jimmy wasn't sure why she had to be so big but since when did fetishes have to be rational? Somehow the person- or persons- managed to actually create their wet-dream Morph. After that it didn't take a genius to guess that they got in trouble. Had to dispose of the evidence. So, ship her off to a remote place- like West Mazama- and sell her for whatever the market will bear. As luck would have it along comes Jimmy MacGregor, the right person at the right time. Or the wrong person at the wrong time, depending on how one looked at it.
Alysa's musky smell clung to Jimmy's fingers, transferred by the egg. Unable to resist the temptation he licked them. He shuddered; all too easily he could imagine his tongue stroking that flavor from Alysa's pouted labia. His face would be buried in the soft fur of her crotch, his arms around her thighs. He shook his head violently to dislodge the image; sleeping with one's Morphs led to trouble. Not that people didn't do it anyway; some operators maintained all female work crews, claiming them to be easier to handle. No one believed it, not when you could buy geldings instead. Contrary to what many people thought, getting along with Morphs was harder than dealing with human employees. You couldn't simply fire one you didn't like. You could sell one, sure, but people wouldn't rush to buy a Morph you obviously thought was a bad egg. You'd get a fraction of what you paid, a serious problem considering how much Morphs cost. Do that too many times and you'd run yourself into bankruptcy right quick. You could force them to work- if you didn't mind spending a lot of money on human guards and overseers. Only big spreads that produced high value or high volume crops could afford that on a continuing basis. In situations like that Morphs tended to run away, which led to even more unpleasantness.
Unhappy workers cost more than they're worth, Jimmy had always told himself. Once, as an exercise in accounting, he'd tabulated the cost in lost productivity due to runaways, poor worker health due to maltreatment, and general bad feeling. Even by his admittedly amateurish estimations the totals were staggering. Jimmy's own success was due in large part to the fact that Jimbo and Carty worked their asses off for him. They did that because Jimmy made sure they received full measures of praise and profit, exactly as if they were his own family. In a very real sense Jimbo and Carty were his family. His real relatives lived in Shasta, too far distant to visit more than once or twice a year. He couldn't bear to face them anyway; they'd warned him about Darla.
Darla would never have let Jimmy buy Alysa. He wondered if that was actually why he'd done it. If so it was an empty gesture; Darla wasn't here see it. She'd run off with that city fellow she'd been seeing, without even leaving a note. The only reason Jimmy knew what had happened was because one of the regulars at the railroad cafe had seen her and the fellow board a train.
Jimmy turned the egg, listening to its shell scrape against the porcelain bowl, while visions of Alysa's naked body writhed in his mind. No, Jimbo and Carty didn't fill all of the void Darla had torn in his life. He'd merely convinced himself that the rest didn't matter.
"Boss?"
"What?" Jimmy leapt up so fast his knees slammed into the table edge. He hissed in pain, staggering against the wall.
"You okay, Boss?" Jimbo asked, helping Jimmy into a chair.
"Yeah," Jimmy gasped. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing serious. Alysa said she was waiting for you in the barn and was starting to get worried."
"Yeah." Jimmy rose, much more carefully this time. "Sorry. Just- woolgathering, y'know? I'll go take care of it." He left the kitchen and headed for the barn, walking slowly and carefully. His knees hurt like crazy.
Jimbo followed Jimmy out but hesitated in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. He returned to the table, looking at- at- well, it sure as Hell looked like an egg sitting in a bowl except that it was too damn big. He reached out- then jerked his hand back. He wouldn't like Jimmy messing with his things, after all. He had work to do; he could ask Jimmy about the- the thing- later. He left the house, closing the door behind him.
Jimmy found Alysa in the barn, sitting up against the wall. She'd laid out the milking stool, a bucket, and a milk can, as well as letting down the front of her overalls. "I was starting to get worried," she commented.
"Sorry about that." Jimmy shrugged and looked away to cover the flush he felt rising in his cheeks. "Just got- distracted. Won't happen again." He rubbed his hands together, noticing suddenly that they were still sticky from the egg. Hastily he washed them at the tap and sat down, scooting the bucket into place and reaching for Alysa's nipples-
Alysa yelped and pulled away. "What's wrong?" Jimmy shouted, leaping to his feet. His whole body quivered with tension.
"Your hands are freezing," Alysa admonished, rubbing the offended nipples. For the lower one she reached across her torso with the opposite hand.
"Sorry," Jimmy stammered, thrusting his hands into his armpits. "It won't happen again, I promise."
"It's okay," Alysa said gently, settling back down. "It surprised me, that's all."
"I bet," Jimmy muttered. Cows never complained about being milked by cold hands. But cows were, well, cows. On second thought maybe they did, after a fashion. Cows could be easy or difficult to milk. He'd never stopped to wonder why, though. He wouldn't enjoy cold hands fingering his nipples, that was for sure. That thought brought to mind images of Alysa stroking his naked chest. He shook his head, caring not at all for where that led. He kept his eyes averted while his hands sought out the nipples and squeezed them.
"Careful, you're spraying it all over the floor," Alysa warned.
"Sorry." Jimmy took a deep breath and forced himself to look. If he concentrated on aiming the streams he didn't dwell so much on the fact that he was fondling Alysa's breasts. So intent was he that as the streams started to give out he kept working, squeezing and stroking the nipples and surrounding breast to coax just a little more. When he realized what he was doing he stopped, wiping his hands self consciously on his trousers. "Ah... I think it's time for the other side now."
