Homesick by marumarun

Homesick

marumarun, ADHG, Adhg/, Age Difference, Anthrostate, Blow jobs, Breast Fucking, Breastfeeding, Collars, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dubious consent, Extremely dubious consent, F/M, Female Anthro/Male Human, Femdom, Forbidden Love, Gender Role Reversal, HMOFA, Hand jobs, Healing Sex, Heat, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Impregnation, Incest, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies romance, Interspecies sex, Kissing Kink, Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mother/Son, Multiple endings, Non-Consensual Kissing, Obsessive Behavior, Original Anthropomorphic Character(s), Original Male Character(s), POV Second Person, Parent/Child Incest, Possessive behavior, Rape, Rough Sex, Stockholm syndrome, Tiger, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, Yandere, estrus, healing

Another story set in the Anthrostate setting. Check out the summary for There's No Way I Got Assigned To My Older Sister?! if you don't know what that is.

Only those from inside the State can see its failures. When you get assigned to your wife, you're excited beyond belief. You know life is going to be perfect.

Until you quickly learn it's not.

There's only one person that can save you. Your mother, a tigress that's powerful in almost every sense of the word. You have nothing to fear when you're with her. She won't let silly things like your wife, the State, or assignment keep you from her. And she'll make sure that you won't ever want to leave her.

Also don't worry about the yandere tag, Anon's not going to get nice boat'd.

Homesick

marumarun

Summary:

Another story set in the Anthrostate setting. Check out the summary for There's No Way I Got Assigned To My Older Sister?! if you don't know what that is.

Only those from inside the State can see its failures. When you get assigned to your wife, you're excited beyond belief. You know life is going to be perfect.

Until you quickly learn it's not.

There's only one person that can save you. Your mother, a tigress that's powerful in almost every sense of the word. You have nothing to fear when you're with her. She won't let silly things like your wife, the State, or assignment keep you from her. And she'll make sure that you won't ever want to leave her.

Also don't worry about the yandere tag, Anon's not going to get nice boat'd.

Chapter 1 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You voluntarily signed up for assignment early. School always made it sound so nice, so right after graduating, you went and joined the waiting pool, and were married off in a manner of months. Your mom cried so hard when you left, but wished you luck. You parted with a big hug and kisses on the top of your head. She could be pretty embarrassing with her affection sometimes. You promised that you'd come visit whenever you could. Little did you know that it would be a long time until you could visit her again. Or even leave the house. You're a pretty open-minded guy, even now. Judging by appearances is something you don't like to do. It might have been a good idea this time.

You're just so excited waiting for your wife in the office. Sitting in the chair, you kick your legs in giddiness. The Anthrostate would be sure to give you a thoroughbred, classy lady. Your mother was a very important person for the State, after all. You sit there and dream of a corporate wolfess, maybe a CEO of sorts. A feline doctor, to sit and enjoy wine with. Perhaps even a dog that works for the State. Your mother is very close to the State's law enforcement. That's not too unlikely. You then heard the door slam open.

In through the door steps a coyote. Her clothes are pretty dirty. Doesn't she have a butler to take care of it for her? She's wearing a simple looking plaid button-up. A few of the buttons are undone to expose her busty chest, a plain white undershirt peeking through. It's got a few reddish-brown stains speckling it. She must be a messy eater! That's pretty endearing. The sleeves of her shirt are rolled up to her elbows, like she's ready to do some messy work. You can see all the scars crisscrossing her forearms. The shirt is tucked into a pair of work jeans, held up by an intricately embroidered belt and a pair of suspenders. The buckle is huge, with a picture of some sort of leaf on it. It looks like a maple leaf, but kind of different? Maybe you can look it up later. The jeans are dusty but look extremely durable. She's wearing a pair of pointed cowboy boots, once flashy and ostentatious, but time and use has dulled them. She looks you up and down, a scar running from her cheekbone to her jawline. It's kind of scary, but at least it means she'll be tough enough to protect you!

"Very young. Que afortunado." she says with an accent.

Spanish of some sort, but you don't know which country. Potentially this is a chance to learn Spanish? You only took Latin at the all-boys school. You always loved learning about other cultures, too, so this should be an interesting marriage.

"Yes, I joined the assignment pool early. Nice to meet you, I'm Anon," you say cheerfully.

"Valentina. But you will call me Princesa. And you do what she says." she explains.

"Like 'princess?' Okay," you nod.

"Vamos, mi gatito," she says as she grabs you by the nape of your neck, hard.

It hurts pretty bad. You have no idea how she's so strong. You always heard anthros were way stronger than humans, but all the ones in your life have been so gentle and kind. She probably just has trouble controlling her strength, so you don't say anything. You get led outside to a pretty regular, if aged looking pickup truck. It's sized for an anthro, so it's going to be really difficult to climb in.

"Get in," she commands.

She gets in the driver's seat and watches you struggle. Eventually, she gets impatient and pulls you in by your shirt collar. You thank her, but all you get is a look of annoyance. She turns on the stereo, and the sound of accordions and rhythmical brass instruments providing a bass line. Even with the lyrics being incomprehensible, it's rather enjoyable.

"This music is pretty good, is this your favorite or something?" you ask.

It's good to know about your new wife's tastes. Hopefully there's some likes that you share.

"I listen to a lot of corridos alterados. It's songs about people like me." she explains.

"That's neat. I never asked where you're from by the way. Did you move here for your work? I'm curious what it is that you do," you ask.

"I'm from Sinaloa. You don't ask what I do again. Understand?" she says with a thinly veiled threat.

"Okay, sorry," you apologize.

"Good. Stop asking questions. Only speak when I speak to you," she commands.

You just nod, not wanting to provoke her ire. This isn't how you expected things to be, but maybe it'll get better. You sit in silence as you ride along to her singing. You drive through the town until you start reaching the bad area of town. The kind of neighborhood where your mom would lock the doors. You never thought it was that bad, everyone seems to be hanging out on door stoops and walking around. It's a social environment. You eventually reach an okay apartment complex, and get led in. The outside isn't too bad, but the actual apartment is pretty rough. It's obvious that there's a lot of traffic through here from all the footprints, and the carpet by the doorway is almost like a dirt road. There are too many beer bottles scattered around, and the coffee table is caked with various things. There's even a dirty mattress on the ground for guests. At least the kitchen seems unused.

"Get in the bedroom and get undressed. Wait for me there," she says.

"Yes..." you say.

"Yes princesa," she corrects you.

You repeat her words back to you, and you head to the room and disrobe. You sit on the messy bed and look at all the strewn clothes around. She sure has a lot of cowboy hats. She rummages around in the living room, and you hear a sharp sniff followed by a loud exclamation.

"Mierda!" she yells.

She walks into the bedroom, sniffing and wiping her nose with her paw, before she strips off her clothes as well. She jumps on top of you, grabbing you by the throat.

"You're going to meow for me, mi gatito," she says.

It's been almost a year since then. She's always so rough when she takes you. She likes to bring you to the brink of death when you do it. Whether it's from choking or bites, it always hurts and terrifies you so much. You wince every time you see her sharp teeth, and she loves to flash them at you with every evil grin. At least the slaps and punches don't hurt quite as bad. Those are only when she gets upset, or when you mess up. You learned not to make any mistakes very quickly.

Is this really how it's supposed to be? They made married life look so blissful in class. It could be you, though. You're just not good enough, and that's why she punishes you. Trying your best isn't good enough, so it's just a personal failure of yours. Eventually it'll get better. Someday.

You're cooking for her, hoping the timing is perfect for her when she returns. You never know when she's coming or leaving, so it's taken a lot of practice to time it perfectly. Some stew. She always likes that. Maybe if it's perfect she'll tell you that she loves you. She doesn't do that very often. Most of the time it's only after sex. You hear the door slam open as she walks in. She sniffs the air, seemingly pleased at the aroma. It's the smell of boiled tripe, and you hate it. But you have to cook her food and eat it whether you want to or not. She sits down on the couch, placing a package on the table.

"I made you menudo for dinner. Do you want it now?" you ask.

She just nods, so you bring her a serving. You sit and watch her eat, since you always have to wait until she finishes before you're allowed to. It's okay, since the dish doesn't exactly get your mouth watering. You sit and wait, and smile as she takes her time to enjoy it. She finally finishes before she looks at you.

"It's fine," she says.

You guess you did well enough. She hasn't praised any of your cooking so far, but at least you're good enough to keep her satisfied. You get yourself your own portion, and eat it in the kitchen while she gets to work in the living room. It's another big brick of drugs, as usual. It's cocaine, you think. It usually always is. She samples it and seems satisfied. This stuff always makes her crazy. Is it just the drugs that make her this way? She then dumps it out on the table, and diluting it with other white powder to bulk up the volume. She portions it into bags. You've already finished eating at this point.

"Do you have friends coming over tonight?" you ask.

Normally you wouldn't question her, but you want to make sure your guests are perfectly accommodated for, which she expects. It makes her look good.

"Yes, the same ones as usual. Make sure they have drinks and anything else that they need," she says.

"I will," you say. "Um, do they need me tonight?"

She chuckles a bit.

"That's for mis amigas to decide," she says. "You like it, don't you, puto?"

"I like doing what you say, princesa," you say, trying to give her the least offensive answer.

"Good. I've trained you well, mi gatito," she says with an evil sneer.

You hate to admit it, but you actually do like it. It feels good at least, and they don't hurt you that much. Maybe they actually are a little kind, but it's also pretty likely that they just don't want to make Valentina mad. She's the only one who gets to put her teeth on you. It took a while, but she finally trusts you after all this. You don't think about running away or resisting anymore, which makes her a bit more rough. She misses seeing you squirm and cry out, so you fake it sometimes. But she lets you see all her business and gives you more freedom around the house. You still haven't gone out for anything besides groceries, though. No hospital visits of course. Any first aid you need is administered by yourself, with no help from her. You've gotten pretty good at making due with the dressings, and you haven't gotten an infection in a while. She has a lot of veterinary antibiotics that she uses to cut her drugs, so she doesn't mind giving you a bit.

For now, you just sit on the couch next to her. She licks at your neck while she waits for her street dealers to show up. From what you understand, she's pretty low on the rung in her organization. You don't want to imagine what she would do with a lot of money. All this trust that you've built with her has led to this moment. You have a big request to ask of her, and you're pretty sure she's going to say no. All you can do is entertain her guests the best you can. They eventually arrive, a gang of three or so with indecipherable nicknames. You have no idea what their real names are. It's not that hard to do, mostly you just have to keep the drinks flowing, and keep the table clean. They're not being too much trouble today, just getting coked up and loud as usual. You stand by patiently at attention, and they leave after a few hours.

You're dead tired, but you know Valentina is going to be awake for a lot longer. She likes pulling wild all-nighters. The drink and drugs have gotten her in a good mood, and the fresh flow of cash probably helps too. So you sit down next to her and decide to beg for your request. Your cell phone, to start with.

"Princesa, may I please have my phone? My mother probably texted me," you ask.

"As long as you remember the rules," she states as she reaches into a locked drawer to hand it to you.

"Thank you," you reply.

Looking at your phone, it seems you did receive a text.

"Did you find out if you're coming back home for your birthday? I know you're busy, but it'd make me so happy if you could! - Love Mom"

You've been dreading the idea of asking Valentina for permission to leave. There's no way she'd say yes. Travelling out of town? You know she wouldn't want to go, and setting you loose in the world alone is a pipe dream. But you have to ask anyway. You can't delay any longer.

"Princesa?" you ask. She gives you a questioning look. "My mom wants me home for my birthday, can I go?"

You close your eyes and wait for the anger to come out, the mockery, or even a blow for daring to ask such a thing. Surprisingly she speaks to you normally.

"You have no papa, yes? I miss mine a lot. Maybe I'll take you to México with me. You would like him a lot," she says.

What? That's the most human thing that you have ever heard her say. This is going in an unbelievable direction.

"Familia is very important. Go visit your mama. I'll be here waiting for you," she says.

You never thought that would happen. Not only are you going to get a few days of freedom, but you get to see someone, anyone that will treat you kindly.

"Thank you, thank you," you're so thankful that you're almost in tears.

"There, there, gatito. You've been so good that I know you'll behave," she says proudly. "Make sure you clean well, and you already know not to tell anything."

Her eyes grow ice-cold. "You know what will happen. You don't want her hurt, right?"

It's no empty threat, but it'd be a little difficult if she knew who your mother actually was. Valentina never cared much for your life before you met her, and anything you did tell her was met with disdain. You were nothing but a spoiled little boy to her. You probably were. Even with the knowledge that your family would be safe, you wouldn't dare to go against her commands. Whatever your mind can come up with is probably less scary than what she'd actually do. You go to sleep before her while she parties all night. You wake up, and carefully wash your wounds and any trace of blood and bandage yourself carefully. Not only that, but you perfume them so that the smell will be covered. It should work perfectly. By the time you get out into the living room, Valentina is crashing hard. She's not in the best mood, but she hasn't changed her mind, and waves you off grumpily.

You wait outside for the ride your mother called for you. You don't really have anything to bring with you besides the clothes on your back. Eventually it arrives, and you hop in the back. It's absolutely surreal. You haven't ridden in a car since the day you were assigned. You feel a little dizzy as you watch your surroundings pass by. It's going to be a pretty long ride, so you have a lot of time to get used to it. The driver thankfully keeps quiet, probably seeing that you aren't interested in talking. After some time of driving through peaceful farmlands, you see the familiar driveway cutting through a patch of woods. The car creeps through it for several hundred feet before the tree cover breaks, and you can see your old home.

It never seemed like much when you were young, but after escaping your little bubble, you truly see how opulent it is. It's a simple two-story home, but it's massive. Perfectly maintained, a beautiful lawn, and picturesque windows abound. The architecture itself is modest, but there's no hiding the amount of money that went into this property. The car stops, and the driver exits to let you out. You take a few steps to get your footing, and practice hiding your limp. Valentina got a really deep bite in your thigh a few days ago, and the one before wasn't even close to healed yet. The driver waits until you reach the door and let yourself in. Your mom never bothered to lock the doors considering your location.

You walk into the entryway tentatively and take off your shoes. She never liked you to track anything into the house. You turn your head to peek through the various archways and don't hear anything.

"Mom?" you call out.

"In the kitchen, Anon," your mother replies.

You walk into the kitchen and see her cooking, usually a pretty rare occurrence. She must just be doing it for you, since it's a special occasion. Meatloaf, your favorite thing that she cooks. You may have gotten pretty handy in a kitchen, but it just can't compare to this. You wait patiently as she finishes the last few steps and places it into the oven.

"Happy birthday, Anon. It's good to have you back," she greets you sweetly.

She pulls you into a hug. It feels like a dream to be held gently like this again, and you have to compose yourself or else your overflowing emotions will show. She lets you go to get a close look at you, and you look back.

She hasn't changed much in a year, and it makes you wonder if you have at all. She's still the same plushy warm tigress that she was before. She's always had an impressive figure, somehow keeping toned while her heaving chest and rear are padded nicely with a layer of fat. As it always has been, she's so much taller than you, that her breasts end up perched on your head whenever she holds you. And they are heavy. They're definitely bigger than your head, but somehow stay perky without any drooping, almost defying gravity. Maybe she's got some kind of secret trick hidden in her bra. It's always a bit strange to talk to her when you're close by, as you end up looking at the bottom of her tits and talking into them. It's been that way for so long that it doesn't seem strange or bother you. Her thighs are decidedly less soft, the powerful muscles close to the surface. There's almost no give to the rock hard surface. She's strong all around, tight muscles strung along her arms and shoulders. Seeing her lift something is pretty impressive. Being a big tiger with good genetics has kept her very healthy. Her backside is similarly filled out like her chest, the thick globes of fat springy enough to bounce a coin off of them. All topped off with a fluffy striped tail.

She's definitely a looker, and you wouldn't be able to keep your eyes off her if she wasn't your mother. It seems like she's been home from work for a bit, wearing some relaxed clothing to air out a bit. It gets really stuffy in her work uniform, you imagine. Her short gym shorts ride up entirely too far up her legs, the dark gray color contrasting the creamy white fur of her inner thighs. As you look at the white t-shirt that she's wearing, you can tell that she's not wearing a bra, again. You can see her black nipples and stripes through them easily. She's always been a bit too comfortable around you. It's probably just the regular closeness that comes from being a single parent. Your father died before you were born, and all of your grandparents passed away as well. They were all from money, so you and your mother are well taken care of even without her lucrative career.

"Anon, what are you looking at?" she asks innocently.

You spaced out a bit. It was just from seeing her after so long. It still doesn't quite seem like it's real.

"It's nothing, I'm just happy to see you after so long," you reply.

"You too, Anon. Do you want to do anything until dinner's ready? We could go in the pool, I know how much you love it," she offers.

You grab your arm and unconsciously cover one of your bandages.

"No, I think that's okay. Maybe some other time," you say.

She frowns a bit, wondering why you're restraining yourself.

"It's still nice outside if you want to sit outside and catch up instead," she says.

"That sounds good," you agree.

You meet her outside and sit down on one of the pool chairs on the deck next to the pool. You forgot how pleasant good furniture could feel. Laying down gingerly, you ease your injured back down onto its padded surface. She lays down on the one next to you, propping her chin up on an arm, her other arm resting on her thigh as she faces you. She gets a cheeky grin on her face.

"I didn't tell you earlier, but your cologne smells wonderful. Is she a feline too? We always love smells like that," she asks.

You get a bit nervous. Why is she asking about the cologne? Does she already know? You have to keep it secret as long as you can.

You avert your eyes as you speak. "She's a coyote, from Mexico. She's really exotic," you say, having trouble coming up with other compliments.

"That's strange, canines usually don't like the smell," she says. "But a Latina girl? I've always heard they're passionate, or at least that how they are in my books."

Contrary to her sharp, professional demeanor that most people see, she's actually very emotionally fluent and empathetic. That's probably why she's a romance novel addict, even though that's not the most feminine hobby to have. If only things were like her book, though.

"Yes, she has a really fiery personality," you comment.

"She sounds fun. Why didn't she come along with you?" she asks.

"You know, busy with work," you try to brush it off.

"What does she do?" your mother asks curiously.

You beat yourself up internally. You keep on talking yourself into a corner. Why can't this conversation end already?

"She's got her own business. Imports and exports from the Southern American sectors of the State," you explain.

"Wow, a self-made woman! What's her name? I want to keep tabs on an up and comer like her," she says.

"Valentina Mendez," you say.

"That's a nice name, I'll have to look her up. It's still kind of sad that you had to take her last name though," she says sadly.

"She's great, I promise," you say. "What about you, though? Work okay?"

You have to change the subject or else you're going to go mad.

"Crime's down in the city, so that takes some of the load off of me," she says. "The girls in the force always do such a good job. It's like they don't even need me anymore."

She lets out a light chuckle. She's really close with the police department, unsurprisingly. That's what happens when you're the District Attorney for the sector. You used to play with the police chief's son all the time as a kid. Being a child of the uniformed services of the State is always a fine place to be. Even public servants like your mother end up wearing the classic olive drab and red dress uniforms, even though their duties are peaceful. Technically she's a Major, but that's in name only, and gives her no authority over any military member. It's just an old antique from the earlier days of the State. She always gets so embarrassed whenever someone in the old guard calls her by her rank.

"Major Abby Wilkes."

She'd much rather just be called "Mrs. Wilkes." She still loves her job though, since she has such a strong sense of justice. The high salary and amazing benefits are a big plus, as well. Nothing in the private sector will give you a good healthcare or retirement plan. She looks really sharp in her uniform, if not intimidating. For you, it's what she wore every day when she came home to hug you, so it only evokes good memories.

"That's great to hear. You need a break sometimes," you say.

"You say that, but it's boring. The house feels so empty now," she pouts as her tail flicks back and forth in frustration.

She's still a bit upset about you leaving, it seems. You're upset you did too.

"I promise I'll visit," you say. "...as much as I can."

You don't want to promise too much and let her down. It's a miracle that you're here now. You manage to get her complaining about work and the various cases that she's been handling, along with some of the more amusing ones. It might be against protocol to share the details with you, but she trusts you enough. In the middle of a story, the timer on her phone goes off, and she hurries you to the kitchen. As she pulls out the meal, she lets it cool along with a side of scalloped potatoes that she baked as well. Not the most gourmet meal, but it's comfort food of the highest quality.

"Go wait in the dining room," she tells you.

It's right next to the kitchen, visible over the marble island counter. You take a seat and wait patiently. She hums and portions out two servings for the both of you. She places them down and sashays to the island, pouring herself a glass of wine.

"I know you're a bit young, but do you want to try some? You've got to celebrate your birthday. And your new marriage, of course." she says as she pours you some anyway.

"Yes, that's fine," you say.

You don't have the highest opinion of drugs and alcohol after your experiences, but maybe she's right. She sits down with you and raises her glass to yours.

"Cheers," she says with a laugh. "Nineteen and married already. You grew up so fast." She says with a wistful look in her eye.

The meal is just how you remember it. No, actually even better than you remember. You spent a long time daydreaming about it and clinging onto the hope that you'd get to eat it again someday. And unlike most things in your life nowadays, you're not at all disappointed. You cautiously drink from your wine, and you find that you like it. Not the taste at all, just the feeling. Your body and mind aches a bit less, and your worries start to lessen even though you've only tipsy. She's feeling nostalgic and keeps on bringing up old stories from the past. Things about how you fell out of a tree and other funny memories. They seem so distant now. The two of you eventually finish your meal, and you help her clean up.

"Did I feed you too much, or do you want cake?" she asks, bending over to fish around in the fridge.

You don't particularly want to, but she did go out of her way, so you say you do.

"I know you don't like sweet things as much anymore, so I bought us some cheesecake," she says as she brings out two individual slices for the two of you.

You start to eat it, and she gives you a smile. She doesn't even touch hers while she watches you. It's a little embarrassing to be stared at so hard while eating. You finish up before you decide to say something.

"Aren't you going to eat yours?" you ask.

"Mmm. No, I'm going to save it for later," she says.

There's a bit of a pause as the both of you continue to sit there, not making any move to clean up or anything.

"Anon, is something wrong?" your mother asks in a non-threatening tone.

You tried so hard, but you knew you were acting weird in the end.

"No, mom. I'm fine," you reply.

You feel a bit of nervous sweat as she continues to look at you. You don't really have anywhere else to look or to distract you, so you have to meet her eyes. Her smile should be calming, but you can see them poking out. Her teeth. Sharp, scary teeth. You keep your hands under the table as they start to tremble. You know she'd never hurt you, but you can't get the image out of your mind. Getting bitten again and again is so tiring. Why can't you even forget about it while you're safe here?

"Anon, I'm your mom, and I can tell when something's wrong," she presses you.

"It's nothing, it's nothing. Don't worry about it," you deny, maybe a bit too hard.

Her whiskers droop a bit as she looks away with a somber expression.

"If you say so. You can always talk to me about anything when you need to, though," she says.

She stands up and puts away everything. "That's enough of that. I still have to give you your present," she says cheerily.

She ushers you to the living room, pulling out a small box stored in a keepsakes box.

"I feel bad gifting you a used item, but I think it'll look nice on you," she says as she hands you the box.

It's almost like a jewelry box, but the surface of it is worn and ragged, the text completely faded and illegible. You take off the top and see it's a classic, well cared for watch. The strap is soft, broken in leather, and the timepiece is aged, but simple and timeless. There are no markings on the outside, but as you fiddle with it, the back lid of it pops off. There's a lot of German on it.

"It's your great-grandfather's. From the war," she explains.

She sees you double take at the German text and her face a few times before she realizes what you're thinking.

"He found it. We're one hundred percent American, at least as far as I'm concerned," she says to ease your worries.

"Wow, should I really take this?" you ask.

"Try it on!" she urges.

You put it on, and it fits pretty nicely. The watch is dead, so you try messing with the little knob. It looks like they only had watches that were wound up back then. You look at your wrist and flip your hand around a few times to see it from every angle. You really don't want to take this. It's too valuable. If Valentina sees you wearing it, she'll take it for herself.

"I don't think-" you start.

"No buts! I won't take it back," she says stubbornly.

"Thanks, mom. It's wonderful," you say.

She pulls you into a hug again, her fluffy arms wrapped around your back. Your face is pressed into her stomach, and you breathe in her familiar scent. The telltale weight on the top of your head makes her almost completely envelop you in her warmth. It's really lovely, and you don't want to let go. But as all things have to end, you end up pulling away from her before it gets too awkward. It's probably only you that would feel that way, but you're not going to let yourself cling to her like a child.

"Today was great, mom. I think I'm going to bed now," you say.

"Hmm? That's early compared to usual. Are you finally sleeping on a good schedule now?" she asks.

It's more like you don't sleep enough, but you won't tell her that.

"I sure am. Is my room still ready to sleep in?" you ask.

"I need to change the bedspreads. They're probably all dusty by now. I'll get them from the linen closet, just get to your room and I'll follow," she replies.

She's following behind you as you approach the stairs, your room, and the closet being in the same hallway. You take one step up the stairs and realize that it probably was a mistake. The pain from your wounds stretching is horrid. Your mother sees you wince, and her face turns to one of concern.

"Are you okay, Anon? Did you hurt yourself?" she asks, completely unaware.

"I'm fine..." you say as you force yourself up another step.

You only manage to take another two steps before you feel something in your leg tear, and you feel the wetness as the blood soaks through the bandages. You try to cover it with your hands, pretending that you're bracing yourself. Why are you bracing against yourself? You haven't thought that far ahead. It's completely hopeless at this point, and you just want her to disappear. You see her sniff the air, and her pupils contract into fine lines.

"Anon. Where are you bleeding?" she asks in a no-nonsense tone.

Her nose flares even more, and she grows more serious.

"Anon! That smells like too much blood," she says. "Show me where it is, now."

This is it, you can't turn back now. You guiltily turn around, and show her the large stain painting the leg of your pants, keeping pressure on it to try to stop the slow ooze of blood.

"It's fine, I just hurt myself a little bit earlier. I'll go take care of it in the bathroom," you try to convince her.

"Little bit? Come here," she says as she lifts you into her arms with no warning.

She takes you into the bathroom, and sits you onto the edge of the bathtub. This is it, no fast talking will get you out of this now. Or maybe you're just a terrible liar. All you know is that she's going to end up seeing everything.

Notes:

That's the last of the misery porn, I promise. I just needed something good to incite the events. Might get spooky, but Anon's going to be unharmed for the rest of the story.

Also is her name too on the nose?

Chapter 2 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Alright, let me see," she commands.

You sit there with your hands folded on your lap.

"Look, I can take care of myself. Just get me some bandages," you say.

"You obviously don't know what you're doing if you're bleeding that much," she says, firmer.

You don't really have a counter, but you just sit there. She then squats in front of you and tries to pull down your pants. You notice what she's doing, and you grab them in turn in a messed up game of tug of war.

"Anon! Take! Off! Your! Pants!" she shouts between each yank.

You're struggling with all your might as you both pull on your belt in both directions. You never knew you were that strong, but you never had to fight so desperately. The spot on your jeans grows larger. What are you even trying to accomplish here? You have no idea at this point, you're just afraid of what will happen, and ashamed at what you've let happen. She's definitely strong enough to strip them right off you, but she's trying not to hurt you.

"I told you, I'm fine!" you shout back.

"You're not!" she yells.

She grips even harder, then you feel the sharp tips of her claws dig into the fabric and rip it. Not the claws. Hers are so much bigger and sharper. You get a second wind and an explosion of energy escapes you as you thrash as hard as you can. She's a bit taken aback, but she digs in even deeper. One of them finally makes the tiniest prick on your skin, and you completely lose it. You throw a kick against her chest, making her let go.

"No! Don't hurt me! Not you..." you choke out.

Her expression goes from confusion from the blow, to one of heartbreak. She pulls her paws away and folds them over her chest.

"Anon..." she says.

You can't really say anything after your outburst, so you just sit there in silence with your mother. She looks away guiltily.

"Anon, you know I won't hurt you," she says. "Just let me see it, please?"

"I'm sorry," you say as you start to stand up.

She doesn't stop you, but there's no way to get around her. Where would you go anyway? You're miles from civilization.

"Do you want me to call the hospital? Would that be better?" she asks, hopeful.

"No! No doctors. Anything but that," you say, starting to panic again.

"Okay, no doctors if you don't want them," she says, trying to be understanding. "Can you just let me see them?"

She's not going to let you out, and you've pretty much already outed yourself. You still can't bring yourself to do it.

"I won't get mad, or upset or anything. I just want to help you," she pleads.

You look into her teary eyes, pouring with sadness and pity, and oblige. You start to shimmy off your pants with some pain, and all of your bandages are exposed.

"Oh my god..." she covers her mouth. She composes herself a bit. "Everything. Take off your shirt too."

You strip nude, feeling shame not from your nakedness, but from showing the physical proof of your weakness. Her eyes grow wider and wider with every injury that gets unveiled. Is it really that bad? You don't really think about how many or bad they are anymore, they're all the same to you.

"Anon, can I please take you to the hospital?" she asks?

You just slam shut your eyes and shake your head.

"Okay. I'm going to touch you now to change your dressings," she informs you.

With a gentle touch, she manages to peel off every bandage one by one. You hiss every time she gingerly disinfects each wound. She's astounded none of them are infected.

"I cleaned them with alcohol," you explained. "The drinking kind."

"We'll make sure they'll stay clean," she promises you.

She makes horrified comments on each individual injury. How you could have bled to death from the deep punctures in your thigh. How the bite on your stomach could have gone septic. If she cut a tendon or a nerve on your arm, you could have been disabled. Ruptured organs, broken bones, the list goes on.

"She's either really good at this, or really lucky," she explains. "I'm glad you're here now before it was too late."

She's got you completely bare, all your wounds and bruises exposed to the open air. She pulls out her phone.

"Anon, cover yourself with your hands," she says while pointing the camera at you.

"No pictures," you beg, but she snaps one anyway.

"Sorry Anon, I have to document this. I'm going to get them wrapped up now," she says as she starts grabbing some gauze.

"Document this? You can't tell anyone," you implore her.

"I have to Anon. Just because it seems like it's hopeless to you, I know better," she says.

She probably does have a good grasp on these things.

"Even if she's completely innocent, I could get her locked up for life," she says. "Or arrange an arrest gone wrong to permanently solve the problem."

That's a pretty scary threat that you wouldn't have ever expected out of her. Has she been doing these kinds of things the whole time she raised you? She must have noticed the horrified look on your face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I don't do stuff like that. Except once or twice. You would've done the same thing to these people," she explains.

"Are you going to do that to her?" you ask.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to," her answer noncommittal.

"I don't think you should. She's part of some big drug cartel," you explain.

"I'm sure that's what she tells you. We'll see about that when I look her up," she says, unimpressed.

Your mother might be capable of a lot more things than you ever thought she was. You always just thought of her as a simple lawyer. She continues winding the gauze around you, and you realize it hurts a lot less than when you do it yourself. She finally finishes and gives you a carefully placed hug.

"There we go. I'm so glad you're okay," she says. You can feel her chuff in happiness.

"Thanks. I think I'm going to get to bed now," you say as you stand up and pull up your underwear.

"Okay. I'm going to get your bed set up for you," she says as she dips away to go grab some bedsheets.

You wait a moment, taking your possessions out of your pockets and placing them on the bedside table. You fold up your dirtied clothes just as she comes back in with new bedding. She switches them out, bending over almost comically low to reach the edges, her tail lazily waving back and forth. You get yourself in bed as your mother watches you to make sure you're safe and comfortable.

"Mom?" you ask.

"What is it?" she replies.

"Sorry I hit you. Did you get hurt?" you ask.

"You didn't mean to," she says. "I've got a lot of cushioning too."

She grabs both of her breasts with her hands and jiggles them, chuckling a bit.

"Alright Anon, just call me if you need anything," she says. "Good night."

You wish her a good night as well, and you lay down to rest your body. She braces her hand against the bedside table and leans over to give you a kiss on the forehead. You hear her walk away and close the door behind her before you start trying to force yourself asleep. With how tired you are, it comes easily.

