FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Under Seed and Sow

by The Brain of Lazarus

It was a day of mist and earth. The long frost had passed in the country town of Pepperwood, and in its place was the brisk wave of heavy cloud and tilled soil. The air lingered with the fresh ambrosia of torn ground and sprouting plant, the sky tittering with a hint of evening rain. Indeed, clouds meshed with pale sunlight and every so often a light sprinkle of water would fall, giving a fresh, stern musk to the arriving spring warmth.

Adson Tolus hadn't been here for years, but the nurtured vitality of his home brought germinated comfort so deeply seeded in his bones. Yes, in truth, he was more a city man, no doubt, having left Pepperwood at the spry age of eighteen to spend his years in higher education. He'd found the simplicity of unending pastures and small home-in-hill makings was a bit too isolated for his taste, so off for the towers of steel he'd went.

His roots though, they did not change. He could only grin at the passing cobbled roads and town folk carrying on past horse-drawn carriage, pensive in observation. Pepperwood was small, and despite the lengthy fields, many of the townspeople were close together, knit in a giant fabric of friendship, gossip, and who's who. Though Adson found himself more a recluse as a younger lad, contemplating industrial powers and yearning for the horizon, there was still an entrenched sense of familiarity here.

That was going to come in quite handy. Adson wasn't taking a country path for nostalgia's sake, it was on business, of sorts. Mr. Tolus worked for a sector of private investigations that answered to state authority, and though most of his time was spent going over increments of paper reports, there were times a hands on approach was desired. A very curious happening shocked his superiors in recent weeks; a valued surgeon vanished on the evening of a critical surgery, and from there details got murky. Mallicus Ontigo, somehow linked to Pepperwood, possibly responsible as a third party for the death of a wealthman, Lord Breegus, all loosely connected.

Shuttled back into concentration from a wheel bump, Adson pulled silver pocket watch from thin black overcoat. Thirteen minutes to 4. His thoughts began to organize and rehearse his purpose, time was important. Obviously, he was chosen to spearhead the investigation for his close ties to the town. The populace would respond better to what was essentially intrusive questioning. Of course, it still drew blanks for Mr. Tolus when he fumbled with a connection between Mallicus and Pepperwood, and he really had no idea what the kindly folk here could offer. But it was serious, and, his superiors were starving for answers - they wanted scapegoats.

It was a few past four when the carriage finally paused and the driver was kind enough to open the door for Adson. Out stepped the lean young man, greeted by the mix of seasoned heat and airy mist. He'd been taken to the center of the town, a curved path of rock enthroned by a longhouse tavern and a few officiating 'offices.' The necessities, Pepperwood folk had little interest in red tape.

"We'll be back in a week, Mr. Tolus," the driver called, catching Adson's attention. He tilted his head, letting hand roll through curled black hair, squinting at the rough city terrier.

"A week? A bit impractical, if I come across something that needs attention," he replied, not so much with protest, only uncertainty.

"Can't be helped. Spring storm's expected to flood the bridge roads. Best shack up with a stiff ale. 'Sides, worst you'll find out here is some dandelions to apprehend," the driver chortled roughly.

"I suppose," Adson conceded. "I'd hope there's patience for a gap in communication then,"

The canine of oil and iron shrugged. "Plead acts of god. Or, you've got a head start in case they call for your head, ahah!"

The crackling laughter drew a few glances of passerby. Adson feigned a smile, but resigned from the tiring humor and tossed the driver a ten pence.

"Much obliged, mistah Tolus," the terrier grinned, pocketing the silver. "Keep your neck and don't raise any cousins, ahahaha,"

Again, Adson silently nodded, and waved off the exiting driver. He ignored the comment, it was a bit of a slur towards the rural, rumors of generational incest and all that. And the city people were supposed to be the enlightened ones.

Watching the ever shrinking carriage, it took Mr. Tolus a few moments to realize he'd been standing idle in the town center. No doubt a tall, pale skinned man draped in satin was starting to gather looks of uncertainty, so he didn't linger, and set about his task.

• * -

Several hours later, Adson had made all the proper arrangements for his stay. The longhouse tavern, or "No Salt On Soil," was happy to oblige him for the weekly duration. Or at least he'd hoped; Mr. Tolus was a stark contrast to the rest of the populous, draped in fashionable cloak and sporting the posh of a business man. It was understandable to draw the ire or leery gazes from those unfamiliar with him, a family had to protect itself from strangers, though stranger he was not.

Settling in though, he was seated comfortably upon fine oak stool, sipping a honey hued ale that was rich from the flavor of Pepperwood. Authentic ale, earthy and strong. He'd been served by a bar tender he'd known only in glances, the stocky, fiery bearded fellow known as Obach. This was a good start of inquiry as Obach was friendly, loud, and knew just about every coming and going in the country haven.

When Mr. Tolus had sunk about half of his stiff, Obach coasted over with a rosy cheeked grin and heavy, chopping breaths.

