Love and Livestock
by John R. Plunkett
"Hey, Avlar!" Curtis shouted, leaning out the cab window. "Shake a leg!"
Avlar waved back. He had his arms around Rosalind, and she had hers around him. They nuzzled one another's cheeks and probably kissed. More than once, from the look of it.
"Oh, get a room," Curtis muttered under his breath, only a bit less than half seriously. He'd never admit publicly that he had a soft spot for Avlar and Rosalind but he did. Avlar was the best brakeman Curtis had ever worked with and Rosalind made the best coffee to be found anywhere on the King's Valley Line. Besides, Avlar and Rosalind were both in their early twenties and much taken with one another. Of course they carried on like a couple of teenagers. Still, time and tide waited for no man and neither did the Mazama Traction Company, or there'd be Hell to pay. Curtis switched on the locomotive's bell; at the first peal Avlar broke away and dashed down the platform. Curtis kept an eye on his watch; as soon as the second hand hit zero he moved the controller from off to series one and the train brake handle to full release. Steeplecab #L4021 eased into motion as smoothly as butter sliding on a hot griddle, though far from silently. The air compressor, which occupied the middle of the cab, roared to life; the traction motors thrummed, the gear boxes growled, and the cooling fans whirred. Just as Curtis notched up to series two Avlar leapt nimbly onto the rear catwalk and entered the cab through what was currently the rear door. "I hope you realize that's no way for a married man to act," Curtis pointed out. "I mean, you carry on like you were in love with her or something."
Avlar took his place on the opposite side of the cab. "Would you like to know how often we make love?" he inquired.
"That's hitting below the belt, you bastard," Curtis grumbled.
"You got that right," Avlar replied, flashing a grin.
Curtis was ten years Avlar's senior and a confirmed bachelor, a state of affairs he treasured because it saved him from ever having to deal with female nonsense. Then Avlar came along and pointed out that it also saved Curtis from getting laid on a regular basis. Curtis shook his head; the honeymoon would end sooner or later, as it always did. She ironed his overalls, for Heaven's sake, a pointless activity if ever Curtis had seen one. Working a freight locomotive wasn't the place for knife-edge creases. Nor would she permit him to shave his tail, never mind that such a voluminous appendage was a distinct liability in the profession of railroading, where it might get caught in machinery, smeared with filth, or even set on fire. As a precaution against such things Rosalind wrapped Avlar's in a net, which she always tied with a little green and gold ribbon. That Avlar would tolerate such treatment was, in Curtis' opinion, only more evidence of how far around the bend the poor fellow had gone. On the other hand Curtis did understand in a vague sort of way. Avlar was a nice looking fellow, by Morph or human standards. He wasn't exceptionally large but he was very well proportioned, and managed to maintain a firm, trim figure in spite of Rosalind's efforts to fatten him up. In light of all that, perhaps it wasn't a surprise that Rosalind wanted him to look as pretty as possible.
"Number three needs grease," Avlar commented.
Curtis frowned, cocking his head and listening intently. Being able to identify a slight shift in the growl of one out of four gearboxes in the face of the cacophony of noises filling the cab was an art that some operators even older than Curtis had failed to master. "It does," he eventually concurred. Skunks were not, as far as he could recall, known for their acute senses but Avlar at least seemed to know everything that happed with the locomotive on an almost instinctual level. He'd make a damn fine operator some day. If he got the chance, at any rate; the company didn't like promoting Morphs to such positions. Still, it had happened from time to time. "Hey, Avlar, wanna take it for a spell?" he asked.
"Hell yeah!" Avlar replied.
"Come on, then." Curtis waved Avlar over.
After switching places Curtis leaned back and put his feet up. There wasn't room to do that on the operator's side. He hung his elbow out the window, letting the warm, early summer air blow over him. He could trust Avlar to keep an eye on things even if he decided to daydream a bit, and Avlar would keep his mouth shut if an inspector came prowling around. All in all life was just great.
"Now this looks like a good one," Jaquetta said, plucking a particularly juicy looking blackberry from the bush. After a moment's thought she popped it in her mouth instead of the basket hanging from her arm. Heck, she'd already collected enough for two and a half pies and she hadn't covered more than half of the bushes growing along the creek. And there was a particularly heavy laden bush, spilling over the edge of a low embankment. She took up the pitchfork, using it to push runners out of the way so she could step close.
Unfortunately the hanging runners also concealed the fact that the face of the embankment was sand over a layer of clay. As Jaquetta's weight came on it the clay broke loose. Her foot shot out from under her and she pitched headlong into the water. She windmilled her arms in a futile attempt to regain her balance and the basket went spinning away into the underbrush. When she picked herself up the entire front and side of her dress was sodden and caked with mud. "Blast!" she snarled. Her hands were muddy too; she wouldn't be able to clean her dress until she'd washed them. The fur on her arm and side was all muddy too. There seemed to be a pool a bit further down; she hoisted her skirt and waded into it. The water turned out to be a bit more than knee deep and crystal clear; the bed was clean sand. Not the best for bathing, perhaps, but better than slogging all the way back to the house. She rinsed her hands in the water, then pulled off her dress. There wasn't anything under it except her; she didn't bother with a bra because it would have to be custom made and in any case she didn't need one; despite their prodigious size her breasts stood up just fine on their own. Panties were simply more trouble than they were worth. She squatted in the water and vigorously rubbed the dress until she'd removed the worst of the mud stains. A more thorough cleaning would have to wait until she returned to the house. That done she lay the dress across a tree branch, using the pitchfork to stretch it out. Then she lay back, rubbing herself and letting the water carry the mud and dirt out of her fur. Though a bit chilly she found reclining in the pool to be quite pleasant and relaxing.
Suddenly Jaquetta's reverie was shattered by a loud noise. She surged to her feet and turned toward it.
Despite its fearsome name, Dead Man's Curve wasn't particularly dangerous. The name actually derived from the fact that, some years ago, a fellow had hanged himself from an old oak right beside the tracks. Nevertheless Avlar moved the controller to off and the brake to lap; the roadbed descended on the approach to the curve and a train could easily pick up too much speed.
Curtis felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He looked around and realized that Avlar hadn't applied the brake. "Avlar," he said, but Avlar was staring out the window and didn't seem to notice. Curtis frowned and crossed the cab. "Slow it down, Avlar," he said, but even with Curtis standing right by him Avlar didn't respond. "What the heck are you-" Curtis began. The he saw what had polarized Avlar's attention.
The tracks crossed Fanno Creek on a culvert. The constriction created a wide, still pool on the upstream side. Standing in it was a female skunk Morph, naked as the day she'd been decanted. She wasn't exactly a delicate thing; a generous quantity of muscle etched her perfectly proportioned arms and shoulders, but Curtis barely noticed that. Her breasts were enormous; so much so, in fact, that from the front and with her arms at her sides they nearly covered her biceps. Despite which they stood proudly out from her chest, maintaining a firm, round shape in apparent defiance of gravity. And she had four of them; a second pair hung just below the first. Because of that nothing much could be seen of her belly except where it joined her hips but that part looked firm and mostly flat. Her pelvis flared out sharply, forming the start to a pair of very meaty but- like her breasts, very firm- thighs. They in turn were presumably the start of long, sinuous legs but Curtis couldn't have said right then; the pool cut off his view at her knees.
Curtis stared. He couldn't help it. The woman made no attempt to conceal herself; she merely stood there, watching the locomotive as it rumbled past. And her expression; spending the last year in the company of Avlar and Rosalind had taught Curtis how to read skunk body language. The look on this woman's face was the sort Rosalind gave Avlar when he came back after having been away for a while on a long assignment. Then, a few days later, Avlar would return to work looking a bit frazzled, as if he hadn't slept much, but he wouldn't stop grinning for days.
The spell only broke when the locomotive had moved far enough that trees blocked the view. Curtis blinked and shook his head. "Good God," he muttered.
The steeplecab lurched. Curtis just managed to catch himself before being thrown against the compressor. The deck rocked violently; steel screamed as wheels and rails clashed. They'd picked up too much speed on the down slope. Avlar slammed the brake to full on but Curtis jerked it back. Hard braking now would only increase the chance of derailing. He waited until the locomotive and several cars had cleared the curve, then applied gentle brake. Because of the time it took for the brake pipe to decompress the locomotive and the cars at the front of the train would brake first, then the middle, and finally the end. Once the whole train had cleared the curve Curtis applied full brake and brought the train to a stop. Looking back from the cab window everything seemed all right; he slumped back against the cab wall and exhaled hugely.
"I- I-" Avlar stammered.
"Aw, just forget it, okay?" Curtis interrupted gruffly. The ugly truth was that if a human woman even half as pretty had looked at him like that he'd have been out the window in a heartbeat and undressed before hitting the ground. And he was thirty-three years old, for God's sake. In light of that, and considering his age, it could be said that Avlar had exhibited admirable restraint. "Check the train," he added.
"Right!" Avlar dashed out onto the catwalk, jumped to the ground, and jogged along the tracks, inspecting the cars to make sure that they weren't damaged or derailed. Only once he was out of earshot did it occur to Curtis that he'd sent Avlar back toward her. He wondered, briefly, if he'd ever see him again.
People argue whether or not love and first sight really happens. On the other hand, no one disputes that lust at first sight really happens.
Jaquetta certainly didn't. As the locomotive hove into view her eyes met those of the young skunk man in the window. At that instant there seemed to be an almost audible click and suddenly she could not look away. She turned to watch him go by as if drawn by a string. She couldn't even see that much of him- only his head, chest, and one arm- but even that seemed to go right past her brain and directly to her crotch. He wore a loose white tee shirt and pin striped overalls but her mind easily extrapolated the rest. The arm she saw was muscular but not bulky, and at the same time smooth but not soft. His chest would be broad, with clearly defined pectorals. His belly... it ought to be flat and firm, with maybe a bit of softening. If there were any justice in the world his hips would be lean, with tight, hard buttocks and long, muscular legs. And his crotch-
In retrospect Jaquetta should have anticipated what came next. She'd lived with it all her adult life, after all. While she speculated about the size and shape of the young man's masculine hardware muscles tensed in her belly. Something hot and wet dripped down the insides of her thighs and splashed into the pool.
"Oh, drat!" Jaquetta snarled, squatting in the water and scrubbing the sticky mess out of her fur. For the most part she liked being what she was but there were parts she wasn't so thrilled about. Thank goodness she'd been undressed and standing in water when it happened; cleanup would be a snap. Anywhere else, though, it was a tremendous hassle. She never wore pants or overalls if she could help it.
A sound impinged upon Jaquetta's awareness. She looked up, turning her head back and forth. A faint, rhythmic crunching. Someone running. On gravel. From- from the direction the train had gone.
Terror froze Jaquetta in place. Truth be told she'd like nothing better than to meet that young man without any clothes on. But she could feel the nectar oozing into her vagina already; if she actually saw him she'd blow for sure. Wetting herself did not seem like the way to impress a cute guy. Not at a first encounter, at any rate. Of course she didn't know it was him... but who else could it be?
Better not to take the chance. Jaquetta snatched up her dress and fled upstream.
Avlar coasted to a stop. For a subjectively long time he stood there, staring down into the pool. She was gone, as if she'd never been. No, not quite. There as a pitchfork driven into the ground near a tree and the water was still cloudy from where her footsteps had stirred up the sediment. She must have left just as he arrived. His leg twitched and he almost started down the embankment, but a sudden recollection of Rosalind stopped him cold. You already have a girl, his conscience reminded him. And a damn fine one, too. He shifted from foot to foot, gnawing his lip. Rosalind wasn't anything like this woman. For one, she was... well, rotund. Fat, if one had to come right out and say it. But that was one of the things he liked about her. Burying himself in the soft, fleshy folds of her body was one of the greatest joys of living. And she gave as good as she got; she enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed her. On top of that Specs, the cook down at the railroad cafe, had given her a thorough education; she could prepare food that was surely second only to mana from Heaven. You've already got it better than you ever would have dared hope, his conscience added. What more could you possibly want?
But there was something, buried deep down in the bottom of Avlar's id. Sometimes- rarely- he found himself wishing- fleetingly- that Rosalind had larger breasts. The sight of the skunk woman, with her four enormous, perfectly formed mammaries, had dredged it up and brought it to the surface.
No. Avlar gritted his teeth, turned in a very deliberate fashion, and jogged back up the tracks. A smart gambler knew when to stop. A bird in the hand, and that. Or a skunk, in this case. He resolved to be especially attentive to Rosalind when he got home. Perhaps that would banish from his mind the image of those four beautiful breasts...
Three steps away Avlar stopped and looked back over his shoulder, frowning. The viewing angle from the locomotive's cab window down into the pool was rather steep, creating a very foreshortened perspective of anyone standing down there. Looking down from the edge of the roadbed lowered Avlar's point of view by nearly two meters, giving him a somewhat different view. When he tried picturing the skunk woman standing in the water, somehow it just... didn't quite add up. It didn't help at all that any thought of her quickly devolved into contemplation of considerably less intellectual pursuits.
"No, no, no," Avlar muttered, shaking his head and starting up the tracks once more. "I'm a happily married man." He resolved to fantasize only about Rosalind for the rest of the day. Rather to his surprise it actually worked... though Rosalind no doubt would have been surprised to learn that she'd acquired an extra pair of breasts.
Just as Jaquetta reached the top of the lower field and prepared to cross the road a tanker truck went by. A line of nozzles by the rear bumper sprayed a layer of oil onto the roadway.
