FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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_ Author's note: _ sequel to ' __Salamander Slut' and 'Salamander MILF'.

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Trace's skin felt desiccated, adding to the mounting frustrations of her day. She sat at a desk in a temperature-controlled room; around her the trappings of office life and the mundanity of the outside world wormed their way into her peripheral vision. Between stacked cabinets and empty chairs she worked, pen in hand, scribbling notes on complicated forms. Aching for a dip in her pool, a return to water. To soak and salve the dryness and the irritation of long hours away from a source of moisture. Her ancestral longing for the long-forgotten swamps of prehistory — a fragment of her hybridised heritage — did not abate.

No chance of mist-sprayers running while she worked, unless the Amphibian Research Centre was okay with her paperwork dissolving before she'd submitted it. Which was a downside of employment here: you didn't always get to be in your ideal environment. Even her looks showed the conflict between her nature and her profession. Spectacles, making her look prim. A salamander-librarian...not at all the standout babe she knew Chris lusted over.

Chris.

“Hmm," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. The legs creaked as her tail shifted her centre of mass back. A long tail of clothing accompanied her biology — Trace was wearing a strange mix of styles. On the outside a plain lab-coat, white...off-white in patches where dirtied. Beneath that, a flexible one-piece swimsuit that formed itself around her body in a tight seal with little left to the imagination.

She stretched. Tedium tearing her mind to shreds. Her webbed feet stamped flat against the floor and nudged her chair up on its rear two legs. Arms outstretched, she greeted the dull silence of the office room with a clatter as she dropped back to her original posture.

While she paused and let her mind wander, her colleagues entered. Some human, some anthro. But above all else, some company.

“Gah! I'm so dry and itchy..."

As the room filled with busy people, one approached her. A woman. Human. Had definitely heard her complain. The smile on her face said as much...

A smile that revealed itself to have sinister motivations as in a flourish a fresh sheaf of papers appeared from underarm and landed onto Trace's workspace.

“Well you can relax once we've filed these for journal submission. Deadline's Friday, and I'm not having my only assistant flake out on me, like last time."

“Come the fuck on Alice...Ms. Alice!"

“We all have jobs to do too, Ms. Trace. I've completed my sections, now it's your turn."

Trace grimaced and lowered her glasses. A desiccated hand picked up the first page, the coarseness of the paper as it wrapped around her webbed, three-fingered hand evident in the uncomfortable sensation of touching, gripping...handling yet more work.

She gave a weak laugh and turned to her superior. “I know. I've had a long day."

“Hopefully this will be the last long day for a while," the female human replied. “Department's due a break soon."

Trace sighed. She was still a bit dumb. Well, not dumb...just less academically-inclined than many of the humans at the ARC. Chris was the big nerd. Not her. A lingering aspect of her old life as Trey the human dude-bro. A reminder of her past. And Chris...

She missed him.

“If you're struggling I can help," came another voice, another female. This time amphibian like herself. The human named Alice had since left Trace's side, in her place was an ARC resident of similar seniority: her good friend Beth.

“Thanks, but it's just boring. Not hard. I need to finish this myself."

Her fellow salamander ignored her request and pulled up a chair. “C'mon girl, let me help. I do the same work as you."

“Alright fine. Here," Trace said, dumping part of her workload straight into Beth's damp lap. “Aw shit," she quickly followed with, snatching the papers back before they were ruined, “you didn't tell me you were swimming!"

“I can afford to have fun on my breaks, I don't have kids to check up on and no man to split the effort with."

“Shut up you, and grab a towel before you start 'helping' me..."

Only now glancing up at her grey-skinned friend, Trace saw the moisture glisten — a coat of shimmering delight, taunting her. Her skin prickled at the comparative wetness.

She let slide the remark about her single motherhood. Chris wasn't gone for good, he was just...he'd be back. Hopefully soon.

And hopefully soon I'll have this all done. Then I can relax with a cocktail and a nice long soak.

“So," Beth asked, having given herself a once-over with a large towel, “how are they?"

“Good. You haven't been working at the nursery for a few months so I took charge of their care. No first words yet...I'm looking forward to that..."

Trace was supposed to journal her kids development, and that was easier said than done when you have a bunch of rambunctious infants crawling all over the place. Her friends and colleagues helped her out though. In many ways. Professionally, and as a courtesy to a dear friend and semi-aquatic comrade.

“It was getting hectic there too," Beth said. “Lotta moms. All kinds of species."

“That's why you bailed, was it?"

“Hmphf! Your kids...and at most a couple of the other salamander pairs maybe...that's what I was okay with managing. Not the zoo it's become!"

Her friend pouting in the corner of her eye, Trace watched long black lines of ball-point ink scrawl their way across seas of white. Beth occasionally interrupted her thinking with a thought or two of her own and while welcome, they didn't do anything to alleviate the shitty mood Trace was feeling.

True. Beth had been overworked, as had they all. The Centre had to step in with extra manpower, but finding qualified candidates to care for experimental lifeforms was not an easy task.

The amount of nannies employed by the ARC who'd up and quit trying to handler her brood (let alone the many offspring of other residents) caused no end of trouble with her bosses — and Trace had seen herself in a new light: fiercely protective of her children.

Try talking her little ones down in front of this tiger momma!

That's a tad harsh. She actually got on well with her human helpers. Most of the time.

...

Half of the time.

...

Sometimes.

...

Well, at least they're there.

Trace growled as she read a passage from one of the reports. Awaiting her sign-off was a log of week-long monitoring: the growth, health, and developing intelligence of her children. What read as a simple, clinical overview of the situation dripped with hidden meaning.

Perhaps she shouldn't have cussed out that nanny and called her a quote: 'brainless, hairless ape-slut'.

Even her insults had adjusted themselves according to species. That's what happens after years of living apart from humanity. Her biological alma mater. The ol' pinkskins. Homo sapiens sapiens.

Heh, homo...

Homo sapiens, meet homo salamandridae. I got fangs, poison glands, and gills. What you got? Huh?

As her inner monologue continued to trash-talk her old species, Trace read further. Birth registration numbers were listed for each of her kids, as well as their parentage. Chris' name burned into her vision as she stared at the page. Alongside it, a painfully impersonal declaration:

Absentee parent.

It was one of the stingier diagnoses. One that some said may affect her kids' development. Trace usually scoffed at this kind of thinking. Quite how this would negatively affect a gaggle of gurgling infants still in the process of mastering object permanence was lost on her. Someone just wanted to piss her off, she supposed.

Well you wouldn't let me keep their father here on a permanent basis so go figure that one out, brainiacs...

Maybe they did it on purpose. Rile her up to see what reaction they got.

If they're doing that as part of some test I'm not aware of there'll be hell to pay. Let's see how their smart-ass comments fare when I bite their fucking faces off!

“You okay?"

Trace snapped out of her day-dream and turned to Beth. “Nothing. Nothing...just tired. And cranky."

“You sure?"

“Ahh...I just wanna go and sleep somewhere dark and damp and slimy."

And with my boyfriend there to cuddle with me.

...

Trace sighed.

Come back soon, Chris...

* * *

At last the trials of clerical labour were at an end. Trace was free for the rest of the day to pursue her own comfort. At least, that was the thought when she left the offices and strolled back through the complex, greeting passers-by.

She met Greg, Beth's partner, outside the medical labs. He was awaiting a routine physical, the same kind of check-up she'd had to endure on the regular. All those doctors and scientists poking and prodding. Taking notes. Making comments!

It was enough to make you forget the plentiful amenities and alluring salary paid to residents of the ARC. Almost enough...

They commiserated about their lives and the oh-so-onerous burden of having to work for a living alongside luxurious purpose-built accommodation and facilities for their kind. Their words, rich with obvious sarcasm, brought a smile to Trace. Her shitty mood was fading. A spring developed in her step.

Continuing her whistle-stop tour of local haunts, she ran into Missy — the spunky frog girl she'd come to know and love as her 'bestie'. She was managing a consignment of food to the facility's canteens, barking orders at several human staff members and carrying a tense look. Trace sought to raise her spirits in tune with her own attempts to brighten up.

“Hey Missy!"

“Oh, hey Trace. You finished for today?"

“Yep," she said, coming to a halt next to the more diminutive figure of Missy. “Delivery trouble?"

“Our grocery shipment came in late. Had to pull these guys from their assigned shifts to process it," she answered, gesturing to the three humans helping her. “I tell ya, the suppliers fucking up their timetables is getting a whole lot more frequent."

“Good ol' human incompetence," Trace joked then looked at the other staff with a sheepish grin, “no offence!"

One shook his head and kept working. Missy frowned at her. “Oi! These are my staff — only I get to bully them."

Trace sniggered. “When you're not cleaning up the catering department's mistakes, how's life treating you?"

“Can't complain, honeybuns. You?"

“Dried up like all hell. I need a swim — wanna swing by my place when you're finished here?"

“Um, sure...maybe," Missy pressed her finger to her chin in a pensive gesture, “I'll message you later if I'm free — you know how it is. Work an' all."

“I do, yeah. Okay then, this babe needs to get wet soon or she's going to lose it!"

Missy gave her a teasing stair and blew a kiss in her direction as Trace waved goodbye. Truthfully, despite their bond, she gave little regard to her friend's supply woes:

Commissary-schmommissary. Cafeteria-schmafeteria. As long as the vending machines next to the first aid clinic and the lower rec rooms have my favourites I'm happy.

* * *

Everyone's busier these days, she thought, walking through the vast complex of corridors and special living/recreation spaces for the ARC residents. I can't remember the last time we were this short-staffed.

God, it would've been when I first joined. Before my promotion.

Before my breeding.

Before Chris...

Trace stopped at a vending machine and tapped the screen. The digital display filled with a variety of strange and exotic beverages. Trace however, kept things simple, and selected a medium-size temperature-controlled coffee, suitable for cold-blooded consumption. Chilled, though she usually took it lukewarm; she needed the wake-up shock.

“Maybe that's why they're so keen on the transfer," she said to herself, standing alone in the corridor. “Get some fresh blood in from another site."

Her mind turned to snippets of news overhead from senior management of the Centre. As she sipped her coffee and walked on, memories of planning meetings, and of her research supervisor Ms. Alice commenting about the upcoming staff transfer from somewhere on the West Coast, floated in the dulled synapses of a sleepy salamander mom in need of some shut-eye.

Ugh. Personnel. Glad I don't have to fret over hiring decisions.

Slowly, her brain cells fizzled back to life with the infusion of caffeine and the icy sensation spreading outwards from her stomach as she drank. Sleep soon became the last thing on her mind as the fatigue dissolved in the bitter yet welcome taste of her libation.

Home. Pool. Then I can relax.

Turning a corner, she ran into the last person she wanted to see:

“Um...uhh...Ms. Trace! There you are!"

A startled human greeted her with a high-pitched voice. Her latest Centre-appointed nanny. Short, fair-haired; a girl just shy of her twenty-first birthday. Subordinate to her and nervous of the fierce mother's wrath. An intern — possibly a sophomore in college — and aware of her demanding maternal reputation and the churn rate of prior assistants.

“What is it Carly?" Trace asked, keeping a neutral tone.

Flustered and short of breath, she answered: “I um, need you to come to the nursery. It's close to dinnertime and we need you to...um…"

Trace sighed, looking down at her chest. “Of course—I forgot the time," she murmured. With the option of hitting the pool and moistening her dry skin retreating further and further into the mists of time, she told Carly to lead the way.

Adopting a softer tone, not wanting to bully the young woman, and cognizant of unloading the stresses of her day on somebody else, she made small talk.