Abby pads down the dark hallways to her office. She has a lot of research to do before she chooses a course of action. Whatever she does, she can't let that bitch go unpunished. Should she get her arrested? Drug charges and domestic abuse would keep her locked up forever. As a public servant, she truly does believe in the justice system. And the system's job is to rehabilitate its criminals. Valentina is not remorseful, or too mentally ill to know better. So that's not an option that sits well with her.

She could talk to the girls in the PD to clean her up. It certainly would be a shame if Valentina decided to "resist arrest" and had to be a rabid animal euthanized by the state. It wouldn't even be calling a favor or any kind of corruption. All she'd have to do is show the chief the pictures, and the usual justice would be doled out as the usual happy accidents that no one questions. Both of those are pretty high profile ways to deal with it, though. Anon seems pretty ashamed of what happened to him, even if there's nothing to be ashamed about. Making this the whole station's business might upset him, and all the poking and prodding for hours would drive him mad. They'd record every mole and freckly, the length of every scar, and give him physical after physical. It may be an important part of the process, but it also prolongs it. And the paper trail is forever. Every wife he'd have from then all would know, and walk on glass around him.

For the first time in her life, Abby thought about dealing with a problem like this personally. She's not a murderer, and she never even fought much as a kid due to how much bigger she was than everyone. Normally the idea of doing something like this would sicken her, but when she considers the victim, she feels nothing. Where does she start, though? She may have presided over dozens of murder cases in her life, but never gave the act much thought. Where would she kill her? If she could get her alone somewhere remote, that'd be perfect.

For now, she just has to get more information. The first place to start is Anon's phone. She feels terrible for the sleight of hand that she pulled in his room, but what Anon doesn't know, won't hurt him. She taps away at the screen. No password, not surprising. Anon must have been told to remove it, so she could always see what he's doing. She copies down every bit of correspondence he had with her and her contact information. Scrolling through his email, she copies the details of his assignment, mostly numbers and dates and such. Information is the best tool in any situation. Satisfied, she sets the phone down and starts doing her side of the research.

"Let's see... Valentina Mendez..."

She types it into a database accessible to law enforcement. Cross-referencing the results with the details of Anon's assignment, she finds her pretty quickly, along with a list of charges. It looks like she's been a petty criminal since childhood, starting in the Mexican sectors of the State. Shoplifting, some small scraps, and childhood drug abuse. It's not surprising that a girl like that apparently has a history of sniffing glue. Her charges don't really ramp up until adulthood when she moved North. Trafficking charges, mostly cocaine and marijuana. It seems she did three years in the pen. Even more interesting is the noted criminal affiliation section of her bio. Or the lack of one, more precisely. It seems she was sent to medical early into her stay for claiming to be a member of a drug cartel, until the actual members of said cartel found out. She got away with her life, but not without a lot of permanent scars. Valentina's just a pup playing narco make believe. Just a coward, pretending to be a hard-ass. She's definitely not the first or the last of that type that Abby's seen. She's so impotent that all she can do is abuse a poor human like Anon for her sexual gratification.

All this information works to Abby's favor though. A criminal with no ties to anything but herself.

A nobody that no one will miss when she disappears.

She shuts her laptop and grabs Anon's phone, turning off the light to her study before exiting. She walks down the hallway silently, her paws perfectly muffling her huge weight with just a tiny bit of effort. With the tiniest click, She opens Anon's room and creeps in the complete darkness. She places the phone back on the table face-down, just like she found it. Her eyes light up in the dark as she stares at Anon's sleeping face, and he starts to stir.

You see a pair of yellow eyes glow in the dark. Even worse, you see a muzzle curled in a grin, the sharp predator's teeth glinting in the tiny amount of light in the room. You jolt backwards and feebly try to wheel your body backwards.

"No..." you mutter.

"Anon, Anon," your mother continues. "It's okay, it's mom."

You look a little closer and see the eyes are feline, rather than canine, even though they're the same color. Her fangs are much larger though, which still sets off a mild primal fear within you. She clicks on the light anyway, and the sight of her calms you down a bit. She pulls you into a hug and comforts you for a few moments.

"Sorry, I just came to check on you. I didn't mean to scare you," she apologizes.

You let your body slacken in her grip as you release a held breath. "It's fine, I just don't sleep too well anymore," you explain.

"I'll let you go back to sleep," she says as she turns the light back off.

Even with the fright, you manage to lull yourself back to sleep from the lingering warmth of her embrace.

You wake up rested poorly as usual. Heavy sleep is something foreign to you at this point, but at least you managed to get more hours than you usually do most nights. Your internal alarm typically wakes you up in time for the time that you'd normally cook breakfast, but it's almost eleven at this point. You get dressed and get out of bed, and make your way downstairs. As you round the corner, you see your mother sitting on the dining room, watching something on her tablet. Sounds like the news, she always liked to stay current. Hearing your footsteps, she looks up and smiles.

"Good morning, Anon. Did you sleep well?" she asks.

"Well enough," you reply. You don't want to worry her by telling her about the nightmares.

"Want me to cook some breakfast for us?" she asks.

"That sounds great," you say.

She gets up from her seat, and start digging around in the fridge. It's really a blessing to have your mother be such a great cook. Usually it'd be left for your father, but she learned how to take care of the whole house's duties. It must come with being a single parent. It's not like she took care of everything when you were a child, though. She was a working woman with a lot of money, so there was an ever present maid. She was a kindly old fox anthro named Isabelle. She practically was a family member, like an aunt or a grandmother to you. Neither of you treated her like hired help or a simple staff member. However, it looks like your mom didn't have need for her services now that you left the house.

"Hey mom, what happened to Isabelle?" you ask.

"I'm sure you guessed that we didn't need her anymore. I paid for her retirement after all the years she's given us. I still keep in touch with her, and it seems she's been enjoying it so far," she explains.

That's a relief to hear. If anyone deserves it, it's her. Your mother gets to work cooking some simple omelettes for the two of you. Mushroom, bacon and Swiss cheese, an absolute classic. She pours some expensive looking orange juice out of a glass bottle, and brings over the omelettes. Piping hot and delicious, like always. After eating breakfast, you remain seated at the table before she joins you with a content smile on her face. You unfortunately have to break some news to her that she's not going to like.

"So..." you start. "I'm supposed to be back home today. So I'm going to have to leave soon."

She gets an incredulous look on her face. "I'm not letting you go back."

From the determination in her eyes, you can tell there's no room to argue. She'll drag you back in the house if she has to.

"But-" you say before you're interrupted.

"Are you sure you don't want to try to call the police? I promise they can handle anything," she asks.

You definitely don't want to take that option. If there's anything else you can do, you'll take it.

"I don't want to do all that," you say. When you think about the whole process, you come to a realization.

"After they arrest her, what happens next?" you ask. "They're going to assign me again, aren't they?"

She can see the despair in your eyes as you start to grow more panicked.

"What if she's even worse? No police, please..." you beg.

It looks like she was planning for this, for some reason. Just what is she thinking?

"Okay, that's fine. She won't call them herself either. That'd be a surefire way to end up in jail again." she explains.

What does she mean, "again?" You could guess that Valentina's a jailbird, but it's still strange to hear that from your mother. You push the thought from your mind and continue listening.

"I have a better plan anyway," she says.

"What?" you ask in disbelief.

"Just leave it to me. I'll fix everything, and you can take as much time as you need. You'll stay safe here with me until you're ready," she says.

You have no idea to doubt her. She's never lied to you about anything important before, and she seems almost disconcertingly confident. She gives you some cryptic orders.

"Turn off your phone until I say you can turn it back on again," she says.

You comply, and place your phone face-down on the table.

"That's all I need from you now. I'll tell you what else you need to do later," she says. "That's enough of that, though. You need some relaxation, so we should just relax for a bit."

She brings you back outside to relax on the deck to enjoy the midday sun. The two of you relax recline on the chairs while your mother repeats an old myth.

"You have to wait an hour before you get in the water, then we can enjoy a swim," she chides.

You can't exactly swim with all these bandages, but maybe you could strip them off? Chlorine would keep your wounds clean, but you don't want to rip open something and get the pool water all bloody. It seems she didn't think about it too hard.

"I don't think I can with all this," you say as you gesture in a circle around your chest.

Her mouth opens into an "O" as the realization hits her. "Well, at least you can dress down a bit and get some sun on your skin and soak your feet a bit. I'm sure that'll help you feel better," she says.

That does sound pretty nice. You go and strip down in the pool house and slip into a pair of swimming trunks in the bathroom before sitting back down. You don't technically have to wait to dip your feet into the cool water, but neither does she. It'd be a bit rude to start without her though. The two of you make some small talk to pass the time before she's finally satisfied with the wait. It's been an hour and one minute when you check the time. Her internal clock has always been top-notch. She goes to get changed herself as well. She walks back out wearing a bikini.

"What do you think?" she asks, shooting a pose like a model at the end of a runway.

She's wearing a stark white bikini, the blinding white color standing out even more from her cream-colored belly. It would normally be considered a normal, or even modest swimsuit, but with how well-endowed she is, both her chest and rear, it takes on an uncomfortably lewd appearance. The cups of the top can't even wrap around the underside of her breasts, and if she pulled it down at all, she'd be flashing you at that point. The strings of her bikini bottoms cut deeply into her waist, and the crotch is much narrower on her large frame than what you would consider appropriate. She does a little spin, and it almost looks like a g-string from the way her rear engulfs the bottom. The poor strings of her top are at her limit, the neat little bow tied on the back smaller than you've ever seen before. Maybe she used to be a girl scout or something, it's seriously impressive.

"Uhh, it looks great, but you should probably go up a size," you suggest.

She gets a little pout on her face, and her tail flicks back and forth in frustration. "If they made the set bigger, I would have," she explains.

She starts to wade in, and she waves to you.

"The water's great, come on!" she shouts.

You smile and sit on the shallow side of the pool, submerging your legs as much as you can without getting your bandages wet.

"You don't mind if I swim a bit, do you?" she asks. "I don't want to have all the fun without you."

That's very considerate of her. "Not at all. I'll be fine, I can just watch," you say.

She then submerges her body in the water and starts a slow crawl at first to warm up, making a few laps across the pool. Her long strokes already have her covering a lot of distance very quickly. Her sheer length makes swimming across the massive pool easy. Her affinity for water as a tiger certainly helps too. She starts to speed up gradually with each lap back and forth. Soon she's rocketing back and forth down the lanes, completely outclassing anything a human could do, even a swimmer from the Human Olympics. It's impossible to keep up with her. It was always a joy as a child to swim and "race" her, her little doggy-paddles keeping up with your small body as she cheered you on. Once you got older and more fit, all bets were off, though. The expensive boy's school that she sent you too might have increased your physical prowess a lot, but you couldn't keep up with her. The mere wake from her body would make you cough and sputter from the size of the waves. She's pretty much a walking speedboat. She'd probably cross a river with ease. For now, you just watch her performance, impressed with her skill. She swims for an extended amount of time, before stopping at the far end of the pool and turning to you with a satisfied grin, releasing relaxed but deep breaths. It was just a light workout for her. She eventually exits the pool and towels down before walking up behind you.

"That was refreshing. Did you enjoy your little dip too?" she asks.

It genuinely was pretty nice. Hopefully you'll heal quickly and be able to join her soon.

"I did. I'm going to get dried off too then enjoy the sun a bit more," you say.

"Me too. A towel can only do so much for my fur, so a little more time outside might be nice," she says.

You pat down your feet and lay back down on the pool chair, and she follows behind you. She lays down the towel on the chair and lies on top of it.

You get a good look at her, and realize the choice of color for her swimsuit was not a good idea.

Don't they make liners or something for light colored swimsuits or something? If she had any, she certainly isn't wearing one. Her entire chest is visible through her wet swimsuit, and you can see her black nipples through the sheer fabric almost as if she was wearing nothing. You can see almost every detail of her wide areola, and it looks like the warm air wasn't enough to keep the cool water from perking up her nipples. She has her head propped up on her elbow as she looks at you, laying on her side. She pulls one of her knees up, closer to her body, and her legs are spread wide. She seems pretty comfortable, but unfortunately her bikini bottom has received the same treatment as her top. The fabric sticks to her skin, and you can see everything. Just how thin is this swimsuit? You trace your eyes down her abs, along her pubic bone, and to the cleft of her pussy. The wet cloth is pressed hard against her crotch, and you get a look at her sex for the first time that you can remember. You run your eyes along her slit, and you can see her large clit poking out of its hood. Looking even lower, you can see her jet black nethers, and you learn that she's got an outie. Her luscious lips are slightly parted from the tightness of her clothes.

Your mind starts to drift into a daydream. Her legs are spread as she looks down at you with a lewd smile, and you draw your face close to inspect her. Your hands trail up her powerful thighs, and they tense up under your grip. Your thumbs eventually reach her moist sex, and you part it. The dark pigment only goes a centimeter or so in before her wet pink depths are revealed. It looks so beautiful. She gently rests her massive paws on the top of your head and starts guiding your mouth to it. You stick out your tongue ready to savor her taste, and-

You shake your head. What the fuck was that? All that prolonged sexual abuse has really got your mind twisted up. Why would you even think about something like that? You have a pretty good idea why. She's the only woman who has shown any kindness and love in almost a year. Your mind warped that into a kind of unnatural lust. Her voluptuous body certainly doesn't help. But she's your mother, for god's sake. She'd probably be disgusted, even though she's way too kind to show it. You're ashamed of yourself. It'll probably fade with time, though. At least that's what you're telling yourself.

She sees you shake your head and gives you a concerned look.

"Are you okay, Anon?" she asks.

"Yeah, just thinking," you say. You decide to talk about a more pressing subject. The seriousness of the conversation will certainly help you calm down.

"This plan of yours, what is it?" you ask.

"I'm her mother-in-law, right? So she's got to trust me at least a tiny bit," she says.

You kind of doubt that, but your mother probably knows what she's doing.

"Yeah?" you say.

"Yep. And you're supposed to be back by tonight, correct?" she says.

"That's true," you affirm.

"So I'll give her a call," she explains. "I'll ask 'Did Anon get home safely? He's not answering his phone,' or something like that. Of course, she's waiting for you to return."

She would be, that's for sure. Hopefully she won't be furious.

"So, we get to the conclusion that you're 'missing.' She won't want to report it to the State, so I invite her over to help look. You couldn't have gone far, after all," she says with a smirk.

This plan is starting to come together, but you don't like the idea of what Valentina could do.

"And then I talk to her when she arrives. I'll make sure she never bothers you again," she promises.

You're worried about your mother's safety.

"You can't do that, it's too dangerous!" you exclaim.

"Don't worry about me. I know her type. She'll be too terrified to do anything to a big, strong lady like me," she says confidently. "Just trust me."

"Alright..." you say, still apprehensive.

"All I need for you to do is stay upstairs until I'm done," she chirps. "It'll be painless for you."

She leans over and pats your head. She's thought this through a lot. You always knew she was a very bright lady.

"I can do that," you agree.

She gets up, now dry, and heads back into the pool house to change back into her regular clothes, exiting a short while later.

"Go ahead and get inside Anon," she commands. "We have to change your dressings soon. I want to make sure your butterfly sutures didn't peel off."

You follow her inside as she brings out her medical supplies and starts tending to everything. Her gentle touch is calming, and her voice soothes you as she gives you soft encouragement. Everything is much more healed than you'd expect. It usually takes days for them to look this much better. Maybe it's because of the proper tending, and maybe a little bit of the love that she puts into it. Now properly dressed, you slip your clothes back on before she leans down to you. Her forehead presses against yours, and she nuzzles you, releasing a chuff.

"It's almost over now. Just a few more things, and you'll get to stay with me until you feel better," she assures you. "I'll keep you safe no matter what."

You don't doubt that. Sometimes you feel like you don't deserve such a good mother.

The rest of the day passes by blissfully, and things almost feel normal for once. You were a bit too on edge yesterday, but the promise of freedom makes you optimistic. The two of you pass the time playing a few board games until dinner, and she cooks you a lovely fish fillet with some roasted fingerling potatoes. The lingering unease starts to creep up a bit as the night rolls around. Your mother's going to make that call soon. You're exhausted however, and you prepare to go to bed and wish her goodnight.

"Wait, Anon," she says. "You're still not sleeping well. I can tell."

She caught you there, but what is she going to do about it?

"Why don't you sleep in bed with me? I know it'll make you feel better," she says.

You get a blush on your face out of embarrassment. "I'm a grown man now. I think I'm a bit old for that."

"Anon, I know it's embarrassing, but don't argue. I won't make you, but you really should," she chides.

She's being really pushy. It is only one night, so you guess it can't hurt.

"Alright mom, you win," you sigh.

She seems to like your response as she chuckles.

"Oh, it's been so long. I'm kind of excited now!" she says, giddy. "Go ahead and get in before me, I need to make that call. What's her number, by the way?"

You give her the number before you go upstairs and find some pajamas, and tuck yourself in. It feels very awkward to be in your mother's bed as an adult, but it's very comfortable. A bed for an anthro the size of her is massive, so you can stretch out as much as you need. You can't quite rest until she joins you though, as you're worried about how her conversation is going to go.

The phone rings a few times before that bitch answers. Abby turns on her best worried mother act, and she's confident it's perfect. It's not the first time she's had to deceive people with acting before. Valentina is rather suspicious at the unknown number, however.

"Is-is this Valentina?" Abby asks, her voice quivering.

The coyote is caught off guard by the tone of her voice. "Yes? Who is this?"

"It's Abby, Anon's mom. He won't answer his phone," she explains. "He-he made it back, right?" Her voice is desperate.

Valentina grows a bit annoyed though. "No, he didn't. Hopefully he just got a bit lost."

"I guess we'll have to report him missing-" Abby says before she's interrupted.

"No, no, it's probably a bit too early for that. Let's wait a bit," she pleads.

"Let's at least look for him. My poor boy must be terrified," she says, followed by a muffled sob. "He has to be somewhere close to here. I know my son well, so we can check all the usual areas first."

The bait has been set perfectly, and Valentina bites.

"Alright Señora..." she starts before recalling Anon's name. "Wilkes. I'll be over tomorrow, just give me your address."

Abby gives her the address.

"Is noon okay?" The tiger asks.

"Yes, I won't be late."

They say their goodbyes, and hang up with a click. The tiger wipes the crocodile tears off of her face with a victorious grin, and starts up the stairs. It couldn't have gone more perfectly.

It's going to be a long day tomorrow, but until then, Anon probably needs some cuddles.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay, I went from being an unemployed NEET to working two jobs after a few months of living off of my 401k. There goes like 3 years of back-breaking labor.

Things are escalating! Who will get murdered next chapter? I'm sure the result will not surprise you, but stay tuned!

Chapter 3 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You wake up in your mother's arms. She really was right you slept with no nightmares or terrors for the first time in a while. It appears she woke up before you as she's nuzzling her fluffy cheek against you. Even after the thousands of times that she's done this to you, it never gets old. Her bountiful breasts are pressed against you in the hug. At least you're used enough to them that they don't do anything for you.

"Good morning, Anon. Did you sleep better today?" she asks.

"Yeah, actually," you feel like a new man after finally resting after a year of vigilance.

You still don't want to make a habit of it.

She gets up and changes back into some regular clothes. It was awkward enough yesterday when she stripped down in front of you to put on that négligée, but it's even worse this morning since there's another part of you that was woken up before you. It's a normal morning thing, but it's still uncomfortable to be popping a stiffy in front of your mother. She puts on some rather messy and lazy looking clothes, some sweatpants and a t-shirt. The pants would look a lot more lazy if they weren't so damn tight on her. She stands facing away from you as she speaks.

"What do you think about this? Non-threatening? I don't want to put her on edge," she asks.

You're not sure if she could do any better unless her clothes were stained. "That should work just fine," you reply.

She checks the time on her phone, and sees that it's a bit later than she'd like. "Time's running a bit short for our plan. Stay up here, and I'll bring you breakfast," she orders.

Breakfast in bed doesn't sound too bad. Unfortunately, it's not quite as complex as yesterday's meal. Just a homemade yogurt parfait quickly but carefully arranged, and a quickly fried ham steak, precut for you.

"Don't make too much noise with your silverware. If she gets here early, we don't want her to hear," she says, and then points to her ears. "We've got good hearing, you know."

You try to eat your meal as quickly as possible, and finish before anything seems to happen. And you wait. And wait. How long are you going to have to wait? You're not wildly impatient, but you have nothing to do so time really drags on. You're completely left to your thoughts and worries. You wish she had a TV in here or something to distract you. She's a little too old-fashioned for that though. The bedroom is for sleeping, she feels. At least she didn't hold you to that with your childhood room. You have no choice but to wait in the silence.

Abby's tapping her foot impatiently. "Won't be late," she said. It's almost one o'clock. She checks the fur on her head again, and makes sure it's fluffed up into a messy bed-head. She wants to make sure she's disheveled just enough. Soon enough, she hears the doorbell ring. She wipes the content smile from her face, and replaces it with an exhausted grimace. She even manages to make her eyelids and whiskers artificially droop. Following this, she trudges up to the door, and lets her esteemed guest in. Valentina doesn't seem very distraught, more anxious. She knows if Anon gets picked up by the police or a stranger, and they see his state, she could be busted. Even if he lies, if they put the pieces together and match her dental records to his bites, she's done. The normal single marking bite is much less distinct than the tapestry of injuries she left on him. Even upon seeing Abby, she doesn't calm down much, but still gets a bit surprised by the tight hug she springs on her.

The tiger sucks in a pained breath, holding back her emotions. Valentina unfortunately doesn't realize what the true emotions running through Abby are.

"I finally get to meet my daughter-in-law, and it's like this..." she says sadly.

"We'll find him," Valentina assures her. "We have to."

It is her hide on the line, after all. Abby releases her and starts to walk to the dining room, pulling out a chair for her. One facing away from the kitchen.

"Come sit down. We'll talk here," she says.

Valentina takes a seat at the table as your mother sits opposite of her. She leans forward in her arms against the cold wooden surface.

"He said he was just going to the corner store to get something to drink," Abby moans before she gets a pained look on her face. "He went to go get one of those little frozen Slurpee things. I always told him they had too much sugar..."

Usually talking too much or giving too many details makes a lie harder to sustain or makes it seem like you're deflecting. It's a habit that a bad liar would use. Abby may be a mother first, but there's one easily overlooked fact that makes things easier for her.

She's a lawyer.

Valentina nods along like she knew what she was talking about. It's not like she knew what Anon's likes or dislikes were.

"Do you think he got snatched up?" Abby asks with tears in her eyes. "All the anthros out here are good people, I never thought they'd be able to do something horrible like that."

"Maybe... he ran away?" Valentina offers. She should've bitten her tongue, but she isn't the brightest.

"Why would he do that? He was always so excited to get assigned. And he ended up with a great wife like you," she says. Luckily her unintended sarcasm slipped past Valentina.

"You know, a chico like him probably wasn't expecting married life to be such hard work. He couldn't do anything when I first brought him home," she says. "I guess he just needed a break since it was too difficult for him."

"Hmm. I guess you're right," Abby says dryly. "I'll get us some coffee."

The absolute audacity of this bitch. Her husband is "missing" and his mother is "grieving," and she takes the time to insult him. She hasn't a shred of sympathy nor empathy in her bones. Oh well, she won't be tainting the world with her filth too much longer. Abby can destroy her without any guilt. That's the word the State likes to use, it's a lot more tasteful. She waits for the espresso machine to finish brewing, and brings over two dainty cups and sets them in front of the two of them before "remembering" something.

"Oh, need any cream or sugar?" she asks.

"No, I'm fine," she replies.

"Well, I always make sure that people take their lumps- I mean, take my lumps of sugar," she says slyly.

As she rummages around in the kitchen, Valentina has her back turned as she sips on her espresso. She's perfectly distracted. Abby finds her "sugar" and starts walking back to the table, before pausing a split second behind the coyote. Her arm thrusts her weapon right into the back of her neck before Valentina can even feel a thing, the pain taking entire seconds to register after she hits the ground.

You've mostly only heard muffled talking downstairs, surprisingly peaceful considering the tough talk you expected from your mother. All of a sudden though, there's a crash as a very heavy body hits the ground. Oh, no. This is exactly what you were worried about. You exit the room, and start going down the stairs, skipping steps before you hear your mother's voice.

"Wow, this thing is just as strong as the girls from the station said it would be," she notes.

Confused by your mother's words, you creep down the rest of the stairs and see your mother next to Valentina's body splayed out on the ground. What the hell? You look at your mother, and you see she's got a very scary looking stun gun in her hand. She flips Valentina over, and jabs the prongs right into the side of her neck, and you hear the tick tick tick of the voltage being discharged into her flesh. From the way her muscles seize and twitch, it's got to be extremely painful, and you wince. You don't feel too bad for the pain she's going through after what she did to you, though. Just desserts. She zaps her at least five more times, and you start to get worried. Isn't that enough? If this doesn't teach her a lesson, nothing will. The next shock seems to be the most severe as you smell the acrid smell of urine. It looks like Valentina's going to be going home after she literally pissed her pants, but your mother doesn't stop. The expression on her face is a bit concerning, a mildly curious look. It's the same kind of indifference you'd see in a child pulling the legs off of a daddy longlegs. Then you hear your mother mutter to herself.

"I thought you're supposed to die if you do this enough times?" she says as she tilts her head, a bit confused.

She's trying to kill her? Oh god, you didn't mean for your mother to turn into a murderer, even if Valentina kind of deserves it. Your mother starts to straddle her as she pins her arms down with her knees. It's probably a meaningless gesture at this point, as her muscles are either twisted and stuck from the electrical stimulation, or twitching wildly. You can see her jilted, stuttering breaths, and you can't even tell if she's conscious until her eyes roll to you, looking past your mother. Sad, pleading eyes. Your legs shake as you're frozen to the spot, unable to even speak. You should stop your mother for a multitude of reasons. She's about to take a life, and that can never be undone. You're not sure if Valentina deserves a punishment this harsh, and you're sure she wouldn't retaliate after this amount of fear was put into her. All you can do is watch in silent shock as your mother grabs her shoulders.

"Okay."

She steels herself as she starts to wrap her giant paws around the coyote's neck. The action is surprisingly soft and gentle as she repeatedly repositions her hands to get the optimal grip. Her tongue is stuck out of her closed mouth in concentration. Her expression is completely nonchalant as if she's just focusing on solving a jigsaw puzzle or a crossword in the newspaper. You see the last flash of terror on Valentina's face as she begs you to intervene, her eyes tearing up. Her head is turned forward to your mother's face simply with her thumbs, and then you see the powerful muscles flex in her forearms.

Crack

You can even hear it from here. Did her neck just break from the sheer force of her hands? That's an absolutely inhuman amount of strength. Then again, your mother is no human. Valentina's jaw juts unnaturally out from the pressure on her throat. Your mother just sits there silently, looking into her eyes. Her face is painted with a serene look, almost smiling but more peaceful than anything. The amount of time she sits there is agonizing, Valentina completely still compared to the slow, composed breaths of your mother. Eventually she removes her grip.

"Five minutes. That should be enough," she states.

That's just overkill. She was probably dead from the second she squeezed down on her. Even if what you heard wasn't her vertebrae being crushed to pieces, her windpipe has to be flattened into a ribbon. Her body is patted down as she's stripped of her possessions, most importantly her phone, and she deliberately disassembles it into its components. She searches her hips next and smiles.

"No gun. I guess she really did trust me in the end," she says with a smirk.

She turns around and sees you watching her, still frozen, and her mouth opens in shock. She takes a step towards you, and you match her and take one back. You're not sure if you'd be able to pretend nothing happened, but you definitely can't now.

"Anon..." she says. "Why didn't you stay upstairs?"

"I-I-" you start. "I heard a noise. I thought you might have gotten hurt."

She gets a guilty look on her face. "I'm fine," she begins. "You weren't supposed to see that. I'm sorry."

All you can do is nod.

"You're not scared of me now, right?" she asks.

"Well, that sure was scary," you start. "But I'm not scared of you."

She gets visibly relieved. "That's good," she replies, before turning back around to look at the body. "I'm going to take care of this now."

She manhandles it, slinging it over her should like a sack of potatoes. She opens up the back door and steps through it. Where is she planning on hiding it? You're still not completely there, mentally. It just doesn't really feel real, but you're quickly sobering up. She doesn't seem terribly bothered by her act, but she's worried about how you're taking it. She may have chosen to do this, but isn't your fault a little bit? You could have stopped her at any time. You're guilty by inaction. You can't just her do this alone. It has to feel terrible to deal with this all alone. You build up your courage, and go outside to go look for her, but she's already gone. You wait a bit, and you see her returning from the distance. She looks surprised as she walks up to you.

"Anon?" she says.

"Let me help," you reply.

She doesn't say anything as you follow her to the shed halfway between the main house and the guest house. You have a pretty good idea what she's fetching. She exits with a massive shovel, perfect for her frame. You continue to trail behind her, not sure where you're going for a minute before it comes into sight. It's the flower garden. Or, at least what used to be the flower garden. It's overgrown with weeds, thorny vines everywhere. In the center is Valentina's corpse, and your mother steps through the brush and starts digging a deep grave. It's going quickly for someone as strong as her. The body is lazily rolled in, and she fills the hole with even more ease than before. She starts to pull and shift the vines over the freshly upturned earth to camouflage it, her thick fur protecting her, and you do the same. Unfortunately, you're much softer and clumsier than her, and managed to embed a few thorns into your index finger, and you wince. The deed done, the both of you step out of the patch.

"Let me see it," she says as she gently takes your hand.

She inspects the pricks in your finger, and takes it into her mouth. You can feel the suction as she gently sucks the blood out from your little wounds. Her raspy tongue curls and wraps itself around it, gently bathing your finger with her saliva. She nurses on it like a newborn kitten for a few more seconds before releasing you, a string of spit connecting it to her lips. It probably didn't help that much, but it's a kind gesture.

Until she licks her chops, sending a barely suppressible chill down your spine.

Sometimes predator anthros light up the flight response in your brain, no matter how much you understand that they're perfectly rational beings. Just as much as that ingrained fear lives in a human's reptile brain, the carnivorous desires that sometimes slips out is just as natural. Sometimes they manifest in a much less natural way, Valentina being formerly living proof of that.

"There we go. All better now," she says with a smile.

Her pearly white teeth aren't as endearing after that little display, but you don't bring it up. It was something that probably didn't even register in her mind, and it'd probably hurt her feelings if you mentioned it. You start to walk back with her, but she continues to the driveway for some reason. Valentina's pickup truck is parked on it. You have no idea how she's planning to deal with this. She seats herself inside, and starts driving it through the grass to the backyard. As you trail the slowly rolling vehicle, you see that she's approaching the lake that the property is attached to. It's conveniently the only house attached to the lake. It's a good idea, but you have no idea if it's deep enough, or if the wooden pier jutting into it is strong enough to hold an entire car. The truck stops at the beginning of the pier, and you motion for your mother to stop. Conveniently, there's a cinder block in the bed. You lift it up for her to see, and she hops out, the truck rolling slowly before you carefully drop it on the gas pedal. The vehicle rockets forward as planned, and makes contact with the deep water. The two of you watch from the end of the wooden platform and watch it sink. It takes a while, but it finally disappears under the water and out of sight. You can't even see the plume of silt that would come from reaching the bottom, so it's going to stay out of sight indefinitely.

Overall, everything has been an astounding success so far. She thought even further ahead by taking her own car, and driving over the truck's tire tracks. Driving in reverse, she parks it in front of the pier. The hatchback's rear door is facing the water, filled with fishing supplies. On top of the car's rack is a canoe. It's been forever since you saw that thing. With that, everything is done.

"There we go," your mother says. "It's all over now, Anon. She won't be able to hurt you, or anyone else ever again."

She takes both of your hands in her paws and gives you a reassuring smile. Unlike your feelings from earlier, you feel relief after seeing her face. Maybe this truly was the best way to deal with this. You won't be living in that hell anymore, and no one else has to either. It's not even just humans, who knows how many anthros she must have hurt in some way or another. She releases one of your hands, and intertwines her fingers with the other, leading you back to the house.

"Thank you," you say.

"Don't thank me, Anon. I won't let anyone ever hurt you. That's the way it should be," she assures you.