"Oh, good grief!" Jaquetta exclaimed, only narrowly avoiding the temptation to say something really acerbic. At any other time she would have welcomed this; most of the roads around Brooks County weren't paved. As they dried under the summer sun dust became a serious problem. Along major routes it added khaki highlights to everything nearby. But at this precise moment Jaquetta would have to walk across the freshly oiled ground. Because they weren't made in her size she didn't wear shoes, meaning that the oil would get on her feet and they'd end up stinking of it for days. As if being dirty, slightly bruised, and soaked to the skin wasn't quite enough already. There was a way around, true, but it involved walking several kilometers and wading through the culvert under Otty Road. It didn't take much imagination to guess what walking barefoot through the silt would be like, not after her experiences in the creek. She wasn't entirely sure she'd fit in any case; having to crawl through on hands and knees would indeed be the perfect end to her day. She looked at the road, then at the barn just a short distance away at the top of a small rise. "Screw it," she decided, walking up to the gate. Jimmy used metal stakes for his fences; they were more expensive that wood but they also lasted longer and required less maintenance. Jaquetta gathered up her skirt and slammed it down on the head of a stake, starting a tear in the fabric. With her hands she continued it, eventually detaching the bulk of her skirt. What remained was so short it left the very bottom of her buttocks and crotch tantalizingly exposed. Another tear separated the skirt into two pieces, one of which she tied around each foot. That done she stepped up to the road and looked both ways. She'd lived in the city most of her life and old habits died hard. Then she dashed across, lengthening her stride as much as possible. Once in the grass on the other side she hastily kicked off the improvised foot coverings and continued on into the barnyard.
Frederick stood by the pump house with two buckets. Most farmers would have been satisfied with a hand or wind powered pump but Jimmy had installed an electric one. The original reason for that, Frederick had heard, was that Jimmy's ex-wife had wanted a flush toilet. Since then Jimmy had grown fond of them himself; the farm now had no less than three: one in the house, one in the former outhouse, and one in the barn. Frederick, for one, was glad of it; cleaning a toilet was considerably more pleasant than cleaning a midden hole. At the moment he was cleaning the hen house, which certainly wasn't a job for the fastidious, but he didn't mind. It amused him that he, a fox, should be responsible for the care of chickens. He set one bucket under the spigot and stepped on the pedal; the pump whirred to life and water gushed forth. Then he noticed someone coming up the drive and turned to look. "Hello, Jaquetta," he called, and that was a far as he got.
Jaquetta's dress had been made from white material with little yellow flowers printed on it. Her black skin and fur tended to show through even when the cloth was dry; wet, as it was now, the material clung to her like a second skin and concealed what lay beneath about as well as so much cellophane. In fact, the light colored cloth added artificial highlights to details of her form that normally didn't show up very well, being black on black. For example, every minute detail of the texture on her aureolae and nipples showed up in stark relief. On top of that she'd torn her skirt off, leaving her exceptionally well formed legs completely bare. "Hello, Frederick," she called, waving.
Eventually Frederick noticed that water was spilling out of the bucket and running over his foot. That the water was quite cold made no difference; right then he believed that if the whole bucket were poured down the front of his overalls it would vaporize in a cloud of steam. He released the pedal and water stopped flowing. He liked to consider himself a cosmopolitan fellow, having been raised in the big city and working for some years in a fancy hotel as a body servant to the wealthy and powerful. In spite of all that background and experience he'd never in his life seen anything quite like this. Not in real life and certainly not right out in public. "You know," he commented, "If Jimmy comes out and sees you like that he'll have a heart attack and die right on the spot."
"Oh, surely not," Jaquetta replied with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "Jilly gave him a tentacle job back in Mazama and he managed to live through that."
Frederick said nothing. Jilly could indeed to amazing things with her tentacles, but that most definitely wasn't something he needed to be thinking about at the moment. He tugged surreptitiously at the front of his overalls; he felt as if he moved too much something would break.
Not surreptitiously enough, as it turned out. Jaquetta noticed the movement and lowered her gaze. Though to converse with Frederick she would have had to look down in any case; from head to toe she measured 326 centimeters, which placed Frederick's face about even with her lower pair of breasts. At the moment she observed a pronounced swelling starting at his crotch and running down the inside of his right thigh to just short of his knee, as if he'd thrust a length of pipe down the front of his overalls. Which, in a manner of speaking, he had. His penis, when fully erect, measured as long as his forearm and as big around as his wrist.
Jaquetta studied the bulge for several long seconds. Quite frankly she didn't get to see Frederick's penis nearly as often as she'd like. Men with wedding tackle designed to serve a woman her size weren't exactly common. "Oh, that must be terribly uncomfortable," she exclaimed, crouching and running her hand along the inside of his thigh. A distraction from the frustrations of the morning would be most welcome... and thinking of that sexy skunk boy suggested a form that distraction might take.
"Um-" Frederick began. Jaquetta's fondling wasn't helping matters any. Quite the opposite, in fact. But a part of him- the one between his legs, primarily- was of the opinion that it wouldn't be appropriate to say so, since that might induce her to stop. She's a drop dead gorgeous nymphomaniac who happens to think that your hardware is best suited to scratching her itch, his genitals whispered. What could possibly be wrong with that?
"Don't worry, we'll get that straightened out directly," Jaquetta assured, unfastening Frederick's suspenders. That done, a quick downward tug at his waistband dropped the overalls in a pile around his ankles. And that was all it took; he didn't wear shirts except in the winter and underpants, given his masculine dimensions, were impractical. Jaquetta sighed, running her hands down his chest, belly, and hips. A diet consisting mostly of vegetables kept him lean; work on the farm gave him nicely defined muscles on his arms, shoulders, and chest. Exercise of a different sort kept his lower back, belly, and hips deliciously firm. Time to give those muscles a workout, pretty boy, she thought to herself, taking his penis in hand and guiding it into her mouth.
"Uhh," Frederick moaned, his eyelids fluttering. Jaquetta could suck pretty damn hard. On top of that, either through training or design she could take him all the way into the back of her throat without gagging. She'd slide him in, caressing the underside of his penis with her tongue, until her nose was jammed right up against his belly. Then she'd swallow, draw back, and repeat the cycle. Only a few times in his life had Frederick ever encountered a woman who could administer fellatio with such skill, and never- before Jaquetta and Alysa- one who could accommodate his new dimensions. He slumped against the pump house, his breath coming in ragged gasps and his fingers clawing at the wood.
After a minute or so Jaquetta paused, sitting back on her heels and caressing Frederick's shaft with her fingertips. He'd achieved full erection and it looked to last a while. She rose to her feet, scooping him up in her arms, and moved quickly around beside the main house. Jimmy's ex-wife had planted trees and shrubs out there, creating an enclosed, shady garden off the master bedroom. After Darla left Jimmy had mostly let it go to seed but the lawn remained in relatively good shape. Jaquetta lay Frederick face up on the soft grass and knelt, straddling his hips. With two fingers of one hand she parted her labia; with the other hand she steadied Frederick's penis while she lowered herself onto it. She pulled off what remained of her dress and planted her hands to either side of Frederick's torso. He was too small for her to comfortably rest her hands on his chest and in any case she'd injure him if she put her full weight on him.
Frederick grabbed Jaquetta's breasts, because they happened to be ready to hand and also because he'd smother in her cleavage if he didn't. He stroked them with his hands and arms; he squeezed them just to feel the voluminous flesh spilling over him. He licked one of her nipples, then sucked. It obligingly discharged a spurt of milk into his mouth, which he swallowed. Jaquetta's milk tasted like that of the cow that had been sweetened with sugar and something that gave it a wheat-like overtone. Frederick liked it best as he experienced it right then: blood warm, straight from the nipple. No doubt some of that was due to the method of delivery but nevertheless he felt that the milk tasted better warm than cold. He drank sparingly, though; there was a strong temptation to slurp up as much as he could but doing so would leave him aching and groaning well before he'd emptied all four breasts. Not to mention that the milk was a cash product, meant for sale in the market as opposed to consumption by field hands.
Jaquetta arched backward, her fingers tearing at the grass. The tempo of her thrusts had increased dramatically. Frederick grabbed her hips; through his hands and his penis he felt her muscles tensing. He gritted his teeth, turning his face away. Any minute now-
Jaquetta let out a shuddering gasp, her whole body quivering. She bore down, grinding her hips against Frederick's. Her belly gurgled distinctly and a spurt of hot, sticky fluid erupted from her vulva with such force that Frederick actually felt it flowing over his penis. Only after several long seconds did the contractions ease; she sighed happily and leaned backwards, casually shaking out her mane.
Frederick also sighed, but not as a result of post-coital bliss. Fluid discharged in the process of Jaquetta's orgasm had completely drenched him between chest and knee. He lay in a pool of it, as a matter of fact. He stroked her between the legs, around the base of his shaft, then licked his fingers. The nectar, as she called it, resembled honey in color but wasn't nearly so thick. It tasted something like honey but with a fruity, tangy overtone that reminded Frederick of quince jelly. Now it wasn't that he didn't like the nectar. As a sweetener for coffee, tea, or cereal it was, he felt, without equal. In the cooler it congealed somewhat and made an excellent spread for toast and muffins. Even by itself it was a tasty snack. Scooping it out of Jaquetta's vagina with his tongue, for instance, was a pleasure to be partaken of as often as possible. Unfortunately, sooner or later- rather sooner than later, he liked to think- she'd come. And then, as now, he'd end up soaked. Just because he liked eating the nectar didn't mean he enjoyed bathing in it. It didn't seem to be any less sticky than honey, for instance; cleaning it out of his fur was a tedious process. Even so a sweet, fruity odor would cling to him for a while. Too much of that and Alysa would start glaring at him. "Thank you, Jaquetta, that was wonderful," he said. "But I do have to get back to work. I'm not done with the chickens."
"But you haven't had your turn yet," Jaquetta purred, stroking Frederick's cheeks. She started rolling her hips, squeezing with her vaginal muscles.
Frederick's genitals were all for continuing but his brain couldn't help entertaining a few negative thoughts. He wasn't one of those who thought that letting a woman take the superior position made him less a man but there were practical considerations. That Jaquetta stood three quarters again his height meant that her skin enclosed five and a half times as much flesh. In absolute terms she weighed as much as a small cow; the only reason they could make love this way was because her knees carried most of her weight. If she passed out she'd probably crush him to death. It also meant they'd continue coupling exactly as long as she wanted. All she had to do was sit there; Frederick couldn't have put her off even if he'd wanted to. As for him forcing her... that was such a laughable notion that he smiled. Despite her fleshy, curvaceous appearance her frame carried a great deal of muscle; her size demanded it. She could take him by the legs and swing his whole body like a club. Any normal sized man deciding to ravish her had best have four stout fellows on horseback and carrying lassoes to back him up. That man would also do well to remember that skunks are carnivores; even an ordinary one could deliver a nasty bite. Jaquetta's scaled-up jaws could probably take a hand clean off. Far better to avoid the risk and keep the hand, Frederick felt; then at least one could jack off if worse came to worse. "Maybe, but I do need to wash up," he pointed out.
Jaquetta hesitated. She didn't care to give up her grip on Frederick's shaft but he was right: the nectar would glue their hips together by the fur long before they'd finished. Getting that undone would not be pleasant. "Okay," she said, perhaps a bit wistfully, and got to her feet, wincing slightly as nectar plucked at hairs on her crotch and thighs. Then she helped Frederick up and took him to the barn.
Obviously Jaquetta wouldn't fit in an ordinary shower or tub, so Jimmy had built a bathing area in his barn. The floor was made of cemented stone; a central drain carried waste water away. The wooden walls had been sanded down and sealed with caulk so the area would stay relatively warm in cold weather. A hose with a spray nozzle provided both hot and cold water. Jaquetta sat down with Frederick on her lap, holding the spray nozzle in one hand and a brush in the other.
After some thought Frederick decided that he could not object to this treatment. Here Jaquetta's size became a distinct advantage; her body cradled his like an overstuffed chair. If she focused a lot of attention on his nether regions that was only appropriate; they most needed to be cleaned. Then, just as he started thinking seriously about claiming his due, the stall door opened.
Alysa aligned the donkey with a new row, then poured herself a pan of water from the tank strapped to the seat. After drinking the panful she poured herself another but had to tip the tank to completely fill the pan. That panful she poured over her head. A peek into the tank confirmed that it was, in fact, nearly empty. With a sigh she retracted the weeding tines on the donkey's cultivator attachment, backed the donkey out of the row, and headed off toward the barn.
In truth Alysa didn't mind the work, she just wasn't designed for it. Her large size and lack of sweat glands meant that her body built up heat rapidly. If it built up too much she'd get sick, which had happened once already and was not an experience she cared to repeat. Therefore she had to keep cool, and doing so while working out under the hot sun meant periodically dousing herself with water. On top of that, maintaining her milk production required her to drink quite a bit as well. All of which amounted to a great many trips to a great many trips to the pump house during her work day. A further complication arose from the fact that, for her cooling system to function properly, she had to work in the nude. Clothing either kept the water away from her skin or trapped it in her fur, reducing it's effectiveness at carrying away heat. Because of this Jimmy wouldn't let her work any of the fields near the road, where she might be seen. Which only lengthened the time she spent commuting to the well. Since she couldn't ride the donkey she walked behind it, steering it with a pair of long handles Jimmy had bolted to the frame. That meant that dust and dirt kicked up by the cultivator inevitably clung to her wet fur. A loose apron helped somewhat but the formerly white fur on her belly had started turning more dun colored. She would be very glad when Jimbo returned and she no longer had to do his share of the work as well as her own.
