Over the Hills and Far Away
by John R. Plunkett

"Mmm, this looks like a good spot," Alysa mused. Bright green ferns grew in riotous profusion, filling what would otherwise have been open space between moss coated trees. "What do you think, Frederick?"

"I like the view," Frederick replied. Lowering his gaze slightly allowed it to rest lovingly on Alysa's buttocks. Even now, hidden by a pair of overalls, they looked absolutely fabulous. Of course they'd look even better without a layer of cloth hiding their sublime perfection. He looked forward to addressing that matter at the earliest opportunity.

"It is rather nice," Alysa agreed, glancing over her shoulder as she extracted a folded blanket from the picnic basket and spread it on the ground. Something protruding from Frederick's crotch bulged the inseam of his normally loose fitting overalls, pulling them tight. Confining material bent the object sharply and forced it down the left pants leg, forming a ridge along the inside of his thigh that reached to just short of his knee. It looked terribly uncomfortable, a situation Alysa hoped to relieve as soon as possible by removing the offending garment.

"Think that'll be enough?" Frederick asked, sitting carefully on one corner of the blanket. A layer of ferns and leaf mold gave it a surprisingly soft foundation.

"We could always pitch a tent," Alysa suggested, getting down on hands and knees to smooth the far edges of the blanket. "Oh, wait. You already are." She giggled, deliberately turning her rump toward him and lifting her tail.

"Well, I can't hardly help it if you're going to carry on like this," Frederick replied, rolling to his feet and moving to stand behind Alysa, placing one hand on each of her buttocks and squeezing firmly.

"I should certainly hope so," Alysa purred, thrusting backward. Though not hard, the blow did shove Frederick off balance, forcing him to grab her hips to retain his footing.

Frederick grinned. In the privacy of his own mind he thought that Alysa had an ass like a horse. He'd never said so out loud for fear that she'd misunderstand; he meant it as a good thing. In appearance, he couldn't call it anything but perfect: from astern she presented a perfectly conformed heart-shaped aspect, fulsome and firm at the same time, what he'd once heard described as caliphyigan. Under his eagerly questing hands it felt as soft and smooth as a woman's should be, but with a foundation of impressively thick muscle. That was why he thought of Alysa's rear end as being horse-like. Not to mention it's sheer size, he'd have to admit. Even with her kneeling and him standing, her rump pressed against the top of his belly, not his hips. Upright, she stood more than a meter taller than him.

Some men, Frederick knew, would find the size differential off-putting. Frederick didn't mind a bit; if anything, it enhanced Alysa's attractiveness. There was so much more of her to stroke, caress, kiss, and fondle. By mass, being with Alysa was like having five regular sized women at once. Which, admittedly, posed some difficulties. For instance, they couldn't employ any position with both of them standing, unless he used a stool. The only part that ever bothered him, though, was not being able to have her sit on his lap. For one, his lap wasn't big enough... and for another, it wasn't strong enough. He couldn't penetrate her and kiss her at the same time either; with his penis in her vagina, that put his face about even with her chest. Which, as a trade off, wasn't bad at all. Even had she been normal sized her breasts would have been huge... and she had four of them, two in the usual position and two more right below. Finally, how many men had partners who could cradle them with their bodies, like a warm, living couch? That alone, Frederick would say, paid for all the inconveniences, and then some.

For her own part, Alysa might possibly admit- after a great deal of cajoling- that at times she fantasized about a man who could caress her with his body, whom she could in turn ride with reckless abandon. But such a man wouldn't be able to put his entire hand into her vagina and stroke it from the inside. Nor could she have held him in her arms, cradling him with her body as if he were a child. Size notwithstanding, Alysa found Frederick quite pleasant to look at. The baggy overalls he affected didn't completely hide the firm, sculpted beauty of his belly, hips, and thighs. His upper body wasn't exceptionally powerful but was very well formed, with enough muscle and definition to make him unquestionably masculine but not so much as to make him bulky. And his pelt, so smooth and soft to the touch, so vibrant in color. Alysa loved running her fingers through it, feeling the fur between her fingers and the firm flesh beneath. She especially appreciated the fact that he habitually did not wear a shirt, leaving his arms, back, and much of his chest bare to her admiring gaze.

