Natal Philopatry And You Pt 02

Alex lingered at the threshold of his mother's brownstone, the tall, Doberman-like beastman watching as the SUV carrying his beloved twins disappeared into the chill night, the red of its tail-lights fading into the loose dusting of snow falling through the air. It had been an exciting, bewildering, terrifying year, he reflected; fatherhood had completely changed his life. He may not have

felt

like he did much--his job kept him away during the day, and the money he brought in was spit compared to his mother's passive income--but his kids loved him, and his powerful body and endurance allowed him to pursue all the more physical aspects of keeping a home in a way that made his strange new partner love him even more.

Now, having been weaned off their mother's milk for a little while now, the twins were being whisked off to Robin's sister's for a week, allowing the couple some time for some well-deserved rest.

*****

They had been looking through some old photo-albums of hers while they were waiting for her sister's arrival. The kids had proven entranced by them, groping at the photographs of their mother in far-off places with pudgy little paws as they mumbled in pre-verbal awe at the things she was explaining. Robin may have been an inveterate little devil to her son in private, but she did an admirable impression of a doting mother when it came to the kids, showing a surprising amount of maternal instinct. They'd stopped on an odd section; all the other pictures were of Alex with different kinds of beastmen she had met in her travels, sometimes with a few other humans peppered in. However, this last section in the album they were holding was of a much younger Robin with

just

humans; an older, balding man with a paunch that was beginning to hang over the striped blue swimtrunks he wore, and a very young child in a polka-dot one-piece and some cute, heart-shaped shades. Freckled, red-haired, and smiling, the little girl was an adorable little apple who clearly hadn't fallen far from the tree.

Alex had known Robin had been married once upon a time, but he'd never pressed her for any details. He'd known too many people with secrets over his short lifetime to think poking around at old wounds was a good idea; some things were just better left alone. She was here, now, with him, and that's what mattered.

Robin had grown silent; somber. A well-manicured digit traced along the faded writing in sharpie along the bottom of the photo: RICHARD, TABBY, AND ME - BEACH TRIP.

She leaned up against him, whispering: "My ex-husband took her in the divorce. She never did forgive me... I think she still lives in-state; maybe never moved out of town. I haven't seen her in years, though. Doesn't return my calls." She sighed.

Alex had been in the middle of trying to figure out something comforting to say when the headlights had finally rolled up, shining through from the otherwise long-emptied street. After some brief pleasantries with her sister, Robin had promised to follow the kids up to the farm in a week, so they could all spend some time together.

*****

He felt his mate's presence draw close behind him in the entryway, the warmth emanating from her body stark against the night air he was letting in. The car was long gone now, but his eyes were still affixed on the empty street. Her pale arms closed around one of his own, hanging slack at his side; she leaned her head against him, not quite tall enough to come above the level of his bicep. He felt the delicate fingers of one of her hands knitting with his own. "They'll be fine, sweetie."

He sighed, his breath billowing into vapor that gradually disappeared above the cold stone entryway to their home. It was around the two year anniversary of him stumbling up these same stairs, looking for answers; in a way, he'd only gotten more questions. Was it okay for him to be living like this? What would the future bring? He didn't know fuck-all about being a good father; he hadn't even had one. Should they get properly married? As far as the government was concerned, they were strangers. Would people look down on his kids if they didn't? Would they get bullied? He turned to look down at his mother, awash in heady questions, idly trying to imagine what she might look like in a wedding veil.

...And jumped, as a chilly, dainty little hand slid in under his tank-top, turned downward in a slow circle over his fur-covered abs, and slid under his waistband, groping at the thick, furry sheath of his cock and balls. His mother's freckled, grinning face looked up at him mischievously as she gave him a little squeeze.

"You suuuuuure you don't wanna make s'more while we have time?"

He sighed. Turning toward her, he silently wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her into an embrace. He gently pressed his snout to her forehead, planting a kiss there as they stood together in the cold.

I love you, Mom, but holy fuck you have a

problem

.

