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Stories From The Resort:

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The Grrlfriend Experience

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By

Dissident Love

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Copyright

February-April 2018

Part 4

Saturday, 4:24pm

Despite hir dire warnings against Bertie's half-uttered suggestion, the skirt Natasha ended up wearing was indeed very, very short. It fell to mid-thigh, at least along hir flanks; it rose a little higher in the back due to hir exceptionally full rump. Any higher and it might qualify as 'indecent' in most circles Bertie usually travelled.

Of course, at hir front, the skirt was about as effective as a single napkin draped across a table at a diner.

Shi had pointed out during their elevator ride back down to the lobby, and with no small amusement, that this was why many hypers, especially hyper-herms, preferred the method of dress. The skirt was really just to keep hir rump covered, and provide some nice contrast for the skimpy, if festively colored, bikini top. The next layer below was almost kin to the boxer briefs that Bertie preferred, if said briefs were sheer satin, complete with black lace trim, and came tailored to house two full-sized beach balls.

Completing hir outfit were a pair of tiny pink open-toe flop-flops.

"I just wanted to say again, you look... amazing," Bertie said, doing his darndest not to gush. It was proving to be quite the challenge; if ten seconds went by where he wasn't complimenting hir, he felt that the situation was deeply unfair. His own outfit was pretty standard, since the most exciting clothes he'd packed were the dark blue t-shirts with the thin black striping along the sleeves. That was his own personal sense of 'flair'.

"Hon, that's, like, the seventeenth time you've said that."

"Actually, I think it's the fifth. I used 'incredible' and 'gorgeous' and 'heart-stopping', which would, I suppose, bring the total up to about seventeen. Did I mention I count things? Usually when I'm nervous-"

"You talk fast when you're nervous, too."

"That's true, I've been told that. I notice it sometimes, but it's wierd because when I'm nervous I just try not to talk at ALL, but I don't want you to think that I'm nervous around you AND ignoring you, which is why-"

The world spun around Bertie. The pair had been walking along one of Ilsa Calamata's famous boardwalks, a huge arcing strand of sun-bleached planks worn smooth by countless pairs of wandering footpaws. They'd parked their little island scooter at a twenty-four-seven cafe a half dozen blocks back, and had been ambling unhurriedly towards their beachfront massage appointment. Although it was Bertie's first time walking through the Calamatan public, surrounded on all sides by the outrageous panoply of the local population, he'd had eyes for very little beyond the spectacular racoongrrl on his arm. Said racoongrrl had just tightened hir grip on his elbow, hip-bumped him into the low mahogany railing, and was now pressing an embarassing excess of soft, faintly sloshing flesh against his body while smothering his muzzle with hir lips.

When he was sure steam was about to whistle out through his ears, Natasha broke the embrace, leaning hir head back without moving the rest of hir body away. Hir chin came to rest atop one exceedingly full breast, held aloft by the quivering steel-tight strap of hir bikini, and shi licked hir lips thoughtfully. "I was pretty sure you wouldn't be ignoring me," shi murmured, staring off into the distance over Bertie's shoulder. "I mean, I'm not the sort of grrl to think that shi's _irresistible_to the menfolk of the world, but I kinda got the feeling you and me had a 'thing'. Ya know?"

The silence stretched out, save for the pleasant susurration of the wind, the waves, and the hundreds of furres wandering past along the boardwalk or enjoying themselves on the soft white beach. Realizing some answer was expected of him, Bertie nodded.

"I'm glad you're talking more, hon," Natasha whispered, leaning in closer almost too slow for him to detect. "Truly, I am. But I need you to be comfortable, not just with me, but with this whole... situation. Now, I can't MAKE you be comfortable. Lawsy, would that I could! But... no, that's something that you're gonna have to do for yourself."

Natasha inhaled, and Bertie nearly bit through his own tongue when he felt more than saw hir bosom expanding against his chest, his arms, his neck. "And I would take it as a... personal favor... if you could just do that for me," shi breathed, touching hir nose to his, and giving his orange buck teeth a quick lick. "For me?"

Bertie's mind raced, but the two or three percent cranial processing power he could actually devote to hir words was more than enough for him to grasp hir meaning. "Yes, dear," he squeaked, his paws floating vaguely at his sides. Anywhere he could place them were, on Natasha's body, easily second base territory, if not fully third base.

The coongrrl's eyes flashed behind hir glasses, and shi snagged his wrists without even looking, placing them comfortably on hir hips. Smooshed up against Bertie's body, largely supported by the handrail, this also meant his forearms were resting on hir bulging sac, his biceps snuggled up to the outer slopes of hir breasts. "This sort of contact is fine, Bertie," shi grinned. "Gentle touching is fine."

"B-but we're in-"

Hir eyes flickered very pointedly off to the side, and Bertie was powerless against hir influence. He was powerless against hir sheer weight, too, but that was a separate issue. He turned his head, and he supposed that, just perhaps, he had been focusing on Natasha a little too much.

The late afternoon Calamatan boardwalk was not as busy as Bertie would have suspected, considering the proximity to the world-famous Resort, which was still faintly visible like a twinkling jewel atop the distant hills. That said, there were still numerous EXTREMELY well-endowed examples of hyperism, from bois to ladies and everything in between. Their clothing varied from trendy business-casual, to bikinis and beachwear even skimpier than Natasha's, and wherever they walked in twos or threes, there were paws quite plainly brushing against straining, pendulous fur and flesh.

"There's some... unspoken rules about getting too ACTIVE in public," Natasha purred, nibbling at the corner of Bertie's mouth. "But, I mean, sometimes holding hands is just not feasible, or possible. We're a lot less... oh, what's the word..."

The coaxing did not fly over Bertie's head. "Repressed," he murmured immediately.

"Mmmm, clever boi," the herm chuckled, hir breath tickling his ears. "But it's not even that. We just... want to be comfortable. With our bodies, with our neighbors, with our friends, with ourselves. Don't you want that?"

The handrail was digging into his lower back, and he could feel his hips and abdominals cramping up as they tried to buttress Natasha's vastly over-plumped curves. And yet, not a sliver of that struck him as something he'd change for all the money in the world (which he already essentially had).

"Yeah," he said simply. Natasha nodded; nothing more needed to be said. Shi released the beaver from hir expansive clutches, tottering back on hir heels, and they continued along the boardwalk. When he began to drift ever so slightly closer, one small brown paw moving from the small of hir back down to the daintily-exposed upper cleavage of hir rump, which the waist of hir skirt couldn't quite cover, shi smiled.

Not sure how many more times I can do that to him, shi thought with a professional curiosity and reluctance to force too much onto such a kind but high-walled personality.

I hope shi doesn't have to do that again, he thought with a mild shame, his tail drooping even as he explored the base of hirs. He wanted, so so desperately wanted, to be like one of those NORMAL people, those guys and gals who could somehow open their mouths to a pretty grrl and have pleasant, confident words tumble fearlessly out. Bertie's mind, computational but largely unfocused, tried to craft the perfect composition, when no such prose existed, so his muzzle would open and the words would either jam themselves in his throat and trip over his tongue, or fragmented nonsense would emerge.