“You don't need to be scared of me. I'm not that bad, really."

“I just didn't want to trouble you unless we needed your help."

In truth, a part of her did want her to be scared. To be afraid of a stern reprimand. An old shard of her crueller self. It tickled the back of her mind. Calling to her. Demanding she assert her dominance over the puny warm-blood.

She simply smiled and ignored the impulse. Errant thoughts were okay as long as she didn't act on them. They could just live as pleasant fantasy...all in her head.

Carly's words interrupted her train of thought: “I...um...heard that you had a temper."

“Temper? Aww...you're kinda cute when you're trying to not piss off your boss."

Carly stammered, but Trace cut off any attempt at apology: “I was joking. It was a joke. Like I said, I'm not that bad. I'm sure the rumours have spread worse stories than what actually happened."

“Well, they are rumours after all," the human chuckled, warming to her presence. “Else they wouldn't be."

“And you've confirmed that you have been listening to and taking stock of rumours about your superior. What does that say about you?" Trace said without a hint of irony or levity.

“I..."

“PSYCHE!!!" Trace exclaimed, laughing. “You're too cute...I'm sorry, I couldn't resist fucking with you. Look: as long as my kids are doin' okay, you'll be okay. Just don't, like, lose them or anything."

“Uh, sure."

“How long have you been here anyway?"

“I started three weeks ago."

“That short, eh? You must've only finished orientation this week."

“Yeah."

“How's it feel workin' here — must be new to you. People like me."

“It's not that different from my field of study. My college degree is...or, uh will eventually be...in anthropomorphic biology with a minor in transhuman sociology — gene-splicing, human-hybrid transmogrification and reproduction, social development. Stuff like that."

“Well with my kids you're getting more than the full hands-on experience."

“They've already bitten me twice today," she said, with a hint of displeasure.

“Occupational hazard. Be glad it's their little chompers and not my fangs sinking into ya!"

Carly paused, unsure of what to say.

“God-dammit!" Trace muttered under-breath, “I don't mean it like that. Look — I'm a nice gal once you get to know me..."

* * *

The nursery bustled with activity — attendants and nurses flitting about, ensuring each child was given appropriate attention. The din of gurgling, giggling, and crying resounded throughout the building. It greeted Trace with a cacophonous roar of intermingling sounds as the doors swung open for her and Carly.

“Busy day huh?" she said to the human.

“No more than usual," came the neutral reply, accompanied by a polite smile.

Carly quickly walked past several play areas and pools, where human and non-human staff supervised kids being kids. Trace followed. The noise of the nursery Doppler-shifting as she passed each area, putting her in an absent-minded trance. It broke shortly thereafter, once Carly had led her to her brood.

Eleven rambunctious children. Eleven little angels pulling double-duty as eleven little devils.

Trace sighed as she took a headcount.

Devon. Sally. Marcie. Kayla. Rowan. Adam. Blake. Dani. Kyle. Summer. Bobby.

In no particular order she listed their names, scanning the room for each namesake. No 'Chris Jr.' among the names — she'd thought about it but that felt like a reach! If her worst fears came to pass, and she never saw him again, they were too young to remember him at their age; it would make for awkward questions about who 'Chris Sr.' was in such a case.

No, at the time she'd named them with boyfriend in absentia. Before she'd forged a longer-time relationship with her human. Her head spun with thoughts that troubled. And a longing. A want...a need...to see him again.

“All present and accounted for," one of the nurses stated. Trace snapped out of her stupor and nodded in agreement. Her brood were grouped into threes and fours, playing together — crawling and biting all over one another, much to the chagrin of the staff. She chuckled as she witnessed several humans receive bites of their own as the teething toddlers rolled about, oblivious to the chaos they were causing.

A fellow amphibian — a slender female frog in an apron — approached her. Trace noted a stain, most likely of vomit, on the article of clothing. A name-tag read 'Anna'.

“There you are," she said, her stride coming to a halt beside the salamander, “Carly said she'd find you sooner or later..."

“Guess I'm found," Trace replied, “what's up?"

“Nothing major," said Anna, looking over the children. “Bobby had an accident, as you can see. Devon likes to bite anything and everything, us included!"

“Ah! So that's who's leaving marks over the poor delicate human girls?"

Anna nodded. “His teeth are coming in nice and healthy at least. Deadly too."

Trace smirked.

She continued: “Marcie pinched Blake on the leg, who then cried almost the entire day. Needed someone to sing him a lullaby, several times, to finally put him to sleep."

“He's awake now." Trace gestured to the little salamander boy, crawling towards some alphabet blocks.

“Yeah I didn't say that lasted long. Marcie came back over and pinched him again! Who else...oh, Rowan wouldn't stop wriggling free from his careers and diving headfirst into the play-pool — we got a shock thinking he'd bumped his head, but it was okay. He spent his time laying underwater, sometimes for half and hour before resurfacing. Clearly his gills are working!"

“Any problem children in particular?"

“What? No, of course not. This is all expected behaviour from the little shits," Anna joked, emphasising the expletive and giving Trace a knowing glare.

“Mmm," Trace hummed, keeping her cool, “they can be a handful." She looked around, watching her spawn play and laugh. It brought a welcome warmth to her cold-blooded body. “So they're all acting like a pack of rascals. If no-one's seriously hurt that's the best we can hope for."

“Yeah. Until they calm down and grow up. Just another couple of years of this, huh?"

Trace listened to the rest of Anna's report, thanking her lucky stars she was off-the-clock and didn't have to note any of this down. The weekend beckoned, and she was free for two days before she had to return to the office and stick her head down among those awful, dry papers. A couple of the humans there came over to reluctantly say 'hi' and fill in any missing details. Trace thanked each of them, keeping her tone pleasant to avoid further inflaming rumours of her indomitable maternal fury.

I'm not that bad, she reminded herself, just protective is all.

She wanted the best for her spawn. And she knew she needed to keep her eye on the ball when it came to raising them. Eleven children were a significant chore for any mother, even with all the help the Centre could provide. She felt guilty, sometimes, feeling like she didn't spend enough time with each one of her kids. Her worries were good, she'd been assured. They meant she cared.

She sighed once more, and turned to Anna.

“Time to feed them."

The frog agreed. “They had formula this morning."

And some will have formula tonight, she thought. Trace was stacked, but not that stacked. There was no way a single female salamander could provide enough milk for her brood. You could blame the ARC for giving her mammaries in the first place, in defiance of her evolutionary line. Or you could blame them for amplifying her fertility such that a single pregnancy produced nearly a dozen viable eggs. Someone, somewhere, had gotten the ratios wrong...and she was made to suffer so many hungry mouths.

Her thoughts occupied her time as Anna left to impose order on the crowd of young amphibians. Until Carly returned to her side. Trace glanced at the human, first at her face then lower...

God-damn! With a pair like that you could feed my entire brood no problem!

Trace tittered under her breath at her own lewd observation. Carly may be human, and smaller in stature to her powerful, elegant, aqua-dynamic form...but she had certain assets that right now would've come in handy.

Not my place to ask, Trace told herself. Let's not get weird.

“Alright — who hasn't had mommy in a while?"

When Anna brought the first of her kids over, Carly helped Trace carry the squirming salamander to a private room, where she could feed them. She put aside her wandering mind and unbuttoned her top, freeing her breasts.

“Hey Kayla," she cooed, her child staring at her, “how was your day today?" She gently jabbed her with one finger, tickling the toddler. Affirmative gurgles came from Kayla, whose little arms reached up, hands grasping the air in front of Trace. She blew kisses at her child, dodging the small girl's attempts to grab her face. After a moment of play, she seated Kayla on her thigh, letting her bob up-and-down excitedly. It would take another minute before she calmed down enough to let her feed.

Once her child suckled, Trace closed her eyes and let the divine sensation of motherhood melt away her troubles.

* * *

Her apartment proved a welcome relief from the rigours of the day. Trace burst through the door before her tiredness turned into crankiness. Lights flew on. Clothes came off — her coat draped over a chair as she slid out of her swimsuit.

Trace stretched, extending her arms toward the ceiling, propping herself up on her tippy-toes as her joints cracked. The satisfying noise alongside the knowledge her busy day was at an end left her happy. At last, she could afford some me-time.

The naked female set herself on firm footing and walked through the apartment. Its tiered two storeys felt empty without Chris. He had a way of making the space feel truly lived in. Or, maybe Trace missed his untidiness? She looked around, surveying the rooms — her home compact yet spacious, functional yet fabulous. She wondered how the builders of the ARC found the space needed to stuff this type of living unit layout, and so many of them, in the footprint of the bustling complex. She glanced at the staircase, grabbing the polished steel and swinging 'round, feeling the cold metal through her rubbery palm. Her body free to flex, she bent around the stairs, letting go and carrying herself through a doorway to her personal pool.

She needed this.

Wasting no time, Trace dove in. Her pointed pose broke the water surface and swept her down. Her body rapidly absorbed the moisture — her skin softening, the dryness of her long day vanishing.

Oh yessss...right there, that's the spot...

She rested there beneath the surface for a while. Her mind processing the day. Her thoughts turned to her children, then her work, then finally to the reprieve she'd been given from such responsibilities. The rest of tonight was hers, and hers alone.

Mine.

My time...

She could stay underwater for hours. She could sleep underwater, if she chose. Replenish her spirit with private meditation. Alone, in blessed communion with her natural environment.

After enough time had passed, Trace emerged from the pool. Water dripped from her bare body, splattering on the tiled floor as she stomped and shook free the heavy droplets. Reinvigorated, she towel-dried her hands and wandered back to her lounge.

Plenty of electronic appliances in her home were water-proof, or at least had some measure of resistance to a wet amphibian handling them. Still, she was cautious; her laptop sat closed on a nearby shelf. Retrieving it, she opened it and turned it on.

It whirred to life. Tapping the keys revealed to her a splash image of her and Chris — a memento of his lost presence. She sighed and did a couple of errands online — replying to messages and the like. As she typed, her eye kept being drawn to the chat window in the corner of the screen. Always present. Always open. The coloured icon of her lover a blank grey. Signifying his absence, his remoteness. She missed her beau. Sadness reappeared in her thoughts, draining the vibrancy from her vision. One refresh...two refreshes...still nothing.

After their fruitful and fateful reunion, after his return to the ARC to be with her, life got in the way...

Kids might have their first words soon, she thought. I'd like him to be here for that.

She closed her eyes and let her imagination conjure him. His warm-blooded body holding her. His voice speaking softly. Embracing her. Cuddling her.

Memories flooded to the fore.

Them. Together.

Together...

...

Just like it used to be, before they drifted apart...she remembered well that sorrowful night:

...

“You know I have college starting up again soon."

Chris nudged against Trace's body, his voice low. They lay in bed, awake at the wee hours of morning. Basking in each other's presence. Holding one another close.

“Mm-hmm," Trace purred, her tail stroking her boyfriend's ankle. A webbed hand spread across his chest as she shifted on her side; their eyes caught in dazzling contact.

Chris' expression sank. “I can't just not go...it's my future. We need to work something out."

“I know...I know. It's good having you here. Helping with our kids. I liked to think it could go on forever."

“Can't it?"

Trace looked away.

“Probably not."

“You sound kinda...neutral 'bout that."

She turned to face him with a pensive, pained face.

“I don't mean it what way. I mean I do care...I want...it's just...I knew this was coming."

Chris hemmed and chewed his cheek. “Is there any way I could stick around? Even as a janitor?" he asked, running his hand across her side.

