This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.
"Salamander Stud"
SHORT STORY
Author's note:
sequel to 'Salamander Slut' and 'Salamander MILF'.
Trace's skin felt desiccated, adding to the mounting frustrations of her day. She sat at a desk in a temperature-controlled room; around her the trappings of office life and the mundanity of the outside world wormed their way into her peripheral vision. Between stacked cabinets and empty chairs she worked, pen in hand, scribbling notes on complicated forms. Aching for a dip in her pool, a return to water. To soak and salve the dryness and the irritation of long hours away from a source of moisture. Her ancestral longing for the long-forgotten swamps of prehistory -- a fragment of her hybridised heritage -- did not abate.
No chance of mist-sprayers running while she worked, unless the Amphibian Research Centre was okay with her paperwork dissolving before she'd submitted it. Which was a downside of employment here: you didn't always get to be in your ideal environment. Even her looks showed the conflict between her nature and her profession. Spectacles, making her look prim. A salamander-librarian...not at all the standout babe she knew Chris lusted over.
Chris.
"Hmm," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. The legs creaked as her tail shifted her centre of mass back. A long tail of clothing accompanied her biology -- Trace was wearing a strange mix of styles. On the outside a plain lab-coat, white...off-white in patches where dirtied. Beneath that, a flexible one-piece swimsuit that formed itself around her body in a tight seal with little left to the imagination.
She stretched. Tedium tearing her mind to shreds. Her webbed feet stamped flat against the floor and nudged her chair up on its rear two legs. Arms outstretched, she greeted the dull silence of the office room with a clatter as she dropped back to her original posture.
While she paused and let her mind wander, her colleagues entered. Some human, some anthro. But above all else, some company.
"Gah! I'm so dry and itchy..."
As the room filled with busy people, one approached her. A woman. Human. Had definitely heard her complain. The smile on her face said as much...
A smile that revealed itself to have sinister motivations as in a flourish a fresh sheaf of papers appeared from underarm and landed onto Trace's workspace.
"Well you can relax once we've filed these for journal submission. Deadline's Friday, and I'm not having my only assistant flake out on me, like
last
time."
"Come the fuck on Alice...Ms. Alice!"
"We all have jobs to do too,
Ms. Trace
. I've completed my sections, now it's your turn."
Trace grimaced and lowered her glasses. A desiccated hand picked up the first page, the coarseness of the paper as it wrapped around her webbed, three-fingered hand evident in the uncomfortable sensation of touching, gripping...handling yet more work.
She gave a weak laugh and turned to her superior. "I know. I've had a long day."
"Hopefully this will be the last long day for a while," the female human replied. "Department's due a break soon."
Trace sighed. She was still a bit dumb. Well, not dumb...just less academically-inclined than many of the humans at the ARC. Chris was the big nerd. Not her. A lingering aspect of her old life as Trey the human dude-bro. A reminder of her past. And Chris...
She missed him.
"If you're struggling I can help," came another voice, another female. This time amphibian like herself. The human named Alice had since left Trace's side, in her place was an ARC resident of similar seniority: her good friend Beth.
"Thanks, but it's just boring. Not hard. I need to finish this myself."
Her fellow salamander ignored her request and pulled up a chair. "C'mon girl, let me help. I do the same work as you."
"Alright fine. Here," Trace said, dumping part of her workload straight into Beth's damp lap. "Aw shit," she quickly followed with, snatching the papers back before they were ruined, "you didn't tell me you were swimming!"
"I can afford to have fun on my breaks, I don't have kids to check up on and no man to split the effort with."
"Shut up you, and grab a towel before you start 'helping' me..."
Only now glancing up at her grey-skinned friend, Trace saw the moisture glisten -- a coat of shimmering delight, taunting her. Her skin prickled at the comparative wetness.
She let slide the remark about her single motherhood. Chris wasn't gone for good, he was just...he'd be back. Hopefully soon.
And hopefully soon I'll have this all done. Then I can relax with a cocktail and a nice long soak.
"So," Beth asked, having given herself a once-over with a large towel, "how are they?"
"Good. You haven't been working at the nursery for a few months so I took charge of their care. No first words yet...I'm looking forward to that..."