After cleaning the floor and any stray hairs, she makes a light lunch for the both of you. The food washes away any of the bad taste that lingered from what you saw. After eating, the two of you sit and talk for a bit.

"Anon, I have to talk to you about something important," she says.

It seems your mother's plot hasn't finished yet, though. What else could she be planning?

She gets a sad look on her face before continuing. "You're afraid of anthros now, aren't you? I can smell it. Even around me..."

It is really that obvious? You thought you were hiding it, but the pheromones a person releases while stressed certainly can't be concealed. You thought those occasional pangs of fear were brief and infrequent enough that she wouldn't notice.

"I'm not..." you lie. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

She looks at you with her gentle eyes. "You don't have to lie to me," she says. "A lot of terrible things happened to you. Of course you'd be traumatized. I'm an anthro too."

You have no choice but to come clean. "It's the teeth. And the claws. I'm not afraid of anything else about you, but it's still..." You don't even know how to describe it with words.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about. We'll start slow to get you used to it again. And it'll be just me here, so you don't have to worry about other anthros," she consoles you.

"That sounds better," you say.

"And I'll make sure the State won't interfere with your recovery. I know they wouldn't give you enough time in between assignments, so we're going to have to fib a little," she says.

It's unbelievable to imagine her breaking the law like that. "Lie... to the State?" you ask incredulously.

"In my work, I've learned not all laws fit every situation, even if we have to enforce them. It's okay to skirt them sometimes when it's for the right reason," she replies.

"So, what are we going to do, then?" you inquire.

"Easy. You go missing, just like I told Valentina. I'll ask the Chief personally to start a search for you. Since it's me, they'll probably do an extra thorough, long search. Everywhere but here. Why would they search the DA's house for her own son?" she explains. "But they'll have to give up eventually. As far as the State will be concerned, all you'll be is a picture on the back of a milk carton. You'll be able to 'reappear' whenever you're ready."

That's actually an amazing plan, and it seems like you have to do literally nothing. "That's almost too easy," you say.

"That's because it is. If it was anyone else but me, it'd be no good. All I need you to do is stay in the guest house for a while. I'm going to call the Chief now," she says.

You grab a few things and start to head for the back door before yelling out to you.

"Take some snacks from the fridge in case you get hungry. Make sure you stay in the bedroom facing away from the house, and keep the blackout curtain closed. And don't turn the TV up too loud!" she chides.

"Okay," you reply as you raid the fridge.

There's already some perfect food to eat cold, deviled eggs and some crudités with some kind of whipped dip. With a few electronics to keep you entertained, and with food in tow, you make the walk to the guest house, and get settled inside.

The Police Chief in this city is an older painted dog named Athena Black who took a shine to Abby. Very old-fashioned, she's tough on crime with a strong sense of justice and respects hard work. Even with the near twenty-year age difference, Anon's mother won her respect with her earnestness and excellent charisma. That eventually turned into a family friendship that was second only to blood. The chief is Anon's godparent, after all. But now Abby has to use that trust to deceive her. It hurts her conscience to do so, but to her, it's a necessity. She takes a few deep breaths before putting on her distraught mother act again. She calls her old friend's personal cell, and she picks up rather quickly. The Police Chief's tone is very casual until she hears Abby's condition.

"Abby? Are you okay?" Athena asks.

"It's Anon... I think he's missing..." she bemoans.

This alarms the canine, and she starts asking the routine questions. She's obviously concerned, but understands professionalism will be more successful than panic.

"What do you think happened?" asks Athena.

"He must have either run from his wife or got kidnapped," she replies.

"Ran? Anon? That's not like him at all," the dog replies.

"The girl seemed no good from what Anon said. Some gang banger jailbird. If he decided to run, I wish he would've come to us first." She really does wish Anon spoke out sooner.

"We'll find out the reason one he's back safe and sound," Athena says confidently. "You remember Sergeant Morris? She's the best I have for missing humans cases."

She really is, with a retrieval rate of around eighty percent, unheard of for most of these cases. It doesn't work for Abby's favor too much, but the two of them have a very good working relationship as well, so she shouldn't be too nosy.

"Thanks Athena," she says.

The dog says her goodbyes and promises that the detective will be by before the end of the day. She arrives faster than expected, and a dishevel Abby invites her in. She only has sympathy for the mother, and even ignores a crucial piece of evidence.

"God, it still smells like the kid in here. It's like he was only here a few hours ago. We'll find him, I promise," the detective says.

For Abby, it couldn't have gone better.

The search begins that same night, a veritable task force combing the woods for any sign of you. They leave everything incriminating alone in their single mindedness in finding you. By the following morning, they've dispersed so far that you're free to return to the main house. Practically every home in the rural community is asked to keep a lookout for you, and fliers start going up. Like every unfruitful search, it eventually dies down. What's shocking is that it lasted for a whole month until they called off the active search. Your mother has way more pull than you thought. It was a little strange to see all the letters and condolences offered to your mother when you were right there to read them. But the case finally got filed away into a long-term missing humans case. Apparently all that'll be happening from now on is a review of the case over the phone every few months. Your mother beat not only your oppressor, but the system itself.

Just for you.

These last few months were dedicated to you in other ways. She got a lot of paid time off to grieve you, so she was home almost constantly. You never got to spend this much time with her even as a child, excluding the beginning of your life. It's been absolutely blissful. You wanted to go back to your normal life before, but this is almost spoiling you. You almost feel guilty, but when you see how happy she is to pamper you, it fades away. Your rehabilitation is still a work in progress, though. You've been doing strange forms of exposure therapy a few times a day. Prodding at your mother's exposed teeth or claws with your fingertips would normally feel really strange, but in this situation more so. Your heart rate still rises when you get that close to them, but it's better than before. You'd never be able to do this the first day you returned. The only thing that still really startles you is sudden movements. She's absurdly fast, and she made the mistake of pouncing on you playfully, but you froze up like a mannequin. She's been more mindful since then. Likewise, she's still keeping the physical contact higher than normal, but it's much more telegraphed and deliberate. She still forces you to sleep in bed with her when she hears your occasional night terrors. It's almost not embarrassing anymore.

All of this isn't keeping you from getting stir-crazy though. Being relegated to only the yard and the two houses is driving you mad. You wish you could have contact with other people too, no matter how much you enjoy your mother's company. Eventually, you won't be able to take it anymore and take a walk to the gas station or something. It's just too much. No one would recognize you anymore by this point.

Probably.

Sometimes you almost think about getting assigned again even, but you push it from your head. All this isolation is making you desperate in a strange way. That's not the only desperation you're feeling as well. Somehow, even with how horrible Valentina's advances were, you crave sexual contact much more now. And with your mother constantly hovering over you, you don't really get much alone time. Spend too much time in the bathroom, and she's knocking on the door. If you get a little too quiet during the daytime, she comes to check on you. Even at night she'll peek in on you randomly to confirm your safety. And with how often the two of you share a bed now, that cuts into your chances as well. So your chances to take care of your urges are few and far between. You've thought about asking for a bit more privacy, but she probably wouldn't read between the lines. And being more direct about it would be mortifying. So that's why you're craving a warm body, even if it happened to be another terrifying wife. Your trauma seems to just manifest in the worst ways. Seeking out more sexual abuse because you've been sexually abused? Very common, but still unfortunate. The desperation and slight improvements with your phobia makes you bring up the subject with your mother one night.

She's practically tucking you in, minus the actual tucking part.

"Hey mom?" you ask.

"What is it, honey?" she replies.

"Do you think, uhh..." you start. "Maybe I could go out just a little bit? Pretty much the only person I see is you."

"Absolutely not. I can tell you're not ready yet." She upturns her paw and extends her claws. "See? I could tell how nervous that made you."

It's a little mean of a way to prove a point, but effective.

"Yes, I guess you're right," you say dejectedly.

"Of course I am, your mom is always right," she says smugly. "Why would you want to go out anyway, when you're still scared of anthros?"

"Well, I guess I'm kind of lonely. Having you around is great and all, but having friends and uh, girls or something..." you trail off.

That was a pretty diplomatic way to put it. That was as direct as you could be without it getting weird.

"Oh! That's what you mean. I'll think about it and see what I can do," she replies.

It seems she latched on to that implication more than anything. It's not like you don't want regular friends, but that's a less pressing issue. She walks out of the room, leaving you to sleep, although you're a little too distracted to rest well.

Abby's having some pretty complicated thoughts. She's running over every young lady she knows, and she can't vet any of them due to the multitude of problems. They might not be able to keep Anon a secret. They might terrify him to death even if they're sweet girls. The only person coming close to a perfect match has the most fatal flaw. She's kind and has known Anon forever, practically growing up with him. She'd understand his trauma and help him through it the best she could. Abby's sure it wouldn't be as effective as her though. The best thing about the girl is her over decade long crush she has had for Anon. It's honestly adorable.

That girl is the chief's daughter, who Abby lied to.

There are no choices that she can go with here. She only has one plan, one she never thought of before. As long as she approaches it in the appropriate manner, it'll just be some temporary strangeness that'll pass. Not like there's an appropriate manner for what she's about to do, but she can try to lessen the ramifications. She gathers her determination and tells herself that it's just part of Anon's rehabilitation.

Your mother walks back in the room, waking you from your half-asleep state. What is she doing back so soon? She clicks on the lights, and sits down on her knees at the side of the bed. You're thoroughly confused at this point. You sit up in your bed, still under your covers.

"What?" you ask groggily.

"Get out of bed and sit down here," she commands.

You get yourself out of bed fully, and put your feet on the floor, facing her.

"You look so... serious," you say. "What's going on?"

"I figured out what to do," she says confidently.

That was fast.

"Who-" You get cut off.

You're dressed in pajamas. More accurately, you were. You might as well have been wearing wet paper tissue with the ferocity that her claws tore them off of you. It was so fast and bewildering that the sharp talons didn't even faze you. Her massive paw then grabs your flaccid manhood, trying to stimulate it.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaim. You don't curse around your mother normally.

This is not a normal situation.

"You said you needed a more feminine touch, right? I'm the only one who can do it for you right now," she says to try to justify this forbidden act. "It's not ideal, but I don't mind too much. It's just another one of your needs."

You put your hands over hers to try to pry the invading appendage off of you. There's such a thing as selfless service, but this is way too far, and it's not really doing anything for you at the moment. However, she takes her free hand and pulls your arms away effortlessly.

"I know it's weird for both of us, but you need this. Just let me take care of you and stop fighting," she orders.

She's going to do this whether you want to or not. She's always been stubborn, so you stop fighting. At least in the physical sense, that is. Even with her ministrations, the bizarre nature of the situation and your mental resistance just manages to keep you from growing erect. She seems to get frustrated after a minute or so, and she releases you. Maybe she sees the futility of the situation and finally gave up. Thank god.

"Hey, let's just forget this happened," you offer.

Instead, she lifts her top over her head and her heavy breasts get exposed to the cool night air before she starts manhandling you again.

"Is that better? I know they're your mom's boobs, but they're still boobs, right? They're pretty big, aren't they?" she questions you, and you don't bother responding.

Verbally.

Somehow the twisted situation makes you respond to her chest for the first time. You've gotten so used to them in your life, that they were as about as erotic to you as something innocuous like her arm, or an ear would be to you. Just a body part. But the thought that she's showing them to you to get you hard is doing something strange to you, and it ends up working. You're never going to be able to look at them in a normal manner ever again. She gets an unreadable expression as you reach your full length in her paw. She seemed like she was treating this almost medically before, but she's invested now for some reason.

"Okay, now we can start," she says.

She removes her giant paw and opens her maw, a prolific amount of drool dropping into it. You can see that it's completely saturated in it, so much so that the surplus drips onto her thighs. The warm, slick fluid envelops you as her fist grasps your dick. This feels so much better than it should. Her paws are so massive, that your length is completely concealed by her grip. She pulses her hand a few times to gauge your reaction.

"Is this okay?" she asks.

"Okay?" is all you can say, your mind a muddled mess.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says.

She starts pumping you up and down slowly, the frictionless movement only causing you to squirm under her grasp. She gets a pleased look on her face after seeing it. You can feel each individual finger as she runs her hand over you again and again. But she still keeps the same pace. It's so much different from doing it yourself. The feeling of her soft paw pads and the slight tickle of wet fur stimulates you in ways that you haven't been before. The head of your penis gets no reprieve as it has no chance of escaping her grip. It just gets softly stroked over and over again under her warm flesh.

"You look like you're feeling soo good," she murmurs.

Her voice has started growing sweet for some reason. Her breaths have gotten a little bit heavier as she watches herself work your manhood. The agonizing assault continues as she tries to coax the seed out of you. She still doesn't speed up, though. The deliberate pace is to try to draw out your orgasm slowly and completely. Sweat's starting to drip down your forehead. Valentina did so much more to you, but none of it ever felt this good. Her attention is now turned to your face as you tense up, your breath occasionally hitching. It's taking all you have in you not to moan. She's just sweetly smiling as she looks into your eyes.

"Do you want to let it out? You can whenever you need to," she says, giving you permission.

The prolonged wet squelches continue as she toys with you, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. She was right on the money when she said you were close. The caresses start to become too much before your balls start to tense up, and you feel that familiar pressure. She gets a few more strokes in until you can't resist anymore, and you release spurt after spurt of cum into her fist. Her grip is so complete on you, that none of it escapes, but simply pools up in her closed hand. Small amounts ooze out from the top of her fist, and little trickles ooze out from the tiny gaps in her fingers.

"Don't you feel better now? I'll do this every night for you from now on, or any other time you need it," she says. "Goodnight, Anon."

With that, she leaves you to go to sleep. After that workout, it comes easily.

Abby walks back into the hallway, shaken. Shaken by what? She leans against the wall and collapses onto her backside. She looks at the seed in her hand, and can't help but to greedily slurp it up. Soft, muffled moans escape her lips as her tongue dutifully laps it up. By the time she finally removes her paw from her mouth, she's deprived of breath and pants heavily. It takes a moment for her to catch her breath and actually have any thoughts, not just her bestial need. Just where did she go wrong? This was just supposed to be a simple thing, clinical even. But at some point, her mind went wild. When she felt Anon grow hard in her grip, his smooth skin under her fingers, and his soft sighs. Watching his face screw up from orgasm was something she never thought she'd see, but now she wants to see it again and again. She's lost control of herself, and there's no going back. A forbidden darkness that she never knew she had was awoken in her.

Now she knows she can't let Anon go.

She'll make him stay anyway she can.

Mommy's body will make sure you never want to leave her.

Notes:

Plants - Guerilla Toss

Might do an OST thing from all the chapters here on in the notes.

Happy Mother's Day (ugh)

Seriously, it feels weird to post this today, but I can't keep you guys waiting.

Other than that, I'm glad I finally planted the seed (ha!) of Abby's madness.

Chapter 4 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You stir awake, having rested exceptionally well. After an experience like you had last night, it'd be kind of hard not to. You easily came harder than you ever had before, not to mention how backed up you already were. That doesn't cancel how messed up that situation was. If anything, how much you enjoyed it made it even worse. You want to push it aside as a strange dream you had, but you know deep down it actually happened. Are you the strange one here, or is it your mother? It's probably both of you. This morning is going to be awkward. It's been nice having her around, but today you wish she had work or anywhere else to be. You lie around in bed for about another hour, before boredom overtakes you, and you go to brush your teeth. Now as freshened up as possible, you walk down the stairs. Your mother seems to have heard you but what she's doing is a little unsettling. She's not watching the news, reading a book or anything. She's just sat at the table waiting for you. It had to be at least an hour of sitting there in silence if she noticed you were awake in bed. Maybe she just noticed when you were doing your morning routines. That's probably a lot more likely, but that niggling suspicion itches at the back of your mind no matter how improbable it is.

"Good morning, Anon," she says with a smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Good morning. I could use something to eat," you reply.

She walks up to you and gives you a hug, her large breasts sitting on your head yet again. It's a lot less comforting, more arousing after last night. You shake the idea from your head. It'd be so much better if she learned how to wear a bra. And avoid light colored shirts. You understand wanting to dress comfortably at home, but it's not like you go commando in gray sweatpants, giving anyone in the house a show. She releases you after the hug that lingered a bit too long, and gives you a dreamy smile before continuing.

"Okay, honey. Mommy's going to make you something good to eat now," she says.

That was also a bit strange. Calling herself "mommy" that is. Maybe you're just taking it the wrong way. It's just normal parent-child affection. She's infantilizing you a bit, but it doesn't really feel too bad somehow. Your mind really is running to strange places after she gave you a hand-job. You're reading into everything as a sexual or romantic gesture, and you really need to stop it. She's the one who said it was just a platonic act of release. Well, as platonic as an act like that could be.

She works away frying some things in a frying pan. It smells like bacon, and soon some eggs are fried. She brings the plates over, and then fetches something from the fridge. Little bowls full of fresh cut fruit, pineapple in particular. It's a great choice, it's in season at this time of year. The hot food looks delicious, fresh fried eggs with vibrant yellow yolks, and thick cut peppered bacon. Overall, it has all parts of a nutritious breakfast. The two of you cut into your food, and finish eating it at a relaxed pace. At least breakfast felt normal, but after everything gets put up, both of you just sit there. Having her just stare at you is starting to make you feel really self-conscious. She's got her head propped up on her elbow, wearing an expression that'd you'd interpret differently if it was anyone but your mother. It almost seems love struck, but that can't possibly be it. Even with how uncomfortable you feel, you decide to bring up an even more uncomfortable subject.

"So mom, about last-" You get cut off.

"It felt really good, didn't it? I could tell," she says.

Even with how true that was, it still crossed a boundary that probably shouldn't have been crossed.

"Well, uh..." you stammer out.

"You want to do it again already? Young men are so energetic," she says with a smirk.

She gets up out of her seat, prepared to approach you.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," you reply. "I just think that maybe we shouldn't do things like that."

"Hmmm?" she hums. "You don't have to be shy, you know. Everyone has needs."

"You're my mom, though," you try to appeal to her. "I can take care of that myself."

"I'm taking care of you because I'm your mom," she says matter-of-factly. "And you're not taking care of it yourself. Why would you cum so much otherwise?"

She's starting to turn the conversation into an uncomfortably lewd one.

"Look, that's besides the-" you say before she leans down and wraps around you from behind.

Her words are kind of muffled from the gigantic breasts wrapped around the sides of your head.

"It's perfectly natural," she says.

That's literally the opposite of what it is, but whatever.

"And you're forgetting a very important reason why I'm doing it. It's part of your training," she says, confusing you. "I have to show you how nice anthros can be. So quit arguing and just let mommy do it."

She leans down to whisper at you. "You'll like it more the more I do it anyway."

It's a real stretch of logic, but you do feel a little less afraid to be around her. It almost certainly will help you trust anthros more whenever you do decide to get assigned again. You decide to concede to her. After enough of this, you'll be able to go back to your normal relationship. It'll just be a really strange footnote that you'll force yourself to ignore after it passes.

"Okay, you win. We'll do it until I'm ready to leave," you say.

She's silent for a little bit, seeming to think really hard. "Good boy. I'll be by every night to do it, and you just have to ask when you need me to help you throughout the day," she says.

Her voice gets a little more authoritative for some reason.

"And we have to do it at least once a day," she asserts. "I won be able to finish... training you if we don't."

She blows a few chuffs into your hair, messing it a bit. "More is better though," she repeats.

Abby releases Anon and leaves him to himself for the moment. Even though she got him in the end, he might want some space. She knows she has to take it slowly, but she's already frustrated. Training someone isn't a fast process, and she can't rush it. He's going to be so surprised when he realizes what all the training was for. That bitch managed to get him trained so quickly, but in the worst way. Now she has to undo all that damage she did. Abby's going to be so happy when she fixes Anon again though. It's what he deserves, the poor thing. She just has to dangle a really nice carrot in front of him, and he won't be able to live without her.

As she sits on the couch, she impatiently tries to come up with the perfect outline for her plan. The timeline is the part that's impossible to plan for. It all depends on how Anon reacts to each step. She has a good idea of the next escalation though. Without any extenuating circumstances, it'll go perfectly.

The TV drones on and her thoughts get interrupted by a phone call, so she shuts off the background noise. She looks at the caller ID, and sees that it's that one hotshot detective that the chief assigned to her, Sergeant Morris. Abby has no clue why she'd be calling her, but it can't be a good thing for either her real plan or her cover story. She taps the answer button and presses the speaker up to her ear.

"Major Wilkes?" the officer asks.

"You don't need to call me by my rank. I'm just a regular DA," she responds. "You can even call me Abby if you're comfortable with that."

"Understood, Mrs. Wilkes," she answers. "I'm calling about your three-month review on your... case."

It seems she's feeling a bit guilty from the lack of progress.

Abby puts on a disappointed demeanor. "Yes, go ahead."

"We need to do it in person, we have some documents to go over," she replies. "Just simple stuff."

Alarm bells start going off in Abby's head. She absolutely can't have the detective come inside the house. It absolutely reeks of human.

"I'm afraid I won't be available for a bit, I have very important errands to run in the city," Abby says.

"Would you have enough time to meet me there? I'm not at the station, but if you're okay with something more informal, we could meet somewhere public," the sergeant responds. "I understand if talking about your case in public would be too much for you."

Abby wasn't too confident in her excuse, but it turned out to be an absolute godsend. She never even thought of meeting her somewhere else. It doesn't sound like standard protocol, but the detective isn't always standard. She has a bit of a reputation, but doesn't do anything that would be considered offensive or intolerable to the force. She stretches the rules to the perfect amount, just to maximize her efficiency. It's all to Abby's favor though. Cleaning the house and hiding Anon in a few hours would have been a frantic race. Hopefully she can manage to do this for the rest of the case reviews.

"That meeting would be best for me as well," she responds. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

"The perfect place. A coffee shop that's run by one of our retirees. It's mostly all girls from the force in there, so you don't have to worry about civilians eavesdropping," she says.

Abby gives her an estimate on the time she can arrive, adding together the hour-long drive or so and the time to finish her "errands." She'll have to find something to occupy her time for a bit, but she'll think of something. For now, she tells Anon that she's leaving.

"Anon! Mommy's going out to the city for a bit. Should I pick you up some stuff from the bakery you like so much?" she asks.

Anon replies yes, and Abby makes a mental note to pick up a few treats for the house, a perfect way to burn enough time. She dresses up into something presentable, what should have been a simple button-up blouse and a knee-length skirt with some pantyhose, but of course on her frame it's a little smaller. Luckily the skirt is still modest enough, only a few inches above the knee, and she manages to button up her shirt except for the last two. It shows just the tiniest peek of her cleavage, but nothing that would be inappropriate in an office setting. She leaves the house and locks the door behind her before getting in her car. It's a long but mostly peaceful drive, mostly smaller rural roads until hitting the interstate, pretty much a straight shot to downtown after that. She lets down the convertible roof to enjoy the breeze and brightly shining sun, softly singing along to some classic hits from decades past.

? Tainted love... Tainted love... ?

She eventually reaches the center of the city, and heads by the bakery to pick up a few things. Artisanal bread would be great for breakfast or lunch, and of course she picks up Anon's favorite chocolate croissants. The cheery employee checks her out, and she exits with her breads in tow. She continues walking along and finds a rare shop that she never thought about entering before.

It's a gun store.

She walks in and the grizzled looking employee eyes her. A well-dressed office lady isn't a super common type of customer, and she's obviously never been in a gun store before. She'll probably be an easy mark to sell one of the really pricy guns to. Before even considering that, she has to ask the mandatory question.

"Ma'am, do you have your weapons permit?" the employee asks.

It's impossible to own a firearm without a strenuous check, and even passing it doesn't guarantee that you get to receive a permit. There was a big problem in the early years of the State where they flowed freely into the hands of anti-State terrorists. The laws still stand today, and very few anthros, let alone humans get their hands on a permit. Even owning something like a non-culinary knife or more exotic weapons are regulated. But the employee would never guess that Abby doesn't even need one.

Abby whips out her badge showing that she's a State employee, and the clerk takes her a lot more seriously, and gets a big grin on her face.

"State employee, huh? I have a sister in the police," the clerk starts. "And I did some time in the Army. Make sure you remind me to give you the State discount when I check you out."

Abby walks over to the case holding the handguns, and immediately starts eyeing the most expensive ones. Her rationale is that they must be better if they cost more. She still has no idea what the difference between them are, however. The owner easily notices this fact.

"What are you buying a gun for? Fun? Home-defense? Or are you some kind of hiker who needs to keep it for a feral bear?" the clerk asks before looking her up and down. "Any feral animal that'd pick a fight with you wouldn't be a very smart one, though."

"Self-defense. Are the revolvers stronger than the regular ones?" Abby asks.

"Depends. I think they'd be easier for you to use though. Easy to clean and almost impossible to jam. Here, try this out. You should be able to handle a .44," she says. "One of our Ruger Redhawks."

It's big enough to fit in Abby's hand, even though it still seems almost like a toy to her. Most of the compacts would literally be impossible for her to use, even though all new guns are anthro-sized.

"This does seem like the best one..." Abby muses.

"A big girl like you could even conceal it perfectly. Let's get you a kydex," the employee says.

Abby takes all the necessary maintenance tools and the actual gun and holster itself and checks out. Of course, there's no background check necessary. It may be a trivial amount of money to her, but she never had any idea how expensive a gun could be. They practically print them for the police and military, but the private market is small, so that must drive the prices up. Seven thousand dollars isn't too bad for something to protect Anon with, though. The owner of the store reminds Abby to come back anytime, hoping she earned a repeat customer. Abby might just be, since a little gun like this might not be enough.

She finished everything in almost the perfect amount of time, and by the time she parks her car next to the coffee shop, she has a few minutes to spare. She walks in and sees that Sgt. Morris just received her drink and starts digging into her folio that she brought with her. Abby grabs herself a drink, and sits across from her, and greets the detective.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant Morris."

The officer jumps a bit, not noticing Abby's presence until now.

"Ah, Mrs. Wilkes. Good to see you too," she says coolly.

Sergeant Sarah Morris is a feline as well, a caracal to be specific. Her giant ears swivel around in alertness, even in a relaxed situation like this. The little black tufts of fur at the top of them almost look like a TV antenna being adjusted. She's dressed a little more "casually" compared to the last times that Abby has seen her, dressed in a simple button up, her shoulder holster clearly visible. Her sleeves are rolled up, and the top few buttons are loose, exposing her modest chest a bit. It is rather hot today, after all. She's carrying a rather classic gun, a Model 10. If Abby knew what kind of gun it was, she'd know that she could probably eat all six rounds from it and still be standing. She finally finds what papers she's looking for and starts flipping through them.

"So, Mrs. Wilkes, I'm afraid that there's no progress yet," she says. "But I'm not letting this go. I have a few questions that you might be able to help with."

Abby nods, having put on her best look of disappointment.

"I've done a bit of research into this wife of his, but besides her rap sheet, we don't know much. What can you tell me about her?" she asks.

"Not much, I never met her, but Anon was a bit evasive. All I managed to get from him was that she's a suspicious character," Abby replies.

"And that's why you looked her up in our records?" she grills Abby.

This girl's pretty sharp, but why would she note that in a case like this? "Of course, I had to do my due diligence. I can't believe that Anon would get assigned to someone like that," she says.

"I'll say," the detective continues. "I've tried to find her, but she won't answer at her address, and I can't get a warrant yet. It feels like she's not even there anymore, she probably skipped town."

Abby agrees with her, the option reducing suspicion on her elegantly.

"Did Anon give you any indication that he'd run?" Sarah asks.

"None as far as I can tell," she replies. "Now that I think about it, he said he was going to get home by himself instead of wait for the driver. I should've known better."

That increases the area that the police would have to look if they decided to do a search again, for some reason.

"Uh huh. That's all I have for now. I may not have the most time, but I'm going to find time to do some legwork," the detective says. "I promise you I'm not going to stop until I find him."

She gives Abby a smile before leaving her to her drink. Sarah may have the best motives in mind, but for Abby, her stubbornness is a bit frustrating. At least there's no indication that she suspects her in any way. But as she passes Abby, she freezes in her steps and sniffs.

"You have any humans at your house recently?" she asks.

"Why do you ask? I had one over for some business," she calmly states.

"Is that so. Sorry for the strange question," Sarah says before continuing to leave.

Abby gives herself a close sniff, and realizes that she's gotten a bit nose-blind to Anon's smell. If it smells this light to her, it has to be very strong to another anthro. She's pretty confident that there's no way she'd be able to identify it as his, though. It is mixed with her smell, which muddles it up a bit. What spooks Abby is that she managed to smell it over the overpowering smell of coffee beans in the air. She finishes her drink and decides to return to home. When she gets back, she greets Anon to distract her from the worrying situation brewing.

"Hey honey, I'm back!" she says "I got your favorite."

She sets the paper bag full of baked goods and starts to bring her newly acquired gun upstairs. Anon seems to notice the case she's carrying, however.

"What is that?" he asks.

"Just a gun for a little protection. If you ever need it, it's on my dresser," she says.

Anon's a bit surprised, since she never grew up with them or anything. She definitely wasn't anti-gun or anything, but it's strange. It'd probably come in use considering how rural the area is.

Hopefully it'll never have to be used.

Your mother gives your cock a few squeezes to milk the last of the cum out of you.

"Good boy. You came so much for mommy," she coos.

It's starting to feel less and less like acclimatizing you to anthros, and more like something more. She won't hear any arguments to her "treatment" however, so you let her have her way with you every night, even multiple times a day. Your resistance is pretty much nonexistent at this point, though. You know deep in your heart that you want her to wring you out over and over again, all while whispering sweet nothings at you like she does. It feels so good that it's literally addictive, and you're afraid of how far you're falling into this forbidden routine. She's right when she says you need more time, though. Most likely. You don't think you're making excuses to prolong this exchange, but it eventually has to end. It hasn't escalated too much, except for the fact she practically forced you to sleep in bed with her every night now. She guarantees you that it saves time in the nightly ritual, and that sleeping in her arms is just another form of exposure therapy. That's also how she rationalizes sleeping in the nude as well. Her fur does feel really soft against your skin. You're not quite sure if this act actually helps, but it does keep you sleeping soundly. That has to count for something.

She licks all of your spilled seed off of her paw as usual as she looks into your eyes, almost putting on a show for you. She keeps it pooled up in her curled tongue, before swallowing it down with an exaggerated gulp. There's another one of those loving smiles on her face as she gets up from the bed.

"Alright Anon, mommy has some chores to take care of before going to bed," she explains. "Go ahead and get some sleep, and I'll be back soon."

Abby walks downstairs to the kitchen, still completely nude. First she heads to the laundry room to fold up Anon's clean clothes. It's a lot of work with all the extra steps she has to do nowadays. With each article of clothing that she pulls out of the dryer, she takes a long time to rub her cheeks to bathe them in her pheromones and mark them as her territory. It's not so much that she want to claim him, more just to get Anon inundated with the chemical markers. He gets a ton on him just from all her physical contact, but that's not enough for her. His weak human nose can't smell them at all, but his body has to unconsciously. That satisfies her enough, especially with how he'll bury his face into her fur with every embrace now, not knowing the reason why. The part she hates is having to run the lint roller over every piece of clothing to pick up all the loose hairs that get over them. She goes through a roll of the sticky sheets in just two days now.

She gets everything folded in a hamper neatly, and decides to prepare a treat for Anon. A nice gelatin fruit salad, perfect for the weather and for her needs. She takes some sweetened condensed milk and adds it to some gelatin in a mixing bowl. The fruit she uses is of course pineapple. She loves the taste of Anon's sperm no matter what, but the right diet makes it even more palatable for her. The chunks of fruit are added, and she stirs it around. Normally, the last step would be to just pour it into a mold, but she has a last special ingredient to add to the mixture. It goes into all the right dishes.

She trails her paw down her stomach and reaches her sex, stroking her lips slowly to get herself warmed up in preparation. It takes less than a minute to get herself wet since she's been anticipating this all day. She grabs a measuring cup and squats over it before driving her fingers into herself. She lets out soft sighs as she scrapes her fingertips against her walls, letting her feminine honey flow freely. As she pumps them faster and faster, it starts to ooze out of her, sticky drops landing in the cup. She holds back her moans as she starts to tweak and pull on one of her nipples, a habit that she's gotten into for some reason recently. In her excitement, she reaches her climax quickly, another glob of girl cum dripping into the cup as her inner walls squeeze on her fingers like a vice.