Then again, he added with the tiniest little smile, it is kind of nice how shi... drives hir points home...

_ _

About a hundred yards further along the boardwalk, there was a great curved stretch of white polished concrete, tropical warmth baking off of it in waves. A peppy yellow sign announced Calamatan Kukumitutu Massage, and a half-dozen employees in equally peppy yellow uniforms were welcoming their 4:30 appointments.

Bertie's eye twitched when he realized that the masseuses... masseurs... massagefolk were quite a bit _larger_than most of the couples that were now showing up. Not in a purely muscular way (although some were most definitely passing 'burly' and moving on towards 'beefy'), but they were to a man, woman and grrl, at least a foot taller than he was.

"Uhm... I guess I hoped _you_were doing the massaging," Bertie grinned, trying to sound chipper.

Natasha laughed, slipping hir own paw down to grab quite a handful of the beaver's rump and squeezing it. "Mmmm, I'll be getting these paws on you later, hon," shi growled softly into his ear. "No, this is definitely more of a couple's thing. You'll see. YOO HOO, TAALYA!"

This last outburst nearly deafened Bertie, but it was clearly directed at one of the yellow-clad figures that was heading their way. The towering cougar waved joyously, almost girlishly, at Natasha, and this sent hir tremendous bulk shimmying and shaking in a manner that almost took Bertie's knees out from under him.

"Hey, Nattie!" Taalya grinned. "Who's your little friend? He looks... OH, are you my four-thirty? Is this the mysterious B. McCulloch?"

Bertie and Natasha stopped before the cougar, who had apparently been built on the sort of scale normally reserved for heavy construction equipment. Shi wasn't as cut or defined as a bodybuilder, but hir sheer slab-like girth, along with breadth and depth, spoke of someone who could probably pitch Bertie about as easily as a football. Seven feet tall if shi was an inch, golden fur squeezing out everywhere it could find, and with only a yellow tank top and a pair of yellow shorts, that was a lot of territory. Taalya was endowed with similar proportions to Natasha, most of hir chest obscured by an abundantly overstuffed bosom, but hir too-tight shorts left even less to the imagination. Bertie TRIED not to stare, but since he was clearly failing he dragged his eyes over to the massage tables. "Y-yes! That's me!"

"Ooo, skittish," Taalya winked at Natasha. "Got your work cut out with this one. Might have to tie him down to keep him from escaping?"

"Oh, I don't think he WANTS to escape," Natasha leered.

Bertie looked from hyper-herm to hyper-herm, and for the first time he was the subject of a non-Bechdel conversation between two of them. It was a heady experience. "Maybe a _little_bit of tying..." he managed, feeling like it would take more than his simple squeaky acquiescence.

Natasha blinked and hir jaw actually dropped slightly, while Taalya hooted. "HAH! Now that's the kind of skittish I can get behind!" shi howled, drawing the amused attentions of the other massage clients that were being led to their tables.

Bertie glanced at Taalya's shorts, and the thought of hir 'getting behind' him was instantly terrifying... but at the same time he-

"HEY!" Natasha yipped, reaching out and hooking a claw into Bertie's chin and dragging his attentions back hir way. "No wandering eyes, mister! I saw what was going on in that little brain of yours..."

Bertie started to protest, but it was difficult in the face of Natasha's knowing and cheerful smirk. "No, ma'am," he agreed. "I mean, yes, ma'am. Sir. Uhm... ma'am."

The coongrrl nodded, apparently satisfied, and gave his rump another squeeze. "Besides," shi crooned into his ear as they followed the still-chortling Taalya to their tables, "if anyone's going to be getting behind you tonight, it's GOING to be me."

And with that, the young-ish beaver found himself being led to a large, velvety massage table. He'd expected the surface to be scalding hot from the tropical sun's rays, but it was surprisingly cool. He started to hop up, hoping that laying face down would at least save what shreds of dignity he had left, but Taalya's powerful mitt caught his shoulder. "Whoa, there, little fella!" shi smiled down to him, leaning forwards so that hir muzzle could actually be seen over the immense and proud buttress of hir breasts. "Off with the duds!"

Bertie started to protest, pointing to the crowds around them, but even as he did so Natasha was drawing a curtain around the pair of massage tables, which only barely had enough room between them for the curvy raccoon's hips. He felt a little stupid for not noticing the thin, gleaming aluminum struts that formed a loose grid around the entire massage platform, and even now more and more curtains were being unfurled, separating the couples from one another.

The curtains only concealed them on three sides, however. The fourth side, facing the ocean, remained open, but the gap was narrow enough and the tables withdrawn sufficiently from the edge of the platform that it was only a slender corridor of sand and water visible to them. The beach, gleaming like snow under the syrupy orange setting sun, dropped sharply away from them before spreading out unhurriedly towards the gently crashing surf, giving them an extra level of privacy.

As if to drive the point home, those furres that he COULD see down on the beach weren't paying the massage tables even the slightest bit of interest.

"I guess it's... private," he agreed reluctantly, turning back around and almost immediately hitting the deck as his knees finally decided they could no longer carry on.

Taalya and Natasha, both naked as babes and standing up from neatly stacking their clothes, watched Bertie drop rump-first to the platform, the beaver clinging desperately to the massage table. "Oh, dear," Natasha sighed. "I don't think you read the entire pamphlet, Bertie, sweetie."

"N-not... all of them," he agreed woozily, staring up at the sky, the only place even remotely safe.

Under the power of both grrl's amused stares, Bertie disrobed and climbed up onto the massage table. His heart was jackhammering, and he was wracking his memories for which pamphlet he must have missed. There were massages, sure, but NONE of them had mentioned naked masseuses. Particularly naked hyper-herm cougar-tank masseuses!

Once he was comfortably supine, his toes towards the boardwalk and his head positioned nearer the ocean, he watched with open amazement and more than a little awe as Taalya knelt and started to fiddle with a series of levers and pedals beneath Natasha's massage table. He had wondered just how someone with hir, uhm, plump silhouette could possibly balance evenly on such a surface, and his curiosity and bent towards the physical sciences was indeed satisfied. The table was composed of two sections, each independently supported, and Taalya moved with expert precision, lowering both velvety surfaces, but lowering the section corresponding to Natasha's legs considerably more.

And sure enough, once shi'd eased hir male bulk onto the lower section and gently laid hirself down, hir breasts on the higher segment, hir body and legs were perfectly level. Natasha folded hir arms across hir breasts to support hir head, smiling across to hir nominal boyfriend. "Hey, you," shi smiled, reaching out with one paw and scruffling his hair. "You surviving ok?"

"I seem to be," Bertie replied, wishing he could see what Taalya was doing. He could hear some sort of activity happening from the direction of his toes, but looking back over his shoulder revealed naught but clean white curtains. "This has been... a day of firsts, that's for sure."

"Good firsts?"

Bertie was openly admiring the raccoon's figure. Hir legs stretched out across a sac like a pair of yoga balls, hir overstuffed keg-like sheath crammed in between hir belly and hir breasts, and that sweetly pure face smiling knowingly above it all, eyes sparkling behind hir librarian's glasses.

"Very, very good," he agreed, reaching out and scritching the coppery locks tumbling across hir eyes. "I really am getting used to this. I really do think I'm... relaxing. And you're a saint for putting up with me for as long as you have."