"Okay." Alysa turned around.
Try as he might Jimmy just could not keep his mind focused. When his hands started to shake he rubbed them against his thighs. All this for a lousy glass of milk.
"If that's all you wanted, why didn't you just say so?" Alysa asked, sitting up.
Jimmy started. "I- I-" he stammered. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
Alysa wagged her tail. She turned her torso toward Jimmy, lifting her lower right breast and aiming the nipple straight at his face. With her other hand on the back of his neck she guided his lips onto it. A gentle squeeze with her right hand sent a stream of milk into his mouth.
Jimmy's arms flopped, no more coordinated than the severed tail of an earthworm. He knew he couldn't escape if Alysa didn't let him. She could crush him to death just by laying on him. On second thought he didn't particularly want to escape. He slipped his arms as far as they would go around her torso and crushed his face against her breast, sucking greedily. In the end he gave out before she did; milk still came from her nipple though his stomach was achingly full. As he sat back on the stool it wasn't just his belly that hurt. His penis strained so hard against the material of his underpants he feared it would rip right through or break off trying.
Buttons closed the sides of Alysa's overalls so they'd go over the swell of her hips but still fit snugly around her waist. More buttons closed the back so she wouldn't have to thread her tail through a tiny hole. She undid them one set at a time and stood up; the overalls slid off and fell in a heap at her feet. Still seated on the stool, Jimmy found himself looking slightly up at her crotch. The insides of her thighs didn't quite touch; in the triangular space between them and her pelvis he could just see the outline of her vulva through a screen of soft fur. The lips of her labia major stood open; the edges of the labia minor thus revealed curled back slightly, forming a rosy blossom whose petals glistened wetly. She lowered herself again, flexing her knees and swinging them outward so they wouldn't hit him. Now Jimmy found himself staring at the mighty cleavage separating her upper breasts. As she gently undid the buttons on his overalls her upper arms pressed her breasts together, sharpening the gap between them.
"No!" Jimmy exclaimed, scrambling away frantically, clutching at his overalls because he didn't have sharply flaring hips to hold them up without the shoulder straps. The stool overturned and he landed hard on his rump; as he kicked frantically he knocked over the milk pail. White fluid ran across the barn floor, wicking into the fur on Alysa's calves.
"But-" Alysa looked perplexed.
"No!" Jimmy repeated, scrambling to his feet. "You- you're just doing this because that's how you're made! You don't really care!"
Alysa flinched as if she'd been struck. Her face twitched; she shuffled backward on her knees, picking up her overalls. She didn't try to put them on, just used them to cover the front of her body. Spilled milk formed great, dark stains on the fabric. "Yes, you're right," she said in a quavering voice. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "It is how I'm made. But- there's nothing I can do about that! And- you aren't like the others! You- you treated me like, like a person, not just- just a slab of meat!" She wiped her face with a forearm, gulping back a sob. "How else could I reward you?" She leapt up and dashed away. The barn floor, ten centimeter slabs of solid oak laid on joists four times as thick, boomed as she ran.
Jimmy picked himself up. "Bloody," he muttered, retrieving the pail. Half a finger's width of milk swirled in the bottom. "Bloody," he repeated, raising his arm to fling the pail across the barn. "Bloody." He let his arm fall; he lacked the emotional strength even for a meaningless tantrum. Thank God Carty and Jimbo were off doing what they were supposed to be doing, unlike him. The sweet smell of the milk in the pail made him sick; he dumped it in the yard. After putting away the milk can- still empty- he sprayed down the barn floor. His electric well pump allowed him to put a storage tank in the loft. It supplied water to various places about the farm, at least when the pipes didn't freeze. He'd considered installing heaters and insulation but that was expensive-
A klaxon hooted loudly. Jimmy walked out into the barn yard just as a rickety old pickup came up the drive. Two people rode in the cab and five more in back. Jimmy groaned inwardly; since they were all men it had to be the first load of spectators come to gawp at Alysa.
"Hey, Jim-boy!" one of the men in back shouted, grinning and waving. It was Eddie Rimmer, who worked at the grain elevator by the railhead. As the lot of them piled out- before the truck had completely stopped- Jimmy recognized more. Bill Clyde from the general store, Sam McDonald who operated a horse ranch, Joe-Bob Crass, Mickey Blount, and two other fellows Jimmy knew by sight but not name.
"Morning," Jimmy called in a carefully neutral tone. "What can I do ya fer?"
"Jeeze, Wayne!" Eddie exclaimed. "We wanna see your milk vixen!"
As he looked at the eager, leering faces it occurred to Jimmy that at another time he would have given them exactly what they wanted. He wouldn't have any compunction about charging them, either; though he knew them well none of these guys were really what he'd call friends. Hell, he could probably earn way more than what he'd get selling her milk and eggs. A Tar, say, for a milking demonstration. Two and a half if a fellow wanted to milk her himself. Five for-
Jimmy's left cheek twitched. Why not take it to its logical conclusion? It wasn't illegal to have sex with a Morph. It wasn't even illegal to charge for it. Men would come from all over Mazama once word got around. They'd pay well, too. Sex, as a commodity, always brought top Tar. It wasn't like Alysa could object; Jimmy owned her. Within broad limits he could do whatever he wanted with her. Besides, by her own admission that's what she was made for.
