Pairs Of Pumpkins 06 The Sales Of A Silken Furred Sister

"Mother, I look ridiculous. I'm practically naked."

"You're welcome to turn back, Anya. You're the one who wanted to come on these rescue missions with me." Portia Pridemoon glanced back with stern eyes and short patience. "Today, we're rescuing your sister from a brothel but you don't have to be here. I can do this alone."

"Not a chance, mother. You already made me sit out the last one. But this isn't what I thought rescue missions would be like."

Anya, the thick and towering, part-bear, part-vixen daughter of Portia was dressed in a short, white toga which popped against her dark fur. It came down to her mid-thigh, hanging off one shoulder and was cinched around her waist with a gold-painted rope.

The full-blooded fox stopped and turned to her daughter, raising a finger. "After what you pulled on the first one, you're lucky to be joining me on any of these, young lady."

"You've been my mother for six weeks and you're already young-ladying me?! Unbelievable."

"I've been your mother for your whole life and don't try to pull that string with me. You blew a giant hole in a fortress wall! People could've died!"

With a huff, Anya's eyes fell from her mother's face to her sternum and the magic-nullifying, metal charm of forged relagite hanging from her neck. Looped on the thin, silk rope, Anya's Ring of Fireball Casting jingled against the charm, safely inert. "Mother, we've been through this so many times! It was just property damage! Nobody died and we got out with Edgar."

Portia took a deep breath to steady herself before she placed her hand on Anya's shoulder. "You are a natural at this. You're my daughter and you've got the brains, body and heart to be better than me at all this someday. But we have to hold ourselves to a higher standard than just 'we succeeded.' It's even more important when you're getting started. Trust me, you don't want to live your life with innocent blood on your hands and we aren't going to get very far rescuing your brothers and sisters if we leave a trail of destruction leading to us. You have talent. You need discretion. You need training."

"Then train me!"

A pair of men walked past them at that moment, an otter leading a massively-muscled stallion, both giving surprised attention at their bust-to-bust conversation before noticing the unerotic tone of their quiet argument. They hurried along on their way, chuckling. "Yeah, train her!" the stallion called back and the otter cackled as they disappeared down the hallway.

Portia scowled before her attention snapped back to her daughter. "I'm trying! It just takes time and I have a whole lot of sons and daughters to rescue. This is never going to be easy, Anya. The people who bought my children from Zarron are some of the most rich, dangerous and corrupt people in the land. There are buyers on this list who frankly, scare the shit out of me to cross. But I'm going to cross them. We're going to make a lot of enemies doing this."

Something caught Anya's attention at the end and Portia followed her gaze with annoyance only to find two more men watching them. These two were different. Two stocky wolves in their late twenties stood shoulder to shoulder, dressed well in loose, silken pants over sandals with their muscular chests clad only in simple vests. Their entire air was different and it stood out sorely to the seasoned adventuress before she even saw the elegant daggers at their belts. No weapons were allowed in the brothel. These were the guards.

She flashed a flirtatious smirk, the kind she'd been breaking hearts with for decades but the men were nonplussed. They were guards at a high end whorehouse after all and they wouldn't be terribly effective if it was that easy to influence them.

After taking a moment to release her mounting tension, she turned to her daughter with sympathetic eyes and reached out to hold her shoulders, leaving no space between the collective volume of their prodigious chests. "This is a dangerous lifestyle and I'm doing my best to bring you into it but I've never done this before. Not the training and not this... mothering stuff." She pursed her mouth and sighed. "You're here with me now, right?"

Anya was not beyond empathy for the situation but kept her jaw tight as she whispered through it. "Yes mother. In a whorehouse."

"I don't need to tell you that this is dangerous for us. You're the only one I brought with me."

Anya laughed through her nostrils. "You didn't bring your seven year old son and your eight year old daughter along to the whorehouse. Well aren't you 'Mother of the Year?'"

Portia flustered. "I didn't bring Joseph either."

"Someone needed to keep an eye on the kids and he's still too young for this place." Portia fell silent for a long moment and her daughter took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Mother but I want to be a part of all this. You could've brought me along when you went to free Evita. Given me another chance?"