Natasha's eyes widened slightly, and shi covered hir titter with a paw. "Hardly a saint, Bertie," shi reassured him. "In more ways than one, this is my job, and even if it weren't... I've seen enough people come here from the outside world, people who bring all their issues with them because they just can't live without them. Which is wierd because-"

"Because more than anything," Bertie finished for hir, "they want to. Live with out them, I mean."

They shared a smile, and Bertie felt something warm stirring in his chest. He'd known this woman for about seven hours, and he'd been asleep for more than half of it, but he already knew he was falling for hir. Which was stupid, of course, he told himself. He lived in New Cal, shi was an islander. His career, his company, his mission was his life; the entire reason he'd justified this little trip was because he'd simply not had the time to even attempt to pursue a relationship. And shi was... shi was...

Well, the term 'escort' had far different connotations here than it did where he was from, but it didn't change the essential definition. Shi wasn't here to fall in love with him, shi was just here to make him happy.

Which shi was.

Which didn't change the fact that now he wanted to make hir happy.

He opened his mouth, and very nearly said something foolish and sentimental and quite premature. Fortunately, luck was smiling down on him, in the form of a seven-foot-five Combat Sambo Grand Champion and part-time masseuse named Taalya. Having properly limbered hir powerful, lethal, and wonderfully dextrous paws up, each with a generous coating of the scalding hot coconut oil concoctions traditionally used for such services, shi stood between the two massage tables. One palm rest on the small of Natasha's back, one on Bertie's.

"Close your eyes," Taalya rumbled, "and listen to the waves."

The waves were somewhat hard to hear, as cries and yelps and throat-rattling groans erupted from all six curtained beachside massage booths. Thoughts of confessing his feelings were driven out of Bertie's mind, and were momentarily replaced with the panicked thoughts that he might now be paralyzed. Slick, searing knuckles that felt like cast iron rods fresh from the forge seemed to drive into his spine with aching slowness, simply pushing his tired and overtensed muscles aside. His toes curled, and his fingers dug into the velvety massage table with enough force that he felt his wrists creak in protest.

Hot on the heels of the brief fantasy of his new life as a wheelchair passenger, he summoned all of his willpower and pried his eyes open, and was rewarded with the sight of Natasha's own muzzle twisted in some combination of powerlifting effort and almost unfathomable ecstasy. Taalya's paws worked their way up and down their backs, spending particular time and attention at the bunched muscles at the base of their necks, and everytime Bertie felt something twist and grind and burn in his own flesh, he watched another wave of pleasure pass through Natasha.

And perhaps it was purely sympathetic, or perhaps he was finally throwing himself into the tropical experience, but he started to feel it, too. It wasn't that the massage hurt, exactly; Taalya's fingers were pushing into his back hard enough that he could see the aluminum struts supporting his table bending and flexing, so he knew shi wasn't holding back. Whenever shi finished in a particular spot and moved on, however, what filled the void wasn't the familiar sensations of bruises or road rash, but a bone-deep sense of exhaustion and, somehow, peacefulness.

For better or worse, Taalya was wringing the tension out of his body with raw brute force.

Not once during the twenty minute session did his eyes leave Natasha, wriggling and writhing atop hir astounding swells (except for the numerous times when Taalya's sac and unnervingly large, sheathless member filled the space between their massage tables, at which point Bertie pretended to be asleep).

The huge cougar played both beaver and raccoon simultaneously, a true master of the art of couples massage. From the top of their scalps to the soles of their feet, there was hardly a follicle left unturned. When it was over (Bertie was surprised when Taalya announced that their time was up, and they would be allowed five minutes to rest, recover, and re-dress), he tried to lift his arm to caress Natasha's hair again, but was bemused to discover that the traitorous limb wouldn't listen to his commands. He tried a few more times, and only succeeded in flopping his hand against first his own massage table, and then the side of hir breast.

The second time he inadvertently got to second base, Natasha blearily half-opened one and yawned. "Just... just kinda let everything... turn back on... on its own, hon. Don't... don't rush it..."

It seemed like good advice. From the other curtained booths, the moans and whines and grunts had faded away to murmurs of contentment, purring, rumbling, and more than one seemed to be snoring. Bertie shifted his weight, feeling like his muscles had been replaced with steamed seaweed, and just contented himself with admiring the plump, angelic raccoongrrl once more.

"Was it... good... for you...?" Natasha giggled, that one eye now focusing more clearly on him.

"Not what I expected," Bertie managed, his tongue seeming to have doubled in size. "But... good...? I guess?"

"Trust me. You'll get addicted."

"I'm not sure I could survive being addicted to this."

Natasha squeaked and giggled, shifting hir legs and looking for all the world as though shi really could sleep just balanced on hir own sac and bust. "Hon, stick with me, and you'll be amazed what you can survive."

With that shi closed hir eye once more, and reached out blindly for him. Bertie caught hir paw on the first try, some co-ordination returning to his extremities, and he followed hir example by closing his own eyes. The sounds of the soft, curling waves tumbling over one another on the silky sands stretching away beneath them filled his ears, and moreso than the steaming shower that morning, moreso even than the blissful sleep that swept over him as they cuddled wetly together afterwards, Bertie felt completely and utterly at peace.

That lasted for all of ninety seconds before Taalya poked hir head back into the curtained booth, and tweaked the tips of their tails. "Beep beep, lovebirds! I got the next couple on the way! Come on, up and at 'em!"

Next time, Bertie thought, I'm buying the entire block of appointments after ours.

_ _

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Part 5

Saturday, 5:58pm

Although Bertie was having some difficulties feeling his toes, although it felt like road rash all the way up the small of his back, although huge swaths of skin throbbed as though sunburnt... he had to admit that it was a sort of 'relaxed' he couldn't ever remember feeling.

"It's like being smooshed under a steamroller," he chuckled, rolling his neck and shifting his shoulders back and forth, still half-expecting something to fall off. "But then you pop back up right after, like in the cartoons."

Natasha giggled, a sound that was already starting to trigger highly impure thoughts in the buttoned-down beaver. "Apt," shi nodded, walking hand in hand with Bertie, hir ponderous lower portions moving out of sync with hir more-than-an-armful breasts. Shi was once again wearing the almost obscenely small bikini top, laughably short skirt, and black lace-trimmed undies that somehow concealed everything and yet left nothing to the imagination. "Glad you enjoyed it."

"I would be hard-pressed to say it was enjoyable, you know, in the moment," Bertie winked, giving hir paw a squeeze. "But... all in all... absolutely. It probably belongs on the first-date activity hierarchy somewhere between fire-walking and sky-diving, though."

"Awww, those were gonna be for our SECOND date!" shi pouted.

"Honey's been trying to get me to do both of those, as part of these 'executive retreats', for years, and if he can't scare me into it, you're probably barking up the wrong tree."

As soon as he said it, Bertie regretted making it sound like a challenge, but it was nice to feel Natasha rise to the occasion, quite literally. Shi half-turned towards him as they walked along the boardwalk, doing something with hir obscured arm that lifted hir cleavage until it was framing hir delicate muzzle, and made the sort of wide-eyed begging-puppy expression that was comically magnified tenfold by hir large, round glasses. "You sure I can't find... some way to convince you?" shi asked in a sultry falsetto, batting hir eyelashes and spending far more time licking hir lips than was strictly necessary.