Back in the barnyard Alysa sat down on the grass while the tank refilled. Her feet hurt; plodding along behind the cultivator was almost as bad as standing still. She dipped herself a panful of water, sipped half, and used the rest to rinse her face. It ran off muddy brown in color, with no indication that it had made any dent at all in the clinging dust. Alysa grimaced, shut off the water, and hurried into the barn. A quick shower wouldn't hurt anything. She paused halfway through the door; she could hear water running in the shower stall. She frowned; who could be washing at this time of day? She stepped up to the bathing stall and opened the door.
For several seconds no one moved or spoke. Alysa opened her mouth, then clamped it shut so she wouldn't say something stupid like what are you two doing here? Frederick sat on Jaquetta's lap, both of them were buck naked, and she had her hand on his genitals. Furthermore, the unmistakable scent of fresh nectar hung in the air. As if it weren't patently obvious what had been going on.
"Ahh, we're sorry," Frederick began, more than a little uneasily. "Did you want to use the shower? I need to go finish with the chickens anyway." He got to his feet.
Alysa's eyes narrowed and her ears lay back. Her grip tightened on the door frame; wood creaked under her fingers. Despite being wet and dirty, fur on her back and shoulders stood up.
Frederick froze mid-step, swallowed, and fought the urge to cower. He'd seem women far less physically imposing than Alysa commit acts of indescribable violence while grappling with affairs of the heart such as this. The thought of Alysa doing something similar nearly made him wet himself. In his mind's eye he saw Eddie Rimmer's skull, split like an over-ripe melon.
Alysa's gaze shifted from Frederick to Jaquetta, then back again. Part of her wanted to fly shrieking at Frederick and tear his throat out. Part of her wanted to fly shrieking at Jaquetta and tear her throat out. Another part pointed out that none of this was any sort of surprise; Frederick had come to bed smelling of nectar ever since Jaquetta first arrived. Alysa had known all along that they were having sex and she'd never said anything about it. Furthermore, it had to be said that he was only doing his job. His prime responsibility as a member of Jimmy's crew was making sure that Alysa- and Jaquetta- maintained a suitable level of production. To do so he massaged their breasts, sucked on their nipples, and brought them to orgasm through whatever means proved expedient. Strictly speaking, Jaquetta had every bit as much right to Frederick's services as Alysa did. Intellectual arguments, unfortunately, had no effect on how Alysa felt. She'd been genetically programmed with two strong directives: to submit to her master, and to be sexually aggressive. The first no longer applied; Jimmy had manumitted her. That left only the second... and now a competing female had moved into what Alysa regarded as her exclusive territory.
That was the real problem. Alysa had let matters slide because her prerogative had never been challenged. Jaquetta and Frederick might tryst but only fleetingly, between other duties. When Alysa wanted to make love Frederick had always been there, awaiting her pleasure. Catching Jaquetta and Frederick in the act forcibly reminded her that Frederick wasn't hers, any more than Old Bastard- Jimmy's crotchety rooster- belonged to any one of the hens.
"I saw a boy today," Jaquetta began suddenly, Just as Alysa drew a breath to speak. Both Alysa and Frederick looked at Jaquetta in surprise; Alysa's eyes narrowed more and her lips drew back from her teeth. "I was down at the big pool, where the railroad crosses the creek," Jaquetta continued as if she didn't notice. "A train went by... and there he was, leaning out the window of the locomotive." Her eyes turned liquid. "He was so beautiful. I... can't stop thinking about him." Her hand strayed to her crotch.
Alysa's eyes narrowed slightly further, but in calculation rather than anger. Obviously Jaquetta wanted to avoid a fight. Alysa was not at all inclined to let her off the hook so easily... but she'd at least opened the door to a solution that would be more satisfactory in the long run. Furthermore, she'd owe Alysa a favor. "Why, that's wonderful," Alysa exclaimed, her tone and demeanor changing completely in an instant. "Frederick, why don't you run into town and see if you can find out who it is? If Jaquetta saw him on the line along here he had to come through the depot."
Frederick almost objected. Fortunately common sense gained control of his tongue in the very nick of time. "Sure," he agreed, though he faced a very long walk. Entering into a discussion with Alysa about his involvement with Jaquetta would not be he smartest thing he'd ever done. "What did he look like?" he asked, turning to Jaquetta.
"He's a skunk," Jaquetta replied. "In his early twenties, I'd say. Slender but very nicely muscled." She smiled fleetingly. ". His mane is white, short, and curly. His face and hands are black, except for a single white line on his forehead, and a patch on his chin and throat. When I saw him he was wearing a pair of black and white pinstriped overalls."
Frederick's expression remained stiffly blank while he contemplated the likelihood of finding this person given only a partial description based on a fleeting encounter. Nevertheless he nodded and withdrew; better that Alysa direct her wrath at Jaquetta than at him.
Alysa closed the shower room door behind Frederick and knelt in the middle of the floor. "Wash me," she commanded.
After only the briefest of hesitations Jaquetta picked up the spray nozzle. More than anything else, it was Alysa's tone of voice: she spoke like a master. Though she wasn't Jaquetta's owner, nor even human, she radiated such authority that Jaquetta's programmed instinct to obey kicked in. She rinsed Alysa down, lathered her up, then rinsed her again, working out burrs and tangles with her fingers and a curry comb.
While Jaquetta worked Alysa contemplated. Jaquetta's capitulation shocked her, too; she'd expected more argument, or at least evasion. The realization of what had happened shocked her even more: somehow she'd become Jaquetta's master.
At another time Alysa would have set things right at once; she didn't want to be anyone's master. Just then, though... she was still angry over Jaquetta and Frederick, and the sense of power she felt was intoxicating. It filled her with a tingling warmth as delicious as any orgasm. And she knew exactly what she wanted. Frederick had been her first lover, the first who ever shared pleasure with her instead of taking it. Now she had something even better: a person who existed only to serve her pleasure, as she had served so many others.
Once Jaquetta finished washing her Alysa stood up. She could do that here; Jimmy had knocked the ceiling out of the shower stall and raised the walls to the barn roof. Jaquetta remained seated, keeping her eyes appropriately downcast. "Get a milking bucket," Alysa directed.
"Yes, ma'am." Jaquetta left the shower stall, returning a moment later with a galvanized pail.
"Fill it," Alysa said. "I'm thirsty."
Jaquetta set the bucket on the floor and positioned herself over it on hands and knees. Without having to be told she set herself side-on to Alysa, offering the best view of the proceedings. Supporting herself on her left hand she used her right to squeeze and massage her upper right breast, stimulating it to discharge milk into the pail.
Alysa sank down, squatting on her heels. Without a breast pump or other aids milking oneself, as she well knew, wasn't easy. But that wasn't the point. Or perhaps it was the point. Because Alysa said so, Jaquetta had to do it. Somehow that, in itself, made the whole experience infinitely more exciting than merely watching a beautiful woman play with her boobs.
Eventually, by coaxing each one of her breasts in turn, Jaquetta managed to fill the bucket. In the process she sprayed milk on the floor and got it all over her hands. Her nipples and aureola glistened with it, and it stained the short, soft fur covering her breasts. Alysa took the pail and slurped up a mouthful; the pleasant, malty flavor was there but the milk had cooled in the air to merely lukewarm. Though her mouth really wasn't designed for it Alysa tipped her head back and took a drink; milk spilled past her muzzle and down the front of her body all the way to her crotch. "Good grief, what a mess," she muttered, looking down at herself and setting the bucket aside. Her head came up, her eyes locking on Jaquetta's. "Lick it up," she ordered.
Jaquetta approached, still on hands and knees. Resting her hands on Alysa's thighs for support she lifted her face and licked Alysa's chin, sucking the milk out of her fur. She lingered on Alysa's lips, stroking them with her tongue, then moved down onto Alysa's throat and chest. She lifted Alysa's breasts, nuzzling between and under them. Nor did she forget the tops and fronts, working delicately around the nipples.
Alysa shifted her stance, leaning backwards and opening her legs more. She took a sip from the bucket, then poured the rest onto her crotch. It soaked into the fur on her belly and thighs, running down between her legs. Jaquetta slid herself back, wrapped her arms around Alysa's thighs, and lowered herself down, applying her tongue to the milk dampened fur of Alysa's nether regions. In due course she arrived at Alysa's vulva, and there she remained, going over it again and again.
Alysa's breath came in short, sharp gasps. Her back arched, her fingers clawing at the floor. Jaquetta wielded her tongue with a skill equal to Frederick, and hers was considerably larger and more powerful. If his penis were as lithe as his tongue and as strong as his fingers the experience might have been something like this. "Eat it, God damn you!" Alysa shrieked.
Jaquetta obediently parted Alysa's labia and slid her tongue in, running it over the walls of Alysa's vagina as if trying to lick the last few drops of liquid out of a glass. In this particular case there was no danger of the glass running dry; Alysa produced so much lubricant that Jaquetta couldn't lick it all up. Fluid draining from Alysa's vagina drizzled down the cleft between her buttocks and pooled on the floor.
Alysa felt her orgasm building like a winter storm coming up over the horizon. She whined, softly at first, then with steadily increasing volume. When the storm broke it tore through her like a sheet of lightning; she screamed, spasming as if she had indeed been electrocuted. After the tension faded she slumped, gasping for breath. And still Jaquetta licked, cleaning fluid from the fur around Alysa's vulva and even sliding her tongue between Alysa's buttocks to catch every last drop. She seemed quite ready to go on for as long as Alysa could stand it. Alysa, for her own part, decided that she could stand quite a bit and allowed Jaquetta to continue.
After two more mind-shattering orgasms Alysa sat up. Her appetite hadn't been sated- not by a long shot- but she craved other pleasures as well. She rolled Jaquetta onto her back, then lay down between her legs. She slipped her arms under Jaquetta's thighs; reaching up she found Jaquetta's lower breasts ready to hand. She squeezed them, stroking and kneading them like lumps of bread dough, while ardently exploring Jaquetta's vagina with her tongue.
Jaquetta moaned, her thighs quivering against Alysa's cheeks. Jaquetta gripped Alysa's hands, pressing them harder against her breasts, then let go and shifted to the upper pair, leaving Alysa to the lower. Alysa smiled to herself, wondering if Jaquetta had ever experienced cunnilingus like this before. Alysa hadn't, and found that she enjoyed it immensely, both giving and receiving. In Jaquetta's case the giving had an added bonus: her vaginal fluid tasted faintly of nectar. In fact, as she approached her moment of bliss the concentration of nectar increased. Alysa eagerly consumed as much of it as she could; she found the blend of flavors intriguing and exciting. Though she supposed that licking it out of Jaquetta's vagina had a lot to do with it; the experience just wouldn't be the same if someone served it to her on a plate-
An idea popped into Alysa's mind with such force that she jerked her head back as if she'd been physically struck. For a moment she stared blankly at nothing, her mouth hanging open. Then she giggled and attacked Jaquetta's sex with renewed vigor. It took some time to recover the ground she'd lost during her pause but not much; she felt Jaquetta's thighs quivering against her cheeks. As orgasm surged through her Jaquetta's whole body quivered and a drawn-out moan burst from her lips. Alysa readied herself to receive a blast of nectar but the actual amount that came forth was less than she expected. Even so she couldn't catch it all; excess splashed out of her mouth, running down her chin and pooling on the floor. As the pulses died down she sucked on Jaquetta's vulva to extract every last drop. "My my," she commented, lifting her head and licking spattered fluid from her muzzle. "You really are a honey pot." She giggled again. Then she smiled, moving up beside Jaquetta and snuggling against her. "Thank you," she murmured. "That was wonderful." She nuzzled Jaquetta's cheek, the fur of which was all spiky from being soaked with Alysa's secretions, and gently stroked her head.
Jaquetta said nothing. She didn't resist but she did look down, refusing to meet Alysa's gaze.
"Jaquetta, what's wrong?" Alysa asked, lifting Jaquetta's chin. She hadn't forgotten how this whole episode had begun but pleasure derived from the period of lovemaking had driven it to a far corner of her mind.
"I-" Jaquetta stammered. She hadn't forgotten how the encounter began either; Alysa's change from master to gentle lover confused her as much as the initial change from co-worker to master, but this time she didn't have ingrained training to fall back upon. "I'm sorry about Frederick," she blurted, not knowing what else to say.
Alysa blinked. Jaquetta' reaction surprised her. Then she frowned; mention of Frederick brought her anger to the fore. She opened her mouth to say something scathing but a pang of conscience stopped her cold. It reminded her, rather pointedly, that not too long ago she'd been in the very position Jaquetta found herself in right now. The only difference between them was that Alysa- through a hefty helping of dumb luck far more than her own efforts- had won the object of her heart's desire. On top of all that, Alysa found herself thinking that Jaquetta herself made quite a desirable lover. So it was the Alysa's expression softened and she drew Jaquetta gently against her. "It's all right," she said. "I... couldn't help lusting after him myself when I first saw him."
"I don't think he likes me very much," Jaquetta mumbled.
"Why ever not?" Alysa asked.
"He... well... begging your pardon, there's plenty of times and places where we could meet," Jaquetta said. "But he's never there. We only meet if, if I go after him."
If there was anything Jaquetta could have said to make Alysa fall instantly in love with her, that particular statement came pretty close. "Don't worry about it," Alysa said, nuzzling Jaquetta's face and caressing her back. "Frederick's.... a little sensitive, that's all. When he comes back I'll take you into town and help you find your pretty skunk boy."