Frederick pushed Alysa's tail to one side and scrambled right over her rump onto her back. He straddled her as if riding a horse, rubbing her back with the heels of his hands and stroking with the fingertips. He slid the overall straps off her shoulders then lay forward, nestling his face in the hollow of her neck. While nuzzling and licking her throat he stroked her cheeks, face, and chin with his hands. After a while his dismounted, kneeling before her, so he could lick her face and muzzle.

Alysa was a vixen: that is to say, a female fox. Or, to be technically accurate, a Morph vixen. Her head was that of a fox, with a long, slender muzzle and similarly sharp, pointed ears. A fox's tail sprang from the base of her spine; at the moment it waved proudly in the air, like a flag. A fox's ruddy orange and white pelt covered the body in between- complete with black stockings on the extremities- but the body itself was humanoid. It differed from that of a typical human only in being almost twice the size... and having an extra endowment of mammaries, of course.

Some men would have found the fact of Alysa being a Morph off-putting. Frederick was not one; in fact he was himself a Morph: a tod, which is to say a male fox. As such, he regarded Alysa as a very proper target for his affections. More, even; in his eyes she was the perfect woman, ensnaring him with her beauty and setting his mind afire with lust.


If asked, Alysa would have said much the same about Frederick. At the moment she didn't bother, letting her actions speak for her. She sat back on her heels, letting the suspenders fall free of her arms. The bib of her overalls, no longer secured at the top, hung loose from her waist, baring her chest. Most often she didn't wear a shirt either; she only wore the overalls as a sop to what she considered prudish (and hypocritical) morality. Today, though, she wore one: a short sleeved plaid button-up, of which she left a number of buttons open, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. Wearing a shirt had one particular advantage, she'd found: Frederick could then take it off. Which he did now, sinking to his knees and opening one of the buttons. Instead of moving on to the others he reached through the gap with his hand, sliding it over the forward curve of her upper left breast until he felt the nipple against his palm. He pushed firmly, his fingers sinking into the soft, warm flesh, then shifted his grip slightly, placing the nipple in the cleft between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed again, rubbing it gently with his thumb.

Alysa inhaled sharply and leaned forward, pressing her torso against Frederick's hand. Her own hands fidgeted, longing to rip the shirt from her body, but in the end fell back to her sides. The anticipation was half the fun.

Frederick opened another button so he could get his other hand in, addressing it to Alysa's upper right breast. Her nipples were quite large, both in relative and absolute terms. He loved playing with them, and if he did a good job Alysa would be very grateful. After a bit he let his right hand stray, leaving the nipple to explore the top and side of the breast. He popped another button so he could reach up under it, lifting it as much as he could. Which wasn't much, actually; even individually her breasts were larger than his head. The total mass was too much to manage one handed. Doing a proper job required both hands.

Not for the first time Frederick wished he had more than two hands. A rack like this deserved serious attention when fondled. Still, having only two didn't leave him completely without options. He ceased his ministrations long enough to undo the remaining buttons and completely remove Alysa's shirt. That done he once again knelt before her, casually rubbing his crotch and admiring Alysa's bosom. Despite their prodigious size her breasts retained a most attractive roundness, sagging only slightly. He'd heard that they came equipped with a network of tendons, like a built-in bra. Whatever the reason, the results spoke for themselves.

Another thing Frederick could simply sit and admire was the interplay of color. Alysa's nipples and aureolae showed pale pink against the white fur covering her breast, belly, and throat, framed in turn by ruddy orange on her face, shoulders, upper arms, hips, and thighs, and black on her forearms and calves. (Technically, red-orange also appeared on the sides of her chest and belly, but from the front it didn't show; the swell of her breasts covered it. Just as, from the back, four half-moons of white framed the red-orange of her torso, at least when her arms weren't against her sides.)

"If you're going to sit there and jack off, Frederick, I might as well have stayed home," Alysa rather pointedly commented.

"Just getting in the mood, my dear," Frederick purred, putting his arms around Alysa's torso and nuzzling her chin. "My gorgeous vixen is a thing of sublime beauty, which only deserves- nay, demands- to be admired." He licked her cheek, barely brushing the corner of her mouth. "I merely seek to give what is her just due."

"All well and good," Alysa allowed, "But she might also feel inclined to seek the company of a man who isn't all pretty talk."

"Oh!" Frederick flopped across Alysa's thigh, supporting his torso with his left hand on her shoulder while clutching his right to his chest. "She wounds me with cruel words!"