Bertie blinked, faltered... and burst out laughing. He felt bad when Natasha's eyes widened in surprise, perhaps the first genuine surprise he'd seen on hir face since they'd met, but he couldn't help himself. Shi removed the arm that was supporting hir vast underbust, twin swells dropping heavily, and that only caused him to laugh harder.

Hir paw tightened in his, and hir jaw muscles clenched ever so slightly. "It wasn't THAT funny," shi pouted.

Bertie shook his head, blinking away a single tear, and tried to tell hir that it wasn't that hir faux-seduction didn't work, but seeing hir serious expression just moments after that dewey-eyed starlet routine only set him off harder. He had to bend over and brace himself against his own knee, leaning sideways against the boardwalk handrail, as laughter cramped up his freshly-crushed ribcage.

It took a solid thirty seconds, but Bertie managed to compose himself, straighten up, wipe away another stray tear, and look apologetically into his grrlfriend's eyes. "S-sorry," he managed, stifling another stray guffaw. "It... I just... I mean, that was a LITTLE silly..."

Natasha's look hardened, hir gaze stern behind hir librarian glasses. Bertie was starting to genuinely worry when it shifted suddenly into the huge, friendly grin shi'd greeted him with upon his disembarking from the airplane that morning. "I was going for silly," shi winked. "I may have overshot it a little. But Bertie, do you know what that was just now?"

Bertie looked around. The sun was hovering just inches above the horizon, and the downtown crowds had almost doubled in size. Apparently, foot traffic tended to cease during the hottest parts of the day, but once the shadows grew long and the air started to cool, the night life started to appear as if by magic. He mentally corrected himself, as the quantity of people had doubled, not the sizes of the induvial crowd members; if the sizes of the individuals themselves had doubled, it would be... it would be... well, he doubted most of them would be able to walk.

"Terribly rude?" he mumbled, still somewhat chagrined.

"Well, yes, but it was ALSO a completely genuine, unfiltered, and above all unaffected emotional response, you big dork! That's what I wanna see!" Shi leaned in, pinning him briefly against the handrail (which seemed to be just a wonderful side effect whenever shi stood too close), and smooched him. It was a peck of but a moment, but it carried with it a new sort of forceful passion. "For a few seconds, I saw some real Bertie there."

"Never go full Bertie," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

They continued to trot, and Bertie, normally so good at knowing his location at all times, was feeling a little lost. It didn't help that his phone was safely deactivated in his back pocket; three times he'd reached for it, twice to check Worldmaps and once to look up a bit of movie trivia that crossed his mind, and all three times Natasha gently swatted him like an errant schoolboy. To make it worse, all around him were folks on their phones, and he recognized several apps and network packages that bore his name somewhere on the virtual boilerplate.

"You're looking at their phones again," Natasha whispered into his ear.

"Nuh uh!" he protested feebly. "I mean... can I call it force of habit?"

"Of course!" the raccoon said brightly, catching him off-guard. "We're all creatures of habit. You have no idea how many times I've wanted to reach into my cleavage and grab my phone, and search a song lyric. I swear, song snippets get stuck in my head and rattle around and drive me gosh-darn bonkers. Always had a problem with songs. You?"

"Movie stuff," he agreed. "And TV stuff, but mostly movies. I'll watch some movies a hundred times or more, but with most media I'll just watch it once, and latch on to the smallest, weirdest things. Voices are the worst. I'll hear a voice in something I just watched, and I know it's a voice from something I saw ten, fifteen, twenty years ago, and then I'm going through the cast list and trying to figure out who it is..."

They shared a knowing glance, and this time Bertie squeezed hir paw before shi had a chance.

"Because, you know, rather than looking at their phones, you could look at, you know... them."

Bertie seemed to consider this. "I... don't think that's very polite, either?"

The hyper-herm just rolled hir eyes. "Hon, around here, it's kind of impolite not to look. I mean, keep the staring to a minimum, don't point, certainly don't laugh... but look! This is an entire city full of people who think of their bodies the way some folks consider masterpieces of art. Murals, sculptures... heck, symphonies, if you ask me. You think I'm wearing this bikini because it's comfortable?"

The beaver squinted, and poked at the upper curve of hir breast, where the spaghetti strap of said bikini had sunk fully an inch into hir soft flesh, fur closing over it like a stormy sea. "I didn't want to presume..." he blushed.

"I wear it because it makes these look bangin'!" Natasha crowed, giving hir entire body a little bounce, and nearly giving Bertie a coronary in the process. "And I want to look bangin' for _you,_sweetie! And if someone walking by pauses, and perchance gives me a polite perusal of appreciation, I will feel all the more like it was the right choice."

"Y-yeah," he stammered, once again nervous, but this time not looking away. "They... definitely look... yeah."

Natasha chuckled. "You are just the cutest little cherub," shi smirked, shifting hir weight and thumping him with one breast, something that happened quite often by accident anyways. "But... ok, take her, for instance. Her, right over there, in the green top."

Bertie followed hir gesturing finger, still feeling as though he shouldn't be, and his jaw dropped ever so slightly at the tall cheetah leaning against the blank plastered wall between an ice cream shoppe and a donut shop. She wore a skimpy black bottom, and a lime green t-shirt that was perhaps slightly more than skin-tight. The feline was taller than either Bertie or Natasha, and whip-lean, which only made the sight of her four immense breasts all the more breathtaking. The green top was wide-necked and low-cut, but there was another oval cut out of the fabric approximately where her bellybutton would have been, revealing, a considerable amount of her doubled lower cleavage. Creamy white fur seemed to spill forth from everywhere, and above it all, as indifferent as could be, the cheetah was holding her phone up to her nose and swiping with one claw.

"Y-yes," Bertie agreed. "I will take her."

"HEY!" Natasha snapped, smacking his shoulder. "That's not what I meant!"

"But you said-" he fired back with mock innocence.

"I know what I said, that's not important."

"Sure, as soon as I'm in trouble, it doesn't matter how I got there."

"Don't start with me, Mister!" Natasha growled, hir eyes sparkling. Shi leaned in closer, and Bertie was captivated by the way hir lenses magnified those deep, dark, intense pools. "I just meant, consider her shopping for that top..."

Bertie waved a hand in surrender, laughing. "No no, I get it, I get it. Really. I do. But hey... creature of habit, right? Eyes on the phone, not on... you know."

"The world?"

"Maybe that's a little over the top, but... fair."

This wasn't the downtown super-urban sort of neighborhood that Bertie was used to. It was absolutely modern, with clothing boutiques snuggled up to expensive craft stores, coffee shops bracketing a watch repair store, a surf equipment store blasting heavy metal music out into the street, but there was a distinct lack of... urgency. Doors and even street-level windows were thrown open to the sidewalks and boardwalks, and people wandered in and out, talking and laughing and hugging and bouncing.

"So where, exactly, is our reservation?" Bertie asked. "I think we're late, anyways, if it was at six."