"Ya' swill the creature mighty fine for an out-of-towner! That's not the light stuff, it's Grimbly's brew. Stern and nasty as the ol' grump himself!" he started, his voice intense, like the cutting of an axe on dense lumber.

Adson sipped and gave a nod. "He's always been a bit more salted than I took him for. It's for show, I'm certain. He raised four good daughters, did he not?"

For a moment Obach's expression flashed with bewilderment, giving the young man a narrow, hawk-like scrutiny.

"Ho! You know Grimbsly and his daisies? I'd be damned curious to know the pitch to that claim,"

A reassuring smile. "I've grown up here, mister Obach. Tolus' boy. I've just come back in for the week, you see,"

Again, a rapid change in visage. Obach retorted with a hacking chuckle, slapping his bar hard, wobbling Adson's glass.

"You're the Tolus sprout? Nay it can't be, it's nary been that many a year, has it? Why you were just a little weed when I knew you crept about, and now lookit' ya!"

An acknowledging nod.

"The very same one. And it's been eight years, if I'm not mistaken, since my name was left to the Tolus home,"

"Seasons be drunk and devil be cold, so it has!" Obach glanced about as if to cast away any interloping conversations. The subject had him interested, it seemed.

"Well what drags you back, lad? Takin' roots back in the family den?"

Adson paused, taking another, somewhat longer sip of his stiff as if to put distance between himself and the notion.

"Not quite, mister Obach."

The barkeep feigned a wince.

"Agh, please son, just call me Obach. Or Obs! Not papa Obs though, only for the ladies, that one, gaha!"

The black haired man smiled, accepting.

"Obach. Here on business, actually. I'm investigating the recent disappearance of one Mallicus Ontigo, and my superiors have reason to believe he's somehow connected to Pepperwood,"

There was a snort, the portly fire haired man stroking his extensive beard.

"Business, ah? And with ol' Ontigo. Mallicus? Khah, is that what he's callin' himself these days?"

Adson's attention came to Obach, a brow raising.

"Well, he was. He's presumed dead. Unlike a man of that caliber to simply vanish. But, I escape myself, you knew him?"

Heavy, rough arms would come to rest on flank of the bar, Obach nodding. "Oh, aye. But he didn't go by Malliwhatsit. Five shilling of a name that, hands in hell's hair. No, Mank Ontigo was the lad's name. Can see why he had eyes to change it, and I knew em' as a bit of a regular here. He'd stop by on the moon's full creep, have a stiff, and go scrabble up some herbs, I think."

The jade eyed Tolus boy was now at full attention. This was a marvelous breakthrough, or at least a good foundation to start. Questions began to brew in his mind.

"Mank, you say," he repeated, cementing the words to memory. "And every month he'd visit? For. . . some kind of plant? Was it medicinal?"

Obach gave a heavy shrug. "Couldn't say my boy. He'd visit Ms. Mapelle on the evening wax, and she taxes a fine tobacco. Red vine and silca leaves too. No real tellin' what Mank picked up, he never talked about it. He was in and out of Pep'wood within a night's pass."

Adson tapped fingers along the sturdy bar wood, gulping down the rest of his earthly ale. His eyes went downcast, postulating. So many possibilities came from this. Silca stuck out. In medicine it was a strong numbing agent, often used to discourage pain but, in high dosages it could paralyze the body, or worse. There were not many places one could use it legally. Why was it being grown here in Pepperwood?

"Hmm. Mrs. Mapelle, you mentioned,"

A tongue click. "Aye, little Fleur. Best leaf spinner I've seen, nothin' compares!"

The young man nodded, distracted. "Yes, I remember her. Hmm. If she knew Ontigo that well, perhaps I'd best talk to her."

"You'd best," Obach intervened, taking Adson's empty mug, "wait til' morn. She might not like a fella in the night's curtains snoopin' round her home. And with news of that fella's plight, aye, not good business to sleep on. Give it an evening brew,"

Mr. Tolus wasn't keen on being stifled, but, he conceded and found it practical not to contest. He was still much a stranger, after all, and there was an entire week to procure information. He checked his silver watch, reading the time again. Twenty past eight.

"A sensible plan," Adson muttered. "She still past the Brook's home?"

Obach hummed, setting away the glass, turning back to the city son. "Mmnnoot anymore, lad. She took keep on the brandy hills, with her ol' todd. More land to work, and all,"

Though he could not see, Adson still shook his head, rubbing through hair. "I'm unfamiliar," he admitted.

"Pah! Not a trouble. I've got an afternoon shipment to pick in the 'morrow. I'll show you right off where to go, she's a bit further out on Pep'wood terms,"

The young man agreed, obliging with a silver pence and carrying on with Obach for the rest of the hour about Pepperwood and its coming and goings. While sipping down a second ale, Adson discovered not much had changed through the years. Young Tolus steered away from any further discussion on Ontigo, seeing as it was a nebulous subject and quite tiring after a day of travels. Some time nearing ten, a check of watch, and the raven haired investigator submitted to rest, retiring to his tavern bedroom.