Trace sighed. “No," she said, disappointed, “the ARC is very selective with its members. I only got in because they were in desperate need of test subjects. But now? Well, you see the news. People like us are a lot more prevalent, more popular than we were a few years ago. There's been no shortage of volunteers. And don't even get me started on the hiring requirements for human personnel — Chris honey, I know you're working toward a biology degree but you have no chance in hell of getting in."

“I could pester them to let me join. Keep trying and never letting up. They must have openings."

“Unless we need the staff I don't think they'll bite, hon. Being a test subject would be trickier — like I said, they were desperate when I came. Today, there are whole-ass families of us. Moms, dads, kids. They don't need outsiders. We're employed here too. Whether your cleaner is human or amphibian doesn't make a difference as long as the place gets cleaned."

Chris nodded.

“I get you. Hey — it's not as if I won't be close, right? The university is only a short flight from the next city over."

“Yeah." She smiled at him. A warmth filled his heart as he watched her.

“Unless something happens and I need to move further away I can come visit. Like this."

“Visitor passes are a privilege y'know. I can't just print them whenever you want to bang a hot salamander."

“I can't help it, you're such a SMILF_."_

“What? Wait..." Trace paused for a second, then got it and burst into laughter. She dove in for a kiss, which he gladly reciprocated.

Their lips parting, Chris spoke, voice wavering: “and if the worst happens, and I'm not close?"

“Then we can call each other."

“Urgh! Long-distance relationships. How would we cope?"

“We'd just have to."

“I guess. I wanna help out where I can with the kids."

“I know."

“And spend time with you. As much time as possible."

...

Trace let the memories wash over her. That night with Chris was the first time she had faced the prospect of him leaving. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, but it hurt. She thought she had more time. Seems fate wasn't going to let her off that easily.

Fate could be a bitch like that.

Sitting at her kitchen table, staring at the illuminated screen of her laptop. A screen she'd been forced to watch her lover grace with his presence, remaining out-of-reach for far too long. His face, sealed behind thousands upon thousands of pixels. A digital facsimile of the real thing. No way to touch. No way to hold. No way to share her body with the one she loved. The one she had started a family with.

She remembered the last call. His ragged, sleep-deprived appearance. Clearly Chris had been stressing out as much as she had. It was inevitable this would come to pass; it hurt all the same.

...

“Hey Trace...this is gonna be tough but...the worst has happened. I have to move further away."

“C'mon babe!" Trace watched her boyfriend's apologetic expression shimmer through the computer screen. “Not now. Not yet."

“It's part of my course. I said this might happen."

“I know."

“My class is doing a research project out west, at another institute. I can't get out of this commitment without jeopardising my degree, so it may be harder to keep in touch..."

“Ffffuuuu—" Trace hissed, letting her exasperation trail off into a hushed seethe.

“It's not gonna be easy to call you. I know we worried about this. I..."

“Chris, you know what you need to do. Don't let me stop you."

He sighed.

“I love you...I'll make it up to you...somehow."

“You better," Trace grinned, exposing her teeth. “Or else."

...

Trace leaned back against the chair and groaned. The room spun as she rubbed her eyes, tiredness creeping in from all corners of her being. She didn't want to remember anymore. She'd already had a shit day. Long hours, chaotic kids, no time to unwind properly — save for the last hour, and now her bed beckoned. Dooming her to lethargy until she surrendered to the dark, dream-filled tumult of sleep.

“Urrggh!!!"

She shut the laptop and rose from her seat. Better clear her head before climbing into bed. It did her no good having bittersweet memories fill her mind.

Chris...

Chris, babe, I love you too but you are a fucking chore sometimes!

* * *

A bus bearing tinted windows drove down the highway en route to the ARC. Aboard it were a team of researchers and subjects from the Pacific Marine & Riverine Research Institute ('PMRRI' — Pacific Institute for when you wanted less of a mouthful), a well-regarded satellite company of the same bioengineering public/private partnership that ran the ARC itself. This trip had been a long time in the making — the product of many hours of collaborative discussion between directors on how best to combine the two institutions' efforts. The decision was made to transfer some personnel from the Pacific Institute to here, and enlarge the campus to support an increased population of humans and hybrids. It was this bus, escorted ahead and behind by unmarked police cars, that carried the first group of transfers.

Inside, scientists busied themselves in their notes, ignoring the scenery as the journey from the other side of the country crept slowly to its terminus. The others, of a variety of anthropomorphic species, relaxed and let the passing vistas lull them into sleep.

“We're here."

The bus driver's voice sounded over the speaker system a few minutes after one hybrid in particular had fallen back asleep. Jolted awake by the sudden press of the bus' brakes, a large well-built male salamander shook himself free from the clutches of the sandman and waited patiently for his turn to disembark.

Outside, in the enclosed parking lot to the west of the facility, the bus' doors opened and its riders spilled out.

CJ — the male salamander — climbed to his feet and marched through the middle of the bus, grabbing his things and following the line of his fellow aquatic beings to their new home. Some of the others chatted amongst themselves, scientist and specimen alike, about their prospects at the ARC. He, however, remained quiet. Watching. Taking it all in.

As he breathed the outside air, the sun beat down on him — its rays pummelling his sensitive skin in an attempt to burn. Now out of the shadows and no longer keeping his head down to avoid injury aboard the bus, CJ stood tall. His toned form and broad frame shone in the bright sunlight. Skin black like tar, with light grey- and navy-blue-textured mottling all over his flesh. He wore a thong emblazoned with the emblem of the Pacific Institute. The initials 'PMRRI' arranged in a circle surrounding a symbolic representation of the clear blue waves of the Institute's oceanic namesake were humorously draped over his impressive manhood. He could've sworn somebody created this branded swimwear as a stupid joke. No-one passed any remarks when they were introduced, and his male companions all descended the short set of steps off the bus wearing similar attire. The females had more modest water-safe garments, much to his disappointment.

Can't blame a guy for wanting a look. You all get to see my package.

Accompanying his skimpy swimwear was a tank-top made out of life-vest material, orange and bright. It clung tightly to his rippling musculature. Accentuating his domineering form.

A faint shimmer covered him. Moisture. Glistening all over his bare skin. Having remembered to hydrate on the long journey, CJ looked forward to relaxing in a nice wet pool. The dry heat outside the ARC did him no favours — his amphibian physiology was suited to cooler, damper climes. All of that would be provided, courtesy of the Centre, as long as he could last the next ten minutes queueing. From within the onyx giant a deep chuckle emanated.

Like the first day of school. Waiting in line to sign in and introduce yourself.

Hmm...

Stepping onto the hot concrete in the midday sun, CJ felt the heat burn his broad soles as his webbed feet spread across the ground, securing him firmly to the earth once more. Gone was the bumpy ride from the airport. Gone was the turbulence of the chartered flight. Relief washed over him, briefly extinguishing the pain underfoot.

He grumbled as he took deeper and deeper breaths — the local air familiar, yet exotic. His senses weren't human, they took in information differently. What was once common and boring became new and exciting with time away, and unexpected change...

With renewed vigour, CJ began to walk with the others. Like soldiers they marched with assured confidence across the clear parking lot. The shuffle of human clothes less orderly than the magnetic swagger of the male anthros, bodies flexing with sinuous grace.

Plap-plap-plap.

His webbed feet slapped against the concrete. Quickly losing what little moisture his body had retained from his last soak, CJ felt himself warm up. His cold blood heating...shedding the last sluggish remnant of his sleepy journey, energising him with each second out 'neath the fierce sun.

First thing I need is some food, he thought. He was starving, and if the rumbling of his stomach didn't bring enough attention to it the pangs of hunger that wracked his body did. Oh sure, the charter plane was equipped for all kinds of hybrid nourishment, but the three-hour jaunt from the airport terminal on that cramped shuttle bus was long enough for his hunger to become severe.

The perils of an enhanced metabolism, he surmised. And it would be good to get some ARC-approved food. They led the way in aquaculture, kelp forestry, and other means of food production for people like him.

His mind turning to food, the big buff salamander groaned as he recalled seeing a few cats wandering the streets on the way here. He'd suppressed the gnawing fascination with the urban critters, but that did not mean he didn't lick his lips thinking about them. No longer looking at those pet animals the same way as humans...the soft crunch, the fur tickling his throat...just the right size to snack on for a creature of his bulk.

He shook his head.

Probably someone's pets, man. There would be hell to pay if I was caught.

Of course...I wouldn't get caught, now would I?

The image of a large anthropomorphic salamander trying to stealthily creep up to a household pet and gulp it down before the owners found out made him laugh, then smile. He hadn't done anything dumb like that — but that didn't mean there weren't some things he ate he shouldn't have.

Wonder if anyone else feels the same way? I should talk to someone...

Or maybe it's better to keep this to myself. Don't want to accidentally give people ideas. Where would it end? An after-work-hours club for 'unconventional' food?

He smiled, humoured by his wayward thoughts.

That might actually be kinda fun...

The strong sunlight battered his face once more, and CJ, having been spared it's punishment for a brief moment while he passed by a pillar, broke out of his daydream.

What are you doin' big guy?

...

I'm going mad with hunger, that's what I'm doing...

He sighed.

The sooner I get settled in here the better.

He gripped in his hand a small bundle of transfer paperwork — contained within a sealed clear plastic sleeve, to avoid any moisture destroying them. The things he had to do sometimes to operate like a human, he thought, the trials he faced when his kind were supposed to be drenched in water most of the damn time!

He followed the ARC attendants guiding people to the entrance area. CJ double-checked his papers and stepped into the cooler shade of the building, ready for his induction.

* * *

A number of ARC residents leaned on the railings of the upper foyer, observing the incoming inductees. Trace and her pal Beth were among them, staring out at the crowded entrance, gossip flowing freely from their lips as they conversed with various colleagues.

Beth left to find Greg, her mate, leaving Trace alone with the crowd of onlookers. She crossed her arms and let her weight rest on the sturdy railing, checking out the new arrivals.

Chatter from the rest of the anthro crowd filled the air:

“I hope they read my request for two lab assistants. I really need the extra pairs of hands."

“Wonder what species they've been testing out west?"

“Any toads among them? Dr. Wyse is looking for a compatible mate. She told me in passing she thinks her dating 'pool' was on the 'shallow' side given her seniority at the Centre."

“That old bitch!? Good luck...one minute with her nagging they'll turn tail and run all the way back to the Pacific Institute!"

“Anyone from here applied for a transfer to the Institute? I know my friend tried and was rejected."

“Feel bad for her, man. Let's hope they're not shunting their rejects our way."

“So far so good — at least in the looks department!"

“That's all you think about, isn't it? Let's see how they fare in the competency department before we start makin' plans thinking they'll be sticking around."

The talking continued, fading into a rattling din as Trace stopped focusing on their words. She relaxed and moved her arms around, lest the cold steel of the railing leave marks on her sensitive skin.

A voice came from behind her:

“I'm back, what did I miss?"

Trace turned and saw Beth, alone.

“Where's Greg?"

“Oh he's coming — I texted him to meet me here."

“Hmm," Trace grumbled, envious of her friend's existent love life. “Well...a bunch passed through, mostly women."

“Ooh — so we haven't got to the boys yet?"

“Heh, there were a couple. Nothing striking."

Several minutes passed. They watched the newcomers sign in at the welcome desks, being led in front of a white screen to get their photographs taken; ID cards were being printed non-stop, handed out to them by smiling ARC staff.

Welcome, Trace thought, mouthing the words as they emerged fully-formed from the depths of her mind. Well-rehearsed. A staff member will guide you to orientation. Please follow the designated route. Hope you enjoy your time here.