Trace was supposed to journal her kids development, and that was easier said than done when you have a bunch of rambunctious infants crawling all over the place. Her friends and colleagues helped her out though. In many ways. Professionally, and as a courtesy to a dear friend and semi-aquatic comrade.
"It was getting hectic there too," Beth said. "Lotta moms. All kinds of species."
"That's why you bailed, was it?"
"
Hmphf!
Your kids...and at most a couple of the other salamander pairs maybe...that's what I was okay with managing. Not the zoo it's become!"
Her friend pouting in the corner of her eye, Trace watched long black lines of ball-point ink scrawl their way across seas of white. Beth occasionally interrupted her thinking with a thought or two of her own and while welcome, they didn't do anything to alleviate the shitty mood Trace was feeling.
True. Beth had been overworked, as had they all. The Centre had to step in with extra manpower, but finding qualified candidates to care for experimental lifeforms was not an easy task.
The amount of nannies employed by the ARC who'd up and quit trying to handler her brood (let alone the many offspring of other residents) caused no end of trouble with her bosses -- and Trace had seen herself in a new light: fiercely protective of her children.
Try talking her little ones down in front of this tiger momma!
That's a tad harsh. She actually got on well with her human helpers. Most of the time.
...
Half of the time.
...
Sometimes.
...
Well, at least they're there.
Trace growled as she read a passage from one of the reports. Awaiting her sign-off was a log of week-long monitoring: the growth, health, and developing intelligence of her children. What read as a simple, clinical overview of the situation dripped with hidden meaning.
Perhaps she shouldn't have cussed out that nanny and called her a quote: 'brainless, hairless ape-slut'.
Even her insults had adjusted themselves according to species. That's what happens after years of living apart from humanity. Her biological alma mater. The ol' pinkskins. Homo sapiens sapiens.
Heh, homo...
Homo sapiens, meet homo salamandridae. I got fangs, poison glands, and gills. What you got? Huh?
As her inner monologue continued to trash-talk her old species, Trace read further. Birth registration numbers were listed for each of her kids, as well as their parentage. Chris' name burned into her vision as she stared at the page. Alongside it, a painfully impersonal declaration:
Absentee parent.
It was one of the stingier diagnoses. One that some said may affect her kids' development. Trace usually scoffed at this kind of thinking. Quite how this would negatively affect a gaggle of gurgling infants still in the process of mastering object permanence was lost on her. Someone just wanted to piss her off, she supposed.
Well you wouldn't let me keep their father here on a permanent basis so go figure that one out, brainiacs...
Maybe they did it on purpose. Rile her up to see what reaction they got.
If they're doing that as part of some test I'm not aware of there'll be hell to pay. Let's see how their smart-ass comments fare when I bite their fucking faces off!
"You okay?"
Trace snapped out of her day-dream and turned to Beth. "Nothing. Nothing...just tired. And cranky."
"You sure?"
"Ahh...I just wanna go and sleep somewhere dark and damp and slimy."
And with my boyfriend there to cuddle with me.
...
Trace sighed.
Come back soon, Chris...
* * *
At last the trials of clerical labour were at an end. Trace was free for the rest of the day to pursue her own comfort. At least, that was the thought when she left the offices and strolled back through the complex, greeting passers-by.
She met Greg, Beth's partner, outside the medical labs. He was awaiting a routine physical, the same kind of check-up she'd had to endure on the regular. All those doctors and scientists poking and prodding. Taking notes. Making comments!
It was enough to make you forget the plentiful amenities and alluring salary paid to residents of the ARC. Almost enough...
They commiserated about their lives and the oh-so-onerous burden of having to work for a living alongside luxurious purpose-built accommodation and facilities for their kind. Their words, rich with obvious sarcasm, brought a smile to Trace. Her shitty mood was fading. A spring developed in her step.
Continuing her whistle-stop tour of local haunts, she ran into Missy -- the spunky frog girl she'd come to know and love as her 'bestie'. She was managing a consignment of food to the facility's canteens, barking orders at several human staff members and carrying a tense look. Trace sought to raise her spirits in tune with her own attempts to brighten up.
"Hey Missy!"
"Oh, hey Trace. You finished for today?"
"Yep," she said, coming to a halt next to the more diminutive figure of Missy. "Delivery trouble?"