"Oh, will you?" Jaquetta looked up. She slid her hands up onto Alysa's cheeks... then pulled Alysa's face close and kissed her passionately.
Alysa rolled Jaquetta onto her back and positioned herself on top, her right thigh pressed against Jaquetta's crotch, her fingers laced through Jaquetta's. She returned the kisses as passionately as Jaquetta gave them, caressing Jaquetta with her body. Jaquetta arched her back, thrusting her chest against Alysa's, rubbing Alysa's crotch with her leg. After a time Alysa pulled back, sitting up and drawing Jaquetta up with her. She knelt, sitting back on her heels, gesturing for Jaquetta to kneel beside her. Jaquetta did so, facing the opposite direction; her thigh and Jaquetta's pressed together. Alysa put her left arm around Jaquetta's shoulders, drawing their torsos together. Jaquetta did the same to Alysa, which left the two of them leaning together, their torsos partially overlapped, their faces in close proximity. Again Jaquetta took the initiative, licking Alysa's lips and gently thrusting her tongue between them. Alysa slipped her right hand between Jaquetta's legs, caressing Jaquetta's vulva with her fingertips. Jaquetta's labia were already open and slick with fluid; Alysa pressed her index and middle finger into Jaquetta's vagina, pressing against Jaquetta's clitoris with the web of her thumb. Jaquetta returned the favor, pressing her own fingers deep into Alysa's sex. As such it was, perhaps, no great surprise that they both achieved climax at nearly the same time, Alysa coming less than a minute after Jaquetta.
"Mmm, you taste so good, Jaquetta," Alysa murmured, licking her fingers. "I could eat you out every day."
"So do you," Jaquetta replied, licking her own fingers. "So could I."
For a time Alysa and Jaquetta only sat there, heads on one another's shoulders, arms about one another's bodies, enjoying one another's presence.
"I have a dildo," Jaquetta said.
Alysa started. "Do you mean a dildo for a regular sized woman or one for you?" she asked.
"For me," Jaquetta replied.
"May I see it?" Alysa asked.
"Sure." Jaquetta gently disentangled herself and left the shower room. A moment later she returned, the dildo in her hand. It was an amazingly detailed replica of a human man's penis, formed of some shiny, jet black material, but on the same scale as Alysa and Jaquetta, measuring a hand's breadth longer and more than half again as thick as Frederick's peerless part. Additionally, it came with straps so it would be worn.
"Good grief!" Alysa exclaimed. "That's one mighty impressive tool you got there!"
"Ain't it?" Jaquetta giggled, securing the straps around her waist. "Betcha never realized I was so well hung."
"That's for sure," Alysa agreed. Even the straps were black; against Jaquetta's fur they hardly showed up at all. "Are your intentions honorable, sir?" Alysa added.
"Certainly not." Jaquetta approached, throwing an exaggerated roll into her hips. "I'm going to have my wicked way with you, my pretty, and there's not a thing you can do about it." She pushed Alysa over onto her back and settled on top of her. She gripped Alysa's hands, effectively pinning her arms at her sides. Jaquetta's hips forced Alysa's legs apart. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the fact that Jaquetta scored a hit only after four tries, and then because Alysa rotated her hips into a better angle. But as the massive member entered her body Alysa forgave the rough start; only Frederick's arm had ever filled her so completely. And while Frederick always did his best, fisting tired him quickly. Jaquetta's hips did not tire; they continued thrusting long after Frederick would have been forced to stop. Alysa clawed at Jaquetta's back, wrapping her legs around Jaquetta's hips and crushing their bodies together. Alysa's tongue urgently probed Jaquetta's mouth, and Jaquetta's tongue did the same in return.
"Ready to give up men now?" Jaquetta teasingly inquired as Alysa shuddered in the throes of yet another orgasm.
For a moment Alysa considered the question seriously. Jaquetta's demonstrated ability to give pleasure was certainly a compelling argument. But in the end Alysa discarded it. "Not until you can make this thing squirt cum," she said, reaching between their bodies to put her fingers around the base of the dildo. "And..." her expression turned serious. "Frederick isn't just... someone I sleep with. He's... my friend."
"I'm so sorry," Jaquetta said, dropping her gaze. "I... never even thought about it. I just... I wanted him so badly. I needed him."
Alysa sighed, stroking Jaquetta's cheeks. "I wanted him too. And... for the same reasons, at least at first."
A few moments passed. "Can... can we be friends?" Jaquetta asked timidly.
"Well..." Alysa pretended to consider. "I suppose. But only if you let me play with your toy."
"Only if you let me play with your toy," Jaquetta countered.
Alysa snorted. "I don't know. I can't help thinking you're getting the better end of the deal."
"Really?" Jaquetta undid the straps securing the dildo and rose, leaving it sheathed in Alysa's vagina. "Shouldn't you at least try it out first?" She lay down on her belly, looking coyly back over her shoulder, her legs spread and her hips and tail lifted invitingly.
"Oh, I suppose," Alysa replied, drawing the dildo out with some reluctance. It's shaft glistened with her fluid. She licked it- keeping her eyes on Jaquetta's- then slowly strapped it on. Instead of kneeling behind Jaquetta, she knelt beside her. "Just relax," Alysa said as Jaquetta rose up on one elbow. With one hand Alysa gently pressed Jaquetta back down; with the other she squeezed Jaquetta's rump. It felt deliciously soft and full on the surface but nicely firm underneath. "I have to make sure you're ready, don't I?" she added, sliding her hand between Jaquetta's thighs.
From the state of Jaquetta's labia it could have been argued that she was ready. Which Alysa had expected, but she intended to proceed in her own way. She inserted all four of her fingers into Jaquetta's vagina, leaving her thumb pressed against Jaquetta's anus. Jaquetta sighed, stretching her arms out ahead of her and spreading her legs a little more. Alysa thrust with her hand and stroked with her fingers, including her thumb- which gave her an idea. Releasing the dildo one handed proved tricky but she managed. By then the vaginal fluid had mostly dried; Alysa took the dildo in her mouth and sucked as if giving it a blow job. That left it coated with fresh saliva. Next Alysa shifted, putting her left arm across Jaquetta's lower back. In this position her right hand could continue its ministrations while her left inserted the dildo into Jaquetta's anus.
"Oh!" Jaquetta exclaimed, lifting her torso. Then she sighed and relaxed.
Jaquetta seemed to have a very large rectum, Alysa noted. The dildo penetrated until no more than a finger's width of the shaft remained visible. Alysa slid it in and out, watching in fascination as it disappeared, then reappeared. In the end she thrust it all the way in and left it, using the fingertips of her left hand to massage Jaquetta's clitoris. Jaquetta gasped, sighed, and finally came with a shuddering moan.
"Now you're ready," Alysa decided, drawing the dildo out. After washing it she strapped it on and knelt between Jaquetta's legs. She found that hitting the target wasn't nearly so easy as it looked, especially since she lacked any sensation in the dildo and it didn't anchor firmly to her hips. To save time she guided it in with her hand. Frederick never had to do that, but presumably he'd more experience in such matters.
Oddly enough, Alysa had never in her life used a dildo in this particular way. They'd been used on her quite frequently, but only in public performances by normal sized partners. The dildoes themselves had been normal sized as well. Except for one that had been about double standard length... but only normal diameter. Alysa found it unsatisfying; beyond a certain point, thickness mattered more than length. A penis that was too thin simply didn't provide enough stimulation, no matter how long it might be.
Judging by her reactions Jaquetta did not find the stimulation in any way inadequate. She gasped in time with Alysa's thrusts, her hands clutching at the floor and her feet waving in the air. Alysa increased her tempo, adding up-and-down motion to the in-and-out. Finally Jaquetta climaxed with a little cry.
Alysa pulled out and sat back on her heels. Looking down at herself she could perhaps understand why Frederick might find Jaquetta's embrace a bit less than ideal. Jaquetta had soaked Alysa's crotch and inner thighs with sticky nectar. On the other hand, there wasn't nearly so much as there'd been the first time. "Interesting," Alysa commented. No doubt the nectar recovered at a fixed rate; too many orgasms in a short time would deplete it. "Hmm," Alysa added, rubbing her chin. It too was covered with dried nectar.
"What?" Jaquetta asked, looking back over her shoulder.
"What does Jimmy do with your nectar?" Alysa asked.
"Nothing," Jaquetta replied. "He doesn't even collect it."
Alysa snorted. "I should have figured that. He'd probably have a heart attack and die."
"He didn't seem to mind when Jilly gave him a tentacle job," Jaquetta observed.
"Tentacle job?" Alysa frowned in perplexity.
"You know how Jilly's tentacles open up, when she's milking you?" Jaquetta asked, opening her hand by way of demonstration. "Well, they actually stretch quite a bit. She can suck on a guy's dick just like it was a great big nipple."
"My word," Alysa mused. "How big a dick can she do?"
"I once saw her do a guy almost as big as Frederick," Jaquetta replied. "He was a horse, though."
"Figures." Alysa nodded thoughtfully. No one ever said, for example, hung like a fox. She smiled; if word got around about Frederick that might just change. Just then a vision flashed into her mind, of Jilly doing Frederick, Jimbo, Carty, and Jimmy, all at once. She couldn't help smiling; that would be a sight, to be certain. But, alas, she doubted it would ever happen. Jimmy, she suspected, would rather die than take part in such a thing. Certainly not for the viewing pleasure of Alysa and Jaquetta. "I want to start collecting your nectar," Alysa announced.
Jaquetta blinked. "What for?"
"I have an idea." Alysa turned on the water, letting it play over her face and torso. "While I was eating you out I found myself thinking that your nectar tasted quite good. Then I thought that it was only because of how I was eating it, that I wouldn't like it if someone served it to me on a plate. Then I had a vision: a generous helping of nectar... poured over a dish of ice cream."
"Wow." Jaquetta's eyes widened. "I never thought of that."
"Oh?" Alysa arched an eyebrow.
"Well... Frederick uses it in his tea instead of sugar, and on his toast in place of jam," Jaquetta explained.
"Does he." Alysa's ears flicked back momentarily. "We'll have to go into town and get some ice cream at Mr. Hardesty's shop," she continued briskly. "After cleaning up, of course." She took off the dildo.
"Of course." Jaquetta came over and licked Alysa's thigh, looking up at her in a very meaningful way.
"If you clean me like that I'll just make a mess again," Alysa pointed out.
"Your point being?" Jaquetta replied.
For a moment Alysa wavered. Jaquetta teased Alysa's clitoris with the tip of her tongue. "Oh, what the Hell," Alysa decided, laying back.
Frederick whistled tunelessly as he strolled along the high road. It wasn't at all a bad day for a walk, he had to admit; the sky was clear and the air warm but not too hot. It reminded him of his drifter days. For a second or two he waxed nostalgic, then shook it off. As a drifter he might have had freedom, but as Jimmy's employee he got three squares a day plus a room and a bed every night. Being a drifter wasn't so much fun when you couldn't get enough to eat and had to sleep outside in the rain.
A plume of dust marked a vehicle coming from town. Frederick crossed the road to the upwind side and continued along in the grass. The vehicle- a stake bed truck loaded with cans and boxes- approached, then slowed abruptly and stopped just as Frederick came abreast of it. "Hey, Frederick," the driver called, leaning out the window and grinning broadly.
"Mrs. Franelli." Frederick nodded respectfully. The Widow Franelli had been one of his best customers.
"You haven't had a falling out with Jimmy now, have you?" Mrs. Franelli inquired.
"No, ma'am," Frederick replied. "Just on my way into town."
"Business or pleasure?"
Frederick considered how to respond. "A favor," he said with a shrug.
"Would you have time to do a little work for me?" Mrs. Franelli asked. "I'd be glad to see you into town and back to Jimmy's place."
Almost certainly any work Mrs. Franelli wanted him to do would be in the bedroom, Frederick knew. She wasn't exactly a looker; forty-five years, ten of them spent running a farm single-handedly, had taken their toll. Still, she had a dark complexion that Frederick thought made her look somewhat exotic, especially among the fair skinned people of Brooks. She wasn't anything like skinny either; her figure could only be described as conspicuously rounded. Her breasts were enormous; when she took off her bra they hung down to her belly button. Even her mouth was big, with large, prominent lips. She knew how to use them, though, and wouldn't hesitate to do so. Not to mention that she was a Hell of a cook. And... it would be a welcome change, Frederick decided. "I'd be much obliged, ma'am," he said, coming up to the truck's passenger side.
"Hop in, sweetie." Mrs. Franelli flashed a grin and opened the door. Frederick climbed in and settled himself. "Good gravy!" Mrs. Franelli exclaimed, her gaze dropping to his lap. "You don't have a summer sausage in your pants, do you?'
"In a manner of speaking," Frederick replied.
"My word." Mrs. Franelli stroked her chin thoughtfully as she put the truck in motion. "I'd heard rumors but I'd never imagined."
"For what it's worth, neither had I," Frederick muttered, shaking his head. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know about any young male skunks working for the railroad, would you?"
"Do you mean Avlar Thistlewick?" Mrs. Franelli inquired. "He's the only one I can think of off the top of my head."
"Maybe," Frederick allowed. "What's he look like?"
"Young, in his early twenties, I'd say," Mrs. Franelli replied. "Black, with a white curly mane. White on his front." She indicated the front of her own torso.
"Good looking?" Frederick ventured.
"And how." Mrs. Franelli sighed. "Very easy on the eye. Rosalind must treat him very well at home to keep him from straying." She chuckled lasciviously.
Frederick blinked. "Rosalind?"
"Rosalind Periwistle, his wife." Mrs. Franelli gave Frederick a measuring look. "I must say, Frederick, I never had you figured for the type."