You aren't like the others. You treated me like a person, not a slab of meat.
Jimmy swallowed hard. "I... don't think now's a good time," he said hoarsely. Too much, too soon-
"S'matter? Keeping 'er for yourself?" Eddie grinned, punching Jimmy in the shoulder.
Jimmy's mouth opened, then snapped shut. He wasn't sure exactly why but Eddie's bonhomie offended him and crystallized his resolve. "Well, of course I am," he said in a bantering tone. "Wouldn't you?"
That drew a chorus of knowing chuckles. "Sure I would," Eddie agreed, his grin widening. "So what'll it take, mate?" He reached into his pocket.
"Now now," Jimmy admonished. "Since you're all my friends, the first one's on me. But only the first, you understand?"
"Sure we do." Eddie clapped Jimmy companionably on the shoulder. Neither he nor any of the others apparently noticed that while Jimmy's mouth smiled his eyes stayed as hard as granite. "So where is she?"
"I'll get her. You lads wait here." Jimmy detached himself from Eddie's grip and strolled off to Alysa's shed. He knocked to announce his presence, then opened the door and slipped inside. Alysa lay on her pile of cushions, her overalls hung up to dry. She caught the edge of a blanket and drew it up over herself, watching Jimmy suspiciously.
"Get dressed, if you please," Jimmy said. "There's some men where who'd like to see you."
"Wouldn't they rather see me undressed?" Alysa asked.
"Absolutely," Jimmy agreed. "But I'm running a farm here, not a freak show. You're a member of my crew, not a- a-" The analogy he'd chosen indicated that he say freak but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Alysa looked at Jimmy for a long moment. "Okay." She put on her overalls and followed him to the barn yard.
"Strewth," Eddie muttered, looking Alysa up an down.
"Just look at those casabas." Joe-Bob wiped his brow.
"She really produces milk?" Mickey asked excitedly.
"As much as a cow," Jimmy replied.
"So, Jimmy, you tried 'er out yet?" Eddie asked, grinning lasciviously.
"Yep," Jimmy replied evenly. "Carty milked her last night and I milked her this morning. She produced just like the slicker promised."
"Bet you pumped her good, didn't you?" Sam asked, chuckling.
Jimmy felt a sticky warmth rushing through him like a blush spreading on his skin. "Now for the demonstration," he said aloud. "You can see for yourselves how well built she is. Just look at those muscles." His lips drew back in what the men probably thought was a smile. "Alysa, I'd like you to show the lads here how strong you are. See that pickup over there?"
"Yes, my lord." Alysa squatted by Eddie's truck, gripping it firmly under the running boards. After taking a deep breath she straightened up- lifting with her legs, keeping her back straight- and the truck crashed over on its side. She stepped back, dusted her hands, and flexed her shoulders to loosen them.
"Hey!" Eddie shouted.
"Why, you-" Bill stepped at Jimmy, bunching a fist. Alysa leaned over the group from behind and slapped him on the side of the head. Though only an open hand blow it knocked him to his knees and left an angry mark on one side of his face. When Mickey rounded on her she bared her teeth and growled. Caught between her and Jimmy the group quickly lost its nerve; six against two didn't seem like good odds when one of the two weighs as much as five of the six put together.
"I bought Alysa because I needed to replace a milk cow and since the opportunity presented itself I got an extra field hand, too," Jimmy declared. "I'm running a farm here, not a brothel." He knew he should stop there but the hot flush drove him on. "If you wanna fuck Morphs, go bone Sam's horses." His attention centered on Eddie. "If I needed a lay I wouldn't buy a Morph for it. I'd just do your sister!"
Eddie's jaw dropped in surprise. Then his face hardened. "Why, you-" he stepped and swung even as the words left his mouth. Jimmy saw it coming but not in time to do anything; Eddie's fist smashed into the side of his jaw. The blow left him reeling; though no one who worked on a farm could be considered weak he wasn't accustomed to fighting.
"Stop it!" Alysa bellowed. Eddie spun around- and found himself alone. His erstwhile companions skittered aside, clearing a path between him and her. She stood with her knees flexed, her fists raised and clenched, her elbows close to her sides.
Eddie wasn't exactly a trained fighter either but he'd done plenty of brawling. At the very least Alysa looked as if she knew how to throw a punch. Even if she didn't it would take a lot of skill for one man to overcome her advantage in reach and strength. "You don't talk about my sister that way," he growled, spitting near Jimmy's feet. "Come on." He brushed past Alysa on his way to the truck; she stepped aside to keep him at optimum striking range. The others skirted widely around her.
Jimbo and Carty pulled up in the donkey as Eddie and his crew struggled to right their vehicle. Jimbo glanced at Jimmy and jumped down with a spade in hand; Carty joined him holding a fence post. Alysa crouched at Jimmy's side, lifting him gently and laying his head in her lap. Finally the pickup crashed back onto its wheels; given the generally dilapidated condition of its bodywork it seemed none the worse for wear. Only after it vanished from sight down the road did Jimbo drop his spade and check on Jimmy. "You okay, boss?" he asked.
"Nowif-" Jimmy began. Pain exploded in his jaw and face when he tried to talk; he felt heat radiating from the swollen flesh of his cheek and tasted blood in his mouth. He groaned, fighting the urge to clutch his face. That would only make it hurt more.