She began lightly tugging back and forth on his cock, circling the exposed tip peeking from his sheath with a thumb as she giggled playfully into his fuzzy chest. Her free hand wrapped around his lower back, returning the hug. Pressed up against her like this, her familiar, pleasant scent filled his sensitive nose, boring into him, powerfully connected to countless memories; the pheremonal imprint of the woman who had carried his children. The mother who had taken him in from the cold, and nurtured his seed into a pair of beautiful tykes who had become the center of his bewildering life. Even in the biting cold, he felt his dick rapidly coming to life, expanding into the warmth of her hand as she played him like a fiddle.

Aaaaaaand now

I

have a problem.

Grabbing her shoulders, he turned her around and hustled her inside, giving her a sharp swat with an open palm against one of her asscheeks for good measure, much to her delight. The lock of the front door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the cold night's chill. He would worry about the possibility of popping the question later; right now, he had more pressing issues to deal with.

*****

Robin awoke while it was still dark, stirring softly in the mess of silken sheets of her four poster bed. Contorting from one side to another, a series of soft, wet pops issued from her spine. She raised up her arms and strained, toes pointing out at the ends of straightening legs; catlike, languid, she stretched her body out.

Looking over in the dim light of the early morning, she could barely make out the large form of her furred lover, his chest gently rising and falling with sleep. One of his ears gave an occasional twitch as he slept, the blurry little movement of the tic against the dark red of the sheets bringing a smile to her face. With gentle, practiced deliberateness, she dragged the covers from her body, not wanting to disturb her boy's beauty sleep. Sliding off of the bed, she made her way to the top of the stairs.

She rested her hand on the top of the banister, the cool, smooth wood pleasant under her touch as she stopped to gaze at the old guest room. Converted into a room for their children, it was odd, looking into it now; empty. Robin felt a pang of longing, wondering how they were doing with her sister. After lingering for a moment, she made her way down the darkened stairs, needing no light after having lived in the same house for so long.

With a click, light filled the kitchen, flooding into the room from a series of incandescent lights recessed into the ceiling. As she moved toward the refrigerator, Robin stopped, catching her own reflection in a mirror on the other side of the room; she stared for a moment, contemplating the woman there, their blue eyes locked with one another.

Naked from head to toe, Robin's smooth, pale skin had benefitted from a religious regimen of various creams and serums since her youth, keeping her looking remarkably young for her age. Nevertheless, the marks of her recent pregnancy had yet to fade completely; a once decently-toned tummy now sagged slightly around her bellybutton. Viewed fully in the light, her stomach was a series of tiger-stripe stretch marks in various degrees of fading into one another, a palimpsest written in the wordless, ancient language of maternity that attested to the countless lives that had quickened within her womb. Her thighs and butt still carried the extra thickness that invariably followed pregnancy, along with her pendulous breasts, still full of milk. The kids had been weaned off, but her eldest son, sleeping soundly in her bed upstairs, couldn't help but to drink from her, especially when they made love. He didn't understand, she guessed, that as long as someone was drinking it, her body would keep producing it; recalling fondly how he looked, however, with his big furry snout so urgently nursing from her as he pumped away between her thighs, she knew she would never tell.

She found herself running a trio of fingers slowly down the faint midline of her body, passing through the valley of her breasts and down over her abdomen, stopping to rest over her pubic bone. Down her front, passing beneath her fingers, a faint, crinkly, molting band of dried liquid, looking like spilled simple syrup, attested to their lovemaking of last night. Regular visits to the gym had been paying dividends for her son; despite her desperation to feel him fill her, he had managed to pull out from her at the last second, breaking from her clinging legs and splashing the evidence of his love all the way from the sperm-filled pool of her bellybutton up to her lower neck. She hadn't minded; she loved feeling his immense strength, the way it felt to have that bulk of muscle pressing against her tiny body, shifting her as he pleased. More than that, she knew he was only so adamant about pulling out because he wanted so badly to be a good father to his children; to make sure he had the time and resources to do right by his blooming, new family; the first real family he had ever had. It was adorable, how much he cared; Robin, not for the first time, wondered where he had gotten his personality from. It wasn't from his father, and it certainly hadn't been from her.

Whatever she had done to deserve this unexpected retirement gift from on high, she was determined to make the best of it. Throwing an apron on over her naked form, she set about working on some food for the both of them.