It takes her a moment to catch her breath. She withdraws her digits from her pussy and scrapes them against the edge of the cup to collect all the lewd fluids. That's going to be a lot of pheromones for Anon. She feels wetness on both of her hands surprisingly. Removing the fingers on her nipple, she rubs the tips together before she cups her paws under her breasts to peer at them. An almost nonexistent trickle of breast milk flows from her, but it's the significance rather than the volume that satisfies her. She's absolutely elated at the prospect of breastfeeding Anon directly. Along with her perverted lust, it seems long dormant motherly instincts have awoken inside her as well. Cleaning up the kitchen and placing the jello mold in the fridge, she returns to the bedroom to get a very peaceful rest.

After another lovely morning, you find yourself sitting in the living room playing a bit of video games to keep yourself entertained. Unfortunately you can't play online with any of your old friends, being a missing person and all, but at least you were able to make a new account to get a bit of socialization with online strangers. Things have definitely changed, with anyone saying the word "faggot," "yigger," and even the classic "yiggerfaggot" being an instant ban nowadays. Times change, but at least the screaming twelve-year-olds are still there. Gradually growing louder than the sound of tank cannons firing and the impact of metal on metal, the drone of a vacuum cleaner grows nearer. It seems your mother is cleaning up the carpet.

"Sorry honey, I'll try to be out of the way soon," she says as she runs the machine over the carpet in front of you.

You might end up losing your streak that you have going, but you can't be mad when she puts this much work into taking care of you. You get a good look at her as she rolls the vacuum cleaner back and forth. She's wearing a simple turquoise top, with a very form fitting pair of sweatpants. It seems she's having trouble getting it around into the nooks and crannies formed by the furniture, and she leans over with her ass pointed right at you as she mutters curses. Her tail is lifted, almost like she's presenting to you. You can't help but stare and bite your lip to keep yourself grounded. Before you slip into any inappropriate daydreams, you hear the sound of your vehicle's armor getting pierced and your tank going up in flames. The chat floods with Cyrillic characters, and you decide that you're done with the game for now. It's pretty much timed perfectly for your mother to finish.

"All done with your game, honey? I made a snack for you last night if you're hungry," she offers with a smile.

"That sounds good, I could use something light," you reply.

She leads you to the dining room and pulls out a nicely molded gelatin salad, a wonderful creamy blond colored dessert speckled with fruits. She cuts you a slice and places it in front of you. You take a few bites and enjoy the summery flavor. She looks down at you with a pleased smile.

"Does it taste good? Mommy put a lot of love into it," she explains.

"I can tell, you always do with all of your dishes," you reply.

"Not all of them," she says.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"I meant some more than others. I'll keep making you all your favorites," she says as she blows you a kiss.

You finish the dish as she watches before she retires to the sofa. You put up the plate and start to walk past her before she stops you.

"Anon, let's do some training," she says.

You oblige and walk over to her, and pull down your pants almost by reflex, and she chuckles.

"Not that kind," she laughs. "Maybe after."

You start to put your pants back on, but she stops you with your hands.

"It's fine, just keep them off. Come here and give mommy a kiss," she says.

You give her a peck on the cheek, which seems to please her, but isn't what she wanted. She pulls you onto her lap so that you're straddling her.

"We won't cure your phobia like that. You have to kiss me on the lips," she chides.

She leans forward and gives you several sweet, chaste kisses on your lips, over and over again. It's pretty embarrassing to be showered by affection like this, especially with no clothes on. You expect her to stop anytime, but she just continues her affections. You get a bit startled when one of her lips slip between yours, but you brush it off as an accident until it happens again, then again. She sucks on your bottom lip, and that's the moment you pull your head back.

"What's wrong Anon?" she asks innocently.

"This is a bit too much like real kissing," you note.

"Of course it is, it's just part of your treatment," she replies as a matter-of-fact.

You don't get to respond before she crashes her lips against yours, her lips toying with yours as she slurps on them. When you try to withdraw, she grabs your head and holds you in place, so she can feast on your mouth as much as she wants. The assault starts to affect you as you begin to poke her in the stomach. She continues her ministrations for entire minutes before she pulls away to talk to you.

"She never kissed you like this, did she?" she says with pity in her voice. "Mommy will give you all the ones you need instead."

She steals another kiss from your lips before continuing. "I'll teach you how good it feels to get kisses from someone that loves you."

You feel your heart skip a beat as even more unacceptable feelings start rousing inside you. Are you catching feelings, for your mother of all people? You feel the stirrings of romantic attraction start inside you, and it frightens you. The sexual fantasies and urges feel less taboo than these new developments. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but she washes all of it out with her sweet saliva. It doesn't take long her grip on your head to grow tighter and her to start probing her tongue against your lips. You try to keep your mouth closed, but she takes her other paw under your chin and forces the slimy organ inside your mouth. It's completely one-sided as the sandpapery surface scrapes against your tongue. As you drink down the liquids that she's forcing down your throat, you can feel some of it drip down your chin. She's relentless, not even stopping for the both of you to grab air, forcing you to suck lungfuls of air through your nose. You start smearing pre-cum over her stomach as you finally start to reciprocate her kiss. You can feel her powerful abs flex as she presses her body against yours.

Your lungs finally get some reprieve as she breaks the kiss, both of you sucking in ragged breaths. You hope she's done, but the intense look on her face says otherwise. She rolls you off of her lap and onto your back in a furious motion before violating your mouth again. Your hands feel around for leverage, but she interprets this as resistance and grasps your wrists in her massive paws and pins them to the couch above your head. There are hot puffs of air over your face as she lets out stilted chuffs in pleasure. Her large tongue probes deep into your mouth, tasting all of you. She almost reaches your throat with how much she's forcing herself on you. This goes on for an agonizing amount of time, and the only parts of your body that you can focus on are your mouth and your crotch pressed against her. Grinding against the soft fur of her belly and the toned muscles lying underneath are starting to get to be too much. Her movements are obviously trying to coax an orgasm out of you, and it's working. As she oscillates on top of you, you're finally brought to the edge, and you spurt out your hot semen onto her abs. At this moment, she lets out a muffled hum and then forces her kiss even deeper for a final moment before finally freeing you. Looking down at you your prone body victoriously, you can see the trails of drool from her furious kiss running down her chin. You're so out of it that you have no idea what you have to look like. She dismounts you and picks you up, gently laying your head on her thighs.

"Sorry, was mommy a little too rough? I'll be more gentle next time," she says apologetically.

You still haven't quite recovered, so the only way you can respond is reaching your limp arm back and stroking her fuzzy calf. She reciprocates by petting your hair, and you remain that way for a few minutes. She then leaves you to go tend to her soiled body, and you take a look at the clock. An hour? Did you really spend that long making out with your mother? You're really losing a lot of your free time to all these acts, although it's hard to pretend that you don't really like it. You spend the rest of the day on your smartphone until dinner is ready. During the meal she informs you that she's going to have to return to her work again as her leave is almost over. It seems to really depress her, so you're going to make sure to make these last few days count. After some normal bonding time, it's time to call it a night, and you go to her bedroom to get in bed. Would it be weird to call it "our" bedroom you wonder? That would be exceedingly strange. She joins you again, stripping down to her birthday suit before stopping in front of her dresser, opening her jewelry box for some reason. You hear her drop something metallic into it, clattering against the other jewelry before she gets into bed to snuggle you.

"What was that?" you ask.

"Just putting away something I don't need anymore," she says as she nuzzles against your cheek.

Notes:

Mommy - R.I.P.

>tfw when tiger mommy cums in your food

Did you like my reference to a fucking ancient /v/ comic? I couldn't find the image for the life of me, so I don't remember what color pants the mom was wearing. Also, Anon reveals he is a consolebabby. Someday he'll learn the best way to play War Thunder is on PC.

I also forgot to mention that in my headcanon, buying a Hi-Point costs over $1000, and that's the worst crime of the Anthrostate.

Chapter 5 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

All the regular avenues that Detective Morris has tried aren't making any progress. It's been a while since the review with Mrs. Wilkes, and there's been nothing new. This Valentina character being missing isn't a crime in itself, and having your own husband go missing isn't either. There's no one else working on her, and the chief is barely giving her the free time to investigate her. Valentina has to be a key player in Anon's disappearance though. So it's time for the good officer to try something a bit more unconventional off the clock.

Slipping into a pair of dirty Dickies, she zips up the coveralls and dishevels her fur a bit. It'll be a pain to access her gun or badge, but the chances that she'll need it is almost zero. She spins around to see herself in a floor mirror, and she looks the part of a day laborer perfectly. She's never worked anywhere but the force before, so she pretty much just rubbed down her car engine with the work clothes in the past. She hops into her car and stops by a local gas station, withdrawing a few hundred dollars in cash since she never carries it. Driving again, she parks in the parking lot where Valentina supposedly lives.

After all the months of skipping rent, it of course got cleaned out, and Morris searched it before things got disposed of. It was mostly drugs and one homemade gun, but the only trace of Anon that she found were a few blood stains. They weren't too massive, but still a bit concerning. There's no way to tell if it was just Valentina being a bit too amorous, or if it was full-on abuse. There's no reason to run on conjecture, though.

The detective makes her way to a gas station in walking distance, and scopes out the area to find the perfect kind of person to talk to. As usual, they approach her.

"Hey lady, do you have any change?" asks a very ratty looking fox.

Is she homeless? That's up for debate. But from her trembling limbs, poor dental health, and wild eyes, it's obvious that she's a crackhead. The exact person that she needs. From the way she's drumming her fingers on her legs it's obvious she's partying right now.

"Here's a fiver for you," Sarah says while passing her some cash. The fox is absolutely elated.

"Thanks lady," she says.

Yeah. So I need a little help finding something. You know where I can get some soft?" she asks. It's slang for powered, rather than crack cocaine.

"You a cop?" she asks suspiciously and is met with a shake of the head. "Wow, you must have some money. I can help you for anotha five bucks."

She's trying to extort her out of more money. The detective is no sucker, but she has to work with this lady. She seems to be a good lead.

"I can go ask that person over there instead. You'll get a twenty after you help me," she says, pointing to another undesirable.

"Okay, okay. Lemme borrow your phone," the fox asks before Sarah passes over her cell.

"I'm grabbing some stuff inside, do you want anything?" the detective offers.

"The sour gummy worms. The ones in the black bag," she replies.

She cashes out, getting the crackhead her sweet treat and a pack of cigarettes for herself. It seems everything went well since she gets beckoned to follow her. Hopefully, it isn't a long walk. She gets talked at in between mouthfuls of the colorful gummies.

"So the big lady before is gone now and the product's gone to shit. We're gonna score from her friend Speedy 'cause it's at least a little bit better than the otha stuff," she explains. It's a good thing she's tweaking so hard, she's saying a lot of stuff she probably shouldn't be.

"What happened to her?" Morris inquires.

"I think she got whacked. Buried in the woods somewhere. Never get involved in gangs, they're killin' people in the streets. That's what I told my sister, and now she's in heaven," she answers sadly.

"Yeah, that's how I lost mine too." The situation may have been a little different, but it was gang violence nonetheless. The now-sergeant was still in the academy when her sister was killed in the line of duty. She was never able to work in the department at the same time as she always wanted.

They stop at an alleyway between a liquor store and dollar store, and Sarah's told to wait around the corner. When the fox returns, she's got a little baggie in her hand, but it's obviously short.

"Keep it. Cops are allowed to lie to you, you know." Sarah must've wanted to tease the drug addict a bit.

"Oh hell no," is all she says before scurrying away.

She speed walks down the alleyway, and luckily it's fenced in on the other side. The drug dealer is headed right towards the detective.

"Police," she says as she blocks her exit.

Speedy, the smaller mouse anthro immediately starts bolting for the fence. Cats hunt mice, so she barely gets a few steps away before she's spun into the wall.

The mouse coughs a bit before yelling. "I didn't do nothing! Let me go!"

"I haven't done anything. Yet, " she replies. "You need to talk to me about a friend, and you'll get to go home. Tell me about Valentina."

"I ain't a fucking snitch. She's just a friend," she responds.

The caracal lets her down from her grip. "I already know that you're business partners. I'm in the missing humans unit," she explains before pulling out a wad of bills. "This is yours if you tell me about her, and her husband."

She snatches up the money before speaking. "Okay. I can tell you that the bitch is crazy. Tore the poor humie up to shreds even though I told her she was gonna kill him at that rate," she says with a bit of pity. "Pretty much a slave that couldn't leave the house. All he needed was some chains to look the part. I've never seen a humie look so pale."

That's a revelation she can work with. "And what about her? Where is she?"

"I think she's dead. She always tells us when she goes back home, especially when she's networking," the mouse explains. "That's all I know, I swear."

"Get the fuck out of here," Morris responds. The mouse runs off while she thinks over her discoveries. Now she knows that Valentina is dead, and that Anon had more than enough reason to escape. Mrs. Wilkes has to have a better idea where to look with this information.

She gets in her car and heads to the Wilkes residence as fast as she can.

Abby's happily cooking away when she hears the doorbell ring. Who the heck is visiting this late at night, especially this far out in the city? It's just a little too suspicious.

"Anon? You know what to do. Go stay in our room," she commands.

The banging on the door intensifies, and she hears some speech through the door as she approaches.

"Mrs. Wilkes! It's Morris! I found out some important information about Anon!" the feline shouts through the door.

She had no idea that she'd end up being a thorn in her side so much. This is a very bad situation, though. Abby is very obviously home from all the lights on and her car is visible outside. She has no choice to answer the door, so she does so.

"Good evening, Sergeant. What are you doing here so late? I didn't expect a surprise visit..." she says softly.

"I did some gumshoeing, and Anon definitely ran. I think his wife is dead, too. We have to be able to narrow down where he ran now," she says at a machine-gun pace. "Let's try to map out where-"

The officer steps forward to the door and freezes.

"He's in there, isn't he? I can smell him," she says with a bit of shock.

Abby flares up in anger. "Just what are you saying, Sergeant? I just had some guests over," she explains with a grimace.

"No... It's him. I never forget a smell," says Morris, trying to force her way in. "Let me in."

"I won't have you say such horrible things. I want to see my son safe more than anything," she explains with a growl. "I think you need to leave."

"I know he's in there, let me in!" she replies, trying to push her way past.

She puts a hand on Abby to move her out of the way, but of course she can't budge her. She grabs the door for leverage to try to force it open, but Abby's firm grip on the doorknob stops her.

"Don't make me call the real police. This is your last warning," Abby threatens her.

Sarah clicks her tongue and stops.

"Good night, Sergeant. I don't want to hear from you again until the next review," she says before closing and locking the door behind her.

"Mrs. Wilkes! Don't do this! I know why you're doing this, but it isn't the right way! We'll get him the real help he needs!" she shouts at the closed door.

She pleads at the door for half an hour before giving up, completely ignored. She then leaves the premises and gets into her car. Maybe the chief will hear reason, but she won't be able to talk to her until tomorrow. Driving back to her apartment, she sits at her dimly lit desk to work on her case. Her typing is furious as she writes up a report to give to the chief. Turning it in tomorrow will fix everything.

Detective Morris wakes up in her chair as she was too exhausted to get to her bed after the long report. She heads to the station about to ask to speak to the chief, but she's intercepted by the Lieutenant in charge of her division, an aged bloodhound who's always been her advocate, and a close mentor. She looks disappointed beyond belief.

"You're going to go see the chief, I presume? Well, you have to whether you want to or not, after your stunt," she says with a sigh.

"Jackson, I-" she says before getting cut off.

"Just go."

Even though she knows that she's right, she feels ashamed and humiliated on the walk to the chief's office. Is she really about to be chewed out for trying to uphold the law? Shouldn't they have more trust in her after all her successes? She enters the office, and shuts the door behind her. The chief is in a bad mood, and the room is only lit by a banker's lamp on her desk, the orange light barely seeping through the green glass. It's intimidating for sure, a classic technique usually not reserved to use against a member of the force. Morris holds up the folder containing her report for the chief to see.

"Chief, I've got a report here for you to look at," she says hopefully.

"I don't need to see it." She says as she leans back and throws her crossed legs onto the table.

"But Chief! Please just take a look at what I've found!" she pleads.

"I'll have my secretary look at it. We have to talk about your professionalism," she replies gravely. "So, is harassing and accusing grieving parents a hobby of yours?"

That's really cutting. Does the chief really think that about her? She can't respond to the painful hypothetical.

"You tried to force your way into a house without a warrant. A victim's house off of a ridiculous hunch," the chief says like a disappointed parent.

"I had probable cause!" the detective refutes her.

That was the worst thing to say, as the chief flies into a rage and slams her fist into the table.

"Probable cause?! You didn't even have reasonable suspicion!" she shouts.

It takes several agonizing seconds before the chief composes herself again.

"Going off of smell only goes so far. A cargo container smelling like humans? That's okay. But saying you can smell a specific human? It's nonsense," she explains. "It's subjective, to put it lightly. Even if I believed you, it won't go anywhere."

She's completely right, the detective completely acted out of order. You couldn't get two out of ten anthros to identify the same human by smell, let alone agree on their findings. Detective Morris is a prodigy with her nose, but it's just not admissible in a court. She hangs her head from being scolded.

"I understand, but I know I'm not wrong," she asserts.

The chief throws two folders on the table that the detective is much too familiar with. She already knows what they are, and it's just an act to humiliate her.

"The Baxter case and the White case. I'm sure you remember your mistakes from those, but you can't learn, it seems," she chides her. "They weren't just a breach of protocol, you were just completely wrong."

The shame from her mistakes always live on in the detective's mind, and she always has been resolute not to repeat them. No one was falsely imprisoned or anything, but there was a lot of grief and suffering for innocent people. She thinks about it every night. Her face screws up in frustration, and she starts shaking.

"I've covered for you a lot, because you usually get results. I am completely in my right to discipline you. Demotion or even stripping your badge," she starts. "But you had a savior that's letting you off scot-free."

What? Did the division head pull through for her again?

"Abby begged me to not discipline you. If this wasn't a favor for a friend, you'd be in a world of trouble. All I'm going to do is take you off the case. We'll get a competent officer to take care of it. Now get back to work," she explains.

"But ma'am, that's definitely a conflict of interest!" Morris interjects.

"Take it up with Internal Affairs. I'm sure you know how that will go," she spits out. "Get. Back. To. Work. And make sure you do your other cases right this time."

She leaves the office completely furious. That woman kept her from getting disciplined? Is that supposed to be some kind of bribe, or is it a threat?

All Sarah knows is that she won't let it go no matter what.

That day was a weird one. Apparently some detective or something showed up, and she knows that you're here with your mother. So the usual lockdown is in effect. Stay out of the front yard, don't answer the door, and hide when people come to the house. Unless they're a deliveryman or something. Too bad that there's no food delivery services that reach out here, but your mother always prepares you a lunch and snacks while she's at work. The security measures for the house have definitely been upgraded, however. Cameras everywhere, not a trace of the property isn't being recorded. It's strange that your mother installed them inside the house too, but she assures you that it's for your safety. She probably does know best, but it's overkill. She even has them in the bathrooms, of all places. They're discreet, so you don't feel the eyes of the cameras on you at all times, however.

You have to admit you were worried a bit when your mother said she "took care" of the officer for being too nosy. The hairs on your neck stood up for a split second even though you know she wouldn't snap on some lady for just trying to do her job, even if she was really out of line. The police are her friends, after all. You assume she cost her the job, but she assured you she didn't even get in trouble. All Aunt Athena did was take her off the case. The chief of police did, that is. You never thought of your mother as a vengeful person, generally exceedingly kind and understanding, but the way your ex-wife was dispatched says differently. Are you technically a widow now? In any case, both situations were completely different. She's certain the detective won't be bothering the both of you ever again.

The two of you have been completely unmolested since that day. The six-month review for your case came and went, and apparently the new detective is completely disinterested. Usually that'd be a bad thing, but it's good news for you. There's pretty much zero effort put into your search, which isn't too surprising considering the amount of time that passed. Someone who's been missing that long is either dead, doesn't want to be found, or held captive as the sex slave of a two-hundred pound cougar. There are definitely a few perks of being "missing," even if you miss the outside world. You've got the comfort knowing that you can rejoin society any time you wish.

You're still laying in bed as your mother calls up to you.

"Anon, breakfast is ready!" Her voice echoes up the stairs.

That was shockingly fast. Since she has the day off, you'd imagine that she'd make something a little more elaborate. With how settled in you've gotten, she has been getting a touch lazier with the meals. Hopefully she didn't "make" a bowl of cereal for you again. It's even weirder that she insists that you drink the leftover milk in the bowl even though you've never been a fan. It's probably because she's been mixing the regular milk with some kind of fancy milk in a smaller bottle. It must be from one of the dairy farms down the street. So you end up obliging her because she doesn't want you to waste food. All these dairy products are getting annoying though. Yogurt parfaits, oatmeal with milk, berries, and cream. She has to be in cahoots with the Dairy Farmers of America or something. You do suppose that she is in her forties now, so the calcium is good at preventing osteoporosis.

You head down the stairs and there are no sounds of cooking or anything. Just her pleased little hums to some mysterious song. When you round the corner, she's sitting at the end of the dining room table, just relaxing in a bathrobe. It's a soft fluffy looking pink one, it suits her well. As you walk to the other end of the table, you notice that there's nothing there. Now you're confused.

"I thought you made breakfast?" you ask.

"I did!" she replies cheerily.

"Where is it?" you ask.

"Why, right here silly!"

She opens her bathrobe, and you see her breasts heavy with milk, rivulets streaming out from her nipples.

"It already started coming out on its own while mommy was waiting for you," she says.

This is a truly unbelievable situation. Are you dreaming? You always liked mommy milkers, but milky mommies are untread ground for you. You rub your eyes and verify that no, you're not dreaming.

"Mommy's finally making enough milk for you now. Now I don't have to keep putting it in your food!" she chirps.

"In... my food?" you ask incredulously.

"Of course! I couldn't just feed you a little mouthful and expect that to be enough. I wasn't about to just pour it down the sink or something. What else would I do with it?" she says as if it's common sense. "Now come here, it'll taste so much better when it's fresh. I even warmed it up for you."

She titters at her little joke, but you're horrified. Has she gone insane?

"Hey mom, are you... feeling alright?" you ask warily.

"Why? Do I look sick or something?" she asks as she looks down at her body.

"You're acting really strange," you reply.

"I think I'm acting normal," she says. "Oh! I get it. You're just embarrassed. You probably think you're a little too old for this, but you're never too old to get spoiled by mommy."

There is no getting through to her. Why is she even doing this? You can't really deal with this madness unfolding any longer, and you start for the back door.

"I-I need to go," you reply.

As you throw open the back door and run through it, she yells after you.

"Anon? Where are you going?"

You circle around the pool, the hot cement burning your bare soles. At least it's not slippery. When your feet hit the well manicured lawn, you hear the impact of your mother's foot paws on the wooden deck. It's going to be a chase it seems. You start sprinting, the blades of grass cutting into your feet as you try to escape. Where are you even going? It's not like you're trying to escape the house, you're just trying to get away for the moment. She's just momentarily not thinking straight, you tell yourself. A little bit of time will cool her down a bit, and if that doesn't work, surely the fact that she's chasing you down will bring her to her senses. You decide on the guest house as your place of refuge. She's already caught up to you from how close her voice is. She could whisper in your ear if she wanted to.

"Anon, don't run," she pleads.

Why isn't she stopping you? As you get close to the guest house, you remember that it always remains locked when it's not in use. You spin around and see your mother standing there, having stripped herself of her bathrobe at some point during the chase. You juke to the left and start fleeing again, this time headed to the garden. You finally reach it, and it's like a completely new place. You pause in surprise. It turned into a beautiful garden of flowers again, all the thorny overgrowth cleaned up. Stopping was a mistake though, as she impacts your back and the both of you go rolling as she cradles you from hurting yourself. She ends up on her hands and knees on top of you, and presses her wet nose onto yours.

"Got you," she says softly.

It was all just a game for her. You look around you and see the beautiful wildflowers blooming around you, and you start to wonder why you were even running in the first place. Compared to before, you start to calm down and look into her yellow eyes and see that they are only filled with love. She gets a playful expression on her face.

"I'll always be there to catch you," she says. "No matter what."

Does she mean that in the sense as in "catch you when you fall," or "catch you when you run?" It's probably a bit of both. She starts giggling as she nuzzles your cheek.

"Isn't it so nice out here? I started taking care of the flowers again. Isn't it nice? I turned something so ugly into something beautiful," she says.

It'd be a wonderful sentiment if she wasn't referring to the dead body beneath the ground. It's not like she's incorrect though. You notice the crushed flower beneath you and feel a little bad.

"I think we smashed some of them..." you note.

"Don't worry about them. Something you cultivate with love won't die so easily. Something new blooms every day now," she explains. "Just for you."

As much as she's happy that you appreciate the flowers, it seems she's still impatient and changes the subject. She pulls her body forward a little bit and now her chest is hovering over your face. Thick drops of breast milk trickle from her like a leaky sink onto your cheeks. It's a lot thinner than you expected, but the smell is sweet.

"Why won't you let me feed you? It's completely natural," she says. "It's the purest form of love a mother can give, and the only reason I'm making it is that my body is telling me that you need it."

She shakes them back and forth in front of your face to try to entice you. You swallow your spit to retain your sense of reason.

"That's..." you trail off.

"It's what's best for you. I promise it's not gross," she pleads. "I've been eating all the right things to make it taste better. Lots of fruits, but we can try other stuff next time. Maybe you'd like mint?"

She says curiously before sitting up.

"Here," she says before pulling her nipple up to her mouth and suckling on it. You see a tiny trail of it dribble out of one of the corners of her mouth. She then leans forward and forces it into your mouth with a kiss. You gasp in surprise, but calm down when you swallow the mouthful of liquid. She holds the kiss after the transfer, giving you a short but deep and creamy kiss. Pulling away and looking down at you, her expression morphs into a victorious one. She licks her lips to sop up any wasted milk.

"See, I knew you would like it," she says, relieved.

Just what kind of face are you making for her to say that? She cradles you around the head and rolls the both of you onto your sides, so that your head is back at chest level. Her leaky nipples are completely erect as she rubs them against your lips. You're at your end and only a hair of resistance is keeping you from drinking from her freely. She places a paw under one of her teats and guides it into your mouth, parting your lips. The slightest amount of the life-giving drink touches your tongue again.

"Anon. Listen to mommy and drink your milk," she says sternly.

The light scolding is all you need for your will to crumble. You start sucking on her large black nipple and a gush of cloyingly sweet milk erupts into your mouth. It's incredible, the temperature of the fluid soothing, and the flavor refreshing. The slight notes of sun-ripened strawberries tickle your taste buds. She jumps a little at your attention at first.

"Oh! Wow, that feels better than I remember..." she coos.

The jolt of pleasure quickly subsides, and she quickly relaxes and starts running her hands along your head and shoulders as she presses her chin into your head. You wrap your arms around her midsection for comfort. As you continue, the milk changes flavor and consistency, becoming much richer and creamier as the initial foremilk dries up.

"You're so much more gentle now. But still just as greedy," she says with a soft laugh.

It's truly a utopia, feeding off her while in a bed of flowers. The scent of the flora, her taste, and her soft fur slightly damp with sweat assault all your senses. You do notice however, that it's very stimulating for you compared to your mother's calm demeanor. She has to feel your erection pressing against her but hasn't said anything. You drain one of her breasts of its milk before moving to the other, and just barely manage to choke it all down regardless of how much you're enjoying it. When you finish, she leans down to you and licks the stray breast milk off of your face. She cuddles you for some more time before deciding to address the elephant in the room, or your pants more accurately.

"Good boy. I'll take care of you now," she states as she flips you back over on your back and removes your trousers.

She looks over your engorged manhood and gives you a knowing smile.

"You're so naughty. Getting this excited over mommy's boobs this much," she playfully chides.

She rolls back over on your legs, your erection bobbing right in front of her face. All the summer sun has affected her as you can now tell from her sweat-soaked body.

"Sorry honey, mommy's all sweaty," she apologizes. "But I think you can't wait for my boobies any longer."

With that, she takes both of her breasts into her palms and wraps them around you. Your cock is completely enveloped by them, and even before moving it feels amazing. The weight of her sizable chest rests on your entire lower body, immobilizing it. You're trapped in a sweltering hot prison, bathed in her sweat. When she finally starts moving her breasts up and down, all you can do is release a groan in pleasure.

"Do you like them that much? I'll have to do this more, then," she notes.

Her velvety globes of fat stroke you lovingly as you relish in their softness. The springy texture provides just enough pressure, and the weight of them spilling onto you when you bottom out is blissful. Her fur is perfectly lubricated, smooth but still sticking to you just the slightest from the sweat. Every part of your cock is tickled by her small hairs, and it's almost torture. She stares right into your eyes with her characteristic motherly smile as she services you.

"You look so cute when you make that face," she titters.

It seems you didn't quite drain her tits as you believed, as it starts spilling out with each down stroke. Your entire lower body is soaked in your mixed sweat and now breast milk as it pools around your hips. She changes her movements up a bit, now alternating her breasts up and down at a steady pace. Being caressed from both sides is making squirm and moan now, but she doesn't relent at all. It seems she notices that you're getting close.

"Mommy's going to make you cum now," she states.

She returns to her original movements, this time redoubling her efforts at a furious pace. Her breasts clap against your hips in a mix of pain and pleasure, the wet sounds echoing out into the woods surrounding you. She's breathing a little heavy from the exertion, and the ripples running through the fat of her chest only causes them to release more of their sweet nectar. You grit your teeth as you reach your climax, and she gets a pleased smile as she presses her chest down on you as hard as she can. You shoot ropes of cum directly into her chest, as she gently gyrates them to milk the very last drops of seed out of you. It all seeps out from between her breasts, pooling up in her cleavage. She leans down and noisily slurps it with a flourish, letting out a satisfied hum and holding it in her mouth before swallowing.

"There we go. Wasn't that fun?" she asks.

"Yeah... That was amazing," you respond in between breaths.

"You have to trust me more, I'm only doing what's best for you," she scolds you. "So make sure you drink my milk every day from now on."

You've been completely won over at this point. You have no intention of refusing her from now on and wonder why you ever did in the first place. You don't care if it's strange or immoral if it feels this good. You're satisfied sexually and emotionally from all the affection she gives you. It still concerns you that you're very close to feeling unable to live without her touch and love anymore. It's almost like you're being conditioned or something. You're in a self-made Skinner box where you can't refuse her acceptance and kindness in fear of the horrors of the outside world. You've really got to exercise some self-control before you become completely irredeemable. She distracts you from your thoughts by pulling you up to your feet.

"Come take a shower with mommy, we definitely need one," she laughs.

You feel yourself blush, and your heartbeat picks up from the sound of her playful laugh, and you let yourself be led inside to the master suite's bathroom.

Maybe you've already fallen too far.

Even if you're not, surely this can continue for just a little while longer.

Right?

Notes:

Animals - Stomach Book

Here you go, perverts. I wrote a chapter for you guys for my birthday instead of getting myself a nice gift, like scotch or something.

I made the detective a caracal because of all the videos I've been watching of good old big floppa. I've seen a total of one video where the cat's not hissing and growling, so it's a perfect base for a sourpuss like Morris. Well-intentioned, but she's trying to ruin all the fun.

Anon finally got to get his first real glimpse into his mommy tiger's mental state, but he still has no idea how far it might go. The poor guy's still beating himself up about everything. Justifications for her behavior can only go so far, which Anon might find out very soon!

I was also really torn about including sweat for an anthro in the name of scientific accuracy, but it was way too hot not too. You best believe I wanted to in There's No Way I Got Assigned To My Older Sister?! with all the foot paw stuff I did. /an/ autism can only hold a man back so far before his dick wins. And through dick, unity.

Chapter 6 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Anon, time for breakfast! I'll make you some eggs and sausage if you're still hungry after you drink your milk," she calls out to you.