"He needs a cold compress," Alysa said.
"I know," Jimbo replied. "Carty, get the medicine chest and some clean towels."
"Okay." Carty jogged off to the house. When he returned Jimbo wet one of the towels and carefully washed Jimmy's face. Another he wet and lay over the over the already purpling bruise.
"Do you have ice?" Alysa asked.
"In the ice house," Carty replied. "But only in big blocks."
"Crush some and wrap it in a towel," Alysa said. "It'll make the swelling go down faster."
Carty hesitated, glancing at Jimbo. Jimbo nodded and Carty hurried off. Out here in the sticks ice didn't come cheap. Some town folk had them newfangled electric ice boxes but Jimmy hadn't ever found one he liked for a price he'd be willing to pay. When Carty returned Alysa shifted Jimmy into the crook of her arm, as if he were a baby, and gently pressed the ice pack to his face.
"Cheeze Louise," Carty muttered, noting how Alysa's breasts pressed against Jimmy's head and torso.
"Listen, sonny." Jimbo caught Carty's face and turned it toward him. "He's the boss so he gets dibs, you know that. Besides, in case you hadn't noticed, she's sweet on him. If you need somewhere to sheath your rod go look in town. Or go stroke behind the wood shed for all I care. Right now, tho, we is gonna get back to mending the fence. Boss'll be along when he feels better." With a firm hand on Carty's shoulder Jimbo impelled him toward the donkey.
Jimmy wanted to ask Jimbo to wait but calling out would strain his face in painful ways. And... oh, Hell, why not admit it? He liked the sensation of being cradled in Alysa's strong- and pleasantly furry- arms. Not to mention that with his head nestled in the crook of her elbow it put his face right against her breasts. If not for the material of her overalls-
She offered you her breasts- not to mention the rest of her- and you sent her packing, Jimmy thought. Now you're daydreaming about the very thing you turned down earlier. For a terrifying instant he teetered on the brink of temptation. He could just order Alysa to strip. By her own admission she'd been made for sex. What could possibly be wrong with putting something to it's intended use?
Jimmy grimaced. Hammers and pickup trucks didn't have feelings. Abusing them only made your life miserable.
"I'm sorry." Alysa repositioned the ice pack.
"No, I'm sorry." Jimmy laid a hand over Alysa's. The ice had relieved his discomfort and talking didn't hurt too much if he moved his mouth as little as possible. "I shouldn't have snapped at you in the barn. I know you meant well. I'm just... not ready for it."
Alysa held the ice pack with her wrist so she could stroke Jimmy's head. "I shouldn't have presumed. And... thank you for not giving me to those men. A... another master might have seen it as a chance to, to punish me."
Jimmy didn't grimace this time but he felt an unpleasant chill in his gut. He'd done it before, taking revenge on people for slights they'd given him. It always felt right when he did it but afterward... sometimes he lay awake at night, thinking about it. Finally he'd decided that if he didn't like how it made him feel he just wouldn't do it, no matter how much it seemed like the bastard deserved it. "I shouldn't have said that about his sister."
"She probably has a cute Morph gardener," Alysa replied.
Jimmy frowned. Come to think of it Eddie's sister did have a Morph housekeeper. A gelding, of course, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Geldings could still have sex; only the testes were removed.
"My lord?" Alysa asked worriedly.
Reluctantly Jimmy sat up. "There's nothing I'd rather do than spend the morning here in your arms-" with a shock he realized he meant it- "but the fence needs to be mended, the chickens fed, eggs collected, and a thousand other things." He looked Alysa up and down; with only three of four breasts drained she looked shockingly lopsided. "That includes milking you," he added. Suppressing a twinge he forced himself to smile and stroke her bosom. "Then you can help us drive stakes for the new fence."
"Okay, my lord!" Alysa smiled, wagging her tail as she bounced to her feet. Literally, considering the way her breasts flopped up and down. Only after she turned away did Jimmy grimace. It made perfect sense, actually; things would be much simpler if the milk vixen enjoyed being milked. He couldn't help but wonder, though, about the ethical implications of making someone like that. Unfortunately, thinking about that opened questions about the whole practice of using Morphs... and that was too much, coming as it did on top of everything else. He put the thought out of his mind and followed Alysa into the barn. One thing at a time.
After carefully checking the line Alysa placed the spade and leaned on it. Her weight drove the blade deep into the soil. She wrenched it out, laid it aside, and selected a stake from the bed of the donkey. She forced it into the cut made by the spade until it stood straight on its own. Next she took up the maul- one handed, like a hammer- and struck an overhand blow that drove the stake thirty centimeters into the ground and left it ringing like a bell. Another power blow and a few taps set the stake to just the right depth. That done she hung the spade and maul on the donkey's tool rack and dipped a pan of water from the tank trailer. Instead of drinking it she poured it over her head and shoulders.
Though only half again taller than a regular person Alysa's body enclosed two and a quarter times the volume and contained a shade more than three times the mass. That, combined with the fact that she lacked sweat glands except on the bottoms of her feet, made disposing of excess heat a significant problem. Fortunately the germ plasm engineers had given her fur that shed water easily; keeping it damp actually cooled her more effectively than sweat on bare skin- but only so long as she exposed maximum surface area. Thus her overalls lay folded on the donkey's seat until evening brought cooler temperatures. She didn't mind working undressed, in fact she preferred it. The overalls irritated her nipples and bunched her fur, as well as acquiring unsightly stains when milk leaked from her breasts.