*****

Once everything was put away, Robin found herself walking back up the stairs, light from the kitchen filtering up after her. Cautiously, she spread out her weight on the steps, trying her best not to let them creak--she had a surprise in mind for her lover, and she didn't want to ruin it by waking him up prematurely. Dainty, lily-white toes felt for the cool, lacquered-wood lip of each step, curling up and around to slide forward over each slowly and deliberately. Something about sneaking around her own house tickled her to no end, and she found herself grinning gleefully into the darkness.

Slinking up the stairs, step by delicate step, Robin held a heavy, brushed-steel coffee carafe in one hand and a white porcelain coffee mug in the other. Sliding along the polished wooden floors, she snuck slowly back into their bedroom, gently bending forward to place the two objects down on her bedside table. She kept a thin, alabaster pinky digit beneath the round base of each, further cushioning the sound of the items being placed down before gently shifting them to fully rest on the surface. Doffing her apron and letting it crumple to her feet, she put her hands to her hips and contemplated the sight before her.

Alex had kicked off most of the covers, tossing and turning in some dream known only to him. Who knew what dogs dreamt of in their fitful sleep, away from their owners? One muscular arm reached out toward her side of the bed, straining for her out of unconscious habit; the other drooped down over the far side, his open palm hanging half-open, fingers terminating in stubby, well-trimmed claws. His head had turned to the side in his sleep, his long, damp tongue hanging out on to the pillow.

His lover, however, was focused on something else. Twitching up and down slightly with his steady heartbeats, the beastman's thick, red, veiny cock was already wide awake, hanging at a 60° angle above the furry, taut plane of his stomach. Leaking out slowly and pooling across the layer of short, brown hair over an abdomen hardened both by regular visits to the gym as well as regular "endurance training" within the confines of the little four-poster with her, a prodigious string of precum dangled from the tapered tip. She found herself licking her lips; it was so

nice,

having a young, vital paramour. Her lover often awoke with morning wood like this, and she had made it abundantly clear to him that, if the need arose, she would much prefer to awaken to the sensation of him using her body to relieve it as opposed to the harsh beeping of an alarm clock.

To his credit, he made sure the need arose often.

This time, though, she had made sure to rise before him--even if one part of him was already up and ready for the day. Pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, she pursed her lips, blowing gently across it until it was tolerably hot. Then, she began to drink, filling her mouth with the rich, dark liquid; at the same time, she wrapped her hands gently around the smooth steel surface of the carafe, warm and toasty beneath her palms. For a minute, she waited.

When she felt that enough time had passed, she released the carafe, bending forward over the mug to let the coffee run from her mouth, back into the vessel. A jolt of energy in the morning was well and good, but that wasn't what she needed from the brew this morning; what she needed was its

warmth

.

*****

Alex was chilly.

Lost in the blurry border between deep REM sleep and the shallower waters closer to waking, his body had not realized why it was suddenly getting colder, the covers which insulated him, as well as the pleasant body heat of his bedmate, now gone. In the darkness of sleep, however, he began to feel a sudden, blossoming warmth. It spread out from his hips, a pulsing, undulating, welcoming sensation; accompanying it, a pleasant, tugging suction, rapidly causing his morning wood to grow to full hardness. The wonderful feeling drew him up, up, upward from sleep, his consciousness making a winding, swaying ascent from the depths like a piece of driftwood floating up from the deep ocean.

As he opened his eyes, he noticed the smell. Pungent, nose-clearing, ever-so-slightly fruity; coffee, he realized. The peaberry blend they had gotten. It was intense, as though he had fallen asleep in the kitchen. Second, as he turned his head forward off the pillow to get a better look at what had awoken him, he realized that his mother was knot-deep on his morning wood.

Staring up at him intensely with the same clear, blue eyes she had gifted to her son, she languidly pulled off of him, stopping at the end of his ten inch length to suckle the last measure with her distended lips, flicking her tongue up and down over the slit of his cockhead in a way that made his legs and lower back tense up with every wet, serpentine lash. Then, she descended back down his shaft with agonizing slowness, setting a torturous pace as she devoured her boy. Her mouth was hot,

delightfully

hot, as though she had a fever; it felt like an oven around him, intense, overwhelming. Her hands were intensely warm, too, he realized; as she worked up and down his shaft, she was using her little pale hands to knead and tease at the heavy, prodigious orbs suspended in his ballsack, the heat from the coffee carafe which had transferred to her body making her treatment of him feel like something between a blowjob, a sauna, and a massage.