"Eh, late, shmate. I booked it through The Resort, so they're not gonna give our booth away for anything." Natasha looked rather smug at that. "I'm not one to get high off of power, but I have to admit that Platinum Card does carry with it some perks that a grrl could definitely get used to."

"Am I good in just... this?" He stared down at himself, clad only in dull shorts and a blue shirt.

"Hon, if I'm practically going topless, you're fine."

"Well, ok, yeah, but the difference is YOU look amazing!"

Natasha smiled at the compliment. "I bet you say that to all the hyper-raccoon-grrls who've soaped up your undercarriage," shi replied, affecting the faintest accent and giving him a slight bow.

Bertie had hoped that he'd get a bit of a blush out of hir, but it was his turn to light up crimson at hir rather loud response. His eyes cast about, wondering who had heard, and what they must think. He was struck again by the phenomenal proportions of the 'locals', many of whom were immigrants to this extremely open and accepting island chain, but none of them apparently gave the pair a second thought.

It wasn't hard to see why. Sitting at a small glass-topped table just next to Bertie was a delicately-built minkboi wearing only loud flower-print surf shorts that were stretched around a collection of bulges that, in New Caledonia, would have garnered immediate and quite loud attention. The boi looked positively plain compared to the deep-chested but also otherwise rather slender pony sitting next to him. His fur was bleached to a fine sandy brown, his mane to golden straw, which only contrasted with the black glossy material that had somehow been wrapped around a maleness that might actually be best measured in tons. The twin spheres of the pony's balls rest heavily on the boardwalk and rose up higher than the level of the table, completely obscuring the equine's legs, and somehow shoved in amongst those spheres was a sheath that had to be the size of Bertie's entire torso.

Mink and pony were holding eachother's hands tenderly, and passing a bottle of wine back and forth. Bertie fancied he could see the little hearts drifting between them.

"Young love," Natasha whispered into Bertie's ear, giving his rump a little squeeze. "Aren't they just precious?"

"I'm not sure how he walked there, but... yeah," Bertie nodded, intimidated and impressed. Not impressed at their sheer size, which he was, or impressed at the pony's mobility, which he also was... but impressed that no-one seemed to care. Bertie couldn't imagine anyone of that scale or scope going unmolested for more than five seconds back home.

"I can show you," Natasha smiled.

The beaver glanced back over his shoulder at the couple, and his blush returned full-force when the pony caught his eye and gave him a wave and a wink.

He wrenched his gaze back to Natasha. "W-what? What?"

"I can show you," shi repeated, leering.

All around them, more and more neon was flickering on as the sun, glimpsed periodically between the beachfront buildings, finally disappeared for another night. Upper storey windows were thrown open, more music jangled and strummed and mingled together, and the amount of public alcohol consumption rose markedly. There were still families wandering around, adults and teens and children of all ages, with all of the accoutrements a tropical paradise could hope to accommodate. One in four, by Bertie's running estimation, were also well into the 'hyper' category, in sizes and shapes and configurations that awed him with their endless variety.

"Show me what, exactly?"

Natasha clucked hir tongue. "Now, Bertie, hon, I thought you was one o' them big city smart folks," shi drawled, pushing hir tongue against the back of hir teeth. "You had to have noticed SOMETHING."

Although his brain was fizzing like a pop-top soda, he was able to piece together the terribly subtle innuendo. His eyes trailed slowly down to hir skirt, if the glorified extra-wide belt could be so called, and the satin-clad bulges beneath. He remembered how Natasha had looked standing on the tarmac, hir floral wrap blowing in the breeze. He remembered the way shi stood proudly in the shower, scalding water slicking hir pelt against hir skin. He remembered the way shi'd been highlighted in the afternoon sun, performing hir yoga positions in spite of the obvious encumbrances shi'd been blessed with.

And he remembered wondering, time after time after time... Is shi bigger?

_ _

"There we go," shi whispered, standing on hir tiptoes and giving his nose a smooch. "I see the runners are crossing the home plate up there."

Bertie's jaw worked, and he wanted to ask hir, he truly did, but he couldn't find a way that didn't sound hollow and shallow and disrespectful to his own ears. "Uhm," he managed.

"Yes, I'm one of those hypers," shi winked again, patting his paw and guiding him to the right, across the street and up the long, low hill, away from the beach. "And you're gonna get to find out all about that later. But for now, I think we need to keep things a little more... PG-13, all right?"

They passed a pair that even Bertie's untrained eye could identify as being from the Resort. An older fox, her reddish fur starting to frost with patches of silvery grey, was bouncing and swaying with all the giddy energy of a fresh-faced teenager. Both of her paws clung to the considerably larger mitt of the tall, well-built antelope at her side, who was explaining something about the history of the neighborhood and its fairly recent construction. The antelope's white shorts were abundantly well-filled, at least to Bertie's more continental standards, but in what had to be a fashion-first experience for the beaver, the antelope's tight tawny-brown shirt was stretched not just around his torso but around a soft sheathless shaft that looked to be about the size of a hot water heater. The monstrous bulge was nearly as wide as the cervine's waist, and pushed well past his shoulder on the one side.

Bertie blinked, wondering exactly where PG-13 ended and the more adult ratings began.

Natasha seemed to be reading his mind. "What matters is the effort, you know? In most places you still can't walk around nude, but... I mean, look at Bruno there. If he covered all that up in shapeless black sweatpants... you'd still KNOW what it all was, right?"

"R-right," Bertie agreed, trying not to stare as they passed Bruno and his out-of-town partner.

"So, he crams all that up into his shirt. Yeah, you can see all the outline, and more than a little detail," Natasha purred, hir eyes half-lidding, "but you'd know what it was even if you couldn't. So, he made the effort. And he's covered up. And he's comfortable!"

"And he's probably driving that poor fox insane," he added.

"Speaking from experience, hon?"

Bertie glanced down at Natasha's somehow ever-expanding hermness, and heaved an overdramatic sigh. "Call it a lucky guess," he said airily, slipping his own paw down hir back and giving hir rump a squeeze.

"Eep!" the raccoongrrl squeaked, bouncing mightily and giving Bertie a hell of a show. "Goodness, looks like there's some life in the old boy yet!"

"Old?!"

"Purely a figure of speech, sweet cheeks," Natasha laughed, squeezing Bertie closer as they crossed the street again, now several blocks from the beach. "You want me to wear something like that sometime?"

"Like Bruno??" Bertie asked incredulously. "I... uhm... you already look like you have enough trouble walking..."

"I know you're trying to be a gentleman, Bertie, and I adore you for that, I really do. Not everyone from the mainland is quite so... honorable. But we're both on vacation, we're both here to have fun, and you know what gets me off?"

Please say beavers, please say beavers, please say beavers, the beaver thought furiously. "W-what?" he asked out loud.

"Making whoever I'm WITH happy. I'm going to have a ball... or two... regardless." Shi shimmied hir hips, and with the crashing surf fading behind them Bertie could easily hear the faint gurgle-slosh of the hyper's loins. "But I want to see the look on your face that tells the world, that just screams that you CAN NOT IMAGINE having more fun than you're having right now, and it's all because of me. And I want to see that look on your face every day!"