"I'll wound you with a lot more than words if you don't quit screwing around," Alysa responded.

"Oh? Really?" Frederick affected surprise. "I thought screwing around was why we'd come here in the first place."

"All right, buddy, that's it. No more Ms. nice gal." Alysa clamped her arm around Frederick's waist, trapping him against her while she released the buttons securing his suspenders. That done she grabbed the cuffs of his overalls and lifted. He slid out of the garment, landing in an untidy heap between her knees. His manly organ, freed of confinement, sprang proudly erect. "Now let's see if I can find a more gainful use for this than propping up your pants," she mused, curling her fingers around it and squeezing.

Frederick gasped. Though feminine, clearly enough, Alysa's hands and arms were not exactly delicate. She needed a high percentage of muscle merely to support the weight of her body; she had it and then some. If a person chose to look past her enormous boobs they might notice that the chest upon which they hung was quite powerfully built, with solid bones and well defined muscles. She could squeeze pretty damn hard when she wanted to.

Alysa had in mind to do some squeezing, but with a different set of muscles. As she stroked Frederick's penis and fondled his testicles her main goal was simply to insure that he'd attained maximum erection. And, perchance, to marvel a bit. For most men of Frederick's size, their penises would have fit in the palm of her hand. Frederick's did not. In fact, she could wrap both hands around it side by side and still see the glans. Which meant quite a bit, considering the size of her hands.

Size matters less than skill, the adage went, but in Alysa's experience the common wisdom overlooked a few important points. Yes, if given a choice between a lover with a big dick and one who was good with his hands and tongue, she'd take the second and never mind the size of his penis. On the other hand, a well-made tool in the hands of a talented gent could do wonders. Between two equally skilled fellows, one with a substantial penis and one without, the choice wouldn't be nearly so cut and dry. Also, most people- men in particular- tended to think that size meant length. To Alysa, and many other women, the most important quality was girth. And even that was a relative thing; absolute diameter, be it large or small, meant little except in comparison to the size of the hole through which the object was expected to pass. For optimum stimulation, the penis needed to stretch the labia just the right amount, neither too little nor too much. Too little meant not enough stimulation, and too much would be uncomfortable. There were things that could be done, of course: a touch of alum would tighten up a loose hole, and a squirt or two of lubricant jelly would ease the passage of a prodigious log.

Alysa's fundamental problem sprang from the fact that she was very nearly twice the height of an average woman. Which meant that her female fastness was also very nearly twice the size of that possessed by an average woman. Assuming, furthermore, that Alysa's would have been average sized, which it wouldn't. Proportionally, Alysa's vagina was like her breasts: at the large end of the scale. Was she expected to fill that fleshy cavern with a Peerless Part about the size of her pinky? All the alum in the world couldn't make up the difference. For all the good an average sized penis would do, she might as well not have a clitoris at all.

Frederick had laid his head back and closed his eyes. His male organ felt sufficiently hard, and Alysa gave it a lick up the underside for good measure. Then she rose to her feet and quickly shed her overalls, kicking them off and leaving them in a heap. She wore no panties, so that wasn't an issue. With two fingers she parted her labia; with her other hand she guided the head of Frederick's penis while lowering herself onto it. It slid in without difficulty; eager anticipation of this moment had left her well lubricated. She settled onto her knees, rocking gently back and forth to settle him inside her, and reveling in the sensation of it. She liked being on top because it gave her greater freedom of movement, but she had to be careful. Given her size, the weight of her body on Frederick's pelvis could very well seriously injure him. She had to keep her legs under her, making sure they carried her weight and not him. She squeezed and rose up, then relaxed and sank back down.

Frederick drew a sharp breath, clawing at Alysa's thighs and arching his back. Her pubococcygeus muscles- also known as the Kegals- were prodigiously strong, and she exerted a high degree of fine control over them. Doing what she was now felt like she was sucking him off with her pussy. As such he wasn't about to complain, either about his subordinate position or lack of participation in the sex act. White hot pleasure, struck like sparks by the friction of Alysa's flesh against his own, banished any such petty concerns.

Gradually Alysa increased the tempo of her thrusts as the promise of orgasm subsumed ever more of her being. Conscious thought retreated before wave after wave of carnal pleasure. For instance, her eyes registered a flash of orange, such as might have been caused by someone in a hunting cap peeking through the undergrowth, but her mind failed to react as it might have under other circumstances.