"What type?" Frederick asked absently. If this Avlar happened to be the fellow Jaquetta had seen, and he already had a mate, it would complicate matters greatly.
"To have his head turned by a pretty boy," Mrs. Franelli replied with a smirk.
"Oh, it's not for me," Frederick replied hastily. "I'm acting as agent for a friend."
"Of course." Mrs. Franelli's smirk broadened into a leer.
Frederick said nothing. Truth was, he had dallied with other males while working at the hotel. He'd done it mainly as a form of relief from his normal duties... but he couldn't honestly say he hadn't enjoyed himself. He'd not done anything like that since leaving the hotel but that was mainly to avoid drawing attention to himself. People seemed to accept his presence, even as a gigolo, far more readily that they would if he were known as a poofter.
The Franelli farm lay in a swale bordered by the high road on one side, Fanno creek on another, and woods on the remaining ones. The house, barn, and outbuildings stood on a low hillock, necessary since this part of the creek flooded regularly. Since the farm engaged mainly in livestock operations that wasn't a serious problem, and deposited silt kept the pastures lush and green, but Frederick noticed a rowboat sitting in a roofed enclosure by the barn. He could easily imagine the water rising enough to leave the hillock completely surrounded. Mrs. Franelli brought the truck to a halt in the barn yard and beeped the horn twice. Half a dozen people rushed out into the barn yard... and every one was a female border collie Morph. They all dressed differently but underneath they looked as alike as sextuplets, if not for the fact that the eldest was nearly Mrs. Franelli's age and the youngest two barely teenagers. The middle three ranged somewhere in between.
"Hello, everyone!" Mrs. Franelli called, climbing out of the truck and waving happily. The collie women lined up, apparently by age, as Mrs. Franelli hugged each one in turn. While they chatted amiably Frederick climbed out of the truck and came around. One of the young girls saw him and let out a shriek.
"Ah, yes." Mrs. Franelli turned. "I met Frederick on the road. Thought he might be able to fix that pump for us."
The two girls whispered excitedly to one another, all the while staring at Frederick's crotch, then broke down in a fit of giggles. The younger two of the medium-aged women frowned; the third smiled a little. The eldest stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hello Frederick," she said. "Nice to see you again."
"You too, Rowena," Frederick replied, taking the offered hand and using it to pull her into a hug. The two frowners frowned even more and the girls broke out in a new fit of giggles.
"Peigi, show Frederick the pump house, won't you?" Rowena asked. The others moved to start unloading the truck, though Rowena herself remained with Mrs. Franelli.
"This way," the second oldest- the one who'd smiled slightly- said, turning and beckoning.
"Maira and Ahlis don't seem all that glad to see me," Frederick commented once they were away from the yard.
Peigi shrugged. "You know how they are. Don't think it's proper for a dignified woman like our beloved mistress to be carrying on with a fellow as young as her son."
"I'm not that young," Frederick protested mildly.
"You look it," Peigi replied, giving Frederick a once-over that stopped abruptly just below his waist. "Good gravy," she exclaimed, coasting to a stop. "I heard the gossip but I figured it was just back fence nonsense."
"Let's just say it's not all exaggeration," Frederick replied.
"It's true, then?" Peigi asked. "Jimmy keeps you on to stud for his skunk and vixen?"
Frederick hesitated, more because the question struck uncomfortably close to the truth than that it embarrassed him. "One does one's best," he said.
Peigi snorted. "I imagine you do, Frederick. Here we are."
The pump house on the Franelli farm looked identical to the one on Jimmy's. Even the pump itself, to Frederick's admittedly inexpert eyes, looked the same. The electrical system wasn't nearly as elaborate- and that, it seemed, was the problem. Electricity to run the pump came on a pair of cloth-wrapped wires strung from the barn, anchored at each end by ceramic insulators. A pair of drop wires ran to the switch controlling the pump itself. Everything looked okay, but when Frederick pressed the manual trip nothing happened. He looked at the wires more closely... then grinned. He picked up a rusty screw driver and removed one of the power leads. In the not too distant past someone had clipped the wire, pulled back the insulation, and bent the end around the terminal. They hadn't thought to scrape away the varnish coating the wire, however. He did so, using his pocket knife, and reattached the lead. This time when he hit the manual trip the pump rumbled to life.
"I told Maira she didn't know what she was doing!" Peigi exclaimed, stamping her foot.
"Just remember that the wire's coated with varnish, under the cloth," Frederick explained. "You need to scrape it off or remove it with thinner." No need to mention that he hadn't known that until Jimmy told him.
"I will," Peigi assured. "The Miz'll be glad to hear you fixed it so quickly, too." She gave Frederick an enigmatic look.
"Do you know Avlar and Rosalind?" Frederick asked while Peigi led him to the house.
"I know of them," Peigi replied. "Ysenda and Ila are part of their radio club. They go into town every Saturday." She grimaced. "Might not be best to ask them, though. Probably take an hour just to make them stop giggling. Talk to June at the railroad cafe. Roz works there too. Avlar works for the railroad. They have a place in town. Why?"
"Jaquetta saw someone she thinks might be Avlar and asked about him," Frederick replied.
Peigi chuckled. "He ain't bad looking, I'll give you that." She opened the back door. "He fixed it, ma'am!" she shouted.
"I knew he would!" Mrs. Franelli called back. "Come in and have a bite, Frederick!"
Frederick entered. Peigi remained outside, closing the door behind him. Mrs. Franelli stood by the kitchen table, on which lay an impressive spread. More than she could possibly have laid on by herself in just a few minutes, Frederick guessed. "Why, I'd be delighted," he said, taking the offered chair. "May I have a bit of the chicken and potatoes, please?"
"Of course." Mrs. Franelli loaded up a plate and set it at Frederick's place.
Frederick had discovered that the size of the meal Mrs. Franelli put on for him generally corresponded to how hard she planned to work him later. That being so he figured he'd best be ready for a very energetic afternoon. He sampled a great many items but didn't take too much of any one thing; filling up now would impair his performance later. He might not work at the hotel any longer but he did have his professional pride. "Thank you, but I couldn't possibly eat another bite," he said when she offered him yet another slice of pie.
"But Frederick, you've hardly touched your food," Mrs. Franelli pointed out.
Frederick took a quick stock of what he hadn't eaten. He estimated that it would take him about three days to finish it off. "My dear lady, I would enjoy nothing more than to sample your delicacies all day and all night," he said, taking her hand and stroking it gently. "I only want to leave room so I can taste them all." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
Mrs. Franelli smiled but tears welled up in her eyes. "You're such a liar, Frederick," she said softly, reaching out her other hand to stroke his cheek. "Why would you ever want to spend time with a dried out old prune like me when you could be with that beautiful young vixen?"
Frederick considered. It was a good question and he didn't have a ready answer. "A woman is like wine," he said, rising to his feet. "Some, when they are fresh, are sweet and strong. Heady and intoxicating." He moved around the table. "But then in time, they turn sour. They'll still make you drunk but you have to endure a lot of bitterness to get there and you wake up with a headache. Other women, though..." He brought a lock of Mrs. Franelli's hair up to his face and inhaled deeply. "A few years makes them smoother. More mellow." He nuzzled Mrs. Franelli's cheek. "They develop a rich, blended bouquet that is a delight to the discerning palette." He gently lifted Mrs. Franelli's face and licked her lips.
Mrs. Franelli wrapped her arms around Frederick and hugged him tightly, burying her face against his shoulder. "You say that like you really mean it," she whispered.
"I do mean it." Frederick caressed Mrs. Franelli's cheek with his hand while nuzzling the other one. "There's nothing I enjoy more than spending time with a beautiful woman." He lifted her face, looking deep into her eyes. "And that's exactly what I'm doing."
"Liar," Mrs. Franelli whispered, but nevertheless she turned Frederick and walked him to the bedroom. He took her hands in his and massaged them gently. When they arrived he closed the door with his foot. They moved to the bed as one, with neither one leading. They sat side by side, hands still clasped. He licked and nuzzled her face and throat; his lips weren't really designed for kissing. She opened her mouth so he slipped his tongue in, stroking her cheeks, teeth, and tongue with it. After a few moments of that she turned toward him, pulling their bodies together. Frederick smelled the sweat beading in her brow and throat, felt the flush in her cheeks. He disengaged his right hand and placed it on her left breast; she inhaled sharply. He squeezed and lifted, kneading her flesh with his fingers. He could feel her nipple through the material of her bra and blouse. Slowly, languidly, he shifted both hands, one by one opening the buttons of her blouse. She lifted her arms so he could remove it. He set his hands on her waist, kneading the rolls of flesh there, then moved up onto her back. A generous layer of fat made even her shoulders soft. His fingers found the clasps securing her bra and unhooked them, one by one.
Mrs. Franelli's hands weren't idle. They undid the shoulder straps of Frederick's overalls, then roamed through the fur on his chest, sides, and back. As her bra came loose she let go so Frederick could remove it. Freed of their confinement her breasts fell all the way to her waist. Frederick cupped one and lifted it; her nipples were large and prominent, set at the center of dark brown areolae larger than his palm. He applied his tongue, first to the nipple and its environs, then up the inside of her breast to her cleavage. He didn't mind hairless breasts; in fact he rather liked the slightly salty taste of bare skin. At the end of the cleavage he started down again, ending with the opposite nipple. Mrs. Franelli clawed at his back, then reached under the waistband of his overalls and squeezed his buttocks. While he attended to her breasts she pushed the overalls down off his hips and took ahold of his penis.
"Good God, Frederick," Mrs. Franelli exclaimed, glancing down. "Do you ever get tired, toting that log around?"
"Not so long as I've a chance to put it to good use," Frederick replied, unbuttoning Mrs. Franelli's skirt. She let him remove it, then put her arms around him and lay him down on his back. He waited while she kicked off her panties. She knelt next to the bed, parting his legs so she could lean right against his crotch. Her breasts lay in his lap, spilling across his thighs. She put her mouth over the head of his penis, licking and sucking as if it were a popsicle. Then she pressed her massive mammaries around his shaft, holding each one by the nipple and stroking him with them while she sucked. Frederick whimpered, clawing at the bedclothes. Alysa and Jaquetta both seemed to enjoy fellating him, a practice he wasn't about to discourage... but one thing was undeniably so: human lips were much better suited to sucking than muzzles, or at least those of the vulpine or musteline variety. When he thought of such things he surmised that a human female partnered with a Morph male enjoyed the best of both worlds: he his partner's teasing lips and she her partner's long, penetrating tongue.
Mrs. Franelli's lips continued doing their thing. Combined with her breasts they produced an effect Frederick would have described as mind-blowing, had he been capable of intellectual thought. When his moment came he let out a sharp squeak; it seemed as if he felt the semen flowing up through his penis. It erupted into Mrs. Franelli's mouth; the quantity he produced at ejaculation had increased dramatically along with the size of his organ. When the pulses stopped and his now flaccid member drew back he'd pumped so much it drizzled down Mrs. Franelli's chin and spattered her breasts. She grinned, licked her face, and then her breasts. "I must be doing something right if I can make a young buck like you come like that," she chuckled.
"I never doubted it." Frederick sat up. "My turn," he added, rising and patting the bed. He as Mrs. Franelli exchanged places; he put her legs over his shoulders, wrapped his arms around her thighs, and slipped his hands under her buttocks. He inhaled, taking in the combined odors of sweat and vaginal secretions. He licked the inside of her thigh, which gleamed with sweat. Only after he'd made careful work of both legs did he address himself to her crotch. He licked the black, bristly pubic hair; then, at long last, he parted the labia with his tongue and reached inside. In time he shifted his right hand, pausing a moment to lick his middle finger. His tongue resumed its ministrations and his finger teased her anus until it relaxed enough for him to press the digit into her rectum. While his tongue did its work he fingered her anus the same way he'd finger her vagina. She mewled and grabbed his ears. He found he could judge her state of arousal by how tightly her thighs squeezed his head. By and by he found himself glad that her legs were generously padded. Her anus had relaxed so he spit on his index finger and inserted it as well. When her orgasm arrived she bared her tightly clenched teeth, arched her back, and clamped her legs around his head as if trying to stay on a bucking bull. When the ecstasy passed she relaxed with a deep sigh.
At that point Frederick's penis was ready for another round. He rose, stroking it to insure that it attained full erection. He placed his hands behind Mrs. Franelli's knees and folded them up against her belly. After admiring her crotch for a moment he leaned forward, pressing the head of his penis against her anus. She yipped as he entered her, then grinned and squeezed.
Frederick grimaced. Alysa and Jaquetta could take the full length of his erection in their rectums. They both enjoyed anal sex and thus did so with some regularity. Mrs. Franelli couldn't... but what of him she did take she gripped with a tightness Alysa and Jaquetta couldn't match. He increased his tempo, grunting with every thrust. Mrs. Franelli squeezed her buttocks together with her hands. But as time passed Frederick found himself on a plateau; having attained a level of stimulation he couldn't push past it to orgasm.
"Frederick!" Mrs. Franelli exclaimed. "Not so hard!"
"What?" Frederick stopped suddenly.
"It's all right, dear." Mrs. Franelli smiled. "Just be careful how hard you press. I'm not so big inside."
Frederick backed out. The interruption had left him semi-flaccid. He imagined Alysa, on hands and knees, her tail lifted invitingly. His penis stiffened at once. But as he penetrated Mrs. Franelli's anus he couldn't help thinking also of how Alysa's buttocks would cradle his pelvis, his shaft embedded completely in her body. He knew then that he'd never achieve what he sought with Mrs. Franelli.