She'd almost been roped into working the front desks to help manage the inflow. Additionally, her friend Missy had mentioned something about a mentor programme: to help the new ARC members get used to how things were done here.

No fuckin' way I'd do that, she recalled saying. Trace was happy to keep to herself. A mild sense of curiosity made her come out with Beth to see the new folks. That was the motivation...alas, now boredom set in...

Is this gonna take much longer—?

Beth nudged Trace and whispered excitedly: “hey Trace, check out those hunks in the back."

Tracing her friends wild and pointed gestures, she saw far at the back two male salamanders walk in; one pale white with blue-green-yellow spots, another towering over him. A striking black-skinned beast of a male. While the colour of the pale one was striking, and handsome to her eyes — the other newcomer. An onyx Adonais.

“Whoa," Beth cooed, “get a load of—"

“Y'know I can hear you Beth."

The two spun 'round to see Greg, tutting.

“Pfft! Yeah," Beth stammered, matching her boyfriends jokey mood, “I like, knew that and shit...I'm just looking is all."

“Oh I'm sure you are, babe." Greg stepped closer to Beth as she turned away to resume her observations. “Get a good long look, sweetie. Make sure to memorise every detail."

Trace noted a flush of red in Beth's cheeks. Greg's teasing was having the desired affect.

“Leave her alone Greg," Trace said, “lookin's no crime."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright...I'll leave you too ladies to your day-dream. And Beth..."

“Yeah?"

“You have permission to stare. Nothing more. You get me? And don't go egging Trace on either, she's got her human."

“Hmm, yes," Trace mumbled, “my human."

She sighed. Continuing to watch the incoming residents, her eyes kept being drawn to the statuesque male. She watched him traipse across the reception hall, towel draped over one arm. An air of confidence surrounded him. Like he belonged.

Like a fish to water.

Or salamander...

* * *

Her usual haunt on her return journey from the office had a visitor: the large dark-skinned male she'd seen arrive with the others from the West Coast. Trace slowed down her gait, her one-piece swimsuit suddenly too exposed for her liking as he looked over to her. She gripped the folded lab-coat as it lay draped over her arm, cursing why she didn't cover up more. Cursing why she felt the need to...

His shining skin reflecting the light emitted by the vending machines, CJ stood staring at the snack selection.

“Hey."

CJ turned to meet the source of the voice. Seeing Trace, he nodded. “Hey."

“So umm," she stated, pointing to one of the vending machines, “could I scooch by? I usually pick up something from here on my way back from work."

“Oh sorry—here," CJ said, stepping aside to let the lady pass. Trace typed her order onto the touchscreen display and scanned an ARC staff ID card; she then waited for her order to be dispensed. CJ noticed a couple of sneaky glances as his body. She obviously found him attractive.

And to his eyes, she was no wallflower. Her body was well shaped, and concealed behind enough swimwear to entertain the sauciest imagination. CJ watched her, hiding a smile.

When she turned around, he asked if there was anything she recommended.

“The seaweed wrap is nice. And the fish pie — though I don't like pastry that much."

“Well thanks, I might try one. Or both!"

Trace chuckled as he stepped in front of the machine. “For a guy your size, I don't blame ya."

He took out his own ID, fresh and with an unblemished plastic photograph of his dark, handsome mug proudly printed beside his name. Two letters. A clue, but would she bite?

“CJ huh?" Trace interjected, now her turn to ogle him, “I'm Trace by the way."

“Nice to meet you."

He gripped her hand and shook it. Trace blushed, trying her best to hide it.

“You're one of the new guys from the West Coast."

“That's right."

“I saw you arrive. Was it a long journey?"

“Long. And boring."

CJ withdrew his meals from the machine, and moved closer to Trace, who clutched hers close to her chest. As if a torment designed for her and her alone, CJ extended his hand again.

“Would you like to walk with me?"

“Okay, yeah." Trace held her breath and stayed her fluttering heart. “I can show you around — help you get settled, yeah?" What am I doing? I don't want to mentor some new guy...

...

So why am I offering?

...

“I'd like that," said CJ, his soft smile warming her like no heat-lamp could.

They began to walk and talk.

“The Pacific Institute sounds like an amazing place."

“You did some reading?"

“A little," she lied. A small fib — nothing sinful. To further their small talk. “Wanted to know who we're getting involved with at the ARC. The Centre's been short-staffed for a while."

“I heard. That's what brought me here. That and..."

CJ paused to take a bite out of his food.

“...other reasons..." He said the last part quietly, a knowing glimmer in his eye.

Trace missed any of the subtleties of his words, instead focusing on questions about the Institute — it had been years since she'd thought about living outside the ARC, and the presence of a newcomer like CJ had spurred thoughts of other places. Other locations she and her kind could dwell. She asked him for more details: “what's it like over there? Is the climate too hot or just right? Do you have any beaches or were you located inland? How big are the habitats? Are the residents the same species as ours or are there more?"

This line of questioning, each request for knowledge more pressing that the last, amused CJ. The large male placed a hand on Trace's shoulder. “Slow down," he joked, “one question at a time."

Trace looked away. The firm, masculine presence of his hand on her shoulder...the contact on her bare skin, feeling his body's flesh slide and stick against hers...

“Mmm..."

“What was that?"

“Nothing!"

CJ politely removed his hand and rattled off some answers to each question Trace had, once she'd repeated them at a pace he could cope with:

“The Institute owns a stretch of land running from the Pacific shore, through sparse woods, to a pristine residential complex for hybrid members. There's a little road where you can grab a small powered cart to travel the length of the land — passing through the cool shade of trees and, when in the open, the California sun at its strongest. Spacious, right? There's a wall that lines the perimeter — not that it's needed really, the place is remote enough as it is. You can consider it a barrier to any unwelcome attention, as we can't monitor every inch of the land all the time."

He strode with the confidence of an alpha male, waxing poetic with deep, rumbling intonations. Trace stared at him as they walked, scouring every inch of his exposed body with her starved gaze.

He continued: “you know how the ARC has the footprint of a city block? Maybe a block and a half? It's big, but not that big. Well, on the West Coast we have all the space we need to have indoor and outdoor pools, lakes, housing, recreation. Temperature's just right too. And for the inhabitants? The fresh water folk like to spend their time beside a river that winds its way through the grounds. The water's clean. Beautiful and crystal-clear. And there's natural diving spots fashioned from the rocky hills. It's where I spend a lot of my time — always good to exercise, y'know? Stay in shape."

“Not that you need it," he heard Trace mutter under her breath.

“...and thanks for the compliment," he said, watching her fail to hide her bashful hemming and hawing. “To finish what I was saying: there are species there adapted for salt water, and I've visited the beaches several times. The seawater can burn a little — you can get oils to rub on so you can take a dip. But I don't work down that part so...well maybe you could visit and see the place for yourself."

“Oh?"

“You were listening so intently I wondered if you wanted to trade places with me."

“I never thought about a vacation — the Centre's all I've known for a while."

“I know how that feels."

“Yeah. It sounds nice. What you're describing is very...upmarket."

“Some might say 'gated community', but that's a little pejorative. And it's not like anyone here can get away with calling it that. I've seen the security guards wandering around."

“Pot calling the kettle black, huh?"

“Exactly."

Their conversation continued in much the same way as the minutes passed. Trace dropped a mention of her kids, a subtle indicator she was spoken for, as the worry in the far recesses of her mind spoke of lust and betrayal. CJ didn't seem to notice. His replies were polite, and any suspect mentions designed to ward off romantic interest were met with calm nods.

Despite this, Trace found him hot. The realisation she was consciously choosing the spend more time with him, that she was experiencing attraction to the newcomer, weighed on her. She couldn't be rude and simply run away! What sort of impression would that give of the ARC? Hey, sorry, we're all socially maladjusted weirdos who avoid meeting new people?

So she stuck around, and when asked Trace agreed to let him walk her home.

Maybe she wasn't being as professional as she should've — but she found herself feeling safe in his company. Warm. There was something familiar to his demeanour...

CJ stopped, causing Trace to take a step beyond him and turn around confused.

“You okay with me walking you home?"

“Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He pursed his lips. “Sure..."

They walked on.

That was strange, Trace thought, is it me? Am I acting weird?

Prior to the emergence of a crippling bout of self-consciousness, CJ and Trace reached her apartment.

“This is me," said Trace, a weak chuckle escaping her.

A pause ensued. There was a tension in the air. Neither spoke of it, neither dared to verbalise what they thought the other was feeling. Time ticked until CJ broke the awkward silence:

“Well don't let me keep you."

“Oh, yeah...of course…"

Trace unlocked the door and stepped inside. Looking back at CJ, she smiled and acknowledged his company:

“Thank you. You're very courteous."

The big salamander looked away. “Aw shucks," he cooed.

After their goodbyes were said, Trace closed the door. Her head swam with discomfort. Her breathing grew heavy. A sharp pain jolted her as she bit her lip. It was too much.

She thought she could handle it, but it was just too much...

She leaned against the door, her back pressing harshly against it. A need, a burning need welled up inside her. She tried to ignore it, only for it to sting!

Visions of CJ appeared in her mind's eye. The handsome sculpt of his body...the tone of his muscle...all features of his body her biology screamed at her to devour — to fixate upon. An ideal male specimen...

Her breathing turned from heavy, deep inhales to ragged, staccato gulps — desperate shortness. Impure thoughts burned within.

As she lay against the door, her legs slipped; Trace slid down until she steadied herself once more. She could taste the air — the faintest scent of that male...it drove her wild.

Her hand slipped between her thighs, taking up refuge in her crotch. Moving aside her swimsuit, she forced her body to open up to her lust. New, dark fantasies filled her. Her digits pushed into her womanhood — prying open what had been kept sternly shut the whole time she'd been around him.

Ah fuck no...not like this...

Not now! Not with him!

It had been a long time since she'd felt this way about someone. A long time of burying her snout in work and family. It tore her up inside to betray her distant boyfriend, to indulge in the idea of another taking her...even though it was all in her mind, she did not like where it might lead.

“Fffff!"

Trace held her jaw shut tight as the strain of her pleasure wracked her body. She fingered her pussy, soaking her hand in feminine juices, emotions long locked away freed themselves. Tearing through her mind, overriding her conscience. Telling her to drink deep from the well of debauchery.

She hissed as her pleasure grew.

It grew and grew; with each ministration she stoked the flames of lust. Each touch, each wriggle, each rub...

Oh God!

It hit her. Suddenly.

Her whole body seized. Trace gasped for air as her end came. Rocking back-and-forth against the door, with her tail propping up her weary body, she rode out her stunted climax.

So many thoughts. Impure thoughts.

So many...

Trace squealed as her orgasm peaked. It wasn't a strong one. It reminded her of real sex too much to be an effective substitute. She leaked as she came, her fluids dousing her fingers with the stench of arousal. She stopped moving them. The pleasure held her hostage. She grabbed her breast with her other hand and squeezed, feeling her hard nipples through the swimsuit.

“Ah! Aaahhh..."

It ended too quickly. She wanted more. And though her mind told her otherwise, deep down a fearful notion settled on her lonely heart:

She wanted him.

It was not the first time Trace craved this stranger. It would not be the last. The more they met up, the more normal it felt to think that way. That she was open to him. That she had no other to fret over. That Chris might as well have been a figment of her imagination.

* * *

Time passed; CJ adapted to the Centre's routines, and its residents.

A day...a week...his presence soon lasted several...

He found it lonely. Hard to fit in — everyone, except for the new arrivals, had their cliques and groups. There were a couple he spoke to regularly. Friendships established (and in some cases...rekindled). Baby steps...