As orgasm burst upon her Alysa opened her eyes wider, but it made no difference. She did not see the bright muzzle flash, nor hear the sharp crack followed by distorted echoes thrown back by the high ridges. The bullet struck her skull before the nerve impulses from her eyes and ears could reach her brain.

After, there was only darkness.

Oh, my goodness gracious.

That's for sure. And I thought Aunt Matilda was big.

Ugh. I wish you hadn't said that. What if she expects us to drain her?

Ouch. Now I wish I hadn't said it.

Only slowly did Alysa realize that the voices were in fact real, and not merely phantasms that existed only in her mind. On the heels of that awareness came another: that she lay sprawled untidily on her back, arms and legs akimbo, as if she'd fallen. She sat up abruptly, looking around quickly; she found herself in what was obviously a garden, filled with rows of neatly kept bushes. Beyond, trees bordered the area. To her left she could just see the corner of a house. Beneath her she felt well kept grass. Looking toward the voices, though, she saw nothing.

"Down here."

Dropping her gaze, Alysa found herself looking at a handsome young tod Morph. His base color was a rich, burnished copper, his boots and gloves not truly black but rather a very dark red. Beside him stood a vixen Morph; her boots and gloves were the same color as his but her base coat was much lighter, a pale orange that was almost yellow, and a shock of wavy golden hair adorned her crown. Still, what struck Alysa about the pair were not their appearances- typical enough of fox Morphs- but their size. Even sitting, she had to look down at them. From head to toe they probably measured no more than 120 centimeters, and quite possibly even less.

"Are you all right?" the vixen inquired.

"I-" Alysa began. "I guess so," she admitted after a short pause. She wasn't injured or hungry, the sun was warm, and the sky clear; she wasn't troubled by physical difficulties. "Where am I?" she added.

"You're in our boinkberry garden," the male announced. His tone was proud rather than aggressive; apparently delight in his garden outweighed any concern over Alysa's intrusion.

"How did I get here?" Alysa continued.

"We don't know," the female replied, shrugging her shoulders. "We'd just finished cleaning up the house and decided to celebrate with a quickie. When we came out for some berries, here you were."

"Oh." Alysa got to her feet. The house was a small but pleasantly airy cottage accented with flower beds and climbing vines. Beyond it lay a street lined with other homes, some larger and some smaller but every one occupying a fairly extensive lot. In nearly every case those lots were planted with bushes producing small, brightly colored berries. The same sort of bushes as grew in the garden around her, Alysa realized. The berries themselves looked funny; studying them up close revealed that it was because some were pink and others blue, and all had bright, shiny skins that caught the sunlight like jewels. Returning her attention to the broader environment, Alysa noted that all the people she saw were Morphs of one sort or another. Furthermore, whether tending their gardens, playing games, chatting amiably, or doing other things, they were all completely naked, except for utility items like hats, gloves, or glasses. Finally, a great deal of the activity Alysa saw fell in the "other" category. For instance, when a plump, middle aged rabbit woman bent over to pluck some weeds a similarly aged and constructed rabbit gent porked her from behind. Far from objecting to the imposition she seemed to regard it as her due, and the pair left off their gardening for a while. Though the interlude took place within plain sight of everyone else on the block no one so much as batted an eye. Many of those who might remark were in fact doing much the same themselves.

For a moment Alysa wondered at the display. Then she wondered at her wonder. Why did people have to wear clothes? Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves whenever the mood took them? There was a reason, she was almost certain. She could feel the shape of it, somewhere in the back of her mind... but when she looked it melted away. She couldn't remember-

"Where are you from?" the male asked.

"I'm sorry?" Alysa responded. She understood the words but the question itself made no sense.

"Where do you live?" the female amplified.

For a moment Alysa said nothing. She wasn't being evasive, she simply didn't have an answer. When she searched her memory for a response she didn't find anything. It wasn't just that the memory wasn't present, there wasn't even a place where the memory would go. She didn't even understand why having a place to live or be from mattered. "I don't know," she said.

"What's your name?" the vixen asked.

"Alysa." She hadn't remembered, exactly. More as if the word had popped out spontaneously in response to the question; only after the fact did Alysa realize that it was her name, and start thinking of herself in that context.

"Pleased to meet you." The vixen offered her hand. "I'm Kay, and this is my hubby, Kit."