Alysa arched her back to loosen the muscles, wagging her tail and letting her tongue loll out. Jimmy, Jimbo, and Carty found her habits of undress excessively distracting. Therefore she drove stakes for the new fence along Fanno Creek while the men cleared drainage ditches in the upper field. The work felt good- she'd get fat if she didn't exercise- and it wasn't especially demanding, at least not for her. It did feel a little strange not having people staring at her-
Suddenly Alysa turned about, her eyes scanning the trees and brush along the creek's edge while her ears twitched back and forth and her nose tested the air. An eddying breeze brought her... something. A wisp of a smell, a rustle of sound, or a flicker of motion, she wasn't sure. On impulse she picked up the spade and used it to mash down the screening foliage.
In a hollow near the stream lay a fox.
Even with a screen of brush protecting him from the sun Frederick's tongue lolled out and he struggled not to pant. He lay on his side because physiological considerations made laying on his stomach decidedly uncomfortable. His left hand gripped his stiffly erect penis, pumping vigorously. Yet again he forced himself to slow down; he had all afternoon to go and if he came now she might notice. Nevertheless the tempo of his activities kept increasing. With her there he couldn't help it.
Frederick wasn't the name he'd received in a germ plasm lab some years ago. That name he considered a gift- meaning that he could reject it if he chose. Then too there was the fact that his original name might lead to connections being drawn between him and a couple suspicious deaths over in Manzinita. So it was, at least in the local area, that people knew him as Frederick the Jobber, a pleasantly friendly and deferential Morph fox who wandered from farm to farm doing odd jobs for food, clothing, or shelter. The menfolk saw him as a harmless vagrant. The womenfolk... well, suffice it to say word got around that Frederick was good for more than just mucking out drains. He didn't spend every night outside or in a barn, not by a long shot. Which he saw as only right and proper; a goodly number of human men fucked their Morph servants. Frederick simply returned the favor.
What even the women didn't know was that Frederick used his jobbing as a way to case out the farms for nighttime activities of a very different sort. He never took money, that would bring the sheriff for sure. If he ended up in the county lockup someone might notice that his Certificate of Manumission wasn't exactly as official as it appeared. A chicken here, a sheep there, an armload of tools, a meat pie, a few loaves of bread... anything that could be carried off without too much difficulty and whose loss wouldn't arouse too much suspicion. Whatever he didn't use himself he fenced.
The MacGregor place was a veritable gold mine. All sorts of strange oddments lay about, far more than the small crew could possibly keep track of. Some items fetched amazing prices, even on the black market. Then, last night-
Last night Frederick stumbled upon something of incalculable value. After swiping a chicken to satisfy his hunger he stole to the shed where Jimmy kept his junk. He would have walked right in but he saw that a lot of work had been done recently. He peeked through a gap in the shutters... and there she was, curled up on a pile of pillows. He'd nearly creamed his pants on the spot.
Today Frederick should have been out jobbing, casing the spread he'd hit this evening. Staying in one place was dangerous; people started noticing things. Instead he'd found this spot on the banks of Fanno Creek where the brush formed a natural blind. He lay in his hide, watching, as she worked her way toward him. The spade looked ridiculously small in her hands; using it forced her to bend way over, exhibiting her deliciously curved buttocks in the best possible way. When she swung the maul to drive each stake reaction made her breasts jounce up and down in a particularly fascinating way. On top of that- icing on the proverbial cake- she worked in the nude. He would approach her, of that there was no question. Scenario after scenario played out in his mind but each time he ended up jumping ahead to the aftermath, where he had his arms around her torso, his face buried between her breasts, and his shaft sunk deep into her body. Those images made it very difficult to plan and led directly to why he lay on his side with his trousers down around his knees.
Frederick prided himself on his self control. The women he serviced might question his character but they never complained that he discharged his duties prematurely. As such it caught him quite by surprise when he felt a rush of intense pleasure in his loins. He let go of his penis but it was too late. He felt the semen flowing up from the inner recesses of his body like lava rising in a volcano. He also knew, from past experience, that his body seemed to produce semen in direct proportion to how much sexual stimulation he received beforehand. He'd thought of nothing but her since last night and masturbated, off and on, all morning. Fluid spurted from his penis with amazing force; he heard it splattering on the ground beside him. It kept coming, pulse after pulse, for what felt like forever. Normally he thought the moment didn't last nearly long enough; he probably would have felt it even now if not for the fact that this was the worst possible moment to lose control. She was right there, at the closest approach to his blind.
He must have made a sound. Maybe she smelled the semen; there was enough of it, to be sure. She turned about suddenly, eyeing the brush and trees growing along the creek's edge. She stepped over the old fence, reduced to a tangled, choked mess by spring floods, and used the spade to sweep aside the foliage. By then Frederick had got to his knees but his pants were still down around his thighs as he struggled to pull them up. His penis, now only semi-erect and fading fast, drizzled a line of wetness across the faded, battered denim. He looked up; he couldn't help it.
Their eyes met.