A glance aside confirmed the guards had moved on in their attention and Portia gave a sigh of relief. "You not joining me to rescue Evita had had nothing to do with what happened with Edgar. That was always going to be a solo mission. I had to sneak into Erdlake Keep, convince an eight year old girl I was her mother and not some crazy person then carry her out most of the way. Your first stealth mission can't be to steal an abusive Duke's future wife in the middle of the night. It wasn't entry level stuff."

The taller vixen couldn't help but crack a smile. "Whorehouses are?"

Portia smiled and tugged her daughter by the wrist again. "We're two vixens with giant tits. If there was any place that girls like us can actually blend in, it's here. If someone asks for sex, just say 'no thanks.' Now come on. We've got work to do."

Portia led Anya deeper into the torchlit, mosaic-tiled corridor, turning heads more than people who blended in would expect to. Both vixens were striking, not only for their beauty and bustline but for their otherwise unusual appearances. Portia was an ivory-furred Arctic Fox, south of where her kind was normally found and her three-tone pattern and peppered markings were unusual even to those who had met arctic foxes. To those who were still more well traveled, her attire was also eye-catching: a fashion more befit of southern kingdoms of sand and minarets than the cold, dark North that her species came from.

She was dressed in baggy, gold-hued, sheer pants showing her lack of underwear to anyone looking closely. Her top was similarly loose and sheer, a purple, long-sleeve pullover top and it was cropped to expose what little of her midriff wasn't covered by the bottom of her formidable bust.

Anya was still more of a mystery, towering over six feet tall thanks to her one-quarter bear lineage, which would be impossible were it not for the in-vitro intervention of magic. She would be easy to mistake for a wolf except her fur was dark brown, with a beige belly, face and socks. 'Mutt' she had learned to answer when asked.

Marina, the daughter they were here to rescue, was less of a fox than Anya was, according to her notes: fully one-half mink. She had been ordered by one Lucian LaCroix, who some research had discovered was the owner of this most extravagant and expensive of whorehouses. Marina was meant to grow up to be a prostitute, which told them everything they needed to know about Lucian LaCroix's character.

Navigating the hallways, they passed beautiful, young females and males of a variety so broad that it had to be curated. Most were in their late teens and twenties. All were fit and breathtakingly attractive and every one was a prime specimen of their species. Among them mingled obvious patrons of all walks of life who made their wealth apparent through poise, jewelry and usually both, drinking, flirting and negotiating as if they owned the place. There were many doors, some closed but a surprising amount open and many of the open ones revealed acts typically hidden. Nudity was rampant and incense sconces tried to mask the overwhelming smells of sex and alcohol.

Anya froze at an open door and it almost tugged her mother off her feet before she noticed. "She seems like she's having a hard time with... oh Gods, don't look."

Portia glanced back to find Anya turned away and covering her eyes so she stepped back to peer in herself.

"What?" the older vixen shrugged, nonchalantly then turned to her daughter. "I warned you, you'd probably see some stuff you've never seen here. She'll be fine. That's grown-up stuff."

"I AM a grown-up, mother but I don't think I'll ever want to do that."

"Perhaps you just haven't met the right..." she glanced back into the room with a mischievous grin then back to her daughter. "...four stallions?"

"Have you done that?" Anya winced before her mother also did, and after a long moment's careful thought she spoke again.

"I've done lots of things. Some, I haven't. Come on. Let's find your sister," she said and took her by the wrist, leading her through the halls, turning the heads of the men and women alike who weren't caught up in other affairs and some who were.

They had been all around the first floor, down hallways and through a central grotto. Portia was doing the talking but the place was crowded and the sort from which people would often come and go.

"We're looking for a fox woman who works here, a bit like us?" Portia asked a fifth time with a bounce in her step and her chest that showed she was growing tired of it. They were asking a heavier-set, aging tiger now, who'd been leering at their chests from across the room.

"You're looking for the most expensive whore in this whole place: the Magnificent Marina," He said and Portia's face lit up.

"Is that really what people call her?" Anya asked with a cocked, curious head and the tiger chuckled.

"Well, no. I just like how it sounds. Hoping it sticks. So why are you looking for her? Some kind of boob-challenge?"

Portia glanced over to Anya pensively before her attention darted back to the tiger. She gave a small, aloof shrug as she asked: "would we win?"