"Hi." Alysa's hand engulfed Kay's much smaller one. Rather than bend in half, or force Kay to stand on tiptoes, Alysa dropped to one knee.

"That's a mighty impressive bosom you've got there," Kit commented as he stepped up to offer his own hand. He gave the complement as openly and innocently as he might have said she had a nice singing voice or a pretty mane.

"It sure is," Kay agreed. Her own breasts were modestly sized but nicely round and pleasingly perky.

"Thank you," Alysa replied. "You're very pretty too."

"Ah, you don't happen to-" Kit began, as if broaching a potentially delicate subject.

"Oh, my word!"

Alysa turned toward the voice and beheld a male badger Morph. He was taller than Kit and Kay, though still short by normal standards, and quite stocky, with a thick torso, heavy hips and legs, and a protruding belly. Like everyone else he was naked; the gloves and apron he wore were clearly for entirely utilitarian purposes.

"Hey, Marl," Kit called, giving a wave. "What's up?"

"In truth, I thought you were planting some sort of odd colored tree and came over to see what it was," Marl replied, looking Alysa up and down. "May I ask where you're from, my dear? I don't believe I've ever seen a vixen your size before."

"I don't know," Alysa replied. "I only remember being here."

"She doesn't know where she lives or anything," Kay put in.

"Say, Marl, mind if we borrow you truck?" Kit asked. "I figured we could take her downtown and see if there's any record of her. Then we could swing by the hospital; maybe they can help her remember."

"Certainly," Marl replied. "It's a bit of a walk, and I don't think she'd fit on the bus."

"Not easily, anyhow," Kit responded.

"I'll be right back." Marl hurried away.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Kay asked. "May we get you something?"

"A drink would be nice, thanks," Alysa replied.

"We have some kool-aid left, don't we?" Kit suggested.

"Yes. I'll go get us some glasses." Kay hurried into the house.

"Kit?" Alysa asked.


"What are boinkberries?"

"What are-" Kit exclaimed. He looked shocked and amazed, as if Alysa had asked what's that big yellow thing up in the sky. "Boinkberries are what put Yiffburg on the map," he announced proudly. He gestured grandly at the neatly kept rows of bushes growing in the garden. "As to what they are... the quickest and easiest way to answer that question is to try one yourself." He plucked a pink berry from one of the bushes and offered it. "Don't worry. They aren't dangerous." He grinned. "Unless you happen to be a Fundamentalist, of course."

Alysa reached for the berry, then caught herself. "But... what if I'm one and don't know it?"

Kit's jaw dropped. Then he erupted in hysterical laughter, to the point where he keeled over and lay rolling in the grass. He was still at it when Kay returned with a tray and three glasses filled with red liquid. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Alysa admitted.

Kit's paroxysm finally abated. He pulled himself upright, still giggling. "Alysa-" he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." He took Alysa's hand and stroked it. "Don't worry, Alysa. You can't be a Fundamentalist without knowing it. Fundamentalists hate being naked. Do you hate being naked, Alysa?"

"Well-" Alysa looked down at herself. In truth, she'd never thought about it before.

"How does it make you feel to look at naked people?" Kay asked, offering a glass, which Alysa took. "How do you feel when other people look at you when you're naked?"

"Especially when looking at you makes them excited," Kit put in. "How would you feel if I said I thought you have absolutely wonderful breasts, and I'd love to stroke them, fondle them, and kiss them?" While speaking he examined the organs in question; his penis stiffened to partial erection.

"Well..." After some consideration, Alysa concluded that nakedness in itself really didn't mean anything to her one way or the other, be it her own or someone else's. Naked people were... naked people. On the other hand... Alysa couldn't deny that she enjoyed looking at Kit's and Kay's naked bodies. She especially enjoyed looking at Kit's erection. For its own sake, certainly, but mostly because it had come into being because he was thinking of her. In response her own pulse quickened; she felt her nipples and clitoris stiffening. She rather hoped Kit hadn't spoken of fondling her breasts as a purely theoretical exercise. The thought of fondling him intensified her own state of arousal markedly. "I'd say you have a very nice body too," she said. "I'd love to stroke it, to fondle it... and kiss it."