To say that your relationship with your mother is bizarre now is an understatement. She's more loving than ever, but this kind of coddling is a bit too far. Everyone likes being spoiled and to be taken care of, but there are no boundaries in what she's willing to do for you. As much as it's unhealthy for you, you worry about her even more. It's self-sacrifice that breaks your heart. But the worst part is that you crave it now.

You walk down the stairs to see her sitting on the couch as usual, and she pats her lap which you sit on side-saddle. As it is every morning, she waits there expectantly until you bring your face to hers where she hungrily kisses you until she's satisfied. She breaks the wet kiss and gives you a warm smile.

"Good morning, Anon. Let me take this off," she says as she slips her breasts out of her milk stained nightgown.

You oblige her and start suckling at her breasts, switching at some point and drink your fill. She doesn't seem to mind if you don't finish as long as you drink some every day. With how much she produces now, there's no way you'd ever be able to drink it all, anyway.

"All done? Okay, time to help mommy get out the rest," she says.

She leads you to the bathroom where she strips down and takes a seat in the bathtub. Now at a height where you can reach her, you crouch down behind her and take her breasts in your hands, kneading them softly to get her comfortable.

"Ahh, that feels so nice," she coos.

She honestly probably needs a back massage more than anything with how much bigger they've gotten. Her actual breasts seem to get pretty sore too, so it's all you can do to help. You decide to start and make your way to her nipples, pinching them gently with your fingers and drawing them outwards to get her milk flowing again. It starts out as a little trickle, but soon she's spraying out split streams of milk. It really does get everywhere, so it's the best place to do it. You only do it over the sink when in a hurry. After a few minutes, she finally runs dry. The rest of her certainly isn't, her chest and thighs soaked with her milk.

"Thank you, Anon. You know how much mommy hates the pump. Your little hands are so nice and soft," she says. "It always feels better than when I do it myself."

You let her stand up, and she informs you that she's going to take a shower. You leave her to it, and go burn some time on your phone while she washes herself. She's been very fond of long showers recently, but it might be kind of hard to wash all the sticky milk out of her fur. As you wait, she's talking to herself in the bath again before going quiet. She exits and returns dressed nicer than you'd expect out of her. She seems really refreshed. Likewise, she's got on a charming black office skirt paired with a cream-colored turtleneck. It's almost business casual, but just the tiniest bit too casual to be considered such. It's probably because of how high the cut of her skirt is, and the rather sensual looking pantyhose she chose.

"Still hungry, Anon?" she asks.

"Yeah, just a little bit, though," you reply.

She starts cooking a bit for you, just one fried egg and two little sausage patties. It's uncanny how she can tell how much to cook for you after breastfeeding you. She's got some kind of third sense about how much you drank. She hums a happy tune while the food sizzles away. It only takes a little bit of time before she plates it up and brings it to you. What's strange is that she didn't make a single thing for herself at all. Usually she loves to eat with you.

"Here you go, Anon, eat up!" she says.

As she watches you eat, she chimes in a bit.

"Is it good? I wish I was enough to feed you, but we have to keep you nice and healthy. Even as an adult, you're still a growing boy," she adds.

You nod since your mouth is full. After you swallow your bite, you ask her a question.

"Why aren't you eating anything?" you say.

"I've got some things to do in the city," she replies. "I'll grab something while I'm out."

"That's why you're all dressed up?" you ask.

"Yep! Mommy's got a nice surprise for you. I've been planning it for months now," she says.

You wonder what that could be, but decide not to ask her. She never spoiled surprises.

When you finish and put the plate in the dishwasher, she says her goodbyes with a kiss on your cheek, leaving you to your thoughts. You go back to thinking about the strange developments with your mother. Is this unnatural intimacy really just platonic for her? Although you have your suspicions, there are some parts that don't quite fit if she's doing this in a sexual or romantic sense. It kind of feels like you're the only one who's taking it that way sometimes.

For one, she doesn't ask you to do anything for her. In a sexual sense, that is. If she really was chasing some kind of perverse pleasure, she'd have definitely asked you to touch her. She's been attending to your needs for months and months now without any release, or even showing a desire for release herself. She does seem to get some kind of enjoyment from touching you herself, but it appears that she's just happy that she gets to do it for you.

The other weird ritual you two have is the breastfeeding. It absolutely is a self-indulgent pleasure for her. You'd normally say that it counts as sexual contact for her, but it really doesn't appear that way. The way she does it and the serene and loving gaze she gives you really makes a case for it being just a case of inappropriate familial intimacy for her. But unlike her, you absolutely don't take it that way. The amount of times that it works you up is probably greater than any "normal" sessions. And what she does every time is relieving your frustrations at the same time, all while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. That doesn't explain the way that she's so skilled at turning you on just with her words, but maybe that's just because you're associating it with pleasure. She treats all of her care for you as naturally as the meals she cooks for you.

No matter what the case is, there's at least one good explanation.

She's lonely.

If she always was, she never showed it. You're not sure if it's a new development, or if it only worsened from your absence. She's not only afraid for you, but afraid of being alone again. Even if you wanted to leave, it feels like you could never do that to her. It seems like everything she does is because she doesn't want to lose you. It's honestly heartbreaking.

You get up and stretch your back, trying to find something else to occupy your thoughts. Maybe a book would be nice.

Detective Morris watches as the attorney's luxury car exits the driveway. She quickly ducks down in some cover, and she hears the car continue along its path. She's a bit confused. It's one of Abby's days off. She usually doesn't leave the manor on her off days, mostly doing her chores in the city after a work day. Tailing her in the grocery store's been useful too. Even though Mrs. Wilkes's a big girl, there's no way she eats that much food by herself. Even more damning was some clothes shopping she did in a department store. A men's clothing store. There's zero excuse for that. She was able to grab a receipt from the grocery store that Mrs. Wilkes tossed, but she kept the receipt from the clothing store. Morris doesn't think that she did that on purpose, she probably just wanted to keep it if she had to return something.

When she saw her in one of two gun stores in the city, she became really concerned. She has zero idea why she'd be interested in a hobby like that all of a sudden, but it can't be good. Pulling up sales records in the station, she saw that she's made a lot of purchases. Shotguns, an AR-15, and even a fully automatic submachine gun. With all the accessories that she bought for her assault rifle, she had to have spent over twenty thousand dollars on it. God knows how much she spent on that P90. The thought of those 5.7 rounds punching through soft body armor makes her shiver. There's a reason they call them cop-killers in some unsavory circles. There's definitely a tinge of jealousy at her armament, but the worry outweighs that. Her house is going to be legally classified as an armory at this rate. She's got everything from plate carriers to NODs, regardless of their actual practical use. She doesn't think she has any intention to ever use them, but it'd be a nightmare if she did.

The detective's real problem, though, is that her house is impregnable to any kind of useful surveillance. The driveway is long and winding, surrounded by a blanket of trees. Any of the surrounding forest around her house is owned by her, and parts of the lakefront not belonging to her have no line of sight to any part of her house. The only options are trespassing in some way. She already learned thanks to the dressing down she got from the chief that she'd be caught on camera in a second. Using an aerial drone or something would get her locked up for years by the police and the FAA. The only things she can try to do without a warrant is to use good old-fashioned binoculars, which is a gray area anyway. The chief would have her head even doing it off duty. The only use she can get out of them is peeking at Mrs. Wilkes as she approaches and leaves in her car. Which she will hopefully do soon.

Abby's giddy beyond belief. The day is finally here! It took a long time to prepare Anon, but he should be ready now. He already does everything she says, and this will be no different. Even if he's apprehensive, he'll get used to it and appreciate it in the end. They'll be so happy together. She rides to the city with the radio off, lost in her daydreams of their future together.

The first stop is the jewelry store, of course. She parks her car on the street and puts a few coins in the parking meter. Walking in to the store, she gets greeted by the clerk. They've gotten to know each other very well.

"Is my ring ready yet?" Abby asks.

"Here you are," the clerk says as she hands it over.

It's just a simple golden band, nothing fancy. Abby never liked anything ostentatious. She snaps the box shut and hands it back to be bagged.

"I'm guessing you still haven't decided on the collar?" the clerk asks.

She pulls out a swatch of different colors and types of leather.

"Of course we have the suede, which will feel nice and soft, but it's an absolute pain to clean. Top grain leather is great for that rugged look, but I think you've got more discerning tastes. I recommend some corrected leather for that beautiful shine," she says while pointing out a polished patch.

"That does look pretty nice..." Abby notes.

"Of course, with any of these we can press a design into the leather, but I like mine simple and clean looking," she adds.

"Yes, that sounds good," Abby agrees.

"Next is the color. Of course there's black and brown and every shade in between," she says before leaning in to whisper. "I don't think you want any of the tacky colors."

She's side-eyeing a poodle looking at a bright red collar with gold studs.

"Something more normal would be nice," she says.

"Okay! I suggest the black myself. There's a nice contrast if your human is fair skinned, but even on a darker one, the light will catch the shine nicely," the clerk proposes.

She's a very good saleswoman.

"I think you're right," Abby says.

"Perfect, we should already have one that fits. Anything extra? A tag, perhaps?" she asks.

"Yes. Can you engrave 'Mommy's Boy' on it?" Abby asks, a bit embarrassed.

"Mmm, good choice. We get something like that all the time," the clerk says. "I would've gotten one myself, but you should've heard what my husband said. 'I'm not going to wear your fetish around my neck!'"

The two of them share a laugh. Once everything was squared away, Abby's informed that it'll be about a fifteen-minute wait for the etcher to finish with the tag. Everything's bagged up for her and the saleswoman tries a final pitch.

"Are you sure you don't want a leash to go with it? It'll really spice up the honeymoon," she says with a grin.

"Not yet." she replies.

"Hopefully we'll see you back later then. Until then, we packed some leather moisturizer and some instructions for you. It'll help it form a nice patina. We've got your lifetime guarantee in there, so stop by for maintenance any time you need!" the clerk says cheerily before saying her goodbyes.

Abby walks out even more satisfied than before. The ring and the collar are absolutely beautiful. She places them gently in her vehicle and makes sure that they're secure. She then drives to her next stop. It's a cake shop. The door opens with a chime when she enters, and the baker greets her.

"I'm here to pick up the cake. Under Abby Wilkes," she says.

The baker lights up and runs to the back to grab it. She emerges with a tall, neatly boxed up cake and starts to ring her up.

"This was so much fun to make. Not many people by wedding cakes nowadays, but it's always a joy to make one. It's a little smaller than most, but it must be a more private ceremony," she gushes.

"It is. It's just perfect though. You did a lovely job," Abby praises her.

"Thank you," the baker says before remembering something. "Oh, congratulations, by the way."

She passes over the cake and reminds Abby to stop by for any of her future needs. It's not like she'll ever need another wedding cake, but maybe something for Anon's birthday might be nice. She almost considered buying some clothing to fit the part, but just this is enough for the two of them. She takes care to buckle in the cake and go to her final stop to buy some champagne before driving home.

The detective sits and waits, bored with waiting for something to happen. Maybe she should've tailed her in the city this time. It's not like it's really different every time. It's either to go pick up paperwork to do at home, groceries, or the like. She knows full well that she'll miss some crucial evidence someday when she doesn't follow her, but she let it slide today. There's also the important duty of watching the driveway in the off chance Anon leaves the house. Even he probably needs some fresh air or something. It's a shame he doesn't have any bad habits like smoking or drinking, or else he'd have to leave the house to pick something up eventually. If only he left to go snap into a Slim Jim or something.

In her vantage spot, she sees the glint of a car approaching down the road from the city. Even though it's usually a farmer, she has to keep watch in case it's her. She peers through her binoculars and gets a glimpse of her. There's something in the seat next to her, but she can't identify it yet. Risking revealing her position, she continues to watch until everything comes into view. She spots some kind of tall box. Just what is in it? It looks like a takeout box, but she has no idea what could be in it. Whatever it is, it's much too large to be for a single person. Just her luck to miss whatever strange purchase she made in the city. She ducks back down and holds her breath as the car passes and pulls into the driveway. Morris knows that she's probably done with whatever errands she had and will be in for the rest of the day. After waiting a few minutes, she takes the long walk to her car and calls it a day.

"Anon, I'm back," your mother says. "Can you get the door?"

You open the front door for her and see that she's got a bag and a box in tow. Just what kind of surprise did she cook up? It's not a special day in any way that you can think of. She puts everything down. When you look at everything, you spot a logo on the box showing that it's from a bakery, but nothing else identifying on it other than your mother's name. The bottles of champagne stand out too. She must be in a festive mood, but for what? Is this supposed to be some form of "graduation" for you? She has been very supportive and praising you for your progress a lot recently, but it doesn't seem like she wants you to leave. It's difficult, but you're rather fond of this strange status quo that formed, as long as it doesn't go further. You don't think you could ever leave if it did.

"Sorry I was gone for so long. Did you eat the lunch I made for you?" she asks.

"I did, it was very good," you reply.

Sandwiches are kind of boring, but hers put any delicatessen to shame. You still crave her fresh cooking though.

"Good boy. You're going to have to wait until nighttime for your surprise, though," she says. "Oh, I'm so excited!"

"Is this like a training thing?" you ask.

"It's the most important step. Everything's going to change after this. Everything has to be perfect," she replies.

That's kind of ominous, but you trust her. She seems a little more affectionate today, but it's nothing crazy. What really is unique is the dinner. The mood is strange, almost what you'd consider a date. Dimmed lights, even a candle lighting the table. She pours some wine for the two of you while you cook. She rarely drinks, so it must really be a special occasion. The meal she prepares is just as luxurious, a rack of perfectly seasoned lamb with demi glacé, duchess potatoes, and some asparagus. The meal might be one of the best that she's ever made. The conversation is mostly normal except the occasional mentions of the later event just to tease you. The atmosphere should make you kind of uncomfortable, but you're not. The only strange feelings you're getting are coming from yourself. Seeing her in this light, both literally and figuratively are only making those forbidden emotions even stronger. The way her eyes and her teeth reflect the flickering light make your heart skip, but for a completely different reason. Any fear you ever had is replaced with love.

She beckons you outside, where she seems to have set up everything, not even bothering to put up the meal that she cooked earlier.

"Okay Anon, close your eyes," she says, and you comply.

You hear a metallic jingle before you feel her wrap something around your neck, and your eyes shoot open.

"Hold still Anon, I still have to get the buckle," she says with a laugh.

"What the- what are you putting on me?" you ask.

As she fastens the buckle, she responds.

"Your collar of course! What else could it be, silly?" she says with a giggle.

Your stomach drops, and your mind starts to dissociate.

"Is-is this supposed to be training?" you ask, aghast.

"Of course it is. You're almost done being trained to be mommy's perfect husband." she says. "Now you have to put the ring on me."

When you look down, you realize for the first time that she's not wearing her old one. In a haze, you slip it on her ring finger. She then steals a tender kiss from your lips before she says it's time to celebrate. As she reveals the cake, she turns to speak to you.

"I know it's old-fashioned, but mommy always wanted to have a wedding," she says.

You look at the cake and see it topped with a tigress and human, but as you stare at it, she surprises you by smearing a handful of it on your face.

"I always wanted to do that."

She looks at you with almost childlike glee, and you can't help but return the gesture. She licks the mess off of your face before sticking her tongue out.

"Marzipan is so gross," she jokes. "But we still have to pop the champagne!"

The pop echoes through the empty yard, and the carbonated alcohol rushes out. After it subsides, she pours two flutes full of it. She's laid out a blanket in the grass for the two of you to relax on. She lays down before you, and you join her before she corrects you, placing your body on top of hers, your head cradled on her chest. It's calming, but also sobering after what was the near fugue state you were in.

"Isn't this so nice? The stars are always so bright out here," she says.

"Yeah..." you reply.

The silence drags on a while, her seemingly just enjoying your company while you try to comprehend what happened. The stranger thing is that in retrospect, you were having... fun? It would have been a wonderful experience excluding the whole marriage thing. It kind of already happened, so it might be too late to speak out. But there's still a question floating around in your mind.

"Why?" you ask, breaking the silence.

It seems she perfectly understood your vague question.

"Because I love you more than anything. I'm the only one who can keep you happy. I'm the only one who won't hurt you. I'm the only one who can keep you safe," she says. "You love me too, right?"

You have to digest her statement for a minute, and at least at face value she's completely right. It's definitely a stretch to apply it to an unofficial incestuous marriage, though. All you can do is honestly answer her question.

"I do."

"Then it's all right. Now we'll be together forever and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever." she repeats.

That was a bit too much emphasis. She happily hugs you a bit too tightly like you'll blow away in the wind if she lets you go, but eventually releases you.

"You'll never find a better wife than me. You don't need any other girls. And..." she continues. "I know I can make you feel better than anyone else."

She's so sure of herself, but it might be because she's right. That absolutely put some ideas in her head, however.

"It's our wedding night," she says as she places you back on the ground. "So now you know what we have to do."

Even when "married" this is a real boundary that probably shouldn't be crossed.

"I mean, maybe not yet..." is all you manage to say.

"Oh Anon, you're too cute. You want to wait for our honeymoon? You're just too pure," she coos. "I can't take you anywhere nice, but it'll be perfect."

She still sits up and hikes her skirt up, pulling her panties down and spreading her legs.

"That's okay, I can still wait a bit. But I need something at least," she says. "I've had to take care of myself for so long now. Now get in there."

You suppose it's only fair, but it might be your arousal talking. Her smell is intoxicating, almost giving you a high of some sort. For some reason, you start salivating at the thought of enjoying her taste. Seeing her pussy right in front of you, you can't possibly say no.

"Touch my thighs, it's my sensitive spot," she commands.

You start stroking your hands on the insides of her thighs, causing her to moan. The downy cream-colored fur is softer than it ever was in your imagination. It feels like literal seconds before she gets impatient.

"That's enough. I don't want to wait anymore," she says hurriedly.

You take your hands and reach in closer, parting her ebony lips and see that your daydream was right on point. Her pink flesh looks so inviting, and the wetness makes you want to drink it down. Her large clit looks painfully swollen from arousal. You finally dip your head down to taste her, starting with her luscious petals. Taking them into your mouth, you suck on them messily, her excitement already coating your lips and tongue. She hums with satisfaction and starts stroking her hand on her lower stomach. You continue slurping at her and her flavor permeates your mouth. You really can't get enough of it, it's genuinely addictive. You move up slightly to flick your tongue against her engorged clit, and she lets out stifled sharp moans in pleasure. Her chest is heaving, but she seems to be holding back her pleasure. Your chin is soaked, and you feel it start to run down your neck.

"No- not yet," she chokes out.

She really was holding back her orgasm. She pushes you back slightly by your neck. She surprises you by hooking a few of her thick fingers under your collar, and with firm pressure she pulls you deeper inside of her.

"Eat mommy out. Really eat mommy's pussy," she commands.

It's a little hard to breathe with how far you're buried inside of her. Your nose is almost completely sealed shut from how hard it's pressed against the cleft of her pussy. But somehow, the rough treatment only urges you further. You indulge in her depths, probing at her silken walls. You feel her pussy start to quiver around your tongue, and she starts to grind her sex against your face, her erect clit rubbing on your nose. Through gritted teeth, sharp moans escape her mouth. From the wild look in her eyes, you can tell she's going to cum, and cum hard.

"Mommy's going to cum on your face!" she shouts.

She's practically growling as she reaches her crescendo, and let's out a painful sounding groan as she cums. At that moment, she yanks your collar hard, trying to pull you into her as hard as she can, and the pressure on your neck is legitimately painful. There's a spurt of her cum that runs down your throat, and you have no choice but to drink it down. You can't imagine doing anything otherwise, though. Her grip and her shaky moans continue as she rides out her climax before she finally releases you and collapses backwards. You collapse on top of her as well, and it takes an inordinate amount of time for the two of you to recover.

"Oh Anon, mommy's been waiting months and months for that. I've never cummed that hard, ever," she informs you. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You're fine now, and if you had to admit it, you actually enjoyed it.

"I'm fine," you say.

"I'll be more careful from now on, I just couldn't stop with how pent-up I was," she replies.

She pulls you up to her face and kisses you deeply in gratitude before peeling her face away.

"Mmm. You taste like me. Just like you should," she says. "I think it's your turn now."

She picks you up just by wrapping her arms around your waist, and sets you down gently on your back. Without warning, she starts licking at the underside of your cock with her scratchy tongue, causing you to jump and hiss. There's no wiggle room as her arms are still wrapped around you, but she switches to a gentler but just as agonizing treatment by rolling the underside of her tongue around the top of your dick. Her massive tongue almost completely envelops it, and the thick warm saliva coats it nicely. She pulls her tongue back to speak.

"Does mommy's mouth feel good? I'll make it feel even better," she says.

She doesn't give you time to respond before she takes you into her massive maw, pursing her lips around the base of your dick. She's so much bigger than you, that she can't really bob her head. She can only pleasure you with her tongue and her dirty sounding slurps. The suction that she's capable of is otherworldly. It feels like she's trying to suck the seed directly out of you by pure force. In irregular waves, the pressure massages your length and all the blood flows into it. She can tell how close you are just by how engorged your member is. To cool you down a bit, she releases you again and gives you another tongue bath.

"You're going to cum soon. Go ahead and let mommy drink your cum," she orders before continuing to suck again.

The vacuum created by her mouth starts to become overwhelming. You start to twitch inside her, and you feel your balls start to tighten as you grip the blanket that you're laying on. With one last loud slurp, the corner of her lips curl right as she makes you cum. You shoot load after load onto the back of her tongue, and you feel her throat vibrate as she lets out a satisfied moan. Even after cumming, she continues sucking, causing you to roll and struggle under her, until she's sure that she's wrung every last drop out of you. Once done, she pulls her head off of you and leaves her tongue lolling out, presenting the mouthful that she just milked out of you pooled in her mouth. She closes her mouth and swallows loudly, before chuckling and licking her lips.

"You made so much for mommy. Good boy," she says.

You lay there as she crawls up back next to you to embrace you. All you see is the stars as your prone form only has the energy to look up. She takes her paw and starts stroking your hair until she decides that it's time to go back inside. Lifting you up in a bridal carry, she brings you up to the bedroom.

"I wanted to do more, but we need to get your stamina up. We'll continue with your training from now on," she informs you.

She sets you down before laying down next to you, running her finger along your new collar and humming to herself happily.

"You can take it off when we sleep. I'm sure it's uncomfortable to lay on it. But you have to put it on first thing in the morning," she informs you.

You take it off and get a look at it for the first time. It really is a nice looking collar.

"Did you read the tag?" she asks.

You look it over and see the engraving.

"Mommy's Boy"

It kind of rubs salt in the wound as it reminds you of the twisted relationship that you can't seem to escape from. Do you really even want to, though? You decide to think about it later and catch some rest. Placing it on the table, you let your mother pull you into her embrace.

"I won't let you leave me," she promises.

"Ever."

Notes:

Sleepwalker - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard

Damn, this bitch cray. Anon finally has no choice to accept it. Will he accept it or try to find some kind of out? We'll see next chapter!

Chapter 7 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You wake up before your mother, and the first thing you look at is your collar. The tag on it reflects the morning sun. The gravity of the situation finally hits you. First it was the derealization you felt during the events unfolding around you, then an intense sexual exchange that distracted you from everything. Your mother got you a collar! She even did a little mock wedding! It may have been kind of fun, but that's beside the point. You've been lying to yourself for months now just because you didn't want to see the truth. That something was seriously wrong with your mother. You don't think she's ill or something, because she's present and normal in every other way. You want to be able to blame it on a brain tumor or something, but that isn't the case. Something changed at some point, but you don't know when. Was it when she decided to pleasure you for the first time? Was it always like this? That doesn't really matter, but things went too far, and it's all your fault. You played along with it the whole time, and now it feels like you can't live without her. Maybe if you refused harder, things could still be normal. She wouldn't force anything on you.

Right?

As you think, she starts to stir beside you and pulls you in closer. By reflex, you get closer, so she can give you a deep sloppy kiss. She really draws it out, until you get a little short of breath. Surely doing this multiple times a day isn't even normal for couples. How were you in denial so long? You waited until it was too late.

"Good morning, Anon. After you're done breastfeeding, I have to go to work," she says sadly.

It hits you that you've just been accepting bizarre statements like this for nearly a year now.

"Last night was so perfect. But every day from now on will be even better," she says optimistically. "Now put on your collar and meet me downstairs when you're ready."

You obediently put it on and take care of your morning rituals before you meet her downstairs. You sit in her lap and drink from her breasts as usual, but you do your best to ignore your arousal. At least she didn't notice. Since she's in a hurry, you have to squeeze the rest of her milk out of her in the sink as she lets out her sighs and soft moans. Everything you've done together has turned her on. Every touch, cuddle, and kiss has had her lusting after you even more than whatever you felt. Once done, she gets dressed into her sharp State uniform, to go to her regular day job where no one expects a thing. She gives you another kiss before she leaves.

"I'll be back by about six. I made lunch for you in the fridge," she informs you.

Even with all of this, that unconditional love that she's always given you is still there. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but it could just be a strange extension of that love. The hungry look in her eyes, and the constant assurances that you'll never be apart tells a different story. You've made your bed, now you have to lay in it. Is it really that bad? Even in the sappiest romance movies, no one lavishes someone with attention and care like her. You know her love is unshakable and will never falter. It's truly picturesque, except for the fact that you're robbed of any chance of a normal life.

You just wish you could go outside.

You wish you could do things like eat at a restaurant, or go to the park.

Especially with her.

You push those depressing thoughts aside and try to distract yourself. You play some video games, and get bored quickly. You watch the news, and it's all terrorist attacks and propaganda. It's those Irish again. They really love their car bombs. There's no good movies, and cable TV is just a bunch of drivel. You laze around while some evangelical rambles on about the sanctity of the union of man and anthro, and how human women are descended from Lilith. It's not like there's many anyway. Projected extinction by 2070. Maybe they'll keep them in a zoo or something like some kind of endangered animal.

Sighing, you go to your shared room and hop on your laptop. You browse around random sites until the urge hits you. Last night keeps replaying in your head now, and you didn't get any relief this morning. It bothers you a bit that your sexual appetite has increased so much since your relationship started. Perhaps a bit of adult entertainment would be a healthy change. You type in "furhub.com" and the page doesn't load.

"ChildGuard: This site is blocked for: Adult Content"

Just when did that get put up? She never even had any net filters when you were a young boy. You punch in any of the other sites that you've memorized, and they all say the same thing. Well, there's at least one place that might work. Furchan.

"ChildGuard: This site is blocked for: Inappropriate Content"

That's not shocking. You're getting very desperate now. Even desperate enough to crawl through social media to find something racy enough to work. Twitter is a good place to start.

"ChildGuard: This site is blocked for: Social Media"

Even social media networks are blocked? You try all of them, and none of them work. You're pretty much stuck with educational sites as you sigh and close your laptop. You head back down to the living room and see that the more adult channels are blocked too.

Now you're more pissed than anything. All the horniness has been evicted from your body. Why would she do something like this? You've been so distracted that you never even noticed the walls starting to close in on you. First it started with her ignoring the fact that you thought about leaving, then it morphed into her saying that you can stay with her forever if you need to. She finally started saying that you'd be with her forever like it was fact. And now there's this. Is she trying to control everything you do? The way she's been talking recently seems to confirm this. Maybe you've got to evaluate things a bit to at least try to reason with her. Softly.

Abby gets to her workplace, on a mission. She already requested a meeting with her superior. Before starting her work, she patiently waits in the elevator to reach her destination. It's a little hard to calm down with the butterflies in her stomach. Walking into the reception area, the human receptionist greets her. The boss always had a weakness for strapping young men, that old dog. After waiting about fifteen minutes or so, she's finally buzzed in. Her superior is sitting at a desk. As soon as she walks in, she snaps to attention and gives her a sharp salute. She always feels so silly doing these things, but it's been drilled into her over many years. The officer seated at the desk doesn't even stand up and returns a lazy salute.

At ease, Major. You know I hate that shit," she says with a grin.

Abby relaxes and waits for her to continue.

"So what's my star employee doing here? We never get to see each other enough with all the work," she says. "Good job, by the way. I've been keeping up with your cases."

"Thank you, Colonel," she replies.

The dog sitting at the table is a different breed from a lot of the civil servants. She's an actual veteran who got her start with insurgency suppression, and her casualness isn't from complacency. It's just a cool head from the many stressful situations she's faced, on the battlefield and out. It's only born out of confidence.

"Of course. So it's something important?" the Colonel asks.

"Yes ma'am," Abby hesitates a bit at the intimidating figure in front of her. "I'm afraid I'm going to be leaving my position for an early retirement."

The dog is absolutely shocked, but the only change in expression is a raised eyebrow.

"Are you sure? Your pension will be pretty nice, but you're plenty young enough to work longer," she notes.

"Positive, ma'am," she replies.

She never needed this job at any point with the amount of money that she inherited. She only did it out of a sense of fulfillment and civic duty.

"Alright. I'll miss having someone as capable as you around, but you've got my support," the officer replies.

"Is two weeks okay? I can stay longer if required," Abby suggests even though she'd prefer sooner than later.

"I wouldn't care if you left today. As long as I'm around, you're welcome back anytime," she says. "I'll approve everything when you submit it. I'd love to chat more, but I have work to do. Dismissed."

"Thank you, ma'am," Abby replies, happy that everything went so well.

As she about-faces and starts to leave, the Colonel calls out to her again.

"Oh, and enjoy your retirement. You deserve it," she says.

"God knows I need mine soon," she grumbles under her breath.

Abby happily exits the office and starts for her office. She drafts up the paperwork, dating her resignation at two weeks exactly. She's so excited to tell Anon the news. But she'll wait until her last day when she'll break the news, walking through the front door. It's the perfect surprise. She'll be able to spend every waking moment with him, and even every sleeping moment as well. Her workload is smaller than usual, so while she's waiting around to call it a day, she decides to pull out her phone.

Time to check on Anon again.

Flipping through the camera feeds, she sees that Anon's really restless. She watches him flit from distraction to distraction before he retires to their room and plays around on his laptop. She watches him shift around a bit, readjusting his crotch a few times before he looks left and right guiltily and unbuckles his belt. He returns to the computer before putting on a confused expression. She knew that she should have taken care of him this morning, but he never asked for it. She figures she'll just make sure she relieves him when she notices it from now on. Abby feels a tinge of mild sadistic glee from seeing him so frustrated, but more than anything, she wishes she was there to ease his urges herself. He continues typing site after site, and has no luck. It's all to her plan. If he absolutely needs to masturbate, he's only allowed to do it while thinking about her. He won't ever need to touch himself again very soon. What's strange to her is his reaction. She expected him to give in and use his imagination, or at least go grab some of her underwear or something. He does neither, and starts surfing the web even harder. Confused, she uses the parental control software to see what exactly he's looking at. It's top of the line stuff, based off of the Anthrostate's own network surveillance technology. It's search after search as he digs deeper. Why would he ever need to look something like that up? No matter how much she doesn't want to see it, she keeps watching him read through article after article.

When your mother returns, she doesn't greet you like she normally does. It's very strange, but you decide not to press it. A bad day at work, maybe? It's not the first time that it happened, but you're keeping your space to be considerate. You're still in the bedroom, and you close all your tabs and switch to a random YouTube video. You slip on the headphones you had laying aside, and lazily watch along to whatever the algorithm recommends to you. When it rolls around to "HOW LONG??? TOP 10 CELEBRITIES PACKING THE MOST HEAT" you decide you've seen enough, and you see how much time has passed. Almost two hours? Did you just not notice her walk in and say hello to you, or something? You walk downstairs and hear her soft sniffles.

When you reach the dining room, you see her slumped over the table. There are two empty bottles of wine laying on their sides, an empty glass knocked over. She's got the third in her grip. You've never seen her have more than a single glass aside from the total of two drinks she had at your "wedding." Seeing her drunk is totally uncharted territory. As far as you understand, she was always pretty straight-laced, even as a law student of all things. Present at every wild sorority party, a friend of everyone, but got by with just her charisma instead of liquid courage. She has always been a role model citizen, but not in the joy killer kind of way. Even as large as she is, she has to feel something.

"Mom? Are you okay?" you call out.

"Uuuh..." she lets out a pitiful whine.