The tiger reached out for Portia and she tensed reflexively. The adventuress had broken some hands in her years from unsolicited touches but she couldn't afford to blow their cover with violence. The tiger closed his hand before he reached her, brushing his knuckles over her cheek and he grinned at her flinch. "Marina's not the most expensive because of her beauty or her bosom, though both are remarkable. She's got the softest fur in all the land. You can't possibly imagine it if you haven't felt it. She feels how a cloud looks. They say she can make men cum with just a back massage. People line up with a week's wage just to touch her hand. Supposedly, she's half-fox and half-mink but I don't know how such a thing is possible." He eyed Anya as he said it, with an intrigue she didn't like but was getting used to, the more people with whom she met.

Portia nodded. "It isn't possible but she sounds like who we're looking for."

"Well, she's special, whatever she is. She'd be upstairs, somewhere. The premium girls like her are all on the third floor. Schlubs like me aren't allowed past two without an appointment."

Portia reached out and traced a finger down his arm as they slipped away. "Thanks Mister."

"If there is some kind of boob-challenge, we'd very much appreciate it to happen down here on the first floor!"

They were gone. Portia walked with Anya, side-by-side and chest-by-chest at a casual pace to conceal their purpose. They navigated the building to the top of the final staircase, past a stompy rhinoceros, only to stop when they saw a corridor of ten doors before a tee in the hallway and exchanged glances. "This place is bigger than I thought," Portia said before turning back to the rhinoceros who caught up to them with labored breath.

"Hey there, handsome. Can you tell us which of these rooms is Marina's?"

The rhinoceros stopped and narrowed his eyes but an appraising once-over the pair of them left him disarmed. "She's the third door. I'm heading there now. But you're... you're both bigger. I didn't know there were bigger options."

"They're putting in a whole fetish area for us busty girls. They've got three of us so far," Portia said, thinking fast. "It'll be great but the price for us... well it doubled."

The rhinoceros puffed himself up, looking like he might fall down the stairs for a moment. "This is outrageous. Marina is already fifty an hour!"

"I'm afraid her price is a hundred now," Portia folded her arms in faux condolences, scooping her chest in a jostling presentation of soft flesh but the rhino huffed in dismay without averting his eyes.

"How much are you two?"

"Two-hundred," Portia didn't miss a beat as she gave a sympathetic wince and Anya was right behind her.

"Five-hundred."

"You don't even look as soft as her." He blew out an outraged breath. "I have an appointment!"

"Effective immediately, I'm afraid," Portia said and draped herself over the banister, mashing her chest upwards, almost to her muzzle.

The rhino stared for a long moment before shaking it off and stomping back down the stairs. "Such a ripoff. This place is getting so greedy!"

"Wow mother. You're good," Anya waited a moment to encourage and Portia patted her shoulder before leading the way down the hall and past a pair of rabbit lovers, brazenly coupling in the hallway and dragging away Anya's attention as they passed. "Mother, is fifty gold a lot? I never got to buy things."

"Fifty gold is three month's wages for a peasant and a month's for a tradesman," she explained. "I've never heard of such a rate for an hour with a whore but I've never paid so much to get into a brothel either. What I want to know is why everyone keeps talking about her fur. I mean, I'm soft? Right?"

Anya shrugged. "I think my fur is pretty soft."

"You are! I mean, you are part bear but..."

Anya reached out to rub over her mother's arm. "Are bears not softer than foxes? I haven't touched many but I don't feel a big difference."

Portia gave a small shake of her head. "No bears are pretty..." she paused and returned her attention, watching Anya fold her arms and brace herself. "...soft. Come on. We're both soft, we're both amazing and these people are ridiculous."

They arrived at the third door, an elaborate, tilework of engraving of ancient, feminine symbols. There was no handle and a push did not budge it so the elder vixen knocked.

The door opened by itself, presenting a crack half-wide enough for either vixen. Portia peeked in before opening it enough to pass through.

Draped over the foot of the bed laid a dark figure, slinky but instantly recognizable as one of her own. Light-colored spots peppered her face and neck down to breasts beyond all reasonable proportions yet not quite as big as any other daughter they'd met so far. She had hair that was full and dark in the light of the room's many candles, framing sharp features which showed the influence of her mink heritage but at a glance, she was a brown-furred fox with a thin build, more commonly vulpine than either her mother or sister.