For what felt like an eternity Alysa could only stare. The fox man looked young, in his late teens or early twenties. His body was lean and hard, with clearly defined but not particularly large muscles. As she watched his penis contracted back into his crotch, leaving a trail of wetness across the front of his trousers, a battered, oft-patched, and somewhat stained garment currently bunched around his thighs. He didn't seem to have a shirt or a cap. A great deal of semen stained the ground around where he'd lay, so much that Alysa smelled it clearly. The scent seemed to bypass her brain and go straight to her crotch; she felt herself getting excited by it. "What are you doing?" she demanded, in an effort to remain intellectually in control of the situation.
"Watching you, my lady," the fox replied.
The forthrightness of his reply caught Alysa up short. She'd prepared herself to become angry or indignant but it didn't materialize. "Why?" she asked.
"Because you're beautiful," he said.
Alysa licked her lips. He didn't sound flattering or hopeful; he spoke as if he'd pronounced a simple truth and no more. Somehow that touched her more profoundly than blandishments ever could. "You startled me," she said gruffly. She couldn't help wondering what his cock looked like fully erect. Long and thick, she surmised, a conclusion that didn't help her state of mind any.
"I'm sorry," he replied. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I... I couldn't help it." He looked down.
"You should probably be on your way," Alysa said, considerably less forcefully than she'd meant to.
"Oh, please." He looked up, entreating. "Let me make it up to you. I could help you plant the rest of those fence posts. It'll be easier with two of us."
"Well-" Alysa glanced along the line of old fencing. That she appreciated the work didn't mean she liked it. "What do you expect in return?" Considering what men usually wanted from her, not to mention what he was doing when she found him-
He frowned. "I'm doing you a favor as a way of apologizing for my rudeness. It's not for me to make conditions."
"Oh."Alysa fidgeted. He was only trying to be polite. "I- I'm sorry-"
"It's all right," he insisted gently. "I know it sounds terrible, but a beautiful woman like you probably gets taken advantage of a lot."
"I suppose," Alysa allowed. Men wanted sex from her and it was her duty to provide it- at least to her master, or to those her master specified. That's just how things were, wasn't it?
Except that Jimmy wasn't like that. He refused to have sex with her, even though he wanted to so badly she could practically see it oozing out of his skin. That didn't make any sense, not in the world she knew.
"May I ask your name, my lady?" the fox man inquired.
"What's yours?" Alysa countered.
"Frederick, my lady."
"I'm Alysa," she replied shortly.
"It's an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady." Frederick extended his hand; when Alysa took it he bowed, raising her knuckles briefly to his lips. His face wasn't designed for kissing; instead he licked, running his tongue through the gap between her middle and ring fingers.
Despite her best efforts Alysa shivered. The sensation of his tongue sliding over her skin seemed to travel like an electric shock up her arm and straight to her nipples. "Right, then." She snatched her hand away, massaging it in an attempt to banish the memory. It didn't work. "Let's get to work, shall we?"
"Of course, my lady." Frederick dropped his trousers, folded them, and lay them on the donkey's seat.
"What are you doing?" Alysa demanded tensely. She should tell him to stop but though the words perched on her lips she couldn't bring herself to let them go.
"I wouldn't presume to be dressed when my lady isn't," Frederick replied, dipping a pan of water from the tank. He drank some and poured the rest over his head and shoulders. A brisk shake dislodged the excess and filled the air with his scent. A human would probably have said it smelled like wet dog; in Alysa's nostrils the odor was intoxicatingly masculine. A part of her brain that knew nothing of the proper relationship between a Morph and her master said that this was what a man should smell like.
"Okay." Alysa picked up the maul. She supposed she could probably refute his argument if she tried but in truth she didn't want to. She liked looking at his naked body. She studied the line of posts and made a cut for the next one. Frederick grabbed a post from the donkey and set it in the cut. He held it steady with both hands, crouching on his heels with his knees splayed apart. Alysa stepped back, raising the maul for an overhand swing.
Driving the post with Frederick holding it should have been trivially simple. Alysa had spent her whole life training; given her size and strength an incautious or ill-considered movement could lead to serious injury for herself or others. She'd worked on the stakes all morning and had the rhythm down. Ironically, the problem was Frederick himself. Squatting like that highlighted his genitals much more than when he stood upright with his legs together. Moreover, his penis appeared to have recovered from its exertions. Strictly speaking it wasn't erect or even semi-hard but it had filled out enough that it bowed instead of hanging limp. As she started her swing Alysa's eyes wouldn't stay fixed on the head of the post. Fortunately Frederick himself wasn't unfamiliar with physical labor. He noticed Alysa's swing go wrong even as she began it and did the most sensible thing under the circumstances: he let go and tumbled backwards out of the way. The maul rang against the post's shaft, driving it slantways into the ground. Reaction threw Alysa off balance; she dropped the maul and staggered back.
"Omigod!" Alysa rushed to Frederick's side. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry!"
Frederick looked up at her, blinking. He lay on his back, knees bent, torso propped up by his elbows. "I, I think I'm okay," he replied, somewhat tentatively.
Alysa scooped Frederick up and carried him to a patch of grass shaded by overhanging trees. She sat cross-legged, laying him across her lap. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, stroking his head. "I wasn't paying attention and I, I could have hurt you."
"You didn't," Frederick pointed out. He reached up and stroked her cheek. She leaned her face against his hand.