Robin watched the body language of her son intently as she bobbed up and down his shaft with deliberate slowness; tracking his expressions, from slow awakening, to surprise, to appreciation. His hands had begun to paw at the sheets, creases forming across their silken surface as they bunched in his grip, tensing and untensing every time she lingered over the sensitive tip of his penis. As his breathing quickened, she found herself humming in low tones, the vibrations from her throat travelling into his captive member in a way she knew he loved; moans of appreciation for the early morning snack that her lover was steadily leaking out into her mouth. Finally, she began to spot the signs she was looking for; his jaw began to clench imperceptibly, the sharp rows of teeth drawing shut as his eyes started to become lidded, as though he were bracing for a sudden blow. Both of his furry paws clenched at the sheets in synchrony, and just before Robin knew he was about to explode in her mouth, she stopped, coming off of him with an exaggerated gasp; a theatrical touch. A whine began in the back of his throat, high-pitched and concerned, in that adorable way he tended to do; still confused and not completely awake, all his body knew was that he had a desperate need to cum, teased just shy of completion by this nighttime visitor.

Robin climbed on top of her son, hovering with her hips just high enough above him to catch only the pointed, drooling tip of his erect, needy doggy-dick in the lips of her pussy. Gyrating back and forth, she moved her hips in a figure eight that captured, at most, the first inch of him within her love tunnel, before pulling back at the ends of her movement to hold only the very tip, bending him ever so slightly up and down as she went. Her toasty warm hands slid across his furry torso, caressing the hard muscle beneath as she felt her way up her son's front. When her hands finally slid up and over to grasp at the reassuringly solid masses of his shoulders, her head dipped down to gently plant a kiss amidst the field of furry brown hair over his chest, right over his solar plexus. To Alex, it seemed as though he might still be asleep--the whole of it was dreamlike in quality; this silent, beautiful woman who belonged only to him, her pale white skin shining in the dim light of early morning, kneeling worshipfully, face down, ass up.

Finally, she said something, looking up at him as she rested her chin on his chest. "You looked cold. Do you want mommy to warm you up?"

Alex tried, and failed, to nod in a manner more dignified than that of a kid on Christmas. The dream-vision smiled up at him, and slowly, carefully, lowered her hips. Still swaying back and forth, she closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of inch after girthy inch entering her, a little more with every figure-eight, stretching her out with that familiar fullness she loved. Finally, she came to rest against his knot, the hard, heavy bulb seeping its blood-filled warmth into her body where they were finally joined, flesh-to-flesh. She could feel the tip of his canine cock pressing into her deepest place, nestled against her cervix and leaking a steady stream of precum which began to pool there. A shiver of excitement passed through her, reveling in the taboo power this beast she had created now held over her; the power to make her belly swell again, to fill her with his warmth and life; the power of creation.

She would

never

tire of this feeling. Raw, unprotected; joined, for a fleeting moment, as one.

Like it was meant to be.

Robin felt her son's hands sliding up her thighs as she began to ride him, bouncing up and down in his lap. She felt those hands tighten their grip, steel sinew beneath alive with the implicit threat of violence; Robin knew from experience that Alex was more than strong enough to maneuver her body into whatever position he wished; to break her, if the mood took him. It filled her heart with love even more to know that he had somehow turned out so gentle, despite his upbringing; she would have to goad him on, if she wanted to unleash the strength that lay lambent in the limbs that held her. She moved up his chest, leaving a line of wet, soft kisses as she went; finally, her lips latched into the nape of his neck. A sharp gasp escaped him as she began to suck, pulling blood from the soft tissue beneath as she began on the first of many love bites she intended to leave; Alex, coming from a breed of fairly short-haired canine beastmen, sported fur that lay close enough--over his neck, at least--to get a fairly tight suction going against his flesh, a fact that Robin had taken enthusiastic advantage of after realizing how sensitive he was against such an attack. Groaning from deep within his chest, Robin smiled with a private, vindictive joy as she toyed with him, one of his hands sliding up her back to claw uselessly at her as she tormented him.