Speaking the words aloud seemed to bring Alysa's feelings into sharp focus. Considering the matter intellectually wasn't nearly enough, not by half; she wanted to research it empirically. She cupped Kit's genitals with her hand, stroking his penis and testicles with her fingertips. It did occur to her that she might be regarded as taking undue liberty, but discarded the notion at once. So far she hadn't seen a single person refuse a sexual advance, and while Kit may not have invited her explicitly, he'd certainly done nothing at all to suggest that he might refuse.

"Oh my," Kit exclaimed. He didn't appear to mind at all. In fact, he shifted his legs apart to give Alysa better access.

"Do you like that, Alysa?" Kay inquired, taking a sip from her glass.

"Yes," Alysa admitted. She spoke quietly but she could feel her heart pounding, her blood singing in her veins. Her body temperature seemed to have risen markedly. "I like it a lot."

"Then you're no Fundie," Kay declared. "Sure, she might enjoy it as much as you, but she'd never admit it." She turned her attention to Kit. "Whatever gave you a such a silly idea in the first place?"

"She asked about the boinkberries," Kit replied. "I told her-" he hesitated, looking abashed. "Well, I said they were perfectly safe unless you're a Fundamentalist. She thought she might be one without knowing and get hurt from eating one."

"Oh, that's rich!" Kay burst out in laughter, doubling over but not quite falling down.

Alysa put her other hand on Kit's hip, stroking it and his thigh, exploring the texture of his flesh. His fur was soft and smooth; the body beneath it wasn't especially muscular but neither was it flabby. She scooped him up, kneading his buttocks as if testing a melon for ripeness, thrusting her nose into his crotch and inhaling deeply. Physically small he might be, but there wasn't anything the least bit deficient about his masculinity. His rich, warm, deliciously male scent filled her nostrils and seemed to spark like electricity in her brain. She fondled his testicles with her tongue, then wrapped it around the shaft of his penis.

"Ah-" Kit exclaimed.

"Yes?" Kay inquired archly.

"A little help here?"

"You're the one who got her started, smart guy."

"I know, but I think it'll take more than just the two of us."

"My word!" Marl appeared, coming around from the front of the house. "Are you sure she's not from around here?"

"She's certainly getting into the spirit of things as if she were," Kay allowed. Kit said nothing, other than assorted gasps and sighs as Alysa's lips and tongue did their work. Alysa stretched out on her belly between two rows of bushes, laying Kit on his back so she could attend to him in greater comfort. "Ah, I know," Kay declared, reaching over Alysa's thigh and between her legs to stroke her vulva. Alysa's labia were already wide open and drenched with hot, slippery fluid. At Kay's touch Alysa opened her legs, lifted her tail, and rolled her hips, presenting her sex to the world. Marl didn't need any further prompting; he plucked a blue berry from a nearby bush and popped it in his mouth, then grabbed Alysa's hips and thrust his penis into he vagina. Kay turned her attention to Alysa's breasts, which bulged from beneath her torso. After a brief consideration Kay selected the lower right one; Alysa's elbows blocked the upper pair, and of the lower two the right one was turned out more, making the nipple more accessible. Kay stroked the soft flesh, kneading it with her fingers, marvelling at it's volume. Gripping it required not only both hands but her forearms as well. She lay down on her side, licking the nipple and teasing it with her lips. Like the breast to which it attached, the nipple was quite large and well developed in both a relative and absolute sense. Kay slathered it with her tongue, then sucked. She pulled away in surprise when the nipple discharged a spurt of milk, but after rolling it around in her mouth for a bit, savoring the flavor, she latched on once more, slurping greedily.

Kit came first; Alysa's insistent lips and tongue drew it out of him just as Kay's drew the milk from Alysa's nipple. Alysa came next, not so much a result of Marl's efforts- which were nonetheless commendable- as the intensity of the total shared experience, supplemented by two fingers on her clitoris. Marl arrived shortly thereafter with sufficient intensity that he cried out; the experience took a great deal out of him, though, because afterward he collapsed across Alysa's rump, gasping for breath. Kay puttered in a long fourth; she'd become deeply engaged in nursing and masturbated in a desultory fashion. Even afterward she kept right on sucking.

"Thanks, Alysa, that was wonderful," Kit said as he reclined on his elbows, smiling dreamily.

"Yes it was," Marl agreed, stroking Alysa's rump.

"Mmm hmm," Kay put in.

"Kay?" Kit rose, craning his neck to see past Alysa's shoulders. "Oh dear," he said worriedly when he saw what Kay was doing.