When you look at her, you see that her eyes are all red from crying and have big fat tears rolling down her face. She turns her head away from you and hiccups, so all you do is get a little closer to her.

"Why are you drinking so much?" you ask as you start to pick up the empty bottles.

"It-it's your fault," she says, giving you a sharp look.

You're taken aback. "What?" you ask.

"You made me drink. It's because you don't love mommy enough," she says.

This is a drastic change in personality. You never did anything to indicate that, so you wonder just what you did for it to get interpreted this way.

"No, why would you think that?" you ask, concerned.

"Because you want to leave!" she yells. "I do everything for you, and-"

With a few pained heaves, she breathes heavily and calms down a bit.

"Mom..." you say.

"I'm sorry Anon, that's not right. It's all mommy's fault," she says. "I'm not good enough, and you hate me."

She's really flipping from extreme to extreme and it's really unsettling.

"I don't hate you," you reassure her.

"Liar. I saw all the things you were looking up," she says with an accusing tone.

Your heart skips a beat. How did she know?

"''Signs of a toxic relationship,' 'is my partner possessive?' 'unhealthy parent-child relationship,'" she lists off. "'How to l-leave a controlling partner!

She bawls out the last part. While you should feel anger at your privacy being invaded, your heartstrings are being pulled at instead. Your research wasn't really that deep, just surface level stuff.

"I'm not-" you start to say.

"You hate me because I'm so terrible! But if you leave, I-I-" she says in a panic. "I'll just die."

She can't possibly mean that she'll hurt herself, does she? You try to interject and console her, but you can't get a word in.

"If you really want to leave, you have to do it when I'm gone," she explains hurriedly. "If you try to run from me while I'm here, I can't stop myself. I'll never let you leave..."

You've got to stop this before she goes into even a worse downward spiral. You walk up and grab her to console her.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere," you say. "I was just a little worried. I was only looking at everything that popped up."

She sniffles a bit as she returns the hug and calms down a bit.

"Promise me you'll never ever ever leave," she says forcefully.

"I won't," you reply.

"No. Say it like I said," she commands.

You repeat her, and that seems to relieve her a bit. She sighs a bit.

"Okay, that's better. I'm sorry Anon, mommy just gets so worried. I promise I'll be better from now on," she says. "For you."

"Thanks mom, me too," you say.

She seems to recover mostly when she decides to scold you.

"You need to stop scaring me so much. I always get worried when you spend so much time looking out the windows when I'm gone," she explains. "It's practically all you do when I check on you through the cameras!"

How often does she do that? You almost regret making that promise after hearing this, but you had to make it, and you have to keep it.

"Sorry," you say somewhat insincerely, but all she does is giggle.

"That's okay, Anon. You just have to remember this is our castle, and the queen always has to keep her little prince safe," she says. "I won't let them hurt you."

That is one thing that she's always faithfully done for you. Maybe she's right, and you are just letting stuff get to you too much. This arrangement isn't conventional, but it's better than anything else you've ever had.

"I know," you reply.

She seems to have recovered completely as she puts on a mock pout.

"Good. But I'm still mad at you. I saw what kind of sites you were trying to look at," she says. "You're not allowed to cheat on me with other girls. I'll make you something nice later if you really can't help yourself. You're supposed to be asking mommy if you need to cum, though."

She lets go of you and takes some wobbly steps to a drawer to fetch a wine stopper before tossing the bottle in the fridge.

"Hmm, maybe scampi tomorrow..." she mumbles to herself. "Anon, I think we're going to have to order out for dinner."

She stumbles over to the couch and lays all over it, tapping away at some delivery app before beckoning you over.

"We've got some time until it arrives. Now come here. Mommy needs you to show her how much you love her."

Ava Finch is a Ph.D. in Ornithology. That's at least the cover Morris used when she ordered this, and after all these days it finally arrived. If this purchase was discovered by the force, it'd be hard to explain, but not violating protocol or anything. It would just be extremely suspicious, even though she's successfully stayed out of the frying pan since her last screw up. If she gets caught using this, though, there will be problems. She opens up the surprisingly small box and pulls out its contents. It's a flat panel, interspersed with indents. Microphones, to be precise. From her research, those crappy dish-shaped directional microphones that the feds use have nothing on an array like this. It should penetrate the length of the driveway so that no sounds can escape her. What was really difficult to convince the company to add was the bandpass filter that isolated speech. She told them it was to isolate the sounds of very rare birds. Everything went off without a hitch, the manufacturer finding nothing suspicious with her order. Last thing she needed is a suspicious order to get reported to the State.

She may not be bird watching, but she's going to catch Mrs. Wilkes singing like a bird.

It's what the detective estimates is about two hours before Mrs. Wilkes has to leave for her work. She can't hear inside the house, of course, but imagines that they're already awake. Mrs. Wilkes is a very responsible member of society, after all. All she needs is for them to step outside, or even say something at the door, and she's golden. As she waits, though, the familiar doubts that have been plaguing her resurface. She has no doubts that Anon is in the house, but sometimes she wonders why she's doing this. She has nothing against Mrs. Wilkes, and actually sympathizes with her. Her safeguarding has gone too far, but it's understandable. She just wants to keep her child safe after a horrible situation.

That said, this can't stand. She probably isn't feeling too cooperative, but she'll have to back down when she's caught. She's got her position and the whole justice system on her side. Furthermore, she'll walk free with a little bit of probation, even with the length of time that she's kept Anon from assignment. It's from special circumstances, after all. The law or things like that isn't why Morris's doing this though. It's for Anon. Such a terrible thing to happen to such a promising young man. He must be traumatized beyond belief. Cooping him up can only make things worse for him though. After treatment from the State, Mrs. Wilkes will see that it's for the best. It will be a happy story of redemption for everyone.

With how wonderful of a woman Mrs. Wilkes is, she has to be a wonderful mother.

She'll understand in the end.

Morris's train of thought is broken as she hears the front door open. It starts with muffled footsteps that she can barely identify. Someone wearing heels, obviously Mrs. Wilkes, and another pair of soft soles touching the ground. That must be Anon. Now she's got confirmation that he's definitely there.

"Anon, give mommy a kiss before work," she hears in a sing-song voice.

She hears a wet smack of lips and chuckles a bit. The poor momma's boy is probably going to be washing lipstick off of his cheek for a minute.

"I'll be back at six, make sure you enjoy the lunch I made for you," she continues.

The timeline fits her schedule, now the investigator just has to wait for her to leave and call it in. It'd be better that way. When she hears her departure, she ducks down and waits for her to pass. The time for intervention is now. She pulls out her work phone, and calls in to her supervisor that she needs a warrant.

"Yeah, the address is..." she says as she spells out Wilke's address.

"The DA's place? What the fuck are you doing Morris?" her boss harshly whispers into the phone. "I'm not helping you get a damn thing."

"Lieutenant, I heard him this time, he's in there," Morris pleads.

"Heard him!" she shouts before hushing herself down again. "You better not be anywhere on that property."

"I'm-" Morris gets cut off.

"Don't tell me. You've never been anywhere near there, understand? This call never happened, and you would do well to remember that," the Lieutenant says before hanging up with a click.

Having someone look out for her is a good thing, but this is just counterintuitive at this point for the detective. It doesn't matter what the Lieutenant says, she'll have to try to solve this herself. With Mrs. Wilkes nowhere to be found, she starts the walk to the house. Anon will see sense. As she walks up the driveway, the house eventually comes into view. She can't see anyone but can see the flicker of a television on. She decides her best approach at the moment is to approach traditionally.

Knock knock.

You hear someone at the door. That's strange, your mother would have contacted you if there was a delivery or something. You check your phone to see that you haven't missed any messages and just continue entertaining yourself until you hear back. Whoever at the door is really persistent, though. You start to creep towards the door and see if you can see through the peephole. You see an anthro in a trench coat and decide this might have been a bad idea. Her face starts to grow closer to the peephole as you duck down to avoid blocking it. There's a moment of silence before she starts to bang harder.

"Anon, I know you're there. You don't have to hide from me," the feline says firmly.

How does she know your name? This is kind of scary now.

"I'm Sergeant Morris with the police, I'm here to help you," she says.

Your phone buzzes and you look down to the text you just received.

"hide"

You freeze for a moment, not knowing what you should do. The doorknob starts to jiggle as the officer tries to force it open fruitlessly.

"I already know what's going on. Anon, you know what you're doing isn't right. Let the State help you," she pleads.

That statement concerns you even more. Just how much does she know about your relationship? You take a few steps back and duck under a nearby table. It seems she heard you as she's gotten even louder.

"Anon! It isn't healthy for you to stay with her! Just come out to talk!"

You can't believe you even thought about opening the door for a second. Just being hidden from assignment is one thing, but this is a much worse scenario. You don't want to get your mother in jail or anything, but you've thought about leaving. However, with the research you've done you realize that would be the least of your worries. In the State, avoiding the death penalty would be lucky in cases of illegal incest. You were this close to sending your mother to the chair. The detective continues shouting, and all you do is cover your ears until you hear and see sirens and flashing lights. You hear yelling as someone gets arrested, but you're left alone other than a simple "anyone home?" by one of the officers. You look down at your phone and realize that you missed a text from your mother a while ago.

"don't worry, otw home"

You breathe a sigh of relief. You just have to wait until she gets back and solves everything. That should be what happens anyway, you hope. The police would certainly be busting down the doors if something was wrong. Everything seems to have calmed down, but you don't dare move yet. You hear some chatter between what sounds like your mother and another person, but you can't be completely certain. Eventually it ends, and after a bit the front door unlocks.

"Anon, it's mommy. You're safe now," she says before you reveal yourself.

She lifts you up into a deep hug and breathes in your scent.

"You did such a good job, hiding just like I told you," she notes.

"I tried my best," you reply.

"You did perfect. I'm sorry you had to hide for so long. It must have been so scary," she says while rubbing her cheek against yours.

"Yes, I'm fine now, though," you say.

If she only knew how bad things really are. No need to worry her this soon, however.

"Good. It's not all that bad, though. Now I get to have lunch with my son!" she says cheerily.

You look at the time and realize that it has actually been that long. It seems you have gotten better at zoning out when needed.

"And then we'll get the whole rest of the day together. I might have to take a call from the police, though," she explains.

She gets her lunch bag and you both eat the food that she prepared for you earlier. You decide to ask her about the events that transpired.

"So was that the same officer from earlier?" you ask.

"Sergeant Morris. She's been a real pain. I would've thought she'd know better than to try this again," she sighs. "She'll learn her lesson this time."

You feel a bit nervous hearing that.

"What's going to happen to her?" you ask.

"Well, she's not going to be a police officer anymore. I'll make sure of that," she says.

Hopefully, she'll leave it at that.

"So, I think the detective knows. About us," you explain.

"Why else would she want to try to break in here?" she questions.

"Not like that, I mean, she said she knew everything," you say.

"Oh! I don't see how," she says. "Why does it matter anyway? I'm not ashamed of our love. You're not either, are you?" she asks.

That's a really complicated question, but there's no need to go into detail about it.

"No," you reply.

"Good," she says while cleaning up the remainder of the lunch. "Now come here, we have some cuddling to catch up on."

"Lee, Thomas, you have to believe me, the boy's in that house!" Morris shouts from the back of the patrol car.

The officer in the passenger seat gives her a look of pity. She thinks that she's a little nuts.

"I don't know, Sergeant. Even still, you shouldn't be chasing big shots like that," she says.

The driver looks back and comments as well.

"Chasing the Chief's friend like that behind her back is probably going to put you in a world of shit," the driver says.

Now that's certainly true, but she has that recording of Mrs. Wilkes talking to Anon, that might be enough for the Chief to do something. That's what she hopes, at least. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, except some well-meaning but pointless encouragement from the arresting officers. At least they didn't cuff her. They finally get to the station. Time to walk to the gallows. It's going to be a nasty demotion and traffic duty for a long time from now on. She walks past the Lieutenant as she goes to the Chief of Police's office. All Morris gets is a scowl. She didn't think far ahead enough to consider that this could have consequences for more than herself. No one is on her side now. As the attending officers leave her at the door to the office, she gets wished "good luck" by the both of them. When she enters, the lights are on, and Chief Black is sitting calmly at her desk. It'd look like a normal day at work if it wasn't for the sharp glare aimed at the detective.

"Chief, I have something to show you," Morris says as she pulls up the recording she took of Mrs. Wilkes at the door.

Athena listens silently before getting a pained look on her face.

"Oh, Abby..." she says as she looks down. "You're doing worse than I thought."

"Chief, she's obviously talking to her son," the detective asserts.

"Yeah, she is," the Chief replies before composing herself again. "But I certainly don't hear anyone responding. She released the surveillance footage for the day as well. Not a person there other than her, and yourself trying to break into an empty house."

The detective can't believe this. This was supposed to be her ace in the hole. They just think she's mad with grief, but she's all there from what the detective can tell.

"Chief, I know I'm right, please, just investigate it somehow," she pleads.

"I will not. If your evidence actually existed, you broke the law by using electronic equipment without approval. This is way beyond the scope of plain view," she says.

The chief is completely right. Perhaps using a microphone like this might not count as surveillance equipment legally, but that's a gray area that will not go well for the detective.

"Maybe this doesn't count as official surveillance equipment?" Morris hopefully says.

"That's the way I see it. Regardless, it's completely against our department's protocol," Athena says gruffly.

The detective sighs.

"So, what's the discipline?" she asks, accepting her punishment.

"Discipline? You're getting terminated. You're on unpaid leave until the papers go through," she replies. "It should be done in a few days. I'd suggest looking for a new job."

"Chief-!" she shouts.

"Gun and badge. We'll be by to pick up your personal weapons," the Chief informs her.

Shaking, Morris hands over everything.

"You're lucky Abby and I have decided not to pursue any charges," she says, feeling a bit of pity towards the feline. "I'd try another department."

"It has to be this here! My sister..." she chokes out.

Athena cuts her off. "Good luck, Morris. Don't make any more poor decisions. We can't cover for you anymore."

The former detective leaves the building completely downfallen.

She stole everything from her. Anon, the law, not even justice matter to her anymore.

This is revenge.

It's been a very eventful day, and you're having a lot of trouble calming down even with all your mother's efforts. Everything worked out. No matter how relieved she seems, you can tell how high-strung she is. At least the day is over.

"Time for bed, Anon," she says.

You're not too sure how easily either of you are going to fall asleep, but it's worth the effort. The two of you get upstairs, undressed, and in bed. You just lay on the covers while she disrobes. You watch her as she places her body next to yours. The stranger thing is that she doesn't touch you before getting your attention.

"Anon?"

Guess she's in the mood for some pillow talk. Both of you did avoid talking about what happened besides that short conversation at lunch. She continues before you can respond.

"I thought I was going to lose you. That you'd leave. That they'd take you," she says in a deadpan voice.

"Yeah, that was-" you add.

"There's still so much we haven't done yet," she says before flipping her body onto yours in a flash.

She sits her massive ass on your hips. She's pretty heavy, but you aren't in any significant pain. Even through the pressure, you can feel her flesh spilling over you. There's no way she could neatly sit on you with the size difference. Even with how used to her naked body you are, you feel your loins start to stir as she grinds against you.

"Anon. My Anon, she says. I'm going to make you mine."

You're not sure how much choice you have in the matter, but you're nervous beyond belief. You suppose you knew that this was going to happen eventually, but no matter how much your body wants it, you still are resisting mentally.

"Wait, maybe we shouldn't-" you attempt to interject.

She freezes, her gyrating hips stopping.

"Why? Why? Why not?" she repeats. "You're not making any sense."

She's acting like you're speaking a foreign language. The way she's tilting her head in confusion while looking down at you is unsettling. For the first time in months you feel afraid of her.

"We can't undo this if we go this far," you explain.

"Why would we want to do that?" she asks.

What do you say? You don't think you'll be able to get through to her no matter what you say. You're disappointed in her. You guess all anthros are like this no matter what. She must have been holding herself back for a while but the true nature inside of her finally became too much to bear.

"I don't think I want to do this..." you reply.

She gives you a sweet but hollow smile and strokes your cheek.

"It's okay Anon. I know you're scared, but you'll like it when we start," she says. "It's different from just sex. Mommy's going to teach you how to make love. It's the most beautiful way to show how much we love each other."

You're not really afraid of the sex, but the repercussions, and what's to come afterward. She's going to change. It changes every anthro. Maybe it won't be in a bad way, but you don't want to take that chance. She leans forward to kiss you to really prepare your body before leaning back up to speak again. Her face goes deadly serious.

"We have to do this. I was going to wait, but we have to in case something happens," she says to rationalize it.

She grabs your manhood and lines you up with her drooling pussy. Her eyes are wide yet clouded and unfocused in her lust. She gives you no warning as she slowly lowers her hips, causing you to sink into her depths. She lets out a throaty moan when you bottom out. Her wet flesh seems to strangle you as you experience the strongest sensation that you've ever felt in your life.

"Look, Anon. Look at where we're connected," she commands.

You look at her and her heavy lower body is pressing you into her as deep as possible. A blissful lazy smile is plastered on her face.

"Doesn't it feel good, Anon? You fit so well. It's like you were made for me," she starts. "Well, I guess you actually were."

She lets out bubbly giggles. You smell the intoxicating odor of her milk and see that it's freely flowing from her nipples. With how distracted you've been, you haven't thought much about what's happening. The incredible wetness dribbling down your cock makes you realize a critical point that you didn't consider.

"Wait, we're doing it raw!" you say worriedly.

"Of course. You don't want to get mommy pregnant?" she asks.

Your stomach drops. The stakes involved in this situation are even higher than you imagined. All she does is laugh before leaning forward to lick your neck.

"Don't worry, Anon. I was just teasing. Mommy hasn't been in heat in years," she says. "So you can cum inside over and over again."

The breath you were holding is finally released. With the shock fading, everything else that's happening feels trivial now.

"Mmm. A baby would be nice, though," she muses. "Anon and mommy's baby."

When she says that, you can feel her walls tighten and quiver around you. Her lust now taking over, she starts moving up and down. She sees no need to ease into it, starting at a fast clip. Her eyes are crazed, but the open-mouthed smile shows that she's ecstatic. The lewd sounds of slippery sex reach your ears as you plunge into her over and over again. Her paws reach down to your wrists, and she pins them to the bed, wanting to grip you more than anything. She still holds herself back and digs her claws into the mattress instead of you.

"See? It feels really good inside mommy, right? You look so cute when you make those faces," she says.

It's been gradual, but over time her speed increases. You can hear her thighs and cheeks clap against yours over and over again, your skin starting to redden from the sharp blows. Every sensation makes your body burn like an inferno. Your body is soaked from a multitude of her fluids, her sweat, the slippery excitement pouring out of her like a flood, and errant drops of breastmilk being flung from her bouncing breasts. You can't control your moans as your body tenses and slackens over and over again. For a short moment, she stops, and you find yourself frustrated from the interruption despite your earlier protests. Her head dips towards yours as she stares in your eyes.

"Mommy wants kisses," she demands.

Her hands wrap around your chin and the crown of your head, craning your neck upwards, so your mouths can meet. She explores your mouth with her tongue, practically shoving it down your throat as she starts to thrust her hips against yours again. She lets out loud messy slurps as she sucks on your tongue and forces you to drink down her sweet tasting saliva from the forced coupling. The muffled sound that she releases directly into your mouth is halfway between a moan and a predatory growl. Her soft, slick breasts rub against your body, and she smears her motherly secretions on you. Her pace is furious as she breaks the kiss.

"Mommy loves you so much. So, so much," she says, repeating the phrase in different variations over and over again.

You didn't even know people could fuck this fast by this point. Her hips are practically a blur. You plunge into her with wet squelches as her walls undulate against you like they were trying to milk you. She may have called this "making love," and even though it's her way to express her love, it's definitely not that. It's wild, animalistic sex unlike anything that you've ever experienced before. She may not be in heat, but with the way she's humping you, you'd never guess it. You'd guess she's cum quite a few times already, but you're absolutely growing close as well.

"Cum in mommy's pussy," she orders.

To finish you off, she continues her assault for one final stretch. The strings of her love juices draw webs between you as her hips rock against you. The whole time, she's got her teeth gritted, and she stares into your eyes, unblinking. Having her stare into the depths of your soul like this would normally be creepy, but as the both of you start to reach your peak it's simply a melding of emotion. She thrusts against you a final few times, and you surrender your seed to her. She lets out an almost painful groan as you shoot out your cum into her deepest parts. You never knew you could cum this hard, or this much as all of her weight presses you into her as hard as she can, her insides convulsing wildly. After a few torturous moments, she pulls her body off of you. Copious amounts of mixed cum pours out of her, splattering all over your hips.

"Good boy. You gave mommy a lot of cum," she praises you. "You have to do this every day from now on."

She embraces you, and you just lie in her arms as both of you ride the post-orgasm high. It feels like forever before she finally manages to peel her body from yours, literally. The two of you are coated in a sticky mess, and she suggests that you join her in the shower. The two of you lather each other's bodies and the stench of sex floats through the steam. After all of that, it's like a flip switched in her with how gently she caresses your body. After you dry your bodies, she takes a look at the bed and quickly goes and fetches some cleaner linens. As the two of you lay down, she brings you back into a hug, and you breathe in her natural smell as you press your face into her fur.

"See, Anon? You enjoyed it, didn't you?" she asserts.

"Yes, that was amazing," you admit.

You're still not sure how you feel about what transpired, but it's undeniable that you loved it. She starts bathing you with her tongue as she whispers her love for you, and you return her affections. You've completely fallen, and there's no escape.

"I love you too... Mommy."

Notes:

brainbleed - death insurance

Damn that ended up long. We're at the final stretch now.

Chapter 8 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You wake up in the morning, and honestly, things don't really feel too different for you, at least at the moment. It's the same routine as always, breakfast, make-out sessions, and breastfeeding. You guess she's more affectionate this morning, but with how she is normally, it's barely a change, relatively. You can't honestly imagine anything new that she could do to express her love, other than increasing the frequency of her acts. It just seems that she relishes in it more than before. She wishes you goodbye as she leaves for work. This gives you time to think over the ramifications of what happened.

Things haven't really changed at all, at least so far. Granted, it's only been a few hours, but you expected it would be a lot more drastic. Your only experience was with an abusive wife so far, so maybe your trauma might be coloring your worries. Only time will tell. No matter how apprehensive you were, you were in denial of the fact that sex was inevitable. It was an uncomfortable truth that you weren't going to face until you were forced to. No amount of time would've been enough for you to be ready for it. It's a part of your life now, and it's going to happen every day if what she's saying is true. She doesn't lie to you. The only regret that you have now is that there's no way for you to change the trajectory of your life now. Things went too far a while ago, and you missed your chance. You never really had the choice to protest, so leaving was your only option. A part of you regrets not doing so, at least to see how things could have been different.

There's still the threat of interference in some way, though. There's still that detective that spent all that effort to get to you. Your mother assured you that she wouldn't be a problem anymore, but that's what she said the first time. There's also other ways or people from the State that could start getting suspicious. There are also a number of circumstances that'd force you outside. An injury or sickness would necessitate medical care for you or her. A house fire would have firefighters flooding the premises and busting down the doors. There's also the fact that she's almost guaranteed to die before you, and you have no idea what you'll do when that happens. What scares you is what your mother would be capable of to avoid being found out. It's a matter of time until you get found out, hopefully far in the future. All these thoughts are depressing and thinking about them is giving you a headache, so you need to find a way to distract yourself.

You decide to look around a bit to find something to read. All the books in your childhood room are a bit too basic for you, so you decide to take a look through your mother's office. Hopefully it's not all dry law books. You thumb through the bookshelf and find two books that catch your attention enough to stop looking. You find a history book, starting from the war, of course. Pre-state history books are pretty basic and dismissive of human history, after all. The other one you grab is a medical book, mostly about the anatomy and physiology of anthropomorphic species. You go into your bedroom and start with the history book. It starts with a basic overview of the Second World War, mostly basic events that led to war between the Allies and the Axis. 1940 is when the change happened, when the "portal" between the human world and theirs opened. All the aspects and complex physics are way beyond your comprehension, but you at least know that it was accidentally discovered by the Germans on their side of the portal. Berlin connected to another version of Berlin, where the war waged on for well over a decade. The anthro version of Earth was in the "future," though not by a large amount. It was still enough to change the tide of the war over here. It starts to devolve into individual countries being annexed or prematurely capitulating. It's mostly just long lists, and you start to get bored. You really don't want to get to the part about the death camps.

You switch to the biology book and start reading from the beginning. A lot of it is obvious stuff like the size difference, and the disparity of physical prowess between them and humans. They're faster than any human, usually more dexterous, and their senses are much sharper. All of them excluding taste in predatory species. It is why they prefer meat, and eat vegetable matter sparingly. Seeing in low light, sight and hearing sharp enough to hear a mouse rustling around in the grass. Even in strength, they're stronger proportionally, giving smaller anthros the advantage, even dwarfish ones the size of a human. Humans are completely outclassed in almost every way. The only advantage humans have to the majority of species is plantigrade feet. Seeing a canine try to balance on one leg is always funny, and keeping balance while throwing a kick is a laughable feat. It makes anthros very easy to trip in comparison, and the increased leg fatigue when walking long distances.

Most of the basic functions of organs are the same, having lost some specialization of their feral counterparts. A bovine anthro having four stomachs is pretty gross to think about. Other than some species having antivenins or specialized cells for toxin resistance, some species have tougher or extra loose skin for hardiness. All of them have higher pain tolerance. With the general similarities in anatomy, diets between all species are able to be the same. Chocolate won't poison canines, for example. These similarities also prevent anthros of an ancestor species being of a different class, so there's no intelligent reptiles, avians or arthropods and such. Although theoretically possible, they'd differ from humans in wild ways. That doesn't stop conspiracy theorists from talking about an alien species of reptoids.

You finally reach the section about sex and reproduction. Other than the absolute basics of conception, sexual education mostly consisted of graphic instructions on how to please your wife, and a long lecture on how it's a man's civic duty. There was also the education on prophylactics, not to be used except in extreme cases like financial hardship or medical emergencies. That never stopped people from using them casually, however. Homosexuality is essentially illegal, but you've heard of stories of gay and lesbian couples in "marriages" living in a foursome as what's essentially roommates. No one asks any questions unless it becomes public knowledge somehow. You finally get to the section about estrus cycles, which as far as you understood only increased sex drive and fertility. It varies between species in various ways, but those facts are true for everyone. Heat blockers are used in many situations due to the distraction and inconvenience it can cause.

The only other things that stop them are medical issues or menopause. You stop when you read that, and flip to the glossary to read more about menopause. There are a lot of side effects such as the usual hot flashes, mood changes and the like, but it's only defined as a long pause in a heat cycle. Apparently it occurs between the ages of forty to fifty-five. Earlier than age fifty is very rare. That's not good to hear. Technically your mother could have gone through it, but that's wildly unlikely. Now perturbed by this fact, you stop reading immediately and search the medicine cabinet. You inspect bottle after bottle of medication, and check every blister pack. It's all over the counter medication. She couldn't be hiding it, could she? Looking some more, you finally find some. You flare up in anger until you inspect it more. It's already expired, five years ago, in fact. You wonder if this stuff even works anymore, and there's literally dust on the package. It looks like you were worried about nothing. You replace everything and feel guilty at distrusting her so much when she's been mostly honest with you. Maybe her weird change in personality could be seen as deceptive, but that's more your fault for not questioning it. She's been pretty straightforward and didn't really hide anything.

You sigh and decide to eat the lunch made for you. Seeing it neatly and carefully prepared and packed up for you only makes you feel worse. It's still easy to get down, and you spend the rest of your day catching up on some more books. It passes the time well enough until your mother returns home. The evening is mostly normal until dinner when she decides to bring up the subject.

"Anon, what were you digging around in the bathroom for?" she asks in between bites.

"Just some Tums. I had a little bit of heartburn," you say as you pat your chest.

She looks a bit disappointed in you, but doesn't seem angry.

"Anon, you don't have to lie to me. I saw what you were looking at," she explains.

"Sorry," you say, not knowing what to do besides apologize.

"It's alright, as long as you remember from now on that mommy won't lie to you," she chides.

"Okay," you reply obediently.

You really do feel dumb now. She gets a wistful look on her face as she puts her hand to her cheek.

"It really is a shame, though. If I was only a few years younger..." she trails off.

Although ominous, her statement doesn't really mean anything. You can't change time or do the impossible. You do have your other worries that you want to address, but you don't want to bring the mood down even more than you have. Even the constant observation doesn't phase you in any way anymore. She really is just keeping you safe, after all. The night passes as expected, until you get to your activities, but she's a lot calmer this time. It's probably because she was able to release a year's worth of frustration. That doesn't mean she didn't still pound you into the mattress, but she was a lot less frantic this time. Apparently she still got a little pent-up from a single workday, or because she likes to be a little rough. It's probably a little bit of both.

It's been quite a few days, and it seems all your worries were unfounded. Every time you feel apprehensive about something, your intuition has been wrong. Your mother has always been right, and you realize you shouldn't question her anymore. Her methods might be very forceful, but you just had to understand. You were so stubborn for some reason. That will change from now on. Everything else has been peaceful as well. No surprise visits, no close calls, just uncomplicated cohabitation. You're shocked no one even questions your mother, excluding that supposedly crack detective. Not a single person in the system even entertained her deductions due to your mother's reputation. She's been completely stripped of any power or ability, and no one else suspects a thing.

It looks like you'll be living like this indefinitely.

You've been informed earlier in the week that there's a surprise in store for you by your mother. Your stay here has been filled with surprises over and over again. You're not sure what new could even be in store for you. At this point, however, you're looking forward to it. When you wish her a good day, you're left to your devices. You try to find a way to occupy yourself, but you're just too distracted. You're just laid out on the couch, staring at the ceiling until you hear a noise. It's a car's engine idling. Is it a delivery? Too bad you have no way to see who it is. You should ask your mother to let you connect your smartphone to the surveillance system. It just slipped both of your minds. Strangely, just as soon as you hear the purring engine, you hear it cut off. That's not normal for a delivery or mail woman. You get a bit on guard, but stay mostly relaxed. It's probably nothing, but even if something unusual is happening, the only thing turned on is the lights. The house is completely silent. You do sit up and bring yourself onto your feet, keeping your ears open. Strangely, you hear the deadbolt of the front door rattling. It's the middle of the workday, but maybe this could be part of the surprise. It's taking entirely too long for the door to open, and you know for a fact that the locks aren't finicky in any way. You get suspicious and creep through the door to look through the peephole and see nothing.

Now you are genuinely alarmed.

You do follow the protocol that your mother explained to you. This definitely is some sort of emergency. Even a burglar is more of a threat in your situation. The problem is that you were only told to hide. The question is where, and it's difficult to think while you're in a panic. Your best bet is the attic. You go upstairs to the hallway, and drop the pull-down stairs. The string hanging from it is obvious, but looking there is unlikely. You close the stairs behind you, and take a few steps across the joists, hoping you don't misstep and end up crashing through the drywall ceiling. You go a few beams further, and lay your body down. The insulation rolled out in blankets is choking and burns on the bare areas of your skin. Hopefully it's not asbestos. You bear the pain in the silent attic, only lit by a tiny window. You can't hear a thing in here, and the sensory deprivation is terrifying.

With a tension tool inserted in her left hand, Morris applies light pressure with her thumb. Even with a healthy amount of experience, rotating the cylinder without jamming the pins is a difficult task. Using a crude and unlikely method, she runs a straight, key textured tool against the top. After some time of scraping it along the pins, it doesn't give. If it was a padlock, it'd be cracked in mere seconds. The former officer sighs as she hears Anon scramble inside the house. Humans don't understand that it's essentially impossible to not be heard by an anthro. At least she has more confirmation that he's inside, but that means she's running out of time. She pulls out a tiny pistol gripped tool with a trigger just like a caulk gun, and depresses it over and over again inside the lock. As it clicks with each pull, the lock doesn't budge. Snap guns are supposed to be easy to use, but it's not quite working for her. She has to rely on the most traditional method, bumping each individual pin with the lock pick. With her ear pressed against the door, she pushes them upward until they seemingly stick, but with no luck. She lets them fall repeatedly to reset them with soft clicks as she attempts to pick the lock.