_ _

Bertie and Natasha walked for another half block in silence, the stolid, overly-cautious beaver considering things very, very carefully.

"If you want to see that expression every day," he eventually spoke, "we might wanna save that one for near the end."

Natasha threw back hir head and laughed. "Oh, I'm gonna have so much FUN with you!" shi giggled, when shi was finally able to form words once again. "I'm gonna make you forget all about that pesky 'science and technology empire' nonsense back home."

"I look forward to that," Bertie smiled, leaning his head against Natasha's shoulder and giving hir a fond squeeze.

Hardly a minute later, still half-snuggled up, they reached La Castoro de Oro, one of this neighborhood's more exclusive restaurants. Bertie recognized the bright blue sticker on the door, alongside all the standard decals for credit cards, review websites and free wifi; it indicated that this was an Ilsa Calamata Resort 'Preferred Locale,' where Resort employees received preferential treatment.

"Subtle," he grinned, glancing up at the sign over the door, before pulling the door open and gesturing for Natasha to enter.

"Thank you, kind sir."

He bowed grandly, admiring the raccoongrrl's considerable figure as shi passed. Shi had to angle hirself slightly to fit through, and both the sight and sound of hir satin-clad bulges rubbing against the doorframe sent a shiver straight down his spine, where it rooted somewhere in his boxers. "The pleasure is all mine," he murmured, giving hir tail a gentle pat as it swished by.

"Mmmmm, we'll see about that."

Laughing nervously, he followed hir into the restaurant's dark interior, wondering just what else shi had planned for their first night together.

Part 6

Saturday, 7:20pm

Bertrand McCulloch, global traveller, trend-setter and taste-maker, whose careful or careless words could make or break any business, had been inside many restaurants. Farm-to-plate social houses and microbreweries, rotating spire-mounted bistros, underground invitation-only pop-up gastro-pubs, temple-like edifices to food and drink that had stood for four hundred years; he's seen them all, he's tasted them all, and, in his own way, he's liked them all (much to Honey's consternation).

"Really?" Natasha asked, jaw slightly agape. "You've eaten at Marquessa?!"

Bertie blushed, poking one of his grilled veggies around the plate. "Yeah. Twice, actually. The first time was an invite, because, you know... you kinda have to be on the Princess's friend list, but she said I could eat there whenever I wanted, so when I was back in her country the next year I dropped by for lunch."

"You dropped by... for lunch...," Natasha said slowly, "at Marquessa."

"Y-yeah. With Honey," he added, as though that somehow lessened the impact. "He wasn't allowed the first time."

La Castoro De Oro, one of the premiere hyper-friendly dining establishments on this side of Ilsa Calamata, was a vertically-oriented restaurant with precisely twenty-four dining areas. Each table had its own small, private covered patio, those patios taking up the entire southwestern face of a long, rectangular office building. Natasha and Bertie were somewhere near the top, looking out over the several blocks of quaint yet loudly-celebrating urban sprawl that cuddled up to the breathtaking and seemingly-endless crescent of beach. The table was low, barely a foot off the ground, and the two diners were sprawled out comfortably on divans, their heads inches apart, theoretically to encourage lovers to feed one another.

Natasha and Bertie both thought that last bit was a little much, and they'd scooted apart while they devoured their insanely delicious parade of appetizers.

Now, while they waited between the last of the savory dishes and the start of the possibly-endless procession of tiny desserts, Bertie was wondering if he'd gone one step too far in discussing his dining experience.

"The freaking Marquessa," Natasha stated again.

"Yes."

Shi stared at him for several seconds, hir face dark and inscrutable. Positioned as shi was on hir side, hir face was framed by hir black mop of hair, copper streaks glowing in the candle light. Every time shi inhaled, he was reminded very graphically that hir breasts were not designed for this particular angle, one of them shoved up and aside by the other that lay smooshed against the divan, and both threatened to topple and engulf the raccoongrrl's muzzle at any moment.

Eventually shi just sighed and dropped hir head onto hir outstretched arm, staring up at him in wonder. "What was it like there?" shi asked dreamily. "I've seen it on TV, at least as far as the cameras can ever get into it, and they did a whole special on the Foodie Network, and one of their chefs did a rotation up at the Resort for a month and I nearly DIED, but what's it ACTUALLY LIKE in there?"

Some restaurants were exclusive to the point of self-mockery, and The Marquessa took that exclusivity up to eleven. While technically open all day and all night, sometimes they would only seat one or two groups per week, due to the requirements for being allowed past the front doors. Bertie, being the friend to all power-loving politicians everywhere, was apparently a member of that elite caste.

"It was... really good," he said at last, munching another butter-fried sprout. "But, it was... I dunno... stark? It wasn't a place you go to have a meal with friends, that's for sure. You spend your whole night hearing about how to analyze the meal you get, and you feel bad if you ask someone how their day was. It's kind of spooky, to be honest-"

"But how was the FOOD?!?"

"Oh! Definitely... definitely..." Bertie searched for the words, but simply shrugged and gave up with a laugh. "Definitely aimed at someone with a more refined palate than some backwoods New Cal nerd. After The Marquessa, me and Honey went out for food-truck paella."

Natasha was in the middle of nibbling on a sprout of hir own, and nearly choked on it when shi snorted. Shi giggled ferociously, trying to keep from spraying hir new beau with food. "You didn't!"

"I remember it was four dollars, and it came in a pressed paper bowl, and while it might not have been as good as The Marquessa, it did actually curb my hunger."

"You're terrible," Natasha grinned, hir eyes sparkling.

"I'm boring!" Bertie countered. "I've been to, and I'm REALLY not trying to be, like, braggy or anything, but I've been to literally THE BEST RESTAURANTS in the world, and I would say... they make up only five of my top ten."

"What are your other five-"

"Goochies Pizza, Sushi and Ice Cream," the beaver recounted, ticking off his fingers. "Ramen YO! The Edelweiss, which is attached to a gas station and is the only restaurant in this little town near where I grew up. Uhm... Ooo, The Commodore, which ONLY serves different kinds of poutines, or 'stuff on fries' if you're a purist, and... the Burger Barn on the Coast Meridian Highway."

Natasha continued to giggle, which seemed to be hir permanent state of being now. Hir cleavage quivered and jiggled behind hir, and Bertie struggled to keep his eyes on hir face. To make matters worse (depending on your point of view), hir hermness had joined in the quaking, a colossal silk-clad mountain of flesh that took up most of hir specially-sized divan. "Is that the Burger Barn with the two-flavor milkshakes?"

Bertie nodded excitedly. "Exactly! The Orange Zest and Root Beer is my fav-... wait. How do YOU know that?"

The wind picked up subtly, bringing with it strains of music and laughter from the streets below. The patio was ringed with candles and torches, with nary an artificial light to be found. Bertie and Natasha's divans were arranged as two sides of a triangle, with the low wrought-iron railing forming the third, and a small table placed between them. One of the Castoro's waiters, a black-clad weasel lady possibly selected due to her incredibly waifish profile, crept in around the lounging pair and whisked their empty plates away with an assassin-like deftness and silence.

Natasha coughed politely into hir paw. "Know what?"

"You're from New Cal, aren't you?" Bertie asked, eyes narrowing.