The petite vixen's coat was curious, the longer they looked over it and it gave her enough time for her poise to change subtly from seduction to intrigue. She stood, her fur shimmering in the candle light. Nothing had ever looked so soft and almost metallic the way the light hit it, beckoning to be touched. Her eyes grew as she appraised the two familiar forms but her posture was still perfectly demure and feminine as if she'd practiced for a lifetime. She almost surely had.

The half-mink's eyes in the dim light were almost luminescent and eerily familiar: a vibrant green like Portia's own eyes, the first of her daughters to share her distinctly piercing, eye color.

"You're not my next appointment," she said with a voice as silken as her fur appeared and Portia stepped closer, Anya closing the door behind them. For a moment the air was ominous. Silence followed and Portia took a few steps closer, her eyes adjusting to the room and the silhouette that could only be her own bloodline. The girl wore a simple, white dress hung from her chest, sheer in the flickering candlelight, which also caught the shine of a silver ring on her left pinky finger.

Portia's hands held her own muzzle, covering a mouth that smiled at its corners. She glanced back to Anya, who had folded her hands in front of her, back against the door and watching with a restrained grin. She gestured forward with her muzzle, urging her mother onward.

"Marina..."

"Why am I not surprised that you know my name?" the half-mink raised her pink nose and narrowed her eyes. Her eyes traced over Portia's form, eyes finding a zig zag of old scars which her fur mostly kept hidden. Her voice remained purely professional. "What can I do for you?"

Portia gave a nervous chuckle and turned up her palms. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this... Marina, do you have any idea who your mother is?"

The shimmering teen moved her hands to her hips and shifted her weight, contemplating for a moment. "I was told stories. It was in my best interest to not question them."

"What if I told you I was your mother?"

"I would ask if you gave miraculous birth to a child with another species, only to sell off your only daughter for a cask of wine?"

Portia twitched and craned her head aside, stifling a laugh. "No?"

Marina shrugged, content with the answer. "Of course not. Who would do that? They think I don't understand the value of things because I've spent my whole life in this place but any fool knows babies are worth a lot. Men had offered me fortunes to be their bride and have their child. They offered me fortunes to even try.."

"You'd rather be here?"

"I hear so many men complain about their wives as they lie with whores. No one has made it sound very compelling." She paused and shrunk ever so slightly. "Though it's not my choice anyway. I'm Lucian's property. His 'prized possession', he likes to say but I'm sure he complains about me. He says he'll never sell me but we'll see about that in five or ten years. Maybe then he'll try to sell breeding rights."

"Where would you like to be?"

"Well, are you actually my mother?"

"Yes. I'm Portia Pridemoon. And this is your sister, Anya."

"Anya Pridemoon." She nodded and confirmed while Portia restrained a proud smile.

"Marina Pridemoon." The svelte vixen considered the sound of it with some satisfaction before looking back to her mother. She gave them both another once over, her eyes lingering at both of their abundant chests and the peppered markings above them. "It would be hard to deny that we're related. I've never seen anyone remotely close to me and suddenly I've got the smallest chest in the room. And you: Anya was it? You're not a normal fox either. Tell me about my father!"

"Beyond that he was a mink, I don't know much."

"Really? Nothing?"

"I never met him."

Marina's brow crumpled up and her head canted aside.

With a huff of a laugh as she caught herself, Portia nodded. "Right. There's a lot to explain. And I will! But we don't have much time."

Marina pushed her hands into her hips and shrugged. "Fine. Why are you here then?"

"I'm here to reunite our family. And to ensure that none of my children live in slavery." Portia moved closer, scooping up Marina's wrists in a gesture of matronly compassion. The half-mink drew back and Portia opened her mouth to speak but froze instead. Her jaw fell open as she squeezed fingers through her daughter's fur. "By the Gods, you ARE soft. I've never felt anything so soft. Anya, come feel your sister! This is unbelievable."

The bear-fox gave an apologetic shrug to her sister before giving in to her curiosity, stepping up and reaching for her, giving her the opportunity to deny her before a hand planted on her bare arm, plowing downy fur through spread fingers. "Oooooh wow. Wow! Holy... wow! You are unbelievably soft."