"Fucking security pins," she curses.

She's wasted another fifteen minutes or so, and she decides to take more drastic measures. It's gotten to plan B now, the most dangerous option. She walks to the side of the house, finding a large window. Producing a small pen shaped tool, she places it on a corner of the window pane. A spike punches through the glass with the assistance of a spring almost silently, the glass cracked and ready to be dislodged with the slightest amount of pressure. She wraps her jacket around an arm and pushes out the glass onto the floor, muffled by the carpet. It was an expertly selected spot. Even an anthro a few rooms away wouldn't be able to hear it. She makes her way inside, surveilling the immediate area.

No one is visible, and Anon's smell doesn't betray his location. Checking every hiding spot on the first floor, he's nowhere to be found. She even searched the attached garage. Checking her watch, she has almost no time left. She's certain Mrs. Wilkes wouldn't call the police for a B&E, since that would invite them right into the house. The only limiting factor is her. If she immediately leaves her workplace and drives home, it's an hour for the drive, with possibly an extra fifteen minutes to excuse herself from work. It's been fifty-five minutes. All she can hope is that she didn't notice her intrusion immediately. A silent alarm would ruin everything. She searches the basement next, and after a thorough search, there are not many places to hide. It's unfinished and used as a storage space, with only an empty half bathroom. She hurries upstairs, not making any attempt to hide her presence.

"Anon! Come out!" she shouts.

Her voice is angry, completely lacking any sort of concern. She's not bargaining or trying to coax him out. Her mission has nothing to do with his safety or rehabilitating him. She just wants revenge and to be proven right.

"I will find you. Don't make this hard," she says harshly.

She lets out a barely withstrained hiss in frustration. She continues her search, checking what's obviously his room and under his bed to no avail. The bathroom is empty, and she heads to the master bedroom. She gets a victorious grin as she enters it, his scent permeating the room. She's certain he's in here with how powerful his odor is. She spends a long time in her meticulous search, but still fails in her search. She's momentarily confused as to why the smell is so strong, but pushes it aside to inspect the final space.

The attic.

She pulls down the stairs, but freezes when she hears the front door open.

Just what is going on? You've been hiding for god knows how long, and now someone's been stomping around looking for you. You can't identify the voice, but she certainly knows who you are. It hurts to stifle your breath with the amount of sharp fibers penetrating your skin and lungs, and it takes all your might not to cough, let alone gasp for air. Your body tenses as the footsteps stop, and the bright light of the stairs opening flood the attic. You've been caught. Just as you think it's over, you hear something rush up the stairs and audibly collide with another body. One of them crashes to the ground so hard that you wince. You can hear pained gasps as one of them tries to catch their breath, before there's another sharp impact. It gets quiet for a moment before you hear something dragged along the ground and down the stairs. You hear it thump against every step, and there's an agonizing wait before someone goes up the stairs. It calls up the stairs in a familiar voice.

"Anon! It's safe now, mommy's home."

You wait a few moments before moving, and make your way to the stairs in a crouch to avoid hitting your head. You cautiously go down the steps and see your mother, completely unharmed. You're in shock and look at her flabbergasted as she hugs you tightly.

"It's okay now, I've got you," she says in a soothing voice.

You don't really know how to respond, but you feel some relief. It's shattered almost instantly.

"Mommy has to take care of something now," she spits out.

Now you're worried again. Just what was that struggle? She starts heading down the stairs again, and you follow her in a daze even as she suggests that you stay upstairs. She doesn't stop you even though she's so insistent, but your morbid curiosity wins in the end. When you reach the living room, you see someone you've never seen before duct-taped liberally to a chair, every limb restrained. Your mother finally identifies the mystery anthro.

"Detective, you just couldn't learn, could you?" she says in a mocking tone.

The caracal can only groan, not even acknowledging that she's being spoken to. Her nose is crooked and pouring blood, and there's a patch of even more blood on the top of her head. You can't imagine how bad it looks from behind. She starts to regain her senses as your mother continues to speak. Her hardiness is literally inhuman.

"Wilkes..." she murmurs.

"That's right! Someone as persistent as you wouldn't forget my name, right?" she replies with a giggle. "I gave you so many chances. I really tried to be nice."

The bound feline starts to grow furious.

"You took everything from me," she says with a cool anger.

"You mean you took everything from yourself," your mother replies. "This was all avoidable, but you had to be such a pain in the butt."

"I had to!" Morris yells. "You can't do this, you know that!

"I won't let you take him from me," she replies. "Anon, come here."

She raises out her arms and embraces you. To your surprise, she gives you a deep, open mouth kiss right in front of the detective. Then she looks at her with a smug superiority.

"Oh my god," she spits out, abhorred. "This is what you've been doing?"

"Of course! The world just doesn't understand our love," she replies like it's common sense.

"You're fucking sick. Disgusting," she says, almost gagging. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Your mother seems to give a bubbly laugh, but from her expression, it's completely humorless. It seems forced and emotionless. Regaining her smile, she turns to you to give you a soft but authoritative command.

"Anon. I need to talk to the detective.

Alone."

Something horrible is about to happen, and you don't want to see it. The first time she hurt someone, it changed your perception of her forever. You don't know how you'd react this time. At this point she was just defending you. If it escalates, it would be different. If you just block it out and pretend it never happened, it'd be like nothing ever changed. She's not a monster. She's always been kind and empathetic to everyone. You comply and head up the stairs, going into the bedroom. You put on some headphones and listen to some calming, soothing music.

Abby waits a moment until Anon becomes silent. She doesn't want him to see this. It'd be too scary and traumatic for her sweet boy. He's so sensitive and has to be protected from the painful reality of the world. So she has to be the one to be strong for the both of them. Now sure that everything is clear, her anger flares up at the untrue insults flung at her. Her fist flies out in a brutal hook right against the side of Morris's brow. Something cracks, and the detective screams out in pain. That had to be its orbital bone breaking. All it does is cry out in pain, and Abby throws a few uppercuts into its gut, silencing its wails. All it does is heave as it tries to breathe, sputtering all the while. That's probably broken even more bones. Abby's completely untrained, never even having a schoolyard scrap due to her size. Her brutish force completely negates that, however.

As she sees Morris struggle to not go into shock, she feels pangs of regret. She let her anger get a hold of herself, and it made her cause so much pain to something. No matter how hateful its words were, it didn't deserve to suffer so much. It's much too late to take her actions back, though.

"I'm sorry, Morris. I just got so upset because of what you said," she apologizes. "I hurt you so much just because you didn't understand."

Abby truly feels pity towards the struggling body in front of her. Lashing out against ignorance is uncharacteristic of her. The creature in front of her is truly pitiful.

"You'll never have a love as pure as this. That's just so sad," Abby says sadly. "I don't blame you for being jealous."

The thing in front of her can only suck in air instead of responding. Its eyes, however, are unclouded and still full of defiance. As unfortunate as it is, she still has to deal with the obstacle in front of her. Wordlessly, she drags the chair through the house, and out the back door. The sound of the wooden legs scraping against the floor is unpleasant, but she'd rather do that compared to carrying it outside. When she reaches the yard, the legs start drawing divots through the grass like it were a plow tilling a field. It takes a while, but eventually she reaches the guest house, and brings it inside after unlocking the door. As it's pulled down the stairs to the basement, it grunts in pain as it hits every step along the way. It's deposited into a concrete room, the chair placed right in the center.

"You can make as much noise as you need to. No one will hear you," Abby says.

As a precaution, she takes more of the duct tape and binds the body's torso to the chair. A coyote will chew its leg off to get out of a trap, after all. She silently closes the door behind her, not sure what to do. She knows she has to euthanize the animal inside there, but she's still hesitant. Making sure not to leave any loose ends for the moment, she sinks the car into the lake just like the previous one. Now she decides to comfort her conscience with Anon's company first.

You're broken out of your trance as your mother places her hand on your shoulder, causing you to jump. She doesn't seem any different, and that causes some fear to arise in you. There's no dirt or anything on her, which is a bit strange. What she does next is just to flop down beside you in exhaustion. She grabs you into a hug, ever so slightly distressed, but it still makes you shiver. She seems to notice but doesn't say anything.

"Anon, it's okay," she replies vaguely.

You can't resist asking about the matter.

"Did you..." you ask, not wanting to know the answer.

"She's... fine," she says.

You have no idea what that means, but she's not dead. What kind of plan does she have, then? You can't think of a single solution. You decide to ask her anyway.

"What are you going to do?" you ask.

She gets a complicated expression on her face before answering.

"Mommy will think of something," she replies confidently.

Notes:

The Mint that Grows Behind the Dumpster - Heccra

Man, I wasn't expecting to write another chapter after this. After all the Stockholm syndrome, Anon's finally getting a bit nervous again.

Also, sorry for the lock picking autism, it's another hobby of mine. It's fun to pick up, and way easier than you think. I guarantee you I could teach you how to crack a padlock in 5 minutes, and you would be able to do it under a minute. All you need is a torsion tool and a city rake. It still takes me like 30 minutes to pick a deadbolt though, so don't count on breaking into any houses if you're a criminal degenerate.

Chapter 9 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Your mother breathes softly, now calmed by the cuddle session. She hums in satisfaction. You do have to wonder what her plan is, however. There are a few gruesome solutions, but you're not even sure if they'd work. Intimidation would be useless to her. Any kind of in depth surgery to her throat is way beyond your mother's skill. Cutting out her tongue would keep her from talking, but just the idea of it makes you wince. What if she knows sign language? Then she'd have to have her fingers amputated as well. It honestly sounds more hellish than dying. There'd be no way to get her medical attention, so she'd just bleed out in the woods. The only thing that might work is some kind of head injury, but there's no guarantee that it'd work or if she'd outright die. Murder is the only option other than indefinite detention. For now, that seems to be a problem for the future. You just push it from your mind and leave it to her. You close your eyes and try to get a nap in.

Morris exhales roughly, emptying her lungs completely. Puffing up her chest while being bound was extra painful, but her broken ribs gave her another inch or so of clearance. It was a good idea to keep her upper body tied up, but for now she scans the ceiling for cameras. Unless there's one behind her, the guest house is completely unmonitored. Now satisfied, she bends forward. Unfortunately, her head is still a few inches from her wrists. Chewing through the duct tape would be a simple manner if her upper body was free. Even her feline flexibility and loose skeleton does nothing in this situation. For now, she decides to loosen the bonds on her chest even further. Raising her shoulders, she cranes her head up to look at the sky. With a powerful jerking movement, she throws her body forward as if she was trying to put it between her legs. The first few times did nothing, but the tape stretches and shifts as she rocks back and forth. All of her body screams out in pain, but eventually the tape rolls off of her shoulders and loosely hangs around her neck. Her biggest obstacle is out of her way, and she's finally able to contort her body to chew her arms free. Every few bites, she has to lean back and take a break, the mere act of folding her body completely agonizing. It takes several minutes, but eventually her right arm is free, making escape almost certain. With her claws, she slices and tears through any of the duct tape around her limbs, and takes the time to catch her breath.

When you wake up you notice that your mother has left the bed. Fearing the worst, you go downstairs in a hurry. When you hear the sounds of cooking, you relax and walk into the kitchen. You did skip lunch in all the excitement, but it seems you're not going to have anything particularly luxurious. There wasn't much time to make anything else. A club sandwich does sound nice, though. It's a classic staple, and the fresh fried bacon smells wonderful. It's wonderfully thick-cut, and the turkey is from some fancy delicatessen in the city. It's on freshly baked bread, and it seems that your mother even went as far as to whip a homemade aioli. When you sit down at the dining room table with her, you notice that there's a third sitting on the counter. It seems she's trying to avoid the inevitable as well. How long that will last is the question. As you eat, you notice your mother has perked up quite a bit. It's almost as if she's excited to have a house guest or something. That turns out to not be the case when she decides to speak to you.

"I know the mood spoiled things, but I never got to tell you about the surprise," she says.

You look at her with an eyebrow cocked. Is this really the best time?

"I was going to wait until after work, but now's as good a time as any," she continues before standing up. "Do you notice anything different?"

She does a little pirouette, but everything seems the same about her.

"Not really," you admit guiltily.

She doesn't take any offense to this, seemingly satisfied that you haven't guessed yet.

"I changed out of my uniform," she says.

"What does that have to do with anything?" you ask.

"It's the last time that I'll ever have to wear it. I retired early!" she informs you.

She rushes over to embrace you, spinning around in a little circle. Why would she do that?

"Congratulations?" you say tentatively.

"Today was my last day. I had to end it a little early, but it had to be," she says. "I hope I didn't leave too much work for the girls."

"I'm more worried about how it's going to go for them from now on," you say, knowing how important her work was.

Losing someone as capable as her had to have been a blow to the office. It had to happen at some point, but they didn't have much of a chance to prepare for it. She's not going to return at this point, however.

"Are you going to get a new job or something? Something closer to home, perhaps?" you say.

She smiles at you as if you said some nonsense.

"You know that I never had to work. I just wanted to do something good. There's something more important than that, now," she replies.

"Now we get to be together forever! Every day, every hour, and every moment," she says excitedly.

It's not like you didn't enjoy your time with her, but even that had its limits. She probably would be heartbroken to hear that, though. You decide to keep that protest to yourself.

"That's going to be nice. Are there any other plans besides that?" you ask.

She gives you a thoughtful look until she shrugs.

"Not really. I'd love to take you somewhere, but it'd be too risky. Even a road trip would be a bad idea if we were pulled over," she explains.

That really does sound delightful. You're not insanely stir-crazy, but doing anything would be a wonderful change of pace.

It's okay. Maybe things will change someday," she promises.

You really hope they will. You're very comfortable right now, but you're not sure if you'll always be as comfortable. Only time will tell, and even if not, you won't be able to change that without force and hurt. She finally goes to the counter to grab the spare sandwich.

"I'm going to go take care of this. The poor thing has to be hungry," she says.

She probably is after the injury, but you're afraid it'll be more of a last meal compared to anything. Hopefully this isn't going to devolve into some sort of Cask of Amontillado situation. There's a full bathroom in the guest house, and you're not putting it past her to turn it into a prison. You won't know until she comes back, however. Hopefully she'll have some time to work something out.

The detective stands up, stretching her limbs regardless of the pain. She's going to have to stay limber in this situation. She doesn't know how much time she has, or how quickly she might be found. There are not many options for her. Everything on her person was confiscated when she was knocked out. The best option would have been to call the police, but there's not much of a chance of that. This house is pretty old-fashioned, so she wonders if there's still a landline. Searching for one would shave valuable minutes off of her time to escape. She doesn't have her car keys on her either, but there's a tiny chance that someone would notice the extra vehicle. That would be extremely easy to explain away, however.

Her only options are to run, hide, or fight. There are a lot of places that she could hide, but Wilkes would indefinitely search for her. With her mental state, she could probably search for days without sleeping. It doesn't matter how good the hiding spot may be, since the woman would literally tear down the walls to find her. She's an anthro too, and her scent would betray her. More than her natural smell, she's got blood on her, and any predatory species has an even sharper sense for the unique smell. She could try to get it everywhere, but she only has a limited amount of blood. Maybe smearing some of it somewhere to divert her could be a diversion? That's yet another strategy that would burn time away. Hiding won't even work as a temporary solution, let alone use it as her only plan.

There's a chance she could try to fight back. Morris is well-trained in martial arts, and her specific line of work has seen her use it in real-life situations. A detective has to be a lot more rough, especially undercover. A regular beat cop doesn't even compare. The biggest reason she was so overwhelmed was from being caught unawares. Even with the hulk of a woman that Wilkes is, she never really expected her to jump to violence so quickly. She always avoided it in their last encounters. Even with the situation that she thought was happening probably wouldn't warrant violence. Morris believed that she'd resort to threats or bargaining. Anthros act differently and irrationally when it comes to "love," however. She grimaces remembering the display that she saw. It was practically like Wilkes was putting on a show for her. She'd never guess that it devolved into this otherwise. She slightly regrets ever pursuing this at all, but she just couldn't let it go at any point. Furthermore, she now feels bad knowing now what was happening to Anon. When he gets out of here, that boy is going to be so fucked up. Her only solace is that she didn't get shot by the arsenal that she has. That's not saying that it won't happen at this point. A gunshot out in a rural area like this wouldn't be wildly strange with all the farmers that snag permits out of necessity. Luckily, with her surveillance, she's practically untrained with firearms. She's not even sure if she's ever fired some of them. If she could get her paws on one of them, Morris would probably be able to win in a confrontation.

That's unlikely to happen, however. Wilkes probably won't leave the house for any reason. She may be stealthy, but sneaking in there would be completely out of the question. Even if she tries to fight physically, she'd have a hard time uninjured, let alone now. Wilkes may be completely untrained in any way, but she couldn't oppose her brute strength. That woman might be able to tip a car over on her own. An improvised weapon would be just as useless. That only leaves the final option. She has to run, as fast and as far as she can. If she gets enough of a head start, she might be able to make it to civilization. Escaping where she came from probably won't work. There's surveillance around the main house, and with how long the driveway is, she'd never be able to outpace her. She has to cut through the woods, completely uncharted territory for her. Using public satellite imagery, she knows the closest residence is to the West. Now resolute in her actions, she finally makes her move. Softly padding across the room, she reaches the door and sees that it's a regular one used in a bedroom. The lock is on the inside, so there's nothing stopping her at this point. She opens the door as silently as she can, and notices that the rest of the building seems unoccupied. Moving urgently with a sense of purpose, she searches for a rear entrance, but has to escape from the front door, unfortunately.

Making her way outside, she notices that there are no cameras on the exterior of the guest house as well. Hopefully none of the ones on the main house are pointed in its direction. It's far too late now, so she starts a speed walk to the woods, not wanting to hurry too much and attract attention. She spots a footpath and follows it, ending up in a beautiful garden. She unconsciously pauses for a moment, overtaken by the scenic view before remembering her mission. She starts her march, luckily finding an animal trail that seems to point exactly where she needs to go. As long as she doesn't get disoriented and doesn't start walking in circles, she'll reach the other side. She might be rather rusty when it comes to basic land navigation since she hasn't used it since her time in the Anthrostate Scouts. She slows her pace when she finally reaches the end of the trail, she has to maintain her path without any guidance. Taking a moment to memorize her surroundings, she suppresses the natural urge to focus on the trees immediately in front of her. She looks into the distance, and uses improvised landmarks to estimate a straight path. Having put a touch of distance from the residence, she slows her pace to a walk to preserve her energy. She stops every fifty feet or so to reorient herself. It seems to be going well, and she finally feels some relief. She might get out of this without getting harmed even more. It's shattered quickly when she hears a voice call out frighteningly cheerfully.

"Kitty cat? Where are you?" it says in a sing-song voice.

She ducks behind a tree for cover. She shouldn't have left any footprints, and her scent probably hasn't drifted that far. She rubs her nose in frustration and sees that her hand is dirtied. The realization hits her. She's bleeding, and the scent of the oozing blood could probably be detected for miles. She peeks around the trunk of the tree and sees an orange figure a few hundred feet away. Hiding isn't going to work, she has to outrun her. She starts a mad dash, completely ditching any attempt at subterfuge. She can't tell if she's been spotted yet, but the noise is probably a dead giveaway. She only manages to get a few feet before she hears her voice again.

"Aha! I'm going to get you," Wilkes says in a voice dripping with childlike glee.

She hears her steps snap twigs and leaves confidently at a pace of a light jog. Morris doesn't know what the tiger has in store for her, so she assumes the worst. Fearing that she might be fired upon at any moment, she makes wild zigzags to throw off any aim that she may have on her. She darts between trunks for cover, but she still doesn't hear shots echoing through the woods. The footfalls are even closer now. The long strides of the person chasing her are slowly catching up. The risk is too great to make a dead sprint forward, so she continues her evasive maneuvers. She desperately wants to look behind her, but that would slow her escape. A loud roar erupts behind her, and the fear shocks her body, causing her to stumble and trip as her muscles seize in terror. The power of a tiger's roar is downright paralyzing. She shakes it off and scrambles to her feet, continuing to flee. As the pursuing creature gets closer, it picks up its pace. When it gets a dozen or so feet away, she hears the unthinkable. The gait of the tiger has completely changed, the gallop of four paws hitting the ground creeping up on her. Wilkes has gone completely feral. She's given into the most taboo instinct and is chasing her like a wild animal. The detective is nothing but prey now, so she redoubles her pace into a sprint. Her lungs burn and every muscle and injury jab into her body like red-hot knives, but pure adrenaline keeps her going. She grows closer and closer before the footsteps suddenly stop, and she only manages one more step before paws wrap around her torso. She's been pounced on, and she has milliseconds to respond. The sharp talons rip at her flesh, and she's pulled to the ground before the full weight of the beast crashes onto her. Knowing the animal's hunting technique, she attempts to whip her arms above her neck to protect it from the deadly bite. Even with all her effort, she's not fast enough. The coup de grâce is delivered as the sharp teeth wrap around her neck, severing veins and arteries. She struggles feebly as the vice grip tightens around her throat, limbs grasping futilely at leaf litter on the ground. She can feel her lifeblood gushing out of her, and her vision starts to darken. As her body grows limp, the last thing she feels is being lifted into the air by the bestial jaws. Everything goes black as she slips into her final slumber.

Abby's in a bit of a haze as she starts to exit her trance. All she remembers is chasing the detective, then everything going red. It takes a few moments for her to realize that she's already started walking back from the forest, and notices that she's holding some loose object in her maw. It bumps against her chest while she walks, like some kind of marionette with cut strings. The sharp taste of iron fills her mouth, and she realizes that it's blood. She unconsciously salivates a bit from the flavor, but spits out the thing that's in her mouth onto the ground. When the body flops to the ground, she feels a moment of shock upon identifying it. She becomes a bit distressed when she realizes what she's done. It's unnerving to have reverted to such a state, to say the least. It quickly fades when she thinks about it. It's not the way she wanted to get rid of her problem, but she took care of it in the end. It's been disposed of, so she rationalizes it as being caught up in a moment of passion. She just couldn't help herself when she thought about it taking Anon from her.

She shakes her head to clear her distraction from her mind, and picks up the garbage and throws it over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Even though the weight doesn't bother her in the slightest, it's still an annoyingly long walk back. Why did it make her chase after it this far? She curses at it for wasting time that she could have spent with Anon. After the long trek back, she drops it on top of the flowerbed, so she can fetch some tools. When she returns, she gets more annoyed at the fact that she has to dig up her lovingly tended garden again. She takes a deep breath. All of these negative thoughts are unbecoming of her. She puts a positive spin on the work, since she got some nice fertilizer for the soil. Gardening is such a rewarding hobby. Digging a hole many, many feet deep, she carefully places the fertilizer at the bottom. It's covered by dirt and uprooted plants. The patch right in the middle of the flowerbed is a bit distracting, but it'll look great when she reseeds it. Geraniums might be good. She chuckles a bit, thinking of the double meaning of the flowers. They might be a symbol of happiness, but in the past they signified folly or stupidity. All the meanings work for her. She replaces the shovel into the shed, and starts to make her way back.

While making her way to the back door, she realizes that she's parched and licks her lips. The taste of blood tickles her tongue, and she remembers how messy she got. She looks down at the rest of her body for the first time, and sees that she's painted all the way from her cheeks all the way down to her legs. She laughs a bit, thinking that she looks like she just stared in Carrie. She'll have to toss out the clothes, and it'll take a bit to wash her fur. It'd probably be better to burn the clothes, but Anon would probably enjoy it if she fired up the fire pit. All she's occupied with now is getting all of this stickiness off of her. She walks in the door and calls out for assistance.

"Anon? Can you help mommy get clean in the shower?"

Your mother has been gone a long time. You're getting kind of worried by now, but you'd rather not find out what's going on. Something is certainly happening, but maybe it's just some talking. You're not sure what there'd even be to talk about, but at least that'd mean maybe some progress is happening. She is probably at least waiting for her to eat her sandwich. You wonder how that would go. Would she unbind her hands, or feed her by hand? It's weird to imagine the second one, but it's not like it's a strange occurrence for you, personally. She couldn't leave the plate, either. You try to assure yourself, but the unease still grows inside you. You get up and look out the back door. There's no sign of anyone, but it doesn't seem like anything happened. It's not like you'd be able to hear a struggle from here, but it seems like your mother would be the one to come out on top from what you can tell.

You get bored and decide to find something to do. Doing the same stuff over and over again is really tiring. You think you should look around in some storage. There has to be something relatively novel for you. You trudge down the stairs to the basement. There's not really a reason for you to go down there, so it's been a long time now. All the random things in storage are kept in a spare room, so you crack open the door and flip on the light switch. There are dusty boxes abound, and you look through them lazily, only finding old toys, knick-knacks, and books that don't interest you. You remember that you had an ancient game console in the closet. Maybe it still works, you hope. When you look in, you see a strange sight. That's a lot of pictures of you. You don't remember most of them being taken, but your memory was never great. It seems like they're being categorized in some way. There are multiple photo albums, and at least a dozen SD cards scattered about. You're curious and a bit creeped out, but prying into this isn't a good idea. You find a shoebox and peer inside, and the sight is even worse. Not only that, but you notice a pair of your boxers, the ones that went missing. You don't bother checking what's underneath them, but you hear the rustling of plastic baggies when you replace the box.

You do eventually find your video games, and you walk back up the stairs to hook it up. Miraculously, the television actually has ports to stick in the console's output. When you consider starting it up, you think one last time about your missing mother. Just as the worry peaks, you hear the back door open. You worry for just a minute until you hear her voice.

"Anon? Can you help mommy get clean in the shower?" she requests.

You're kind of confused why she'd need to do that at this time of day, but maybe she's just feeling a bit randy.

"Okay, I'm coming," you reply as you start walking over.

As you turn the corner, your face pales when you see her. It's such a surreal sight that you almost think that it's a prank. She's completely covered in now-dried blood. You're not even sure if that much blood can fit in a single person. Surely that can't be real.

"Anon, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," she says with concern.

As she takes a few steps closer, the acrid odor of stale blood hits your nose. Even your inferior sense of smell can detect it from feet away. You subconsciously knew it wasn't a joke, but you can't deny it anymore. The sheer amount of it caked to her face gives you flashbacks. It wasn't even this bad when Valentina would bite you. Just what in the hell did your mother do, rip her to pieces? You'd rather not know, actually. The primal fear rushes through you, and you start running without saying a word.

"Anon?" she asks curiously.

You bolt up the stairs and run into your room, your old room, and lock the door behind you. The familiarity is slightly comforting, even if you haven't stayed in here in well over a year. You hear her come up the stairs and try to open the door, the lock rattling.

"Why'd you lock the door? What's wrong?" she pleads.

Does she really not know? You shout at her.

"Go away!" you yell.

"What? Why?" she asks confused.

"Leave me alone! I can't..." you choke out.

She starts knocking at the door and begging you to come out. You curl up your legs to your chest and try to drown it out. You can't respond, and her pleading is driving you crazy. You remember that you have headphones for your computer in here, and start it up. Some nice classical music, turned up as loud as it can go. Even with that, you still hear her muffled voice, thankfully at least unintelligible over the noise. It continues for hours until it finally devolves into sobbing. It's kind of painful to hear it, but you really just can't deal with this right now. Even with the cacophony of noise, exhaustion eventually takes you.

When you wake up, the situation hasn't changed in the slightest. You still hear her voice and soft cries. How many hours has it been? When you look at the clock, you realize it's been almost twelve hours. Did she even sleep, or has she just been outside your door for that long? At least she's respecting your space enough to not break down the door. With how erratic she is, you wouldn't put it past her. You begrudgingly pull off your headphones and hear her crying, mostly just repeating your name. It's honestly still terrifying. Your natural needs overcome you, however, and you need to use the restroom after your rest. As you get up, the pain in your back is extreme, and you trudge over to the door, unlocking and opening it at the same time. Your mother is crouched down, lighting up into a smile when she sees you. She hasn't even taken off her bloody clothes, still caked in the filth.

"Anon! You came out!" she says excitedly.

"B-blood," you manage to say.

Realization spreads across her face, and she decides to apologize.

"Oh, the blood, of course," she states. "I'll get it washed off really quick."

She finally leaves you in peace, and you take care of your business. You sit down on your bed and just blankly stare ahead. Maybe things will be better when she gets cleaned up. You'll have to deal with this eventually, since you're here forever. You're probably worse than when you arrived here, however. After a long shower, she returns fresh as a daisy. When you close your eyes you still see the blood, though. She approaches you gingerly.

"See Anon, I'm not scary anymore," she says soothingly. "You know I won't hurt you."

You know that's the truth, but it's still hard to shake your fear. When she brings you into her arms, you jump a bit but relax after a few seconds. This is still all your fault, and you have to live with the guilt. It should have never happened. You made her become like this and do this. She eventually releases you and offers to cook you breakfast. You're both probably hungry after that ordeal. As you watch her cook, it feels like things are finally taking a turn towards normalcy. You want to know what happened, but for your sanity's sake you don't ask.

It takes a long time for your relationship to return to normal. All the progress you made was instantly undone in a single day. It took a lot of reassurance and trust building, but slowly you started to warm up to her again. She's always been transparent, at least for the questions you actually wanted the answers to. Both of you never wanted to talk too much about what happened, in her case mostly because it bothered you. As far as you can tell, she doesn't feel the slightest amount of shame or remorse. The only emotion she seems to feel about it is the fact that she was "forced" to kill the detective. All the blame is forced on the victim. You knew it was going to happen anyway, but it could have been a little cleaner at least. You don't want to know what she went through when she died.

Your mother has also tried to appeal to your emotions by recalling all the nice experiences you had together. It was pretty good up until that point, but the fear something like this is going to happen a third time still lingers in the back of your mind. She assures you that it's all over, and all the obstacles have been taken care of. No one will bother the two of you again. That doesn't mean your other concerns have been addressed. She just says that they'll be a bridge to be crossed when you get to it. She'll solve whatever problems arrive, and you don't doubt her resolution in the matter.

More than that, she respected your boundaries, mostly. No matter how frustrated she became, she didn't force anything on you. That didn't stop her from pushing you as hard as she could. She was pretty much having withdrawal symptoms after a week of no contact, so you relented. After that, things escalated again, and after a month, everything was back to "normal." As normal as things could be, of course. All of her time at home helped greatly, since you were constantly exposed to her. You wonder if you overreacted, but even if you did, there was no way to stop yourself. As kind and lovely as she is, you know that there's something dark inside of her. It's well-intentioned, but that doesn't completely excuse things. If nothing happens again, you'll never have to see that side of her again. As long as no drastic changes occur, you believe you can maintain this life indefinitely.

Now that the regular routine has resumed, you roll along with it day to day. It's a lot less boring with her around all day, and you surprisingly don't feel quite as smothered by her attention like you thought you would. You're pretty content. However, the last few days have been strange. Her behavior, that is. She's been very distracted. You've seen her burn food as she looks off into the distance, a first. Sometimes the way she'll stare at you, unblinking, really creeps you out. You can feel it even if you aren't looking at her. For once, you can say that she's overly affectionate, seemingly unable to bear being separated from you. You can practically feel her body burning up that today.

She disappears for a while, somewhat surprising considering her recent behavior. When she does reappear, you get quite the sight to behold. She comes strutting into the living room where you're sitting, dressed only in a bathrobe. Spreading it wide open, she almost looks like she's mimicking Buffalo Bill. She doesn't ask if you'd fuck her, since she knows the answer. Maybe it would be better to call her some sort of flasher. Her dripping loins definitely don't help the matter. The unsettling thing is her expression. She's got glazed over eyes that shows that she's not quite fully present in mind. She's wearing a manic smile, elated beyond belief. Just what has her making a face like that? She informs you as she slowly approaches you.

"Anon! It's a miracle!" she exclaims.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"I found out what was happening. I didn't believe it at first, but there's nothing else it could be!" she says, enraptured.

Oh my god. This whole time, she's been fertile. How many risky days have you fucked her on? The miracle is that nothing happened yet. It's not like she was lying to you, especially intentionally. Neither of you could have predicted this, unless she went to a fertility clinic for zero reason. That doesn't seem to be the case. You're unable to respond in your shock.