Trace did her best to avoid him. Most of the time she succeeded.

It didn't stop her bumping into the male salamander once in a while. Saying 'hello' and exchanging pleasantries.

Each time escalated, however. Until she at last couldn't fight her growing attraction to him and asked him over for dinner...between work colleagues...that's all...

CJ had agreed. They scheduled a date (calendar date for a dinner, not a date-date, of course!).

* * *

The male showers adjacent to the east wing filled with the hissing steam of hot water. Every cold-blooded being it raked across felt the million tiny molten needle-pricks on their skin, and boy was it refreshing.

CJ closed his eyes and let the downpour cover him completely, his flesh burning with welcome sting. The temperature was safe for his kind to bathe, as long as you didn't spend hours under the punishing rain of steam and scalding water. He enjoyed the heat it fed into his body — charging him up like a battery. Giving him in a matter of minutes the equivalent heat of thirty basking in the sun, or fifteen under artificial light.

Streams of shower-water ran down his obsidian form. His slick black skin coated in a sheen from the layer of moisture. He ran his hands along the top of his head, down his neck and shoulders, then his sides. Scented soap clutched in-hand.

“Hey big guy."

CJ's eyes opened, and he looked to his side. Greg had just sidled up to him and taken a shower spot the next divide over. The place was full, and nobody had yet worked up the courage to occupy either flank of the strong silent salamander male who stood half-a-head taller than everyone there, and a head-and-a-half taller than Greg. So 'big guy' was an apt description.

As he looked over, CJ hummed in a relaxed tone. His naked body rippled with shining muscle. Intimidating up close. But Greg knew better than to trust such primal fight-or-flight instinct. The rich red/purple colouration of the smaller male stood in stark contrast to CJ's dark, towering form to onlookers.

Greg glanced downward, and smirked. “What's your secret to feeding that thing?"

CJ chuckled, and followed Greg's line of sight. He packed a monster between his thighs. A real instrument of sexual prowess. Heavy, pendulous balls swung in a thick sac beneath a large, threatening shaft that shook with each cleaning motion of CJ's upper body. His maleness dangling for all to see, he put the rest of the males in the shower to shame.

“Is that your way of asking me out?" came the rumbling reply from the large amphibian.

“You know I'm spoken for," Greg answered.

“As am I."

“Taking your sweet time to show it."

CJ made eye contact with Greg and let out a loud guffaw. A swift, sharp smack of Greg's ass quickly followed, causing Greg to yelp in surprise.

“That's for tempting me."

The stinging imprint of CJ's broad palm seared onto Greg's cheek as his tail twitched in annoyance. A low, throbbing ache ensued. “Dude," he moaned, “not cool."

CJ's stern exterior broke for a second as he apologised: “sorry, I...uh...don't know my own strength."

“Like hell you don't! Damn...no wonder nobody's come over and said hi. If they think they're gonna get clipped this hard."

“Makin' friends takes time, and that was just for you," CJ grumbled, “what am I missing?"

“Apart from our after-showers wrestling and getting down with the boys...nothing." Greg wore a smug grin.

“Now you're just making shit up."

“Nah man, it's bro shit. Y'know, guys being guys. No chicks allowed. Slappin' asses and clapping cheeks. And with you're talent for the former you'd fit right in."

Greg let his words linger for a moment, before the cute absurdity of them wore down the pair of showering males.

They broke into stifled laughter.

“If that's..." CJ said, “that's what passes for the bro code among salamanders, I'm not sure how I feel about it."

“Hah! Hehe...you're to easy to wind up, CJ." Greg put undue emphasis on his name. A signal to him. A call to reality, and facing truths. As if to say 'quit hiding'.

As a couple of other males filtered in and out of the showers, the place remained busy. The noisy rush of water and the din of chatter masked a lot of the pair's antics. It afforded them little opportunity to be pensive, but is was privacy. Their next avenue of conversation needed to remain something between just them:

Greg was first to speak after the pause. “When are you gonna tell her?"

“When it's the right time."

“You told me soon enough."

CJ lowered his gaze, and sighed.

“You're not her."

“Ouch," Greg remarked with sarcasm.

“You know what I mean. If you wanna talk about the bro code, do me a solid: give me the time I need."

“Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

“Seriously," CJ said, facing Greg and prodding his chest, “no gossip or pillow talk to your lady. Or the 'boys'. Or anyone else in the Centre. Or outside it! Don't spoil it for me."

“Of course dude. Man, what do you take me for? You know me! What's changed, really?"

CJ frowned. “A lot...more than I expected." He looked away, watching others leave the showers. The nozzles slowly shut off, one-by-one, as their users abandoned them. “A lot," he repeated, “but I can handle it."

Soon, he thought, everything will be whole again. Right again.

* * *

Why did I invite him over?

Trace cradled her head, her mind repeatedly asking that question. It had been so simple — a handsome newcomer...polite...friendly...why shouldn't she? It's just talk.

Just talk. Yeah right!

She knew she had feelings. She'd experienced a strong attraction to CJ, and attraction that grew fiercer every day she bumped into him. Sometimes it was in line for food, other times it was in a rec room where she found him palling around with other males. They spoke occasionally. Small talk — the usual kind of stuff you do with acquaintances. She knew it would get worse — and hiding the truth would be impossible.

I've already fantasised. Already...indulged myself...picturing him, me...

She groaned. “I have to be the stupidest motherfucker on the planet. I couldn't just mention my long-term boyfriend in passing—no! I had to play coy. I had to smile and titter like a little girl. Fuck!"

Well, she surmised, there's no cancelling the invitation. Let's hope he doesn't interpret my offer the wrong way, or things are going to get...interesting, and fast...

Shame ran through her like a river about to burst its banks. A strong current of nervous energy coupled with guilt and dark ideas of where he life was going to lead if she cheated. The knot in her stomach threatened to quench any appetite she had. Perhaps she could call it all off and feign sickness. Delay the consequences of her burgeoning need. But that would merely delay the inevitable.

Sitting by herself, Trace shut her eyes and fidgeted, counting the seconds until the allotted time.

Ding!

The sound of her apartment doorbell ringing cut through the haze. She breathed in sharply and rose from her seat. Her gut tightened. She felt like shit. Gritting her teeth and powering through the pain she reached the door. With a click and a slide she opened it.

“Hey."

CJ stood in his usual swimwear, leaving little hidden from her lustful scrutiny. He smiled and raised a bag in front of him. A gift of food. Tribute to enter her domain. He played the part of the fool expertly, oblivious to Trace's torment. He met her eyes and through them watched her soul burn bright. A fire lay within her — a severe conflagration that could burn those closest. He better play his cards right, CJ thought, as he offered the plastic bag to her.

She accepted it without a word. The lettering and logo of the ARC crinkled and crumpled as she wrapped her hands around it, along with her dream of holding fast 'gainst the rising pressure.

“It's um...I don't know exactly. Some kind of eel. The guys said it's really good. Have you tried it before?"

“No," Trace replied, “no I haven't. Please, come in."

“Thank you."

CJ stepped inside, clearing enough room for Trace to close the door. Now, if only she could close her heart...

The tall male cast a tremendous shadow into her abode. Trace switched on and off a few lights to balance the illumination, and reveal a set table for their meal. Two plates, two knives, two forks, two glasses waiting to be filled. CJ whistled and followed Trace as she set down the food alongside what she had in the kitchen left to prepare.

“I gotta say: you don't think you'd like eating anything slimy before you change, but now it's like a part of you. Normal to you. No different from eating a steak as a human — not that I don't like steak anymore," he bumbled forth in his wording, trying to find the necessary segue, “but your taste-buds, they're not the same."

Trace giggled, and regarded him with wary looks.

“I think what I'm trying to say, and failing at, is I hope I haven't brought you something foul."

“I'm sure your eel will be just fine."

Trace tore open the sealed packaging and was met by a strong, striking scent. It filled her nostrils; they flared with each inhale at the foreign sensation. Pungent. No...rich. She was of two minds. Her old humanity wretched at the thought of ingesting the living rope in front of her. Yet her animal side, her new body — the one designed from creatures that held no qualms about tearing into raw flesh and devouring all kinds of life — salivated over it.

“Yep," she said, rolling her tongue around the inside of her mouth, “just fine."

CJ had also gotten a whiff of the food, and exclaimed: “whoof! That's strong."

“Let's hope it dies down a little, or we'll be fighting over a god-damn eel instead of getting to know one another."

“Wouldn't want the food to ruin our dinner-date, yeah."

Trace paused. His choice of words had to have been deliberate. She faced away from him as she continued preparing the meal and winced. Oh God, she thought, I really am in trouble!

CJ offered to help her set up, so Trace had him mix fresh berries with ice and other fruits and whip up a couple of blended drinks. With their backs to each other, Trace cut up and lay the meat on a pan with oil, searing it lightly. As much as her stomach grumbled, its hunger having consumed the knot of guilt deep inside and demanding more, she wanted to add a touch of civilisation to the whole affair. With seasoning and condiments — and not just gobbling it down whole, wriggling, and raw.

Several minutes flew past. By now their preparations were done, and the pair brought over the complete ensemble to the table, each taking a seat. A jingle and clank of cutlery broke the peace as they tasted the food. CJ was first — taking a slice and chewing it, his face lighting up with pleasant affirmation of the dish's quality. He smiled and gestured to Trace to take a bite.

She did. The rich, tangy sensation danced on her tongue. A sprinkle of salt served to sting her sensitive amphibian tongue, but nevertheless enhanced the taste. She stabbed her fork on another piece and shovelled it into her mouth. Her guest watched the unceremonious devouring with eager eyes.

“See," said CJ, “I didn't need to worry after all."

“True," Trace added before taking a sip of her chilled drink.

CJ followed suit, supping on the slushy blend of fruit and frost.

“Ooh," he exclaimed, his jaws snapping after the drink slid down, “that goes right to the teeth doesn't it?

“It's good."

“Oh yeah."

They ate like this for another minute, slowing their pace to savour the meal. As they did, Trace felt more comfortable in her skin — more at ease with her handsome guest. The initial jitters had worn off. For better or worse, she had him for the next couple of hours.

“Trace," CJ eventually uttered, catching her off-guard as the silent dining occupying her mind fought for her attention, “there's something I need to tell you..."

Oh no — here we go! Trace's mind raced. An admission, and one she knew was going to be bad news for her.

I can't stop this, can I?

Her mind said yes but her body said no. She followed her intellect's guidance on this one, and pushed back in her chair, causing it to slide noisily across the floor.

“Can it wait!?" she blurted out, actually startling CJ.

“Um..."

“Until after dinner?" she added, clawing her way back to the table and her delectable dish.

“Sure—we've got time." CJ looked at her intently. “Are...are you doing okay?"

“I'm good," she lied, “just had my mind on other things."

CJ nodded. “Work, huh?"

“Yep. The ol' grindstone."

“I think we'd have a bad time putting our noses to it if the metaphor were actually real!" CJ joked, gesturing to his snout and tapered maw.

Trace laughed, but it was a weak laugh. The same haunting horniness that permeated her anticipation of this evening had gotten stronger now that there were fewer pangs of hunger to distract her. One need was being satisfied. Another grew to take its place.

“Well, you know how it is. It's tough keeping your mind on multiple responsibilities for your job alone, while taking care of my spawn."

That's right, mention the kids. Don't stop mentioning the family I've started with someone else. Someone I very much want to return home.

Talk about the kids. That'll keep him guessing. Does he want to take on a single mom and all those responsibilities?

...

Oh who am I kidding? We're all horny monsters at this place.

This fucking Centre! A real centre for fucking!