Mrs. Franelli must have sensed it as well. "It's all right, Frederick," she said, sitting up. "You've already done your share." Her expression sobered. "Anyway, I've kept you long enough. You should get back to Alysa."
"I'm sorry." Frederick stroked Mrs. Franelli's cheek.
"Don't be." Mrs. Franelli lay her hand over Frederick's. "You gave a dirty old woman a chance to get her rocks off. What more could I ask for?"
Frederick's expression hardened. "Aya, just because you're older than some doesn't mean you deserve pleasure any less," he declared. "If it offers, take it and be damned what anyone thinks."
"I have." Mrs. Franelli patted Frederick's cheek. "Now get on home. Tell Peigi to drive you. And take whatever of that food you'd like."
"Thanks, Aya." He nuzzled and licked Mrs. Franelli's cheek. "Only one thing, though. I want to hear that you've found someone. Someone as beautiful as you shouldn't be alone." He smiled. "Tell you what. You pick the guy and I'll train him."
"I'll take you up on that." Mrs. Franelli gave him a hug. "Now get on out of here before I decide to keep you after all."
"Okay. 'Bye." Frederick blew a kiss as he slipped out the door. Mrs. Franelli sighed and sank back down onto the bed.
"Thanks for the lift, Rowena," Frederick said, slipping out of the cab and waving.
"Anytime." Rowena blew Frederick a kiss, shifted the truck into reverse, and returned to the road.
Frederick sighed. A part of him wanted very much to pursue Rowena, to woo and bed her. Nevertheless he restrained himself; she'd never showed any interest in such matters... and what they had worked precisely because it avoided the tensions of sex. Besides, serving Alysa and Jaquetta was itself a full time job; whether or not he wanted another lover wasn't relevant. He didn't have the time or energy for it.
After a moment's consideration Frederick headed for the barn. The afternoon had slipped away while he was out; he judged that it was nearly milking time, which came just before dinner. Because of Mrs. Franelli's generosity he could afford to skip eating but if he skipped milking time there would be serious problems later.
"Hello, anybody-" Frederick began, stepping into the barn. He stopped because Alysa was there... and because Jaquetta was also there, a very unusual state of affairs. The agreement was that he milked Alysa first, then Jilly milked Jaquetta.
Other data became apparent. Alysa and Jaquetta had both bathed recently. Alysa wore her overalls and Jaquetta a cream yellow sun dress with a skirt that left her knees bare. Both wore one strap down off the shoulder. Both regarded Frederick the way a pair of starving coyotes might look at a fresh, juicy steak.
"Ah... good afternoon," Frederick said, forcing down the trepidation he felt. It didn't look like Alysa would grill him about what he'd been doing, but it did look like there'd be a stiff price for that escape. If things went as they appeared to be going he'd end up dead tired and bruised all over by morning.
"You'll be milking us both today," Alysa announced, slipping the remaining strap off her shoulder and baring her bosom. She settled herself on hands and knees by the milking stool.
"Okay," Frederick replied because there clearly wasn't anything else he could say. He sat down on the stool; Jaquetta handed him the bucket and an empty milk can, then lay down on the floor, chin propped on her wrists, so she could watch.
After a brief hesitation Frederick got to work, gently squeezing and tugging on Alysa's nipples. He finished sooner than he expected; either Alysa's production was off... or she'd already expressed some today. Given that her fur smelled of nectar, he strongly suspected that the missing milk would be found in Jaquetta's digestive tract. Alysa made no move to get up so he moved around her, taking the stool and bucket with him.
"My turn!" Jaquetta announced, sitting back on her heels and pulling her dress off over her head. Alysa yielded her place, stepping out of her overalls as she did so. Jaquetta, now completely naked, presented herself for milking. Alysa, also naked, lay down to watch. It did not escape Frederick's notice that Alysa idly fingered herself while he worked.
"Did you find out anything about Jaquetta's skunk boy?" Alysa asked, bringing her hand up and licking the fluid off her finger.
"I found a likely candidate, at least," Frederick replied. His penis was stiffening; not a problem so long as he remained sitting, but a major inconvenience when the time came to stand, unless he'd removed his overalls by then. Under the circumstances, that seemed likely. "There's a fellow named Avlar Thistlewick who lives in town. He works for the railroad and matches the description, according to the people I talked to. I didn't actually see him myself. You should know, though... he's married. He has a wife, Rosalind Periwistle."
Alysa blinked. "Rosalind? You mean that Rosalind?"
"If she's the one who works at the railroad cafe," Frederick replied.
"Yep, that's the one." Alysa shook her head. "She never mentioned being married. Though-" she looked a touch embarrassed- "we didn't get the chance to talk much."
Frederick struggled to keep his expression neutral. Alysa had told him about her escape from the Holidays' barn. Now it turned out that the woman Alysa had assaulted and left tied up was the wife of the fellow Jaquetta wanted to meet. He would have laughed if not for knowing that Alysa would make him pay dearly for it.
"I think you'd better talk to him yourself, Jaquetta," Alysa continued. "I don't think it would be a good idea for me to do it, under the circumstances."
"He is married, you know," Frederick felt obligated to point out.
"What's that to do with anything?" Alysa countered.
Frederick opened his mouth but closed it before speaking. His own background proved Alysa's point; from his time at the hotel he couldn't think of a single customer he'd served who hadn't been married. In Brooks he found more of the same; the exceptions were like Mrs. Franelli, widowed or separated. The only bona fide single woman he'd ever served was Helen Westlake, who as a teenager had fallen in front of a train and lost both her legs. He had to admit that the vow to forsake all others didn't appear to mean a whole lot. And he'd come late to the oldest profession; he'd been trained as a servant and became a gigolo more or less by accident. Alysa and Jaquetta were prostitutes born and raised; he could understand all too well how the concept of monogamy simply didn't exist for them. "Just be careful," he advised. "Some women don't like to share." He fixed Alysa with a stern look, and she at least had the decency to look abashed.
Jaquetta also played out sooner than Frederick would have expected. Here too he suspected that a peek into Alysa's intestines would turn up the lack. He emptied the last bucket into a can, put the can in the cooler, and rinsed out the bucket.
"Jaquetta has a marvelous toy," Alysa commented.
"Does she?" Frederick asked, glancing up. Alysa sat up on her heels, casually fingering herself.
"Yes, and we spent the afternoon playing with it," Alysa continued. "It was wonderful." She licked her fingers.
Under the circumstances it was perhaps understandable that Frederick didn't notice Jaquetta coming up behind him. She could move quietly when she wanted to... and he was distracted by Alysa. He yelped when Jaquetta grabbed him around the torso and hoisted him off the ground, but there wasn't much he could do about it. "Now we're gonna spend the evening playing with Alysa's toy," Jaquetta purred, unfastening the straps on his overalls. Alysa grabbed the cuffs and pulled, deftly separating Frederick from his clothing.
"Alysa, I just had a thought," Jaquetta commented, sitting down and placing Frederick in her lap.
"What's that?" Alysa folded Frederick's overalls and laid them aside.
"He milks us," Jaquetta continued. "I want some equal time."
"I don't have breasts," Frederick pointed out.
"So?" Jaquetta curled her fingers around Frederick's penis, squeezing and massaging until it stiffened. "It ain't your nips I was thinking of milking."
"I'll get a jar." Alysa hurried out.
"I don't suppose I get any say in this?" Frederick inquired.
"Quiet, you." Jaquetta bopped Frederick gently on the head. "Far as I'm concerned, if I hear a man talking it's 'cause he ain't been given something more productive to do with his mouth."
Alysa returned, a one liter jar in one hand... and the dildo strapped to her hips. Frederick let out a very un-manly shriek and tried to climb right over Jaquetta's shoulders.
"Oh, get a grip already," Alysa snapped. "I'm not going to violate your tender behind. Not yet, at any rate." She removed the dildo and sat down. Jaquetta, meanwhile, had managed to wrestle Frederick back into her lap but his peerless part had most emphatically lost its zing.
"Typical," Jaquetta sniffed. "Every time you turn around he's stiff as a board, but the minute you wanna have a little fun, it's wet noodle time."
"Oh, he just needs a little persuasion," Alysa assured, rising up onto her knees, then ever so slowly lowering herself onto the dildo. As it vanished into her body Frederick's eyes widened... and his penis stiffened.
"That's better." Jaquetta pumped vigorously, holding the jar in her other hand. Alysa slipped a hand between her legs, massaging her clitoris while easing up and down on the dildo. Only a short time later he let out a shuddering moan and his penis spat out a gob of semen.
Alysa leaned forward, watching avidly as Frederick's penis pumped its load into the jar. She'd been party to innumerable male orgasms in her life but only on very rare occasions had she ever been in a position to observe one. That this one had happened for her entertainment, instead of her being the vehicle for someone else's, had as much- or more- impact than the act itself.
Jaquetta brought the jar in close as Frederick's pulsing stream diminished to a drizzle. "Hmm, not bad," she commented, raising the jar and examining the fluid collected in its bottom. "How long do you think it'll take him to fill the jar?"
"Let's find out," Alysa replied. "We should be able to milk him three or four times a day if we keep him properly stimulated." She rose to her feet, leaving the dildo in place. "But first-" she picked up a milk can- "you aren't quite done with Jaquetta, Frederick."
"What exactly do you mean?" Frederick asked suspiciously. "Oh," he said when Jaquetta set him aside and got on her hands and knees, bottom toward Alysa.
"Kneel beside her and reach underneath," Alysa suggested, kneeling and holding the can in place with one hand. The other went between her legs, rubbing her clitoris and moving the dildo.
Frederick did as directed, putting his other arm around Jaquetta's rump to steady himself. Again, Alysa watched avidly while his fingers expertly stimulated Jaquetta's vulva. Things of this nature she had seen before, but only as a participant, not a member of the audience. She even found herself empathizing somewhat with the audiences who'd watched her; she'd never realized that watching could be so stimulating.
Jaquetta lowered herself onto her elbows so she could squeeze her breasts with her hands. By the time orgasm took her she'd let her shoulders all the way down to the floor. She lay with her face turned to one size, eyes closed and mouth open, tongue hanging out. Her hips quivered at the moment of release, forcing Alysa to hurriedly shift the can. The price of failure would not have been severe, though; Jaquetta produced only a modest amount of nectar.
Frederick craned his neck. He'd noticed the low output of nectar and also that the can hadn't been empty to start with. "You're saving the nectar now?" he inquired.
"Yep." Alysa wiped some excess fluid from Jaquetta's crotch with her finger, then transferred it to her mouth.
"What for?" With his left hand- the one he'd laid across Jaquetta's rump- Frederick scooped out a taste of his own.
"Ice cream," Alysa replied, capping the can and placing it in the store room.
Frederick froze in the act of sucking the fluid off his finger. "That is... a truly remarkable suggestion," he commented.
"Do you know how to make ice cream?" Alysa inquired.
"In theory," Frederick replied, scooping out another finger full of nectar. "You need an ice cream maker, plus a supply of ice and rock salt."
"What's the salt for?" Alysa asked.
"You mix it with the ice," Frederick replied. "It makes the ice melt faster, so it absorbs more heat. Without it the ice cream wouldn't freeze." He thought a moment. "You'll also need a boiler to reduce the nectar and some way to skim your milk."
"Hmm." Alysa withdrew the dildo and set it aside, then sat on the floor and crossed her legs. "Getting the ice will be a problem. Everything else we can buy or get."
"Could we buy an ice-making machine?" Jaquetta wanted to know.
"It would be costly," Frederick pointed out. "Both to buy the machine and operate it. Ice making takes a lot of energy."
"It has to be available somehow," Alysa responded. "Mr. Hardesty must get it somewhere."
"The railroad brings it," Frederick replied. "They have an ice factory at Harrisburg."
"Then all we have to do is arrange deliveries," Alysa pointed out.
"And crush it," Frederick added. "It comes in great big blocks."
Alysa flexed her biceps. "If I can drive fence posts, I don't think a block of ice will be a problem."
Frederick nodded. Cracking ice wasn't the same as driving fence posts, but the difference was merely a matter of tools and training. "Money," he said.
Alysa snorted. "I'm surprised at you, of all people, saying that, Frederick. There's a group of boys who come out ever day to watch me work in the fields. With only minor effort I bet I could squeeze quite a haul out of them."
"Yes." Frederick sat back on his heels, stroking his chin. "But this isn't the big city, Alysa. Turning tricks on the street corner isn't going to cut it."
"People are still people," Alysa replied. "Who is it everyone goes to when they want something and don't want their neighbors to know about it?"
Frederick thought a moment before responding. Not that he didn't know the answer; Dirty Face was the man to see for any type of goods and Tonya Ingalls, who ran a bed-and-breakfast down the Junction, the one for what Alysa had in mind. He still didn't think she properly understood the difficulties of doing such things in a small-town environment.
"What about me?" Jaquetta asked. "Alysa's free; she can do what she wants. But I still belong to Jimmy."
Alysa's expression hardened. "I have a plan to deal with that. But it'll wait 'till morning." She rose smoothly to her feet. "Right now I want to play with my toy." She fixed Frederick with a look that, he was certain, should have set his fur on fire.
Oh, well, Frederick thought as Jaquetta scooped him up. I always knew my dick would get me killed someday. I just never figured it would be like this.
As #L4021 rolled up to Ruby Junction Curtis saw the station master standing on the platform, hands on his hips. "Bloody Hell," he muttered. Across the cab, Avlar looked stricken. "You be quiet and let me do the talking, okay?" Curtis instructed. Avlar nodded.