"You gotta try this!" Kay exclaimed, looking up and licking her muzzle. She grabbed another couple swallows. "It's great! Like- like-" She frowned, struggling for words. "Aw, heck with it." She slurped a mouthful, then went around and gave Kit an open-mouth kiss.

"Wow!" Kit exclaimed, catching a stray dribble on his chin with one finger while wiping Kay's face with his other hand. "It's like- like-"

"Malt," Kay interjected. "Like you put in your milkshake.

"Yeah." Kit nodded. "Malted milk." He grinned. "Ain't that a hoot?"

"If you'd like some, help yourself," Alysa offered, gently dislodging Marl and sitting up. "There's plenty to go around."

"I don't doubt it," Kit observed, studying Alysa's bosom with a more clinical eye. The upper pair alone extended past her elbows.

"Well, come on then," Alysa said, scooping Kit up and placing him on her thigh, lifting her breast with one hand and guiding his mouth onto the nipple with her other hand behind his head. He seemed oddly reluctant, but with the first swallow he nursed as eagerly as Kay. Alysa sighed happily, stroking their backs; feeding them was, in some ways, as sensually satisfying as having sex. Marl availed himself of the lower left nipple.

"Uhh..." Kay groaned, sometime later, detaching from her nipple. "thank you, but I couldn't take another drop." Her stomach bulged visibly.

"That's all right." Alysa lay Kay over her shoulder and patted her back. Kay let out a tremendous belch. "There's always tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Kay exclaimed in shock and horror. "What do you mean, tomorrow?"

"I have to be milked at least twice a day," Alysa replied, laying Kit on her shoulder and burping him. "If not, my breasts fill up and get sore."

"Oog." Kit rubbed his stomach. "She's worse than Aunt Matilda!"

"No one said you had to milk her yourselves," Marl pointed out. "In fact, I bet we could find plenty of volunteers."

"Let's get downtown," Kay said. "We can talk about milking later."

"Yes, let's," Alysa put in. Talking with Kit, Kay, and Marl made her increasingly aware of what she didn't know, and she found it increasingly unsettling.

"This way, then," Marl said, rising and walking around to the front of the house. Alysa followed with Kit and Kay nestled in her arms.

A clean and well kept but not especially new pickup truck stood at the curb. Alysa climbed in back; the bed bounced and swayed as she settled herself. Marl climbed into the cab and started the engine. Alysa flinched at the sound of it; for some reason she'd thought a car shouldn't make that much noise. She didn't like the exhaust smell either but there didn't seem any point to getting in a state over it. In any case, watching the scenery go by was diverting enough that she didn't worry about it too much. Assuming that the parts Alysa saw were representative, Yiffburg's suburbs were not especially dense, and everyone had a boinkberry garden. Downtown things densed up, but even there were communal gardens and even window boxes.

"Where'd you like to go first?" Marl called.

"Police," Kit replied. "See if they can find out who Alysa is."

"A-ok." Marl took a turn; the road led them along one side of a sizeable park. Alysa saw a building that proclaimed itself to be City Hall, a municipal library next to it, and then-

"Stop!" Alysa shrieked.

Marl crammed on the brakes; the truck slid to a stop. "What's wrong?" he asked, craning his head out the window.

"I- I can't go there," Alysa whispered.

"Why not?" Kit asked, frowning.

"Alysa, you're shaking," Kay said worriedly.

Alysa was indeed shaking, shaking with terror. "I- I don't have my papers," she explained. "If I go to a new county, I have to show them to the sheriff. If I don't I can be arrested as a runway."

"Runaway?" Kit asked, baffled.

"Papers?" Kay exclaimed, frowning. "Alysa, you don't have to show any papers. This is Yiffburg, not the Karostopov Dictatorship." At that both Kit and Kay looked at one another in shock.

"You don't suppose-" Kit began.

"Alysa, listen to me." She reached up and gripped Alysa's face. "Whatever may have happened before... they can't get you here. If you don't want to go back you don't have to. We'll apply for amnesty-"

"Asylum," Kit put in.

"-or whatever it takes," Kay concluded. "We won't let anything happen to you."

"We swear." Kit put his hand on Alysa's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

"I- I-" Alysa stammered.

"You're in no danger, Alysa, we promise," Kay assured. "Not having papers isn't a crime here."

To Be Continued