My clutch, huh? My spawn? Tellin' him about them. That's just an invitation to make more, isn't it?

Trace swore under her breath but forced herself to keep talking. The conversation continued with work-related topics taking the fore. All the while she noticed CJ getting impatient with her, and her mind extrapolated her worst fears onto the stranger's expression.

The fear grew. It grew and grew. Germinating in the ditzy hollows of her mind, taking root in her brain and sapping all the light and happiness from the world. They talked, and the more they did, the more the conversation was steered clear of romantic entanglement, the stronger the bond between them became apparent.

Soon there was nothing but the darkness.

Trace stammered suddenly and stood upright, shaking the plates and glasses. Her swimsuit clung tightly to her body — constrictive. Compressing her. Trapping her. Her air-breathing lungs wheezed, and the lingering moisture that tickled her gills and the parts of her skin that respired in aquatic environments felt dry and ashen.

CJ stood, concern written across his face. Trace gulped and nervously pointed to the empty dishes.

“Well, that was lovely! I'm sure you'd love to stick around but I have some work to do tonight. I, uh...I hope it's not too rude of me to bring this little 'date' of ours to a close so early…"

“Trace," the caring male said, his voice starting to waver as hers did. “Are you sure? You never mentioned you were busy."

“Work never stops, y'know!?" She fumbled her words as she shimmied out from between chair and table, her tail smacking into the legs and making an ungodly racket.

Trace rambled about how it was nice meeting CJ, and that he surely has more people to become acquainted with. “Lots of friends to make, ARC residents to get to know — don't let me stop you, eh?"

“Trace..." CJ noted the panic in her errant politeness, and moved closer.

“Greg, Hugo, Tyson. Good boys. Beth. Missy. I'm sure they would love to be introduced! And the rest of the Centre, from frog to fern-eating caecilian...huh? Plenty of opportunities there."

Ignoring her plight, the large male salamander reached out and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, making small motions to caress and calm her. Trace glanced furtively every which way but his, hoping in desperation she wouldn't submit to her raging instinct to bed this stud.

Concerned, and with soft caution, he spoke once more:

“Trace, I'm—"

That was all he could say, for Trace sprang forward into his arms. Tears formed in her eyes as she closed them and went for a kiss. Her snout bumped against his. CJ tried to step back but momentum kept her going. Their lips met. And just like that, their troubles melted from the world for that instant. Trace's tongue greedily dove into his mouth — scouring his jaws and battling his own tongue in sensual competition. She fell further into his embrace, pressing her beautiful body against him. Sealing the semi-moist surface of her amphibian flesh with his broad torso. She could find no sense in her actions — her subconscious need overpowering doubt, reluctance, guilt...until all she had was desire. Burning desire. Sopping and smacking maws fuelling the blaze within. The ache deep in her sex. The void begging to be filled. Her clothes weighed on her — cruelly denying her body of divine contact. Where she was bare, exposed, delight flowed freely in the form of a pounding heart and waves of yearning thrumming through her nervous system.

Peace at last. If only for a single second of a single lonely day.

NO!!!

All of a sudden, her fears returned. Her anguish. Anxiety. Horror at what she just did.

Her heart stopped. Her eyes flew open. Tears streamed. An pained cry exploded from their broken kiss and wrecked the wonderful moment.

What had she done!?

“I can't...I just...I can't," she sobbed, covering her face.

CJ, in shock, tried to salve her pain.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hey."

“Stop!" she roared through tears and dread thoughts of betrayal. “Just...stay where you are...stay there for a moment. Let me...let me breathe."

Her rasping voice struggled to hide her sadness.

“Trace."

“No-no-no, I can't cheat...I can't cheat on Chris..."

“TRACE!!!"

Startled by the commanding shout, her gaze fixed upon his. He strode forward and grabbed her by the wrists. Looking at her. Through her. Through the tears and sorrow. His own eyes glimmered, almost welling up in response.

Her breathing continued, gasping and sobbing.

It took a moment, but he finally broke through with the truth:

“It's me."

She paused. Staring.

“What?"

He sighed, and looked away. He cradled her cheek with a firm palm.

“It's me," said the empathetic male, his tormented voice cracking with those two syllables.

She stared.

Into his eyes.

His familiar, blue eyes.

“C-Chris...?"

'CJ' solemnly nodded, shame for a trick played for far too long written across his face.

Trace's jaw hung open. In that moment there was relief, hope, joy, anger — many emotions, many conflicting thoughts. Stunned into silence she looked at him, gawping at the large amphibian standing in her apartment, barely dressed, having dropped what felt like the weight of the universe onto her shoulders.

She needed a moment to lie down.

She had other plans...

“CHRIS!?!?!?"

“I'm sorry," he said, “I tried to tell you earlier, but you kept avoiding me—"

“You...you..."

Trace stumbled over her speech. A new fury emerged in her — bitter barbs punctuated her words:

“You ASSHOLE!!! Why the fuck did you pull that shit on me!?"

“Hey! You were one of the worst bullies I ever had. Some comeuppance is only fair play."

He reached out his other hand, but she was having none of it. Trace smacked away his arm and tore the other from her cheek. “Y'know you can't keep using that excuse to get away with shit. First you knock me up—"

“You specifically requested that!"

“Doesn't matter, didn't see you refusing out of chivalry did I? Then you make me fall for you. Then you disappear on me and don't call for months! Months, Chris! Were you gonna let it turn into years before you came back?"

“I had to move fast in case you really did move on (I know — it's an awful thought). Getting involved with the Pacific Institute, settling in and waiting for my opening was the best way of making sure I could be by your side. Think about it, Trace, I'm here now. For good. Our kids can grow up with their daddy."

His explanation sounded honest. But that did nothing to quench the righteous anger she felt. Trace snarled and growled, baring her teeth at him. He kept his distance, not wanting to be on the wrong side of her jaws in an argument. He just watched, and waited.

She let out a bone-chilling hiss.

“Grrr..."

“You done?" Chris, formerly 'CJ', asked.

Trace's expression changed. Her frown faded; no more a storm inside her, the cooling presence of her long-awaited lover sank in, immersing her in a shroud of comfort that dulled her rage.

“Haahh! Ssssss...yeah. I needed to vent before forgiving you..."

Chris smiled apologetically.

“I'm grateful you still want me. And I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd fuck up the reveal so badly."

“That was really dangerous Chris, going through the transformation. You could've been seriously hurt!"

“But I wasn't...wait," he stopped, befuddled, “that's what you're mad about?"

“No! Not just that!" Trace shot back. “You should've talked. We should've talked!" Wiping the tears away, she sniffed, “I never wanted to lose you."

“I'm sorry. For making you worry. And for...this," he gestured to the room. The remains of their meal lay on the table, glasses spilled and cutlery scattered due to the commotion.

“Yeah you better be," Trace quipped, returning the to the table to help clean the mess she'd caused. “You fucking dick. I thought I was cheating on you!"

“I know. I let it go on too long. I thought it would be a fun, romantic way to announce myself — I didn't think about what you might think..."

He smirked nervously and continued: “I did think, however, that you'd realise sooner than you did. I mean...CJ — Chris Jameson. I thought I made it easy for you."

“Yeah, so," Trace said, biting her lip as her skin flushed with embarrassment, “so, uh, in the heat of the moment I kinda forgot your last name...uhm..."

“Wait, heh...you forgot your baby daddy's full name? Trace...you are a shameless ho!"

“Enough, hon. Stop teasing. You put me through enough."

“I know. Pretty sure you see my name printed out on all those documents about our kids...putting two-and-two together should not be this hard!"

“I wasn't thinking straight."

He laughed, and jeered. “No, you were thinking about this hunk of meat — losing braincells faster than you could stop to think about who I was — I saw you droolin' over me from day one!"

Trace approached him, her frown returning. Yet her voice and her gait did not spell out 'furious' but 'playful'.

“Shut. Up. Before. I. Start. Biting. Your. Stupid. Ass." Trace nipped the air with a threatening 'click' of her jaws between each word.

Once intimately close, they kissed. This time it felt right. Not a shameful stealing of one's love but fulfilment of theirs. Slowly, softly, their bodies pressed together. Washing away the bad feelings in a lapping tide of safety, secure in the arms of one's lover. They were together again. At last.

Pulling back, Trace leered at her boyfriend. Her lust was easily evident, and Chris, resplendent in his new body, brushed across her collar and cheek with his fingers.

“Mmm," he purred, “what's this about biting my ass? Kinky."

Trace snorted. “Shut up babe!"

“It's a lot tougher than it used to be. More muscle." He gave her a sly wink. “Chewier."

“Yeah, a lot's changed hasn't it?" She ran her palm over his chest, exploring his onyx flesh. “I hope they didn't scramble your genes completely. Your sons need to grow up to be as strapping as their papa!"

“This?" he said, gestured to his amphibian form, “I'm sure they've already inherited plenty. Why do you ask? Intend to play match-maker when they're older?"

“No way! Just...I want them to have the best qualities in life, looks included."

“Cool. As you can see I look pretty hot as a salamander, don'cha think? Must've been in me the whole time!"

Trace blushed, a tender giggle escaping her recently-kissed lips.

“And you are beautiful too," Chris continued, “so don't forget about our girls."

“Perv!"

“I'm only following your lead, Trace. You're the sick, twisted fiend that spawned them."

“Mm-hmm...that's right, and now that you're here for good you get to see who you truly shacked up with."

Chris hemmed and hawed. “I've heard rumours."

Trace's head tilted to a quizzical angle. “Rumours?"

“Putting ARC daycare through their paces. They seem terrified of getting on your bad side."

“I..."

“I know you want what's best for our kids. But I reckon I need to make sure you mellow out a little. Can't be good to fret and get angry over the little things."

“I know that."

“I think it's partly my fault."

“Yeah right._ Partly_..."

“Without me," Chris sighed, “and without knowing if we'd still be together, you did your best. Maybe you...overcompensated for my absence. A teensy bit."

Trace smirked. “Teensy." Her thumb and forefinger held themselves apart a fraction of an inch to emphasise her sarcastic agreement.

Chris nodded warmly. “Now you have your husband to stand by you while you berate staff."

“Stop it!" Trace giggled as he hugged her. “I'm not that bad...wait, husband?"

She heard a click of something opening, and before she had time to process events Chris had produced a small box from behind her. A ring shone, nestled in a velvet base. Carefully cradled 'mid his webbed fingers.

Her heart stopped a second time.

No way...

Chris held out his hand, bringing the ring-box into focus.

Trace's hand flew 'round and landed, splayed on her chest, above the beating that felt like a caged animal trying to escape. She mumbled something but neither could discern its meaning.

“We are together," said Chris after several seconds of stunned silence, “we've started a family. And you dig my new hot bod. So yeah — why not make it official?"

The tears returned. For Trace, they were now tears of joy.

“YES!"

She cried aloud and leapt into his arms, slamming her body against his. Chris grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, and reciprocated — squeezing her in a giant hug. His feet shuffled back, squeaking on the wet floor, giving him the space needed to arrest her momentum. He spun, twirling her one half-rotation. At the end of the spin she clambered up his body, legs wrapped around his waist, peppering him with kisses, touches, and adoring praise. He had enough time to set down the ring-box before anything happened to it.

They stumbled backwards into her pool room — the calm waters gently lapping at the sides of the tiled floor as it sloped gradually on one side. The sounds of feet slapping on the wet floor marked Chris' foray into the aquatic environment. All the while they kissed, Trace carried by his strong arms.