Curtis brought the train to a stop. "You're late," the station master announced, coming up to the cab window and folding his arms.
"We were on the way out, just past Dead Man's Curve, when this damn cow ran across the racks," Curtis said. "Caught me by surprise; I big-holed it. Since we'd stopped on the curve I decided it wouldn't hurt to have Avlar give the train a once-over. Everything was okay but it delayed us reaching Enterprise and the dispatcher there made us wait for the timber train."
"Huh." The station master's expression and demeanor didn't change. "Something like that happens you call me right away, y'hear?"
"Absolutely," Curtis quickly agreed.
"You'll have to shunt this by yourselves," the station master continued. "Terco and Billy've gone home."
"Sure," No problem," Curtis replied.
"Good." The stationmaster nodded. "See you tomorrow, then."
"Whew." Curtis heaved a sigh. "Dodged that one. Well, you heard the man, Avlar. Sooner done, sooner we can both go home."
"Amen," Avlar agreed, nodding energetically.
Shunting didn't take long; both Curtis and Avlar knew their business. The string of cars they'd picked up were quickly sorted and added on to one of three groups, depending on their destination. In the morning a main line crew would whisk them away while Curtis and Avlar did what they'd done today: collecting and distributing freight cars to small customers along the line. It may not have been the most glamorous job in the company but it needed doing and the crew of #L4021 did it well.
"Made it to the end of another one," Curtis said as he backed #L4021 into the shed. He set the brakes, removed the controller key, and switched off the compressor. Avlar lowered the trolley pole. "Fancy a swallow down at the tavern?" Curtis inquired as he exited the cab.
"No thanks." Avlar jumped to the ground. "Gotta get home. Rosalind's waiting, y'know." He waved and set off at only just short of a run.
"Huh." Curtis frowned, scratching his head. Pretty clearly Avlar had something on his mind. Curtis would have bet his chance at salvation that it was female and skunk-like. That definition fit Rosalind, true, but she didn't have four enormous, perfectly formed breasts. Merely the thought of which was enough to make sweat prickle on Curtis' brow. He shook his head to dispel those thoughts; a piece that fine would probably cost his entire salary for several years. Far more realistic to visit Mrs. Ingalls' Hospitality House. Where the young ladies were very hospitable indeed. Curtis found himself grinning merely at the thought. He fished his watch out of his pocket; it was later than usual but not that late. It wasn't as if he had anyone waiting for him, after all. He secured the locomotive shed with a padlock and went on his way, whistling happily.
Avlar arrived panting at his and Rosalind's house. It was not the trip that had set his heart to pounding; it was the exertions of his mind. All he could see were colossal breasts, as firm and perfectly round as ripe melons, the silky black fur covering them gleaming wetly in the sunlight. He could feel them under his hands, the proudly erect nipples between his fingers, between his lips. He shook his head. It didn't do any good; his penis strained against the inseam of his overalls. He took a deep breath, then opened the front door and stepped inside.
The residence Rosalind and Avlar shared was a modest sized dwelling, having only a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, parlor, basement, and finished attic. Still and all it wasn't half bad for a young couple just starting out it. That both family members worked at reasonably well paying jobs helped greatly; the household lacked little for comforts. The only problem was saving money to repay their clans.
Rosalind sat in the parlor. A pleasant string instrumental played on the combination radio and phonograph, an elegantly decorated cherry wood unit occupying the middle of one wall. A small side cabinet meant for dishes and silverware instead contained a fairly extensive record library.
"Oh!" Rosalind jumped to her feet. In truth it wasn't unusual for Avlar to come home at odd times; her schedule stayed pretty constant but in any given day he might work a little or a lot; sometimes he wouldn't be home for days. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come up. I'll get some dinner." She turned toward the kitchen.
Avlar opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He swallowed convulsively and his hands twitched. All day thinking of that beautiful skunkette left him feeling ready to explode. Jacking off at every opportunity hadn't helped. He still felt as hot as iron straight from the furnace; only quenching himself in soft, female flesh would cool the fire. Like that belonging to a certain female skunkie, something at the back of his mind suggested. He crushed that thought mercilessly; Rosalind was his wife. He'd sworn an oath, to love, honor, and cherish her, forsaking all others, until death do they part. He caught her arm, pulled her to him, and locked his mouth over hers. His tongue forced its way between her lips; his left hand gripped her shoulder; his right squeezed her rump.
Rosalind let out a muffled yelp. It wasn't like Avlar to be so aggressive. She tensed... but when his hand lifted her skirt and caressed her vulva her resistance melted. A corner of her mind pointed out that she'd fantasized about this very thing on more than one occasion. She'd imagined him ordering her to strip naked, then binding her hands and leading her around town with a rope, requiring her to fellate him whenever the notion took him, right in front of everyone. Of course she'd never told him; he was a gentle, considerate soul. Such things would shock him terribly. He might even decide that she wasn't the sort of woman he wanted for a wife, a prospect that terrified her unto death. Against that, if he wanted to play a little rough she wouldn't complain. Not that it would be any hardship; she lusted for him at least as much as he lusted for her. A beautiful, soft spoken boy like him could have had any woman he wanted, and he'd chosen her. That was an aphrodisiac more powerful than all his touches and caresses. Combined with them, she couldn't say no. She didn't want to.
Avlar released Rosalind's crotch long enough to remove her dress, bra, and panties, a process with required only a handful of seconds. The discarded clothing he let fall in a pile; it didn't matter any more. He gathered her in his arms, laying her on the couch and stimulating her ferociously, all four fingers of his right hand in her vagina, his left hand on her right breast, his tongue in her mouth. He squeezed, stroked, and licked until the fire in him abated somewhat, enough at least that he could contemplate what to do next. He stepped back from the couch, idly rubbing the fingers of his right hand. They were sopping wet. Rosalind lay on her back, legs apart, panting. Her vaginal orifice pouted at him, still partially dilated by the intrusion of his fingers. Her labia, bloody pink on the inside fading to silky black on the outside, glistened with fluid. His gaze shifted to her thighs, which were thick and fleshy. Her calves repeated the same fullness, to a lesser degree. Her feet were small and delicate, human style rather than paws, one planted on the couch and the other on the floor. Her bulging belly, framed by rolls of flesh over her hips, heaved with her short, gasping breaths. He grinned; Rosalind's plumpness was what had drawn him to her in the first place and remained, in his eyes at least, her most compelling feature. He loved to run his fingers through her fur, squeezing and rubbing her flesh as if kneading dough. During their courtship she'd spoken of loosing weight; he'd gently but firmly discouraged those thoughts. He fantasized about her with an enormous, bulging belly, one so large he couldn't see over it with his face between her legs. He even encouraged her to gain weight, though only very gently. He understood that getting too heavy would make her job at the cafe more difficult. His gaze rose once more... and he found himself looking at the only thing about Rosalind that could possibly be considered less than perfect. Her breasts weren't small, exactly; one could tuck a pencil under them. Avlar had done so once, just to see if he could. The pencils remained in place even when she stood up. But nothing larger would, and the pencils stayed more because of how her breasts sagged, not their size. Sometimes he imagined Rosalind with great big, floppy boobs like Mrs. Franelli; that would make her everything he could ever possibly want. It wouldn't be hard to arrange; any reasonably competent gene engineer could make her breasts whatever size and shape was desired. But asking her to do it was absolutely out of the question; in taking her as his wife he'd agreed to have all of her, not just bits and pieces. The contract also included an implied "as is" clause; nothing in the agreement allowed him to say he was only married if Rosalind enlarged her boobs. Besides which she was a caring person, a great cook, and shared interests with him. What more could he possibly want?
How 'bout four breasts, for a start?
Avlar's expression hardened. Rosalind was his wife. She and she alone commanded his sexual favor. He couldn't seem to stop himself from dreaming about others... but he could make sure that only Rosalind sated his desire. He slipped his arms out of the overall straps and slowly removed his shirt, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He kicked off his shoes, then undid the side buttons on is overalls and let them fall around his feet. He stepped out of them, hooking his thumbs under the waistband on his underpants and slowly lowering them.
Rosalind said nothing. The naked lust in Avlar's eyes held her captivated. In her heart of hearts she never had understood why he'd chosen her when Clan Periwistle had so many much prettier girls to offer him. Any one of whom would have gladly taken him, handsome as he was. And yet he acted as if he'd landed the very best of the lot. Rosalind had never once seen him give even the slightest indication that he'd considered any other choice, even for a second. Nor did it appear that he did so now, either; she saw pretty girls everywhere but to Avlar they didn't seem to exist.
When Avlar's hands moved to his waist Rosalind's eyes followed. His erection strained at the front of his underpants, lifting the material away from his thighs. As he pushed the garment down his tool caught under the band. He had to lift the material over it. He let the garment fall at his feet, revealing his proudly erect manhood in all its glory.
Rosalind sighed. Avlar was not an imposing individual; he stood only a couple finger widths taller than Rosalind herself. He'd always been slender and remained so in spite of the fact that she fed him generously. Working on the railroad kept him fit but did not, at least in his position, bulk him up. His penis, though, might not have looked out of place in combination with a larger, more imposing figure. Fully erect, Rosalind could not close her thumb and forefinger around it without squeezing, and she could place her hands side by side around the shaft, though one would cover the head. Large veins snaked over its surface like vines around a tree trunk. The head flared sharply, with a pronounced rim.
Avlar's penis hadn't always looked like that. One evening, not too long after their marriage, he'd come home with a collection of dildos in various shapes and sizes and asked Rosalind which one she liked the best. She'd demurred but in the end gave herself away: he found the one she used when he was away. He then left on what he claimed was a long assignment... and returned with his new penis.
If asked Rosalind would say that Avlar changing his tool made no difference. The measure of a man wasn't his cock. On the other hand, that this man who gave of himself so fully and without reservation should do so, and solely for her pleasure, mattered a great deal. And it was fun to play with. She rose to her feet, coming up to him and putting her hands on his hips. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too, Rosalind." Avlar hugged her tightly, stroking her back with one hand and her head with the other. His penis pressed against her belly and crotch. She sighed, reveling in the sensation of it, and him, pressed against her. Then she slipped an arm around his waist, settling her hand on his rump, and guided him toward the bathroom. She knew exactly what she was doing when she bent over to adjust the taps, one knee propped up on the rim of the tub. She even lifted her tail a bit to make sure there wouldn't be any mistake.
Avlar grinned. The sight of Rosalind's beautifully plump, heart-shaped buttocks, especially in this particular position, never failed to set his blood on fire. It didn't matter how tired or sore he was; she had only to invite and he'd discover the strength to serve her, no matter how long it took. He stepped forward, lightly caressing her rump with his hands but standing far enough back that the head of his penis didn't touch her. There'd be plenty of time for that later. After a moment he lay his right hand against her crotch, caressing her vulva. Her labia, already hot and wet, kissed his palm. He parted them with his fingers and thrust his hand in.
Avlar's book learning was basic; he had at best only dim idea what a vulva might be and talk of the Grafenberg Spot would leave him baffled, but he knew where to put his hands to make Rosalind squeal, and counted that quite good enough. While his right probed her vagina his left slid up her flank and onto her breast. He loved the way they dangled under her when she bent over; he took it in hand, squeezing it gently and pressing it against her chest. She hissed, bracing her hands and thrusting her hips against him. He increased the force and tempo of his own thrusts to match hers. By the time he felt her shiver with orgasm the tub was nearly full; he drew his hand out of her and casually licked it. She sighed, straightened up, gave him a peck on the cheek, and unwrapped the netting around his tail. That done she handed him into the tub, settling him on his back. He smiled; the water felt wonderful. As always she'd adjusted the temperature just right. Nor could he fault the view, as she bent over him. She returned his smile and picked up a cake of soap. She lathered up her hands and set to his arms, massaging and lathering them at the same time. He couldn't resist fondling her breasts and belly; when she bent close he licked her nose and nuzzled her cheek. She giggled, which made her breasts and belly bounce in a particularly delightful fashion.
"Hmm, I think this'll require some special treatment," Rosalind murmured once she'd reached Avlar's crotch, lightly fingering the shaft of his penis. "And I know just the thing." She stepped into the tub, kneeling over Avlar's hips, taking his shaft gently between two fingers, and holding it steady while she lowered herself onto it. With it completely inside her she wiggled her hips to settle herself, then leaned forward, running her hands through Avlar's chest fur. She caressed his pectorals the same way he'd caressed her breasts; she even bent down and sucked on his nipples. His arms remained at his side; this was her time, to enjoy his body however she wished. She sniggled against him, thrusting with her hips, running her tongue along his throat and chin, then across his lips. Her vagina squeezed and stroked his penis while her tongue penetrated his mouth; he closed his eyes and surrendered to her, letting her take him where she willed. After a time she sat up, bracing her hands on his chest, pumping her hips faster. "C'mon, darling, give it to me," she purred, lolling out her tongue. "Send those little spermies on their way to the promised land!"
For just an instant Avlar felt a pang. However warm and inviting Rosalind's vagina might be, her womb was a barren, rocky shore on which his seed would find no purchase. For that matter, his seed wouldn't sprout even were she as fertile as West Mazama itself. By law Morphs, even free ones, weren't permitted to self-reproduce. Fecundity was a right held only and exclusively by humans. Avlar would have given anything- even his own life- to see Rosalind's belly swell with new life he'd quickened within it... but that wouldn't ever happen. He might as well dream about being President. The only way he and Rosalind would ever have a child was if they purchased one from a germ plasm lab.