"I don't think that's-"

Bertie's paw popped up again, and he started ticking off his fingers with a new list. "You mentioned polar bear swims," he said, not in an aggressive tone, but merely recounting facts. "You called me a 'dingus', which is something I haven't heard since leaving community college. You said we could walk up both sides of a mountain blindfolded, which my Grammy used to say. You said that all my duds were set up in the closet, and you actually said 'Lawsy'."

"That could mean anything-"

"And lastly," he smiled, "you swear just like my mom when you think no-one can hear you."

Natasha muttered something obscene under hir breath. "I hope that's where comparisons to your mom END, mister!"

"Which leads me to have to ask... which part of New Cal?"

The ninja-server reappeared out of the shadows, and three wafer-thin slices of cake were served up, along with three tiny bowls contained even smaller spheres of ice cream. Rounding out the odd number were three martini glasses, each one filled with a different-colored cocktail, complete with tiny umbrellas.

Natasha fiddled with hir hair for a moment, twirling it around hir finger. "Born in Poco, grew up in Pomo, finished high school in Pogo, and then... came here for university."

Bertie just stared at hir in a daze. "Pogo... seriously? Wait... you've GOT to be younger than me, right?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm actually a couple years older than-"

The beaver sat up so quickly he nearly broke the server's arm just as she was reaching out to re-light one of the candles that had gone out. She moved like a dancer, though, and not even a hair was out of place when she finally retreated. "What year?!?"

"Class of '08," shi sighed, reaching out to poke one of the slices of cake, a bright green and white layered assembly of sugar cheese and sugar. "You know, I think I liked it better when you didn't talk, rather than interrupting m-"

"Awww, I just missed you!" Bertie cried out. "I transferred there in '09 for my last two years! Jeez, that's CRAZY! That's... wait, is that why we were paired up? Because we're from the same part of the world?"

Natasha shifted hir weight, hir still-filling yoga-ball-sized seedmakers creaking and straining at their satiny covering. "You're gonna wreck the illusion, aren't ya?"

"I don't do well with illusions. I'm the kid who had to know how the magic tricks were done before I could be impressed."

The hyper-grrl picked up a tiny silver spoon and started to nip at the little ice cream spheres. "You don't think you've been cheated, right? You didn't want to come here just to hook up with some exotic island lady, and now you're stuck with a Port Gordon Senior High graduate?"

Bertie paused, blinking. "Why would I think that?"

"It's not unheard-of. A lot of people come here so they can be with someone as literally different as possible from everyone else they've met, from everyone else in their lives."

"Yeah, well, those people are stuck in lives that they're unhappy with, that's why. They want someone to take them out of their grind, their doldrums, their ruts."

Natasha shot him a challenging look, swinging one leg up and only barely managing to rest hir footpaw high atop hir mountainous sac. "And that's not what you're looking for?" shi leered.

"I didn't come here to _forget_about my daily grind," he said softly, leaning back down and bringing his nose to within inches of hir own. "I came here to... I guess... see what I was missing out on. And getting to hang out and get backrubs and eat ice cream with the prettiest girl in all of New Cal is just about the best possible way I could think to do that."

Natasha's jaw worked slowly for a few moments, and Bertie took the opportunity to grab a spoon of his own, select a tiny scoop of the brilliant cerulean sorbet, and pop it into hir muzzle.

"So no, I don't think I got cheated," he smiled.

The raccoon swirled the sorbet around in hir mouth, swallowed, and then stretched out in a remarkable display of athleticism. Shi kissed Bertie, snaking hir arm under his and gripping the back of his neck to keep him from escaping, hir ice-cold tongue swirling around his own. The flavors of the sorbet mingled in his mind, and he had the feeling he would now forever associate blueberries with some extremely unwholesome thoughts.

When shi eventually released him, they were both breathing hard and sharing the same young, lovesick smiles. "You are a peculiar boi, Bertrand McCulloch," shi purred, arching hir back and presenting about as much fluffy cleavage as was physically possible without disrobing.

Bertie swallowed nervously, turning his attention back to the desserts. "I, uh.... uhm... I guess feeding eachother this stuff is easier than, than, than, uh, than the other stuff..."

Natasha snickered, letting the worldly but still inexperienced beaver off the hook... for now. They carefully divided and dissected the desserts, each feeding the other various combinations of ice cream and cake, the raccoon taking the time to explain what some of the local tropical flavors were. The drinks were also fruit-based and exceedingly sweet, which masked the not inconsiderable amounts of fortified liqueur in each one.

The distant horizon was a lush lavender glow, fading to an impossibly dark hue of indigo directly overhead. It was easier to pick out the sounds of revelry from below now, as the night life properly kicked into gear. Really, lineups wouldn't even start forming at the hottest clubs for at least another hour, mostly due to Ilsa Calamata's very relaxed view towards closing times and a decided lack of last call.

Natasha licked the last of a green sorbet off of a spoon and stretched languidly, looking for all the world like a normally-proportioned raccoon had been pinned under several badly overstuffed pillows. Bertie shivered and smiled, knowing the truth was far more wonderful. "You wanna come scoot over here, Bee?" Natasha asked, stifling a tiny yawn.

Bertie blinked, looking around. "Uhm... are we supposed to? Do we need to clear out so-"

"Bertie, darling," Natasha said with heavy, but amused, tones. "This is our balcony for the night. That's how this place works. And it acknowledges the fact that, after a big meal, sometimes all you wanna do is... cuddle."

Reflexively, Bertie looked around. The balcony was curtained off with dark velvet, somewhat similar to the massage booths on the beach, and although he knew there were another two dozen such private alcoves they were quite well secluded from one another. "Uhm... well, I mean..."

"Don't you want to cuddle with me?" the raccoongrrl asked coyly, patting hir extremely ample hip and giving hir wondrous curves a little shake.

In a flash of speed that would have gotten a nod of approval from the Castoro's stealthy servers, Bertie was out of his couch and slipping gracefully into the limited space between Natasha's rump and the back of hir own divan. "Sorry, sorry," he laughed nervously, trying to position himself without actually putting a hand anywhere R-rated, and realizing it was impossible. "I'm still new to, you know... I was going to say 'new to public displays of affection', but I think I'm new to the private ones, too. Just holistically new to all of this... stuff."

When he was mostly laying down, attempting to be the big spoon but still noticeably smaller than Natasha, shi reached back and guided his hand none too subtly to the extremely prominent sheath that stretched out beyond the edge of hir cushions. "Stuff like this?" shi asked softly.

Bertie's breathing hitched, and he found himself springing instantly to full arousal against hir plump, satin-clad backside. "Y-yes," he breathed, jaw twitching as though he were attempting one of the aforementioned polar bear swims.

Natasha just nodded to hirself, pushing his wrist further down and tracing his paw in wide circles over just one of hir vast seedtanks. Bertie, who was slightly better at math than he was at nearly anything, ran a few numbers and realized that single swollen teste likely outweighed his entire body. It might have just been a hormone-addled fantasy, but he also fancied he could feel it filling out further still beneath his palm. "And what about this?" the hyper asked innocently. "Is this more stuff you're new too?"

"V-very new."