Her devious plan in motion, Trace leaned forward and put her weight on Chris' upper half, throwing him off-balance. The next thing either of them knew they were careening through the air, their descent accompanied by cackling laughter; Trace had brought low the big male.

A great splash echoed throughout the apartment as Chris struck the water's surface. He submerged rapidly, a rush of foam and spray enveloping him. Trace followed, pulled by his embrace into the pool. The water crashed against her face, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust before laying eyes on her boyfriend (no, fiancé) as his body came to rest at the bottom.

Trace opened her mouth and expelled enormous bubbles of air as water filled her. It ran cold, losing whatever heat she'd accumulated in her veins during the day. Lethargy set in — a comfortable slowness. There was no need to rush, she reminded herself.

Chris raised his arm and beckoned her closer. A smattering of bubbles rolled from his lips as he pursed them to 'blow' an underwater kiss. Trace smiled. Her gill-slits, located around her neck with another couple sets on her flanks, flared as the water flowed through her — from mouth to gill, switching her oxygen intake from air to water. Then they closed, becoming flush with the smooth curves of her body, before opening again slightly. It was always a little chaotic when she felt the change occur — her physiology slamming on the brakes and changing gears to a new form of breathing — she remembered her first time. Oh the terror and surprise when her sides split!

She watched Chris do the same, his black skin parting in places to force water through. Gills opening wide then closing almost entirely. She moved closer, her webbed feet and hands spreading to catch the water and propel her forth. Her body gyrating, swimming closer. She reached him and ran a hand across his chest. A goofy smirk grew on her face, one matched by Chris' proud expression. She tried to be naughty and poke his gills, eliciting a storm of bubbles and a swift recapture by the large male. Rolling around, she felt weightless as she was spun by her lover's momentum. Dizziness fizzled in the depths of her senses, drowned out by the cool thrum of the Centre's liveliness heard all around them.

The musculature of his chest rubbed against her, and she quickly unclasped her swimsuit. The heavy piece of clothing, weighed down from being soaked, fell from her and came to rest on the pool floor. Her now-naked body pressed against Chris, who also took the time to disrobe — freeing his lower half from the confines of civilisation.

Quick darting motions brought him right up against her, nipping on her flesh with gentle care. Trace fought back, biting his shoulder. A rich ruby red bloomed in the pool — a cloud of bloody smoke. The bleeding stemmed quickly, with a knowing frown from Chris as he patted his injured shoulder. Matching Trace's aggressive attention, he swung his jaws open and dived forward. Trace watched in awe as rows of jagged teeth flashed past her head and buried themselves in her body. Blinding pain shot through her, followed an instant later by warmth...and an instinctual sense of satisfaction. She'd claimed him, he now claimed her. She felt her upper arm ache with his fangs buried deep. A slightly paler shade of red spewed into the water.

At last they returned to passionate kisses, tasting the iron on each other's lips. Chris brought a hand to her floating breasts, massaging her chest as together they surfaced...

“Bwah-hah!"

Trace cried out in a twisted blend of pleasure and pain. Her body ached not just from Chris' bite, but from the emptiness between her legs. The void waiting to be filled with a male. It stung, just as it had many times before, in anticipation of Chris' entry.

Chris spat a jet of water, catching the side of her head and causing her to flinch.

“Stoppit!" she yelled, mashing her hand over his cheeky grin.

He laughed.

“Hmm," Chris purred, “it's a lot more fun when we can both breath underwater."

“Indeed. No more worrying if I'll accidentally drown you!"

“It's wonderful being able to swim with you again..." he said, a slight crack in his voice as his lovelorn soul melted in her arms.

“Mm, and you. But holy fuck you've got teeth!" she exclaimed, rubbing her shoulder and feeling the faint stain of blood.

“Sorry." Chris gave her sheepish look. “Consider it—"

“Yeah-yeah-yeah...revenge for all the times I took a chunk outta your human bod. That's getting old Chris — you can't keep playing that card!"

They rose from the pool until the waters splashed around their waists. Trace kissed his pec, teasing another bite if he didn't behave, and looked down. There, bobbing just below the water, was her reward for waiting so long...

“Well shit," she sighed, “you've grown!"

“Is it that hard to believe, given my size, that my size would be bigger?"

“I wasn't thinking about it before."

“Oh of course you weren't."

“Mm-hmm! I swear. Only pure thoughts from me. I'm a responsible mother who doesn't fool around with stuff like that."

“I'm not stuff," he chuckled, “I'm your fiancé."

“Still, we have to set a good example for the other families," she said, continuing the joke. “What would the neighbours' think if they saw me getting railed by that monster? Screaming like a dirty slut for you to fuck me hard and fast? Ride me like a braying pony? Rock my word and make me squeal until the whole Centre can hear us? To spread me like a filthy, filthy flower and dump your pollen all over my shivering, quivering body?"

Chris raised his hand. “You can stop doing the bit now. There's no need to dress this up in crude attempts at sexy-talk, I'm yours, and yours forever."

Trace stopped and glanced at Chris' bottom half. A shade of red shone through her usual complexion.

“Mommy likey!" she giggled, losing brain cells the longer she looked.

“Ready to give this body a test run?"

Trace's eyes shone with incredible hunger. The moment she'd long awaited had come.

“You betcha!"

Chris motioned towards the bedroom door. Trace rose from the waterline and shook her upper half — tossing droplets across the room. Her breasts jiggled and bounced. Her stride announced itself with confidence, taking broad steps forward — eyeing up Chris as he too got out of the pool. Her tail swayed from side-to-side in long drawn-out motions; she looked back at him, glimpsing his erection as he emerged fully from the water.

She walked away. Chris followed.

The pair, freshly-soaked, made their way to the bedroom; their skin shone with a healthy, slimy sheen.

Once past the threshold, with Trace's bed in sight, Chris was jumped by his lover — her body climbed over his, devouring his moist flesh with kisses and nibbles, as her hands explored him. Sitting just above his groin, with the pillar of his erection tapping her thighs, Trace moaned as she leaked from her nethers — the burning, all-consuming hunger difficult to suffer any longer.

He carried her, supported her flailing tail with his mighty strength as it threatened to throw off their balance. With firm footfalls his went over to the bed — that familiar place he'd spent many a wonderful night with Trace. Now, in his new body, with the same eyes...he regarded it with a sense of relief.

He was home.

Chris lowered Trace onto the bed. From the open water of her private swimming pool to the trapped semi-solid gel of her mattress, the sensation of sloshing liquid buoyed them as they lay atop it. He heard a squeak, then a creak, as his massive weight bore down on the bed. “Heh," he grunted, Trace writhing with anticipation 'neath his bulk, “maybe we should check if the bed can take our weight."

Trace giggled, then hummed pleasantly. “Mmm...there's a lot more of you than there used to be!"

“Should I take it slow?" Chris asked as he shifted to the side, allowing her to lay beside him.

Her webbed hand pressed on his chest, feeling out the sculpt of his pecs, as she replied: “no, let's risk it. I can always buy another..."

Chris kissed her, and savoured her tongue as it wormed its way into his mouth — prying his steely jaws apart to roll and roil around. He grabbed handfuls of her ass. Big, meaty chunks of amphibian posterior; kneading her like dough, fingers poking and prodding. A moan from Trace escaped their sealed lips as he tended to her supple rear. Heavy grunts and groans, thick with sexual desire, came from the pair as they played.

Disregarding his prior concerns, Chris rolled on top of her, bearing down on her beautiful body with his entire weight. Trace squealed in delight as his form enveloped her. Surrounded her. A wall of black, oily flesh wrapping around her, obscuring her vision, leaving Chris as the only thing left in existence in her mind. She continued to engage in foreplay, periodically breaking their passionate kisses with long licks of his chest and neck. Tasting his flesh. The sensation of a male of her kind, a compatible mate — more compatible than a human — drove her wild. She had him all to herself. No-one was going to steal him away again! Not work, not another person, not a single fucking thing!

Trace sighed as she tussled with the onyx mass atop her. Delighting in its presence — Chris' new, improved body. A stud to ram her all the way to heaven.

Chris took the initiative, and stopped her. Their eyes met, and they lost minutes just staring into each other's souls. When time made sense again, and they could concentrate on anything beyond mere existence, he ran his hand from snout, to neck, across her aching bosom, along her belly — squeezing the small amount of fat that formed a layer above her musculature — and down between her thighs.

Trace yelped as he pressed his fingers against her pussy. Her lower lips stung with need as he touched their puffy exterior. She wanted him. She couldn't live another second without him inside. Her breathing grew shallow. This was what she'd been waiting for...she could wait no longer...

“No!" she snapped, her jaws clacking to emphasise her instruction. She grabbed his hand and pushed it away, a snarl in her voice as her other hand curled around his cock.

Understanding her, Chris moved his hips closer. His maleness approached her entrance, drifting centimetres from her labia. A nudge and a gasp came when they made contact. First, his tip glanced her nether-lips and lightly slapped her thigh — Trace had lost her grip and let go. Her digits dipped into her entrance, and left with a coating of her juices, enough to lubricate his shaft. She applied this natural lube to his cock with her hands, massaging the organ, extracting low groans from her lover. She stroked his shaft and cradled his balls — rolling the huge orbs in her palm of her hand, her finger-webbing forming a tight seal over the pendulous pair, compressing them.

“Oh God!" he stammered. “Trace..."

“..."

“Keep going."

Patience wore thin. Trace bit her lip, the excitement of their physical reunion tearing up her insides. Butterflies in her stomach...a knot in her throat...tingling in her limbs...

She did what she had been waiting to do for a long time.

Trace guided his cock inside.

“FUCK!"

A sudden vice-grip over the first inch of his member caused Chris to sputter and curse. Gone were the sensual, teasing hands of her lover. Replaced now with the tightness of her tunnel. He pushed forward, sinking his spear into her. And Trace, overjoyed by the penetration, moaned in ecstasy as he entered her.

“God yes! Chris — fuck me!"

His first complete thrust buried him deep. An astonished gasp from his lover told him all was good. All was welcome. Every second following her impalement kept him at maximum pressure; her walls clung tight to his shaft, refusing to let him retreat. Chris could savour the moment. Maybe even stay like this forever — locked in a moment of pure bliss with the woman he loved, the woman he was going to marry.

With her he was complete.

To celebrate their completeness, he rocked back-and-forth, plunging his dick further inside. Trace cried out, a hint of pain in her voice, as he spread her open. His new size a tall order to take.

“You okay?" he asked in a moment of lucidity.

“For fuck's sake Chris," Trace groaned, “yeah! I'm fine...keep going...keep..." Trailing off, she let out a hiss as he started to slide backwards, fully exiting her. The emptiness between her legs became more pronounced now that she'd sampled his girth.

“C'mon baby, get back inside."

With a guilty smile, Chris responded: “yes ma'am," and thrust. His dick stabbed her again, and again...with a rhythm slowly forming. She felt an incredible amount of pressure as he forced his way inside — something to get used to, she surmised.

Not that she was complaining...

Chris' hips worked hard to plough her — fuck her with the power and the stamina she deserved. His raw animal strength carrying him ever on. His bucking, quaking hips pumping and pumping. The sounds of his mate swept up in a potent co-mingling of agony and ecstasy — demanding he go further, and faster, and bring her to the heights of pleasure.

Trace loved every second of their mating. Their raw, desperate rutting borne of suppressed desire. They would be together forever. They would be one. One pair. One union. One family.

“Ah!"