Frederick couldn't believe his luck. Usually when he sought a woman he treated it as any other job, scouting the terrain in advance and formulating a plan with contingencies. This encounter he'd handled entirely by instinct. Yet it- and fortuitous coincidence- put him exactly where he wanted to be. He'd heard it said that it's better to be lucky than good; at the moment he had to agree. The warmth of Alysa's flesh against his and the rich aroma of her in the air charged him with desire so intense he swore he felt it crackling in his fur. His penis stiffened until it ached. The swell of her breast pressed against his face; he had only to flick out his tongue to caress her nipple but he restrained himself. Having come so far he wasn't about to lose his prize by acting too swiftly. He pushed himself up until he sat on her thigh. He slipped an arm around her back and lay the other on her opposite shoulder, using the leverage to press himself close. Her nipples poked the front of his body; they felt about as hard as his cock. Gazing deep into her eyes he licked her throat. He felt her quick intake of breath, her body tensing under him. He kept at it, nuzzling the fur on her cheek and chin. Her eyelids fluttered and closed; she let her head loll back, baring her throat. He let his hand drift down to her breast; he caressed the great fleshy curve, then settled his hand with her nipple pressed against the web of his thumb and squeezed hard. She drew a sharp breath and wrapped her arms around him, crushing him against her, falling backwards onto the grass. Frederick quickly shifted position, straddling her waist. With a regular sized woman he would have knelt between her legs but Alysa's body was too long for that. He wrapped his arms around her breasts, squeezing them together as if trying to lift them. Only now did he work his tongue down from her throat and across her chest until it found a nipple. He played with it for a moment, running his tongue over the aureole and surrounding flesh. Then he wrapped his lips around it and sucked. He didn't even bat an eye when a stream of milk spurted into his mouth. Glancing aside he saw milk oozing from her other nipples as he squeezed her breasts. He slurped greedily, moving from one to the next, his hands constantly in motion. He wished that he had four hands and four mouths so he could do all her breasts at once. At long last he straightened up. Milk drizzled from all of Alysa's nipples; her aureola gleamed with saliva, the fur around them spiky and damp. He licked spattered milk from his muzzle. He couldn't guess how much he'd drank but his stomach felt almost uncomfortably full. Yet Alysa's nipples spurted as strongly as ever. It occurred to him that, given her size, he'd do as well trying to drain the udder of a cow. He wagged his tail; in his day he'd stolen his share of milk, or perhaps a little more, often as not direct from the source. When you're hungry, sucking on a cow's nipple isn't as repulsive as it might be otherwise. No question, however, but that this won hands down. Filling and pleasant at the same time. Suddenly a tremendous belch forced its way out of him; he blinked in surprise. Alysa giggled.
"I'm not done with you yet, my dear," Frederick murmured, stroking the side of Alysa's muzzle. She licked his fingers. Keeping his eyes locked on hers he rose and stepped between her legs. She spread them wide for him. He sank to his knees, then his belly, wrapping his arms around her thighs. The musky smell of her vulva evoked such a wave of lust in him that he almost came right then and there. But Frederick was made of sterner stuff; he would wring every drop of pleasure to be had from her. He ran his tongue across her labia and nibbled gently at her clitoris; she hissed sharply, arching her back and clawing at the grass. Muscles in her thighs bunched and spasmed. He jammed his face against her crotch, probing deeply with his tongue so as to lap up every drop of hot, sweet nectar from the flower of her womanhood. He needn't have worried; at every stroke of his tongue the quivering walls of her vagina secreted ever more.
This time Frederick pushed himself upright because his tongue hurt. And his neck, from spending so long kinked at an odd angle. He couldn't tell how long he'd been at work; his memory was nothing but a haze of hot, sticky pleasure. Not long enough, not by a long shot, decided, but his face needed a rest. He stepped over Alysa's thighs and knelt with his knees nearly in her armpits. Even as he did so he realized that it wouldn't work; her chest was so big around that he could hardly straddle it. Alysa solved the problem by grabbing his pelvis and rolling over, laying him on his back. She put his legs over her shoulders and gripped his buttocks, squeezing and kneading them. She cupped his testicles with her tongue, bouncing and tweaking them gently. Then she slid her tongue up the underside of his shaft from base to tip. Finally she took his penis into her mouth, rubbing it with her tongue and squeezing with her lips, right down until her nose butted against his belly. It occurred to him later that this is what it must have felt like for her; with his legs over her back he couldn't get any leverage and so couldn't thrust into her. All he could do was lay there while fiery pleasure poured endlessly from his loins. It seemed to burn him away from within until nothing remained but a penis, sliding rhythmically in and out of her mouth. When he felt his orgasm swelling to the point of eruption he couldn't do a thing to stop it, slow it, or alter it's course in any way whatsoever. He couldn't move or speak; it was as if he'd forgotten how. Once again he felt the semen flowing through his penis. As it burst forth he gasped, his entire body tensing. Alysa matched her rhythm to that of his tensing muscles, taking him deep and swallowing at the end of every spurt. Finally the pulses died out; his penis softened and shrank like a deflating balloon, still twitching with the memory of orgasm. She gave it one last lick and looked up at him, her tail swishing idly back and forth.