"Do you know what this means?" she asks, not waiting for your guess. "It means we're meant to BREED together!"

She's still several feet away, but her slow steps bring her closer and closer.

"We HAVE to!" she shouts cheerfully.

You stand up in surprise, and her smile grows wider. She thinks that you're as excited as her.

"This is just PERFECT!" she exclaims. "They'll be so beautiful!

She finishes her statement only a few arm lengths away.

"And we'll try OVER and OVER again!"

You're at a crossroads. Your life is going to irreversibly change depending on your choices from now on. No matter what you want to do, it's undeniable that this situation has descended into madness.

Do you run? It'd break her heart, and you'd be alone again. Another casualty in the State. You're not sure if you could live like that even if it means avoiding this.

Do you really want to avoid this? Even with all the risks, it doesn't sound too bad. A happy family life, filled with joy. Even ignoring the obvious risks, how would their lives be? How could this family ever exist in the open?

If you choose to RUN, turn to the NEXT CHAPTER. (CH. 10)

If you choose to STAY, go TWO CHAPTERS FORWARD. (CH. 11)

Notes:

Worms - Viagra Boys

Love me some Viagra Boys

Simple as

Wow, what a chapter to write. Press F to pay respects to detective Morris.

I'm going to release the two endings at the same time, so it might be a little longer for the wait. It's probably obvious which one's going to be the good end and bad end, but they'll both be fun. Look forward to it!

Chapter 10: Homesick BAD END

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

No, this has gone too way too far. Murder after murder. The most taboo and inappropriate sex. It's reached the climax, and you have to act. You still have enough room to get out of here. You can try to talk to her, but you're not too optimistic. Having children? Seriously? This is a nightmare in the making. She'll probably find prophylactics unacceptable. They'd probably be fine with you, but she'd never accept it. Sabotaging them isn't her modus operandi, but desperation changes people. It's more likely that she'd completely refuse them and force unprotected sex on you, especially in her current state. It would be just a matter of time until the unthinkable happened. You want to start your escape silently, but you can't hold back your words.

"No... We can't do this," you say as you start moving.

She's flabbergasted as you vault over the couch. Her shock keeps her from moving for a valuable few seconds. It's exactly what you need as you run through the kitchen. You've got no shoes on, and for a step your socks slip on the floor. You don't fall, but lose your balance for a bit. At this moment, you hear her paw pads hit the ground. They're normally silent due to her natural feline stealth, but they hit the ground so hard that you can hear them. They're still far enough that you have the slightest chance to leave this home turned insanitarium.

"Anon!" she shouts, her voice echoing through the house.

You have no idea what you'll do when you get outside, but your desperation drives you onward. A sharp turn later, you reach the vestibule. The front door is right in front of you, and you latch onto it desperately. You try to undo every lock.

The deadbolt.

You hear more footsteps.

The lock on the doorknob.

They're growing closer.

The sliding bolt.

She's right behind you.

The door chain.

Fiddling with the chain is what's about to do you in. All of this extra security was supposed to keep you safe. Ironically, it's what's trapped you now. You hear her stop right behind you. When you spin around, she's standing, arms outstretched. Her eyes are wild, but no longer unfocused. Her pupils are so dilated that her yellow irises look like a mere outline. The breaths that escape her are heavy and deep, but it's not from exertion. It's from excitement. Whether it's the thrill of the chase, or anticipation of what's about to be done to you is anyone's guess. You wonder if you should try to make another break for it. She's distracted for sure, but you're not sure if it's in a way to your advantage.

"What are you doing?" she asks coldly.

Despite her tone, she's still wearing a smile. That's unsettling enough to inspire your body to move again, this time dashing towards her. You juke to the right, and she falls for it, reaching her arms toward you. Ducking under her grasp, you shoot to the left, clearing the obstruction. You stumble a bit, but not as much as her. It seems her inhuman reflexes are dulled by whatever is occupying her mind. You hear her discard the bath robe before her pursuit continues. Is it some kind of strange way to reduce drag, or is she just worried that it'll get snagged on something? She's probably just making sure that there's no clothing in the way for the inevitable deed about to occur. Dashing through the kitchen again, you make it to the back door. Throwing the sliding glass door open, you barely waste a second before you're running across the deck.

When you reach the poolside, she's already in hot pursuit. You take a risky gamble and turn around, catching her off guard. With a twist, you redirect her momentum, so she crashes into the pool water. As much as you want to turn tail immediately, you spend a second to make sure that she didn't get seriously injured. You don't know what you'd do with yourself if you cracked her head open. You're in the clear, and you hear her splash around for a minute as you increase the lead that you bought yourself. Circling the house seems to be a surefire way to lose to her speed, so you dart to the guest house. You've devised the most basic plan, but it's impressive given the stressful situation. The grass wets and stains your socks, but you make a good distance before you notice that she's made it into the grass as well. You make it to the entrance, and throw open the thankfully unlocked door. You quickly lock it behind you, and get a few steps away before you hear it rattle. All you need to do is lock the back door as well. You're successful in your plot, but it seems she had the same idea as well.

As it rattles, you hear her confused pleas muffled by the door. You pray that she doesn't do anything insanely drastic like break down the door or smash through a window. For your plan to work, all you have to do is observe her as best you can. The doors are locked, so there's hopefully no point of entry. It's not a sustainable plan, because there are keys to unlock them. They are inside the main house, quite a distance from this one. Once you deduce that she's left to grab them, you can exit and make a break for it. It's a long, painful wait as she repeatedly attempts to twist the doorknobs. Eventually, you hear the period of silence that you need. There's no way to know for sure, but you pray that she's doubled back to retrieve the keys. You give it another minute, gambling your time, before you gather your courage and open the back door.

She's standing right there. Your ploy was completely transparent, and all you've managed to do is trap yourself in the house. You take a few nervous steps back, and in a last ditch effort, you make it to one of the bedrooms downstairs. She doesn't even chase you, however. Her steps are measured and confident, like a predator who's cornered her prey. You suppose she's right. What are you even accomplishing at this point? The basement was definitely the worst place to flee to. You lock the flimsy bedroom door behind you, and peer out the high glass block windows. You're in a prison of your own making. Not only that, but you even gave her a place to fuck you. The door rattles again, before stopping. You start to hear something crack as wood begins to splinter. She's not even busting the door down, instead using continuous pressure to just rip the door out of its frame. It gives quickly, and the abused wood swings open lazily.

She stands there, completely nude. She's not angry, or hurt in the slightest. She just seems to be happy to have finally caught you.

"Anon? Why are you running away?" she asks as she takes several steps closer.

"No, don't do this..." you plead.

She gets a disconcerting look of concern on her face before trying to console you.

"Don't worry Anon, it'll be alright," she says, trying to shush your worries.

She's approached closer.

"It's okay to be scared, but it'll all be better soon," she assures you.

She's standing directly in front of you, and drops her body on the bed to crawl towards you.

"Mommy just has to show you how beautiful it's going to be," she says ominously.

You can't back up anymore, and she finally grabs your clothes. She makes no efforts to remove them normally and simply shreds them to pieces effortlessly with her claws. Despite all your fear, your body is already excited. No matter how your mind may feel, you've been physically conditioned permanently. This doesn't escape her attention.

"Good boy," she praises you. "See, you did want to mate with mommy after all!"

You feel a little sick even with all the dirty things that she's said to you before. Despite that, you can't bring yourself to bother protesting anymore. She takes your silence as permission, if she even cared at this point. She takes position and wraps her paw around your erection, trying to line it up. There's no intention for any sort of foreplay. In her haste, she thrusts downwards a few times, causing you to slip away. Your cock is already soaked from her secretions, and is probably part of the reason she's struggling. The next one strikes true, and she lets out a deep throaty moan when you bottom out. Her insides are already spasming around you as she bites her lip.

"Do you feel how wet I am?" she asks. "Do you feel how much mommy wants to make a baby?"

It really is palpable. It's not just her obscenely wet loins, or her searing heat, but the absolute hunger you can feel from every part of her body. Her eyes shine for a second before she starts moving. With every one of her sultry sighs and moans, you release a groan of your own. You're truly being violated again, but the worst part is that you like it. She's moving at a steady clip, completely frictionless from the get go. The lewd juices were already running down her thighs when she presented herself to you before the chase, and it seems she's even more aroused at this point. You've been drenched as well from just a few strokes.

"We're going to make so many adorable little cubs," she says in between her thrusts.

"We can't," you protest.

This makes her pause. Even her pussy seems to stop strangling your lower body. For the first time in a while, she shoots you a sharp look. It seems like she's growing tired of your resistance.

"Can't? Why?" she continues. "Why not?"

Unlike a lot of her rhetorical questions, she genuinely expects an answer from you. Her paws that she placed on your body to brace herself start to squeeze you slightly. Her claws unsheathe and start to prick at your skin. You flinch before you respond.

"It's not right," you reply.

"Not right? Is that what they told you?" she asks. "Or is that what you think?"

Her grip grows even tighter, and you feel a few of her claws break the skin. She doesn't even notice. You wonder if this is just her heat, or if she finally went crazy.

Who are you joking, she's been crazy for a while. All of your pent-up frustration finally bursts the dam, and you explode at her.

"That's what everyone thinks! Except you!" you yell as you grab her wrists. "You're fucking nuts! Look at what you're doing."

You attempt to budge her hands to no avail.

"Get off of me!" you command.

She grows deathly silent for a long time. You can see the gears turning in her head, unsure if you actually got through to her for the first time. Her expression grows sad, raising your hopes.

Oh Anon, I'm sorry," she apologizes.

"They tricked you, didn't they?"

She's so far gone. She's truly trying to create some grand conspiracy now for what's supposed to be common sense and decency. You start to struggle again, truly understanding the depths of her madness. You're afraid of her. With a cool anger, she grabs your hands roughly, intertwining her fingers with yours. It's supposed to be an intimate and loving way to lock hands, but the strength behind it says otherwise. You're not escaping her web.

"Stop fighting," she orders. "We'll just have to do this until you learn."

With that, she starts thrusting her hips again, furiously clapping her thighs against yours.

"Stop-" you start.

You're silenced with a deep kiss, but there's no love behind it. It's not even one of her hungry kisses erupting from her passion. The way she's forcing her tongue inside your mouth is overbearing. She violates every corner of your mouth and pins your tongue in a show of dominance. She did it just to silence you. She continues humping you for dear life, and from the grip she has on your cock, she's enjoying this even more. She makes you drink more and more of her saliva. When you start to choke from the lack of air, she tenses up as she cums. Her orgasm causes her to moan right into your mouth, lingering for a while after until she breaks the kiss.

"You made mommy cum so hard," she says. "You have to cum too."

After the brief respite from her orgasm, she starts pounding her hips into you again. Wet squelches break the silence as you enter her over and over again. All you can hear is that and your blood rushing through your head.

"You have to shoot out a looot of cum. Put all of it in mommy's special place," she says.

Although that's the last thing that you want to do, you're already getting close. She thrusts against you with wild abandon, trying to coax your seed out of you. With your wet bodies pressed together, all you can smell is the overpowering mix of sweat and sex. From the way her insides are twitching, she appears to be on the verge of climax as well.

"Hurry up, you have to cum at the same time as mommy!" she commands.

She's holding back muffled grunts as she assaults you, delaying her orgasm until you cum. It starts to become too much for you, and you finally relent. The second you unleash the first torrent of sperm into her, she climaxes as well, her insides milking you of everything you have to give. You spurt inside her repeatedly, her womb drinking up everything greedily. Before the prolonged and intense peak starts to fade, she leans forward to your shoulder. What happens next shocks you even more.

Her hot breath washes over it, and in a second her jaws lock onto it, sharp teeth puncturing the flesh.

She moans into it as the both of you ride out the shared orgasm. After the high starts to fade, she pulls away to look down at you triumphantly.

"You-you-" you manage to sputter out.

"Now you're mine forever."

She returns to lick your wounds lovingly in some sort of sick apology.

"Okay, time to continue. We have to work hard to get mommy pregnant," she says.

With that, she continues to methodically force your seed out of you, even past the point when you run dry.

By some miracle, it never set during her heat. With all her effort, it may have been your resolute desire to avoid impregnating her that stopped it. It's kind of an unscientific explanation, but it at least makes you feel like you're still resisting a bit. You're not sure if you really want to at this point, however. It's been months now. While you're thinking about this, you mechanically cum inside her pussy as she rides you in the same room she first violated you in. The tarp laying over the bed crinkles as she pulls herself off you. It's to keep her from washing the bedding over and over again. She walks over happily to the planner attached to the wall, sperm dripping down her thigh. She crosses out the first item on the list.

"Morning Breeding Time"

You're not sure why the planner is even necessary, since it's the same thing every day. First it's the morning Breeding Time, followed by the afternoon session, and a final one at night. It's the minimum amount of attempts that she wants to make a day. That doesn't stop her from trying more. After every Breeding Time, she leads you out of the Breeding Room, clipping your leash around your collar before leading you outside. You don't get the point of this either, since you've never since even hinted at wanting to escape. The fact that you don't want the same thing as her doesn't necessarily mean that you want to leave. Your every need is taken care of lovingly, and you honestly can't live without her in every sense of the word. The real nightmare is the outside world.

As you're led through the grass, trotting along, so the leash doesn't grow taut, she asks you cheerfully about breakfast. The parts of it that aren't breastmilk, that is. Things are still relatively normal. Sometimes she doesn't bother with the leash, but you can't stray more than a few arm lengths away. You still get delicious meals, comfy cuddle sessions, and doted upon constantly. It's all under a close eye, of course. You get to share quality time diversifying your activities together as well. Whether it's TV, swimming, board games or such, it's not too boring. You've even taken a liking to gardening with her. It's meditative, and seeing the fruits of your labor gives you a sense of accomplishment. No matter how many smiles and kind words she gives you, they are one of the things that bother you. You never see the one you fell in love with, the genuine one that showed how heart struck she was. The only time she makes it now is when you cum inside her.

After a pleasant lunch, the two of you spend some time tending to the garden. Rather than all of them being ornamental flowers, you've planted some fruiting ones. After a while of this, the alarm on her phone goes off again, and the leash is clipped around your neck. It's back to the Breeding Room for the midday Breeding Time. Just how long is this going to go on? You don't want the unthinkable to happen, but will it end this? Will it finally stick when her next heat happens? What you really wonder is if it will stop even when it does happen. She has said that she wants a giant litter, after all. As you get led back to the guest house and into the Breeding Room, you take solace in the fact that it at least feels good.

And with that you'll remain, trapped in a pleasurable hell forevermore.

BAD END

Try again?

Notes:

IN MY MOUTH - Black Dresses

>giwtwm

Wow, what a ride! You still have one more chapter to read unless you really want to consider this the only ending.

Chapter 11: Homesick TRUE END

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You can't deny that there's a lot to be apprehensive about, but it is the natural conclusion to things. You don't think you'd ever feel completely satisfied with your life without any children. You want them, and she wants them even more. You love each other, so what gives anyone the right to deny that? There's always the chance it won't work, anyway, so why not try? Things have always worked out for you two, and surely they will in this case too. You know that you can put your faith in her, and now is when she needs it the most. You steel yourself to respond.

"Hey, hey, calm down," you start.

As much as you agree with her, her heat has her way too emotional right now. Your words don't seem to do anything to her until you continue.

"I'm excited too, but you're getting a little too worked up," you explain. "Let's take our time and enjoy this."

She relaxes a bit, but that feeling eventually morphs to slight embarrassment.

"Y-yeah," she says, composing herself despite her arousal. "Let's go?"

She takes you by the hand and manages not to completely drag you to the bedroom, but you're still rather hurried along. She seductively slips her bathrobe off of her shoulders, before reclining on her back and licking her lips. She reaches into a little box underneath the bed where she hides various accessories. She must be feeling kinky. She pulls out a pair of handcuffs, not something that you've seen in her arsenal before. You have to admit whatever she has planned for you, you're going to enjoy. You strip down quickly, and she beckons you towards her, and you lay on top of her body. Having your face cushioned between her breasts is lovely as ever. She starts to reach for the cuffs, but you interrupt her.

"Hey, wait," you request.

"Mmn?" she responds.

There's mild annoyance on her face, but it fades as she listens.

"I'm kind of worried," you say.

"About what?" she asks, her concern bleeding through her arousal.

Although still desperately horny, she manages to restrain herself enough to hear you out. She can't seem to completely control herself from the way her hands keep drifting over your body. She has a lot of willpower when it matters.

"Our children... Will they be okay?" you ask hesitantly.

"We're both healthy. I'm sure they'll be fine," she replies.

The conversation is sobering her up a bit, but not much. She has to have thought about the complications before, even if they used to only be a fantasy.

"Can we even keep us a secret if we do this, though?" you continue your questions.

"People don't ask too many questions," she says confidently. "Unlike you."

She's still got a sharp tongue even in her state.

"I just-" you think before continuing. "I want to have a normal family someday. Not for us, but for them."

She removes her wandering hands to rub your head and assuage your fears.

"Of course I'm worried too. I promise I'll make everything work. I haven't even shown you half of what I'm capable of," she assures you. "We'll get our happy ending."

"No matter what."

You let yourself relax, most of the stress escaping your body. Having her soothe you in her embrace has always been one of your favorite things.

"Mommy knows what's best," she declares. "And that's why mommy is tired of waiting."

You pushed her patience to the limit, but the both of you know that everything was addressed, even the ones that went unspoken. With you on top of her, both of you shift your bodies further up the bed until she can raise her upper body a bit. Practically salivating, she grabs the cuffs with one hand, lifting her arms away from her body.

"Wrap your arms around me," she says.

You're not sure what kind of gambit that she has going on, but she's raping you with her salacious stare. Your arms contact her back in a hug.

"Not like that, keep your wrists apart," she chides.

You correct the distance, hoping that the change allows her to apply your binds. You've got the basic gist of what she's doing, but can't be completely sure without more details. Your pose is not to her taste, so she manually repositions them. Most of your arms are encircling her body, but your hands are pointed outwards, an appropriate distance from each other. Everything is starting to come together now. She retrieves the thankfully fuzzy handcuffs, and you get to see that they are tiger patterned. Of course. As she wraps her around her backside as well, she cuffs both of your hands together. You're essentially tied to her, your arms unable to undo the hug. You have some leeway, but even if you wanted to escape, pulling your circled arms upwards is impossible because of her arms. Her hips are also very wide, her prodigious ass and thick thighs most likely able to stop any attempt to shimmy the ring over them.

Is that the final step? She could get out some more chains or something to bind you even more. You still don't completely see the point of this even though the closeness is nice. How is she going to be able to get on top of you without ripping your arms off?

"Comfortable?" she asks slyly.

"Yeah, it's just fine, but how are we going to get you on top?" you ask, confused.

"I always do like that, but I think this will be a nice change of pace," she explains. "More than that, I've got you until I say you're done."

She tosses the keys to the side.

"You're not going anywhere until you can't cum anymore. And you're going to need to do more than just that to get those keys back," she teases. "Oh, can you think of a safe word?"

"Pineapple?" you suggest bashfully.

That's the most cliché one that you could have possibly chosen. It's not like BDSM is a part of your sex life.

"Thank you Anon, that will work well," she laughs. "But we won't be using any safe words. This is just for efficiency. If you change your mind four shots in, we couldn't have you shirk your responsibilities."

This is intense to say the least. You will get drained until you're completely spent. You imagine being milked until you start cumming dust. It's not like you didn't want to play around with kinky tools or have depraved sex for the purpose of procreation, but it's almost been weaponized. You're not in any danger or under threat, but you are trapped. You trust her entirely, but the loss of agency isn't quite as welcome. You weren't even asked! No need to pout about it anyway. The transgression is mild, and honestly the idea is very arousing. Turning into some sort of "broodfather," an organism solely used for insemination. Flip-flopping between how degrading and simultaneously hot this scenario is has probably given you a new fetish. Your musings on this implication gets interrupted by your mother's voice.

"Quit dallying and start mating with mommy," she commands, even more impatient

The position you're in makes things a bit more difficult. She has her legs spread wide enough that you can enter her, but you're doing it blind. You can already feel the massive wet spot that she's created on the bed, nowhere near cold yet. Her similarly soaked thighs rub against the sides of your body. Her slippery, sticky fur feels lovely against you right now. Without the aid of your hands, you use your hips to try to guide your erection into her sopping hole. Several attempts end up slipping away, but at least coat the entirety of your crotch in her vicious excitement. You keep at it, and in one case, you accidentally probe the backdoor, thankfully completely unsuccessfully. While she's been letting out soft, quick moans in pleasure, all the teasing has made her impatient. She takes matters into her own hands, and guides you in herself with one of her paws. You finally manage to get the tip in, and slowly sink the remaining entirety inside effortlessly.

The both of you moan, although in your case, involuntarily. You have to pause to keep yourself from cumming immediately. She's in a hurry, however, and wordlessly taps you with her thighs like she's a cowboy urging a horse to speed up. Not wanting to disappoint her, you force yourself to move despite how close you are to the edge. You ease yourself into the motion to pace yourself as best as you can. She lets out pleased hums as she stares directly into your eyes. You grit your teeth as you speed up, clenching your lower body as well. Even with how little time has passed, the wetness of her pussy makes sloppy sounds that only serve to turn you on even more. She knows you're struggling already, and for some reason she wraps her arms around the back of your neck. She pulls you forward and buries your face into her chest. You have no idea if she's trying to urge you to cum faster, or if she's trying to comfort you for some reason. The heat of her body has already made her breasts slick with sweat. Every part of her smells so good. Your breaths grow heavier, the condensation mixing with her perspiration. Her chest rumbles as she chuckles in between her sweet sighs.

"Hey, that tickles," she says. "You're more excited than I am. I can't believe you were the one lecturing me on patience."

You hear her teasing words, but they don't cause you to consider doing anything different. You're on the edge, and it won't be very long until you burst. She notices how labored your breaths are, and she suddenly wraps her legs around you, trapping your hips against hers. You're a bit frustrated, the animalistic desire to cum interrupted.

"Wait a minute. Look at me," she commands as she releases your head.

You look up at her and see her flushed smile, face wet with sweat. From the way her body is softly trembling, you can tell she's been delaying her relief as well. Her paws reach down her body, and your eyes follow them until they cup around the bottom of her breasts. You never noticed since your face was trapped by them, but she's been lactating heavily. Her chest is completely damp and sticky with a mix of her sweat and smeared breast milk.

"Drink mommy's milk. It'll calm you down a little bit," she says. "We can't cum until you drink it aaall up."

The reason she's been holding back is a lot more clear now. She wants to share every kind of intimacy with you for this debauched baby-making sex. You suckle her nipple, her milk gushing into your waiting mouth. It always excited you, but it tastes even richer and sweeter at this moment. The increased hormones flooding through the liquid intoxicates you. You've been trying to calm yourself down, but the shared act only serves to make you grow harder. She's stifling her moans as if she's trying to hide how much it's pleasuring her as well, but the way she's tensing around you betrays her facade. Her insides squeeze and squirm around you as you greedily drink down her motherly essence. Her legs pull you tighten, straining your lower back. You swear you feel some of your vertebrae pop. She starts stroking your hair, her hands shaking. You're at your limit, and you believe she is as well. She starts openly moaning.

"Yes, Anon! Good boy!" she shouts. "Keep drinking until you finish!"

Her body grows stiff, and she pulls you inside her with her legs so hard that you're afraid that you'll bruise. Her walls undulate to milk your cock of all its seed. As her fingers running through your hair start to dig in, you reach your climax as well. You cum inside her again and again, ropes of semen painting her insides white. You see stars before your vision momentarily fades, then returns slowly when you finally manage to open your eyes. That's the first time that either of you managed to cum without even a single thrust.

"Hah ha," she laughs, her vocalizations a mix of desperate pants and genuine laughter. "You love mommy's boobies that much?"

Her hands idly stroke your neck and back while you attempt to respond.

"Yes mommy," you reply.

That was the best possible answer from the expression she makes. She's ecstatic, and even more aroused compared to before. Your earnest admission touched more than just her heart.

"Such an honest boy. I raised you so well," she muses. "We're not done mating yet, though."

"Mommy has a lot more milk, and you still need to give her a lot more cum."

How long has it been? It feels like hours, and it probably has been. The question is just how many hours it has been. You think that you have cum more times than her, but it's not from a lack of trying. Her body burning from the need to breed is making her wring all the seed out of you as possible. It's half instincts and biological urges, and the remainder is her genuine intentions to get knocked up. You called it desperation before, but it's more an invincible force of will. She will defy anything to make it happen.

You cum again, having lost count at this point. From the sensation, you think this last one was completely dry. Your dick is sore and sensitive even from the frictionless copulation. It's never ending. You collapse into her soaked breasts, the spilled milk adhering them to your face like sticky tack. You think she's run dry as well, which is a shame since the ambrosia is the only thing that kept you from becoming as dehydrated as a mummy. The amount of liquid on the bed is unbelievable, the sweat and various other fluids bleeding out from your bodies well over a foot away. Your lower bodies are even more messy, you stirred up sexual fluids coating your body and the bed like white glue. The both of you look like some kind of special effects disaster, but it's all too real. If for some reason you keep this soiled bedding, it'll look like an obscene Shroud of Turin when it dries.

As fun as it's been, it's definitely time to call it quits.

"I-I don't think anything's coming out anymore," you say between labored breaths.

This causes a moment of pause in your mother, but she isn't quite convinced.

"We'll do one more. You're just tired. Mommy will milk one more out of you," she proclaims confidently.

Taking a moment to nuzzle you, she then pulls away, telling you solely through body language to prepare yourself. Even though she's had her legs hooked around you throughout most of this, it's for a different reason this time. She rocks her hips back and forth slowly, gently massaging your cock with her slick insides. Following every backstroke, she pulls you in deeper with her leg lock as she squishes her hips against yours.

"Mommy's going to breed you," she says matter-of-factly.

With that said, she gives you a salacious grin as she continues. You're overly sensitive from the amount of orgasms you've had, but she's even more insatiable being in estrus. While you groan from the assault, she's devolved into animalistic grunts from the exertion. With every thrust, you can hear the mixed juices frothing and bubbling even further. It's not romantic or passionate love making at this point. It's purely methodical procreation, no matter how good it feels. With the way she gyrates her hips, your torso has slid down her body a bit, and your face is buried in her sweaty abs. The fresh sweat and stale sweat violates your nose, inundating your entire head with her musk. It flexes and slackens against your face, letting you appreciate how finely muscled she really is.

The tempo is still deliberately slow, her pussy caressing you to gently coax your orgasm out of you. She's well aware of how spent you are in every sense of the word. It's a kind and considerate means to an end. The sloppy, lewd strokes finally start to bring you closer. Both of your breaths are hot and heavy, with only quiet vocalizations from the labor escaping your lips. Eventually, those grunts turn into groans, your voices strained from all the cries of ecstasy. Your cock is almost being sucked as her womb hungers for your semen. She goads you on one final time.

"Give mommy lots of kittens," she coos. "Cum in mommy's pussy."

It doesn't take too much more time for the both of you to climax. With a few shaky strokes, she finally squeezes the last orgasm out of you. To your surprise, you manage to spray even more cum inside her. She lets out a hoarse moan as she rides out that final session with you. You're dizzied by the intensity, and her attentiveness to your condition makes her cradle you in her arms. A few moments later, she speaks softly into your ear.

"See? I told you," she teases.

You don't have any rebuttal, so you just let yourself be comforted in her arms. Eventually, you overcome your exhaustion enough to attend to more pressing matters. Your wrists really hurt. The handcuffs haven't cut into you, or rubbed you raw, but even with the care the two of you took, there still was enough pressure to make them ache.

"Hey, my hands?" you ask incoherently.

"I told you that you had to do more," she says slyly as she rattles the keys in front of you.

This is too much. You wonder what more could even be done, and your confusion only grows when she pops the keys into her mouth, appearing to tuck them into her cheek. She pulls your face to hers, and it's a bit of a strain for your arms.

"Yu gotta werk fo da keysh," she slurs with her mouth full.

You knew she was planning to toy with you all night, but this is a lot better than you expected. She leans forward to kiss you, letting you take the lead for the first time. Or more accurately, you still aren't in control with the way she's battling your tongue inside her mouth. It's like a match between duelists, but every attempt you make you're deflected and diverted elsewhere. She's completely outclassed you. You pull back once to catch your breath, and redouble your efforts again the next attempt. Her defense is a lot lazier this time, but still impenetrable. Her fleshy organ moves slowly, but the difference in size and strength lets her pin you easily. The next time you break the kiss, she deftly fishes the keyring out with her tongue, and holds it between her pursed lips. You reach in with your own mouth and snatch them from her, causing her to giggle. It's a bit humiliating for her to hand the win to you, but it was truly hopeless for you. She takes her fingertip and drags it down your upper lip until she hooks it around the ring, and finally frees you from your binds.

"Good job, Anon," she says, hiding her smugness.

You rub your tender wrists, and she takes this moment to flip you on your back. She really is full of surprises. What she does is raise her body off of yours, finally uncoupling your loins. Copious amounts of sloppy, bubbling sperm falls out of her like a waterfall, splattering on your body. Her paws find her way to her stomach, and she cradles her lower abdomen.

"Look, Anon. You put so much of it right here," she says, stroking the spot where her womb would be. "You definitely gave mommy a baby."

She's quite confident, but for a good reason. No matter how unscientific or improbable that it is, you're already certain that you did too. It's undeniable in your mind, and almost nothing could convince you otherwise. She leans down to your shoulder to lay some gentle kisses, trailing up your chin. With a final, tender kiss, she pulls away with a sweet smile.

"Now you're mine forever."

The joyous high from everything fades a touch as both of your heads start to clear. The discomfort from the soiled bed sobers you up, and raises more pressing matters. The entire mattress has to be thrown out, without emergency care. You're not even confident that would do anything. It's a future problem, as they say. She's the one to finally offer a suggestion.

"I think we're going to have to sleep in your old room tonight."

"I love the springtime here," your mother chirps happily.

"We'll have to take the girls to see the tulips soon," you reply.

You have no idea how many people owed her favors with the wizardry that she pulled. Officially, you're a refugee from one of the countries that devolved into Balkanized chaos after the collapse of the communist and socialist hegemony of the Eastern hemisphere of the Anthrostate. United as always, the Anthrostate has put incredible efforts to pacify the troubles for our ideologically differing brothers in the State. The support of the entire world can't fix everything, though. You forget what kind of silly Eastern European last name you had before your marriage, but you're Anon Wilkes again, officially. Departing your familiar home was a bit disappointing, but there's no way your family could exist openly where everyone knew you.

The Netherlands was a nice choice. Your mother might know French, but you're no polyglot. Avoiding the frigid cold of Canada, and the gloomy weather of the UK, you decided to live here. Ireland would be nice, but the unchecked terrorism makes it the sort of place you'd never want your children to grow up. Speaking of your girls, your fears were completely unfounded. Both of them are perfect models of health. It shouldn't be too long until they can start preschool. Thanks to an absolutely wonderful nanny, you and your wife get to enjoy a day out on the town. She reminds you of yours from the past, Isabelle. Wandering the streets again is so liberating, even all these years later. You never really got the exotic vacation you were promised, but you don't want anything else.

"Hmm..." your mother ponders while walking along with you.

You turn to her, wondering what she's thinking about.

"Should we try to find a new place for our dinner date, or just go to one of our favorites?" she asks.

"Let's go on an adventure," you offer despite your idyllic life being one anyway.

She gives you a smile and starts pulling you along by the hand, facing the future one step at a time.

And with that you'll remain, free in a shared paradise forevermore.

TRUE END

Good job, you picked the obviously correct choice.

Notes:

Paradise - Satanicpornocultshop

Wow, this chapter's sex scene(s) ended up way longer than I expected. I'm pretty satisfied with this ending.

This story is finally over! It was a fun ride, but it is always a relief to finish a story.

I'm torn on what to write next, yet again.

I got a huge craving to write a POFG story after seeing The Beast and His Pet High School Girl updated again. Even though it's wack since the sexes are the opposite of what I like, the concept and world building is enough to make me love it.

The other option is my WWII Anthrostate thing. I've read hundreds and hundreds of pages from declassified CIA .pdfs about the OSS at this point.

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