Shi chuckled, wriggling backwards and pushing him against the back of the divan with a creak of well-seasoned lumber being pushed closer to its limits. Shi could feel his cock through the thin fabric of the shorts and undies that separated them, and was pleased to know that he wasn't just putting hir on. "And what about this?" shi whispered, flexing hir glutes and massaging him through their clothes.

Bertie squeaked, wondering how much more pressure shi could apply with hir body before he had difficulty breathing. He hoped it would be a little more... "Mmmmf," he managed, nuzzling hir hair and letting his mind drift. "I like new."

"Then have I got a world to show you, baby," Natasha giggled, drawing his hand up higher and wrapping it around hir bust, tucking his fingers into hir cleavage. It was a stretch for his arm to make it around just one such wondrously soft, full swell, but he was up to the challenge.

They lay like that for quite some time, enough that Bertie didn't even notice when the emptied dessert plates had been whisked away. He didn't think he would last very long with Natasha grinding away at him so intimately, but shi seemed to know exactly when to back off. His arm was tugged forward with each of hir inhalations, and eventually he dared to explore hir breasts as they reclined. Whenever his fingertips brushed the tiny triangle of fabric that only barely concealed hir nipples, hir breath would accelerate, but he too managed to find the strength to know when to back off.

He rest his cheek against the side of hir neck, more content in that moment than he could ever remember being, at least not since the simpler times before capital gains taxes and Congressional oversight hearings. He noticed with a start that he hadn't even thought about reaching for his phone since they arrived at the restaurant, and the urge to do so now was almost non-existent.

_ _

That won't last forever, he thought with a twinge of sadness. I've got a week here, and then... off I go.

"Bee?" Natasha murmured sleepily, stretching against him once more. Shi seemed to inflate in his arms, but he knew that was just the illusion of hir motions. He mostly knew that. "You OK back there?"

"Hmm? Of course!"

"Your hands stopped. Just hoping you didn't fall asleep on me. Er... fall asleep next to me," shi amended with a chuckle.

"No no, not that. DEFINITELY not that. I'm not even sure how I fell asleep next to you this morning. No, I was just thinking about... you know what?" He tilted his chin up and nuzzled hir ear where it poked through hir black and copper locks. "It doesn't matter. Trust me, you have ALL of my attention."

Natasha flexed with hir miraculously gifted rump once more, and Bertie's entire body lurched. "I can tell," shi smirked, swishing hir tail happily against his legs. "But you can tell me, if you want. I'm a good listener, or so people tell me."

The beaver frowned, his paw drifting north once more until it cupped the bikini-clad mound of hir areola, which seemed to swell in approval. "There is one thing I was wondering, actually, if you don't mind me 'wrecking the illusion' a little more."

"Eh, you've come this far."

"I won't, if you don't want me to-"

"Bertie, I want you to do what YOU want to do-"

"Yeah, but this is your vacation, too, I think you said-"

"Yeah, ok, that's true, but if only one of us isn't preoccupied-"

"Not preoccupied, exactly, I just wanted to know-"

Natasha shifted in his arms, twisting until hir back somehow lay flat against the divan and shi could stare directly into his eyes. This positioned hir bust in such a way that the bikini tugged them towards both their muzzles, and Bertie found himself almost wedged between hir shoulder and the upper slopes of a breast larger than his entire head. "Bertie."

Bertie almost dared not breathe, hypnotized and a little frightened by the suddenly-serious look on the raccoongrrl's face. "Yip?" he answered. He feared he'd earned hir ire, except somehow shi was still grinding against his crotch, and seemed to be speeding up.

"Ask your damn question, and don't be afraid to ask them in the future, all right? The 'illusion' isn't some mandatory path to freedom and happiness, it's just one of the many perks we offer that a lot of people take us up on. You, my busy little beaver, aren't the illusion type... and you know something? I'm not, either. If I had my druthers, you'd get off the airplane, we'd go over the contract in detail, sign it, and then go skinny dipping somewhere I could do naughty, naughty things to you without anyone hearing your ecstatic cries for mercy."

For several seconds, it was all Bertie could do to replay that soliloquy in his mind. His lips moved as though silently forming responses, but rejecting them. Natasha did something with hir far arm, and the weight of hir breasts against his muzzle seemed to increase in a manner both delightful and threatening.

"So," he managed, air somehow forcing its way through his throat, "why did we get paired up if you... they... don't usually... do that?"

In a flash, like sunlight piercing through a stormy day, Natasha's face was once again a brilliant smile. "Because, silly, I saw your name on the roster one morning, and I know your backstory because, I mean, come on, everyone knows about Bertrand McCulloch, and I thought... there's someone that doesn't need a pole-dancing 'roogrrl or an oversexed double-hung pandagrrl or one of those dommy minktaurs."

Bertie kept his face carefully neutral. "Yes," he said. "None of those things."

"Oh, you hush, I'll see if we can squeeze those in during the week. But anyways, no, I thought, there's someone who needs something exotic AND familiar. There's someone who went to a high school that had to fundraise for enough equipment to form a soccer team. There's someone who probably had to buy three junkyard water heaters just to have enough parts to fix the main one. There's someone who, in his own words, 'hid behind a pair of glasses at the back of the class and tried to get through without being noticed'. I thought... and maybe this is hubris on my part... I thought that I could be, you know... the right one for you."

Bertie's paw had slipped down to hir soft, inviting bellyfluff. He inched it down further until he reached the little rumple of fabric that shi called hir skirt, and began to trace his fingers along the twitching tracework of veins that were growing more pronounced along hir sheath. Natasha tried to keep hir own face still, but the beaver began to smile when he saw hir lips twitch and one eye start to wander around.

"I think you made the right decision," he nodded, leaning in to give hir another kiss. "And... I like illusions, remember? I just... like to know how they're done."

"My practical little Bee," the hypergrrl grinned, giving his nose a lick before turning away from him once more and stuffing his paw between hir breasts. "But for now, I think it might have to be a hands-above-the-waist situation, Mister."

"Aww..."

"Hey, some of us still need to walk out of here, don't forget!"

Bertie started to nod, and then froze. He lifted his head and stared down hir body once more, and became suddenly aware that there was a LOT of creamy white fur being exposed by the gaps in hir waistband, as well as the legholes of hir satiny undergarments. It was hard to judge scale from this angle, but there was no doubt just from the way the material had been stretched and pulled that shi'd grown considerably during their time on the divan.

"O-oh... th-that's a g-good reason..." he quivered.

"Damn straight," Natasha replied. "You can spend all night taking hand-measurements, and goodness me do I hope you're thorough, but I would like to be somewhere... safe, first."

The near-fatally-aroused beaver nodded, his entire pelt feeling as though it were on fire. "As you wish," he promised, nuzzling hir ear once more and giving hir bosom a fond squeeze. "Though I just have... one more question, if you don't mind."

Shi sighed. "I guess," shi conceded. "Shoot."

For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Bertie leered, his eyes narrowing. "Dommy minktaurs?"

Natasha barked laughter, hir chest quivering with mirth. Shi swatted his hip playfully, squeezing with hir rump muscles almost hard enough to hurt. "HEY! Don't get any ideas, bucko!"