Frederick gasped for breath. He still couldn't move or speak; he felt like he'd ejaculated every ounce of his being, leaving only an empty skin. When the tide of post-coital bliss receded enough that he could move he found that he didn't care to. "Oh, my lady," he murmured. It had been a long time since he'd experienced an orgasm like that. If he ever had experienced an orgasm like that.
"I'm not done with you yet, my dear." Alysa nipped playfully at Frederick's penis, then got up and dipped a pan of water from the tank. She drank most of it and poured the rest down her chest. She returned, licking her lips in a decidedly predatory fashion, and lay down between his legs. Her hands massaged his thighs, belly, and chest while her lips and tongue teased his penis and testicles. He moaned; he wanted to please her so very much but the performance her mouth and hands demanded just didn't seem to be in him. She kept on, though- and in less time than he would have thought possible he felt his energy surging back. His penis stirred, then stiffened to attention. "You know what comes next, right?" she inquired. To underscore her point she turned about, presenting her backside to him, her tail held off to one side.
"Yes indeed, my lady." Frederick got to his knees and caressed Alysa's buttocks. The broad flare of her pelvis provided an excellent grip. She sank down onto her belly, which was just as well; with them both on their knees her vulva butted against his abdomen, well above his crotch. He took his time positioning himself; she arched her back, thrusting her vulva at him. He chuckled, reaching between her legs and rubbing her clitoris with the heel of his hand. Her labia fairly dripped. She was ready, oh yes. He wouldn't mind teasing her some more but he was ready too. He licked his hand and leaned forward, luxuriating in the sensation of her buttocks pillowing his lower body. Finding the hole wasn't difficult; her vulva was built on the same impressive scale as the rest of her. At first he feared it might make her seem loose but she quickly disabused him of that notion. Not only in size but also in strength did her vagina match the rest of her construction. "My God," he gasped. From the way she squeezed he bet she could have shot a ping pong ball across the room. His lips drew back in a feral snarl as he hammered at her; the delicate constructions- or psyches- of some of his clients forced him to be gentle with them. Alysa merely soaked up everything he poured into her. He tightened his grip and pounded harder. She gasped in time with his thrusts, slipping her hands under her torso and squeezing her breasts, upper right and lower left.
For a terrifying moment Frederick feared that despite the strength of Alysa's vaginal muscles he wouldn't be able to push himself to climax. By now she was so wet he wasn't sure he could get adequate stimulation. Moreover, this would be his third in a very short span when usually he did no more than one or two in an evening. Nevertheless he resolved to continue until he dropped from exhaustion if that's what it took. For the sake of his own honor, certainly. But also for the sake of the pleasure she'd given him, he felt he owed her at least that much. He leaned forward farther and farther until nearly all his weight came down on his hips, grabbing double handfuls of Alysa's fur to improve his grip.
Frederick's orgasm didn't burst upon him this time; he coaxed it out bit by bit through determination and effort. For a long time he hovered on the step, working like mad to hold his place but unable to push over. Until Alysa reached between her legs, using one middle finger to stroke the underside of Frederick's penis as he drew it out, thrusting the other firmly into his anus, and squeezing his buttocks. Somehow that did the trick; he let out a yelp as the pressure within him finally released. His muscles pumped mightily but he felt only a trickle of semen issue forth. Under the circumstances he counted himself lucky to have any at all; he'd shot a Hell of a load today. Twice, no less. He slumped forward onto Alysa's back, panting heavily, his tongue lolling out.
Alysa shifted a hand from Frederick's crotch to her own, caressing her clitoris. She hadn't come this time around but she wasn't at all displeased. The memory of his lips and tongue on her nipples and vulva sent a wave of hot, sticky pleasure surging through her. She particularly liked the way he'd used not only his hands but his whole upper body to stimulate her breasts. His penis, she felt, was particularly well designed: only slightly longer than average but with a substantial thickness and a heavily textured exterior. And yet, she couldn't help wishing there was more of him. She wanted to feel his hips slapping against her thighs while his penis drove deep into her vagina, his chest crushed against her breasts, his tongue ardently exploring her mouth. But she couldn't; he wasn't large enough. She estimated that in the missionary position his head would be about even with her lower breasts. Furthermore, for all its quality, his penis was only about the size of her middle finger.
As the pressure of orgasm built within her Alysa's eyes flickered shut and her breath came in short gasps. Under the right circumstances a finger or two was all it took. The size of Frederick's penis hadn't in any way diminished the experience of his semen gushing into her mouth. She looked forward to experiencing it gush into her vagina and even her rectum. (She didn't count his final, admittedly rather pitiful spurt. Under the circumstances it didn't seem fair to hold it against him, though she did regret the tremendous load he'd wasted on the floor of his hide.) She didn't think she'd get any more out of him in the immediate future, but that didn't preclude other possibilities. In fact, in one particular area his relatively small size would be a distinct advantage. She rolled onto her side, tipping Frederick off onto the grass, then swung her leg over him, placing him between her calves, and rose onto her hands and knees.
"What, still not satisfied?" Frederick inquired mildly, running his hand up the inside of Alysa's left thigh, then idly tracing around, but never actually touching, her vulva. Her buttocks were, in his opinion, absolutely perfect: round, full, and soft to the touch yet firm, like a ripe peach, with thighs to match.
"By your own admission you are in my debt, sir," Alysa purred. "I intend to collect in fullest measure."
"By your command, my lady." Frederick sat up, caressing and kneading Alysa's buttocks and thi