A sharp thrust from Chris rocked her body. The gel-filled mattress shook violently with their cyclical rhythm of his thrusts. Each time she felt a lull in his activity he was able to surprise her with a powerful push, overloading her senses. His dick fought to open her up, stretch her around this solid pillar of man-meat he had been so proud of earlier. He was right to be. It rubbed deep inside her, tickling the tender walls of her vagina. Long, deep thrusts. Feeling the contours of his enlarged cock as friction fought with flesh to generate such extravagant bliss. The heavy smack of his balls as they struck her between the thighs and ass. The quaking of her curves as they fucked. The swish of her tail as it knocked against his — larger, broader...like the rest of him!

Another minute passed. Another cycle of thrusts and groans and moans. Their bodies bound together in passionate embrace. In divine lovemaking.

Chris twisted to find her neck, and kissed it, dousing her flesh with warm saliva. With all the strenuous sexual activity they'd begun to heat up, their cold blood growing hotter, increasing the excitement. Next, he took one of her breasts and gently bit the nipple — tickling her tit with pointed teeth, and the haunting promise of pain should he be less-than-gentle with his torment. Trace writhed beneath him, her movements tugging at their interlocked nethers, the tightness of her pussy keeping him stuck inside unless great force were applied.

Blue/green/yellow and slightly-speckled black tussled on the bed. A blur of colours as their motions hastened. Shades blending together — coming together as one. Mingling. Fusing. One purpose existed between them now: spawn, breed...

Revelling in his attentions, Trace cupped her breasts and held them steady, maintaining contact with Chris' lips amid the tumultuous thrusting. Chris sucked on one, then the other, until he could contort himself no longer and broke free, his upper half rising from the bed as his hands gripped her waist, jamming her down on his cock.

“YES!!"

They knew they were close to orgasm. The impending climax had been on the horizon for a little while now, as their bodies' capabilities were put to the test.

“Yes...yes...ah!"

Trace felt hers first. A warm, celestial sensation flowed through her. A delight to the senses, each and every fibre of her being glowing with some newfound light.

Her moans rippled with the beat of her heart and the final thrusts of her lover — her mind addled. Her flesh burned like the surface of the sun, inflamed by the pleasure Chris wrought upon her. Holding him tight, bidding him to stop and savour the moment, she and him climaxed together.

The fog that clouded her mind cleared as the first spurt of Chris' seed splattered against her insides. A sudden, heart-wrenching shock that forced her to stiffen. Her limbs locked. Her jaw drooped open. A slavering tongue darted about her lips for an instant before she snapped shut her mouth. A second shot erupted inside her...she was slow to react...

“Wait!"

It was too late. With deep grunts Chris emptied himself into her awaiting womb. Rivers of life-giving seed ran through her chasm — no longer stinging her with its heat like past human emissions. He coated her insides with his essence. Marked his territory, his mate, with his renewed claim.

“I...ugh—ah!" moaned Trace, desperately trying to form words.

Chris groaned as rope after rope spilled from his cock. He felt her hold intensify despite her pleas to the contrary. He let his instincts take over, he strong paternal need to breed. He grit his teeth as her vagina caressed every last drop from his mighty shaft. Coaxing his life-essence with its contractions. Providing a home for his brave little swimmers. His torrent of tadpoles.

As soon as the moment had passed, however, her voice cut through the air with precision:

“Ah, you bastard! I said wait!"

He felt his whole body weaken. Exhausted, the large salamander male rested atop her, avoiding putting too much weight on his smaller partner. Long, lethargic gasps thrummed through his lungs. His own bellows of joy muffled during his ejaculation by her ample bosom. Nervously, he glanced up at her, mouth agape, panting...

“I didn't hear."

“Sure you didn't," Trace jabbed, shifting beneath him. “Chris...we already have quite the family. I don't think we want to add to it. Not yet at least. Know what I mean?"

“Oh."

Trace looked aside and buried a frown in her drained expression. “Yeah. My fault," she said faintly. “I haven't been keeping track of my cycle since you left. You might've put another clutch in me!"

“Oh...oh boy." Chris gulped, and jerked his hips to loosen her still-firm embrace. “Is there a 'Plan B' available for our kind?" he asked, an anxious look on his face. Anxious, but battling other emotions. Other notions about expanding their family.

“I don't kn—maybe? Fuck, I'll have to check with the on-site pharmacist."

Chris nodded, a solemn tone emerging in his voice. “I mean, it's not all bad if it happens. Not that I tried to stay inside like that...I...you are one of the ARC's best breeders. You boasted that to me last time we were together. I'm sure there's a grant, or a package, or something you can get for expenses and such. Something to help in case—"

“So on the money Chris. But, y'know," she said, drawing out her words with sly intent, “medical advancements at the ARC have led to more and more eggs surviving after being laid. There could be too many for the two of us to handle."

“That...uh...that's news to me."

She giggled. “Not so cocky 'bout taking responsibility now, eh? Regardless, we need to use protection. Until I can start accurately tracking my reproductive cycle again."

Chris grunted in acknowledgement and withdrew slowly from her, his raw duty done. Trace squirmed under the lingering pleasure of his dick as it dragged against her innermost flesh on its way out. The insecure male glanced down at his softening cock, now nestled beside Trace's thighs. A thick glob of his seed bulged from her pussy and flowed down he leg, staining the bed with his essence. She sighed as her hand travelled south, scooping up a sample of the hefty load. A silent 'Jesus Christ' mouthed as she inspected the sticky gift.

“I hope they have the right size," Chris commented.

Trace snorted, which turned into a guttural laugh. “You're not the only big-dicked alpha walking around in a high-ridin' XXL thong here. Yes," she guffawed, rolling her eyes at her dorky boyfriend, revelling in how spooked he looked, “there are condoms big enough even for you!"

“Uh good! That's good. I don't wanna ruin what we have with an accident like this."

“You won't. I promise."

Trace touched his face, sensing the faint trace of moisture on his skin. The slightly-raised temperature of his body after strenuous exertion, so far below the heat output of his human form. She almost missed that. Despite how painful it could be to her physiology.

No matter, she thought. I have a lot more things to look forward to with his new bod.

Let's hope we get lucky and he hasn't knocked me up again already!

Chris got off her and lay on his side, gently caressing her belly and letting his fingers wander as far afield as her thigh. He looked at her. She smiled and returned the intimate attention — calm returning to the conversation.

“If it does happen..."

She felt the concern in his voice. It radiated like a nuclear detonation — a wave of sundering fear, that of a parent trying to make sense of the way things could go.

“Careful Chris, what you say next is gonna have serious repercussions."

“If you do end up...with another batch of eggs, there's something we need to talk about."

“What?"

His expression changed somewhat. Trace couldn't pin it down.

“I just now got to thinking 'bout it, but among our lovely children I don't see a 'Chris Jr.' running around." He smirked. “So what gives?"

“Oh come on! You want to name a kid after yourself?"

“It's a tradition in my family. For a couple generations at least...not sure that makes it a good tradition but hey..."

“First time 'round you never mentioned this to me."

He sighed, not with sadness — but a mixed feeling. Like you missed something important in life and at the same time unimportant. A trivial priority. A fool's critical path.

“I wasn't there."

“Right, yeah..."

Trace rubbed his shoulder, then his cheek.

“...I never bothered to think about you back then," she continued, “that's on me. If you had wanted to connect earlier I could've been more proactive."

“Eh, it's fine." He smiled again. “Thought it was something I should bring up. My dad's named Christopher. My parents shortened it to Chris for me. I dunno...I think it's cute."

“If we're holding to the letter of your tradition, the kid'll be called 'Chr'."

“Hah! Heh...'Chr'! Ah yes, the caveman version of my name."

“Well as your fiancé," Trace purred, with emphasis on 'fiancé', “I will think about it. At least you're not asking me to name a kid Chris III."

He feigned indignation at her remark. “I wouldn't dream of it."

“You say that," she mumbled as she adjusted her resting pose, “but there's a lot of things I thought would never cross your mind that you've gone and done. This, for instance."

What started as a simple pointing turned swiftly to a sharp prod on his chest.

Chris was silent.

“I thought you were happy as a human."

“I was," he replied. “But it's not just about me, is it?"

“Chris..."

“It's not just about you either."

“...you didn't have to."

“But I wanted to. For all of us. I want my kids to have a good childhood — a great childhood — and I can provide that by being present in their lives, as one of their kind. One of our kind. I went into this knowing fully the risks, and the rewards," he said as he slapped his broad bicep to further make his point, “of the procedure. I wanted to get it done before they were any older. Older...and able to feel my absence in their little lives."

A tear had formed in the corner of Trace' eye.

“Oh Chris, ya big sweetie! You're gonna be a great dad."

Close to swooning all over again for him, Trace wrapped him up in a big hug. His loving touch binding them together, his fading warmth inside her.

Together they cuddled up close. Nuzzling and whispering small nothings.

“I love you," he said, with all the importance such a phrase deserved.

“I love you Chris."

Their snouts brushed against one another. Not allowing for a kiss, they kept their heads angled in such way as to brush up, cheek-against-cheek. An animal desire to touch. To rub. Something from deep within their altered psyches that kept the human concept of 'kissing' at bay, at least for a few sweet seconds where they revelled in their silent, sensual company.

The slick, sticky presence of his semen clung to her. A reminder of their physical lovemaking as their union elevated itself to a higher form. A purer form. The afterglow of their climax the foundation upon which their love blossomed and reaffirmed itself. Right here, right now.

Despite high-falutin' notions of 'true love', neither could abandon their naughty sides. It was a part of them as much as their gills or tails. As much as their heads, or their hearts. Love was incomplete without a certain physical desire — a lust that fuelled their passions, drove them into each other's arms over and over and over again. A lust that had sparked their initial romance. A lust that had started as a strange one-night stand — a favour to a gender-swapped and specie-swapped former bully — and become more...

Much more.

They lay quiet for a while, before Trace gave a pleasant sigh and spoke:

“One thing we aren't gonna do, babe, and you're gonna have to promise me on this one..."

“What?"

“We're not gonna tell our kids the story of how we got together. Not entirely at least."

“Hmm..."

“About how I used to be a dude who bullied you, then I turned myself into a sexy salamander lady 'cause of abandonment and money troubles, and you banged me so good I fell in love with you. And that you nearly broke my heart and I nearly cheated on you...with you...but I didn't actually know it was you because you'd turned yourself into a sexy salamander guy out of love for me and the eleven kids you'd spunked into me."

Chris' cheeks bulged as he stifled his laughter. A shade of red blushed beneath Trace's skin once she'd said her piece, and the absurdity of their situation had been stated outright.

“Yeah," he remarked, “when you put it like that I don't think they'd believe us!"

“No, they wouldn't."

“So," Chris said, giving her a small peck on the cheek and stroking her head, feeling the shape and flow of her inhuman skull, proof positive of their bizarre journey, “what will we tell them?"

Trace stopped for a moment, deep in thought.

Chris waited patiently for her answer.

“We'll tell them that I was very unhappy in life a long long time ago, and I hurt you. But when I needed you, you were there for me, and I realised with you I had someone I wanted to share my life with, raise a family with...and that after everything I put you through, everything I did to you...you felt the same."

He smiled. A million pretty words in a million books of the world's finest poetry couldn't express how he felt for her in this instant. And she faced the same confounding lack of language able to describe how she felt about him.

There was no need, however. Where words failed, their eyes spoke volumes.

All that remained for tonight was a sign-off. Something clever. Something not-too-smarmy. Alas, knowing the pair of them, all they managed was the following:

“And we all lived happily ever after?" asked Chris in a caring whisper.

“Yeah sure, something like that..."

Trace kissed him once more and closed her eyes, head sinking into the pillow.

Chris did the same.

And the two lovers drifted off to sleep.