But it was an old pain, and pleasure in the moment quickly washed it away. "C'mon, I know it's in there," Rosalind gasped, pumping even harder. "Give it to me... give it to me..."
Avlar gritted his teeth, his whole body tensing. White-hot pleasure boiled up out of his crotch and erupted from the head of his penis. With each pulse he bucked, slamming his hips against Rosalind's. Finally he expended himself and settled back smiling dreamily.
"Mmm, thank you, baby," Rosalind murmured, cuddling against him and nuzzling his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her, snuggling her against him. His penis slipped out of her.
Rosalind cuddled a bit but she wasn't finished, not by a long shot. His lust had awaked her own; she intended to wring every gram of pleasure to be had from his beautiful boy. She rose, swapping ends, and settled back down. His penis lay against his legs, glistening with their mingled fluids, soft and shrunken. She picked it up with her fingers and guided it to her mouth, sucking it in like a noodle. Some women she knew wouldn't fellate a man after having vaginal intercourse with him, but it didn't bother her in the least. If anything, the mixed male and female flavors only excited her more. She sucked and licked, teasing and stimulating him, coaxing him until she felt the first stirrings of returning erection. He, meanwhile, was only laying there, so she bumped her vulva against his chin to remind him of his duty.
Avlar gripped Rosalind's hips, steering them into optimal position, then started licking the mingled fluids out of the fur in her crotch. That in itself made him a one in a million find; he didn't mind cleaning up his own mess, as it were. Rosalind sucked harder; he teased her labia, then reached inside with his tongue, scooping he cum out her. Her own ministrations faltered as she felt heat building up inside her; she let his penis slip out of her mouth so she wouldn't bite it accidentally and clutched tightly at his thighs. His hands left her hips and found her breasts, squeezing them and flicking the nipples. She gasped. Waves of pleasure surged up and withdrew, not quite breaking. She whimpered. He crushed her breasts against her chest, his tongue finding her magic button and pressing it firmly. She mewleled, digging her nails into his legs and clenching her thighs tightly around his chest while surge after surge of pleasure burst inside her like Union Day fireworks. When they abated she attacked his penis with renewed vigor. Not much later she tasted the first drops of pre-ejaculate on her tongue, then his semen erupted into her mouth. She gulped it down as if nursing from him, swallowing every last drop. Some women she knew wouldn't do that, either; they complained about the flavor. Rosalind felt they were missing the point. One didn't swallow cum because it tasted good. She swallowed Avlar's because he swallowed hers, and without the slightest hesitation. She'd even say she enjoyed it... but the flavor had nothing to do with it.
Rosalind got up, drew the curtain, and turned on the shower head. Living in town as they did, running water was readily available. The Mazama Traction Company provided ample power for pumping and heating. Also, since both of them were company employees, they got their domestic electricity as a discount rate.
Avlar lay for a while, watching Rosalind rinse, then got up and helped her, rubbing her back and tail. She did the same for him. He got to the curry comb first, so she stood while he brushed her. As well as picking loose hairs from her pelt it removed the most of the water as well. That, followed by a brisk rub-down with a pair of terrycloth towels, and a once-over with a regular brush, left them both shiny clean and only mildly damp. Still naked they went arm and into the master bedroom and snuggled in together. There may or may not be any further play that particular evening but if so they'd be ready.
"You're the only girl for me," Avlar whispered, gently stroking Rosalind's cheek.
"I'll always be here for you," Rosalind replied, nuzzling his throat.
Nevertheless, as he drifted off Avlar couldn't help imagining Rosalind with four breasts. His penis stiffened, pressing against her side. She murmured something, wrapped her legs around his hips, and rolled onto her back, drawing him on top of her. He eased into position, caressing her with his body, thrusting slowly and gently.
"Do you ever think of other women?" Rosalind asked.
The question paralleled Avlar's thoughts so closely he couldn't help flinching. With their bodies coupled so Rosalind couldn't possibly miss it, either. For an terrifying instant Avlar wondered what he could do... but there was only one thing to do. "Yes," he admitted, caressing Rosalind's cheeks with his fingertips. "I do sometimes. And every time it happens I come home and make love to you." He kissed her tenderly on the nose.
"Hmm." Rosalind considered. "You always come home and make love to me. Does that mean you're always thinking of other women?"
The conversation seemed to be headed south at full speed... or Rosalind was playing with him. "Absolutely," Avlar declared. "My mind is a seething cauldron of unrequited lust."
"Then I'll just have to make sure you're too tired to run away," Rosalind said with a chuckle. "Giddyap." Her heels thumped Avlar's buttocks.
Avlar whinnied. Rosalind giggled. The lights stayed on for a while longer.
Jimmy sat in his office, staring at his desk. Papers- bills, mostly- covered it. Sales receipt for Alysa. A scribbled note of the amount he'd paid for her certificate of manumission. Materials for repairing the barn and field worker's shack after Henry and his cronies shot them up. Alysa's medical care. Repairs for damage she'd inflicted, court costs, and fines. Shipping charges to get Jilly and Jaquetta from Mazama to Brooks. Food for Jilly, which consisted of heating oil, kerosene, naptha, paraffin, and acid washed pulp from the paper plant over in Albany. An estimation of how much Jaquetta's feed cost, made worse by the knowledge that a certain percentage of that food money went- literally- down the drain in the form of nectar he couldn't for the life of him imagine how to market. Plus meat he'd have to start buying because he didn't have enough chickens to meet their minimum protein requirements. Regeneratives he'd guilted himself into buying for Jimbo. Who would be returning today, along with a bill for his care. He picked up Jaquetta's deed, running his finger along the ornately embossed edge. Her milk alone didn't generate quite enough revenue to offset her maintenance costs, and because of her black fur she could only work in the fields at dawn, dusk, or night. Otherwise she overheated even more quickly than Alysa. Who was herself only a middling field hand; though strong and well trained in basic physical tasks she knew nothing about farming and had to be taught every little thing. On top of which she was much too easily distracted, abandoning her work in favor of sexual interludes that seemed to be getting longer and longer. Last night she'd left the cultivator outside!
With a sigh Jimmy dropped the deed and leaned back in his char, rubbing his temples. What he really wanted was for everything to go back like it had been before.
"Jimmy?" someone rapped on the window.
Jimmy started, spinning his chair around. Alysa crouched there, in what remained of the garden Darla had insisted he plant. "Yes, what?" he demanded crossly.
Alysa made a lifting gesture. Jimmy sighed and opened the window. "Yes?"
"May I have Jaquetta for a while?"
For a moment Jimmy said nothing. Then he turned, looking at the papers on his desk. Jaquetta's deed lay on top, where he'd dropped it. "Sure," he said suddenly, taking up his pen and signing on the line indicating that he released legal interest. Just because he couldn't sell her didn't mean he couldn't give her away. "Just sign here and she's all yours." He thrust the deed out the window.
Alysa took the paper, turned it over, and studied it for a moment. "Thanks," she said brightly, tucking the deed into her back pocket and blowing Jimmy a kiss.
For a time Jimmy stared. That wasn't the reaction he expected. At the moment, though, he really didn't care. Not owning Jaquetta meant he wasn't responsible for her. He felt a great a great weight coming off his shoulders.
"Doctor Holiday is here, my lord," Jilly announced.
"Huh?" Jimmy looked up. Once he got a good look Jilly's half-heard comment vanished completely from his mind.
Jilly wore a chartreuse colored, sleeveless sun dress whose low-cut bodice framed her bosom with a pleated fringe. On her belly and hips the material conformed closely to Jilly's curves, and the pleated skirt left her knees bare. That in itself would have been startling enough had not Jilly's soft, feline fur been a bright, florescent green in color. Her arms and legs were not, and in fact lacked fur at all, being apparently made of brightly polished silver, except that the material flexed as easily as flesh at the joints.
"W- what?" Jimmy managed, eyes bulging.
"Ilsa and Jimbo have arrived," Jilly said.
"Oh." Jimmy rubbed his face, mainly to avoid looking at Jilly for a moment. "Go along and meet them; I'll be out in a bit."
"Yes, my lord." Jilly withdrew.
Jimmy sat a moment longer- just enough to make sure Jilly would be out of the house- then rose and followed. Much to his surprise he met her in the parlor, where Ilsa and Jimbo already waited. "Oh," he exclaimed.
"Hello, Jimmy." Ilsa Holiday rose, taking Jimmy's hand and shaking it. "And as I promised here he is, good as new." She half-turned, indicating Jimbo with her free hand.
Jimbo really was good as new, Jimmy had to admit. If Ilsa hadn't told him- if he hadn't seen the blood stains in the field worker's shack- Jimmy never would have believed that a shotgun blast had reduced Jimbo's face and chest to gory ruin. Skillful reconstruction and carefully applied regeneratives had repaired every trace of damage. Even the scars and blemishes from old wounds had been erased. The work was so good it wiped about a decade from Jimbo's apparent age; now he looked more like Carty's older brother rather than his father. His muscle mass looked excellent in spite of his hospitalization and he even had new overalls. Though the fact that he stared in open amazement at Jilly did spoil the effect just a little.
"That's Jilly," Jimmy explained. "She's a Bioroid. She.. handles the milking and tidies up around the place." Jimmy glanced around the parlor; it looked better than it had since Darla left. Better than it ever had when was here, for that matter. A week ago the curtains had been torn and stained; today they looked fresh from the store. He knew for fact Jilly hadn't bought new ones, so she must have cleaned and stitched the old ones, but she'd done it so expertly he couldn't tell just by looking. "I- got her as a result of my business in Mazama," he added hastily, seeing the question in Jimbo's face. "And-" he couldn't help wincing- "another, ah, milk producer to go with Alysa. Though Jaquetta's actually a skunk and doesn't lay eggs-" Jimmy cut himself off, realizing that he'd begun to babble. "Oh, God, Jimbo, I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back!" Jimmy threw his arms around Jimbo and hugged him tightly.
Jimbo was clearly startled by the unexpected intimacy but after a moment his expression softened. "It's good to be back, boss," he said, patting Jimmy on the shoulder. "When I saw that shotgun coming up I figured I was a goner for sure."
Jimmy appeared to decide suddenly that he was being overly emotional and broke the clench somewhat awkwardly. "Jimbo, those girls are sure pretty to look at and strong as horses to boot, but I swear, making them into proper field hands is gonna be the death of me."
Jimbo grinned. "Good thing I'm here to whip 'em into shape, eh?"
"You got that right." Jimmy grinned, thumping Jimbo on the shoulder. "Where's Carty?" he asked, looking around.
"Outside," Jilly replied. "He won't come in unless you ask him."
"Carty!" Jimmy bellowed. "Get your butt in here!"
Carty dashed inside. "Yeah, boss?" he asked breathlessly.
"Look who's back," Jilly replied, indicating Jimbo with a gesture.
Carty opened his mouth, then shut it. Then, as with Jimmy, emotion overcame him and he hugged Jimbo even more fiercely that Jimmy had.
Ilsa watched Jimbo and Carty but also Jimmy, out the corner of her eye. Thus she noticed the tears in his eyes, even though he turned away to wipe them and covered the motion with a quiet cough. She allowed herself a little smile, and had to dab at her own eyes.
"Come have a look at the shack," Jimmy said. "Jilly's really fixed it up. Frederick- oh, there you are."
Frederick came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray loaded with mugs. After passing out the drinks he tucked the tray under his arm.
Jimmy took a mug without really thinking about it. It wasn't until he had it up to his face, about to take a drink, that he became consciously aware of what he was doing. The contents of the mug had been chilled, which altered the character of it somewhat, but not so much that Jimmy failed to recognize the odor wafting up to his nostrils. He jerked the mug away as if he'd been about to take a drink of battery acid.
Jimbo also hesitated when he noticed the smell but took a drink anyway. Jimmy opened his mouth to shout a warning but it was too late. He looked around, and to his horror everyone was drinking, even Carty who should have known better.
"Mmm, this is delicious," Ilsa said, swirling the contents of her mug. "What is it?"
"Iced tea flavored with nectar," Frederick replied.
"Nectar? What kind?"
Jimmy's mouth worked. He knew exactly what kind of nectar; he'd smelled it often enough, mostly on Frederick. Now even Ilsa was drinking it, as if it were nothing at all.
"Jimmy?" Ilsa frowned. "Are you all right?" His face had lost all color, his eyes staring emptily, his mouth hanging slightly open.
"I- it-" Jimmy stammered.
"Here, sit down." Ilsa guided Jimmy to a seat. "What's wrong? Did you inhale your drink?"
Jimmy had almost regained control of himself when he saw Frederick refreshing drinks from a pitcher. He let out a strangled sound, his limbs twitching uselessly.
"Jimmy?" Ilsa sounded worried now. "Jimbo, get my bag."
"Right away, Doc." Jimbo left, returning a moment later with Ilsa's kit. She took Jimmy's pulse, then opened his shirt and listened to his chest with a stethoscope.
Jimmy took several deep breaths. "I'm all right!" he shouted, pushing Ilsa aside and struggling upright. "Frederick! Just what the Hell do you think you're doing?"
"Serving drinks," Frederick replied, as if it were nothing at all.
"He's just being hospitable, isn't he?" Ilsa asked, frowning.
"Do you know-" Jimmy began, then stopped dead, realizing that he'd have to tell Ilsa wherefrom the fruity-flavored sweetener in her tea had come. He swallowed, his face changing from flushed to ashen in the blink of an eye.
Ilsa's eyes narrowed, in perplexity and then in calculation. "Frederick," she said, "What did you sweeten this tea with? I don't re