He slept well that night, so distant from the rambunctious racket of city streets. For a time, he almost forgot why he'd come here.

-*-

The passing of early morning was much like yesterday. The air still clambered with the thick scent of seasonal rains and the sky shuddered from distant thunder. Most of the townsfolk went about their business despite the weather, and Adson had no delay meeting Obach. The fiery bearded fellow was some ways in the town center, next to a large assortment of barrels that were being scrutinized by some of his bar hands.

When he met up, Obach chortled and led young Tolus along the right path, which faded from well groomed cobblestone to a dirty mix of rock and field grass. According to the barkeep, Fleur Mapelle had taken stock in a sort of tree home, an ancient cedar that was strong as brick but hollowed out. As well, it was indeed a ways off from the normally close-knit graces of Pepperwood, the tree visible in the distance. As a strip of black on the horizon met Adson's gaze, the barkeep was happy to show him half way, before settling to let the city son walk on alone.

It was preferable, young Tolus found. A boisterous chap like Obach would likely undermine his inquiries with side talk and gossip, of no offense towards the talkative fellow. Adson knew that probing queries were sometimes met with resilience, and having a tavern keep in company would delay it needlessly.

Out of habit, digits pulled free silver watch, noting the time. Best get a move on. A hiss of distant rain and stormy rumbles quickened the lean legged pace, until Adson was close enough to make out the massive oak. His curious jade eyes rolled over the making of the tree's extensive branches, noting the ambrosia of maintained earth and homely smells mixing with hanging ornaments strewn about the wooded frame. Luscious flowers coaxed every color with such brilliance, and a wired fence held in what was Fleur's famous garden, rich with vibrant sprouts and healthy plant life.

Good hands and heart worked here. The investigator didn't recall much of Ms. Mapelle; he knew her in name, sometimes passing her by as a very young child. An opossum lass, he believed, wedded very young and raised a child, along with her respectable trade.

Adson held the information close, strolling along her rock path lawn. The sky groaned with thunder yet again, as if to hurry him along, young Tolus rapping a few stern knocks along door.

A pause, and he decided to make his presence known. "Mrs. Mapelle?" he called politely.

Silence, aside from the crackle of distant storms. He gave a few more harsh knocks, uncertain if he could be heard.

It wasn't until a moment later the door finally latched free and swung open, the figure of a feminine body peering through.

"Oh, hello. Yes?"

Eyes adjusting, young Tolus made out the motherly frame of a refined opossum woman. She was a touch shorter than he, give or take an inch, and quite full figured. Long flesh colored tail that appeared to be cut at the end would curl around wide hips, and her black pool eyes would observe Adson carefully. She wore a stained apron, with puffs of white in her hands and fur, the odor of cooked food encroaching upon the outside air.

She was lovelier than the young man recalled. He gave a slight bow of head, respectfully. "Mrs. Mapelle?" he repeated.

He didn't wait for a response. "My name is Adson Tolus, I'm part of Culler Investigations and stopped by because word has it you knew a Mank Ontigo?"

Opening the door a bit wider, Fleur's ears rounded, attentive. "It's miss," she corrected, though not out of agitation.

"I knew a Mank, yes," she continued, without the slightest hesitation. She clearly had no fear of the city son. "Adson Tolus, you said?"

He smiled lightly, nodding. She had a lot of warmth to her voice, and it was refreshing.

She pat down her apron, creating puffs of white. "I'd thought you were a rumor for a long time. Carnegie boasted about your book smarts but we hardly saw hair of you."

Adson chuckled, feeling some tension dissipate. She remembered him, which was good. Flattering in a way but also incredibly helpful.

"Hah, yes ma'am, the same one. I wasn't much for the farms, I admit. And I do hate to be intrusive, but might you have time to answer some questions?"

The opossum didn't answer immediately, attention pulled by the sounds of distant thunder. She'd glance up and about, studying the clouds.

"You certainly can't be caught out in the rain. Come inside. We'll talk over tea."

Adson gave a grateful thanks and followed, entering the hospice of the hollow oak. Within, his studious gaze was treated to the many furnishings and pictures of Fleur's home. Light flushed in from windows and various lit candles, rolling over portraits of no doubt Mapelle ancestors. There were a series of wood fetishes that sat along shelving in various designs and shapes, cultured from the woman's breed. It was quite intriguing, a haven if any. Young Tolus felt safe, especially against the brazen approach of spring rains.

Standing aside, the young man kept silent, hands folded, while Fleur sauntered past to a stone-made kitchen, gracefully pairing up cups for drink. She spoke while pouring, without a glance to the investigator.

"Please, sit, Mr. Tolus." It was more a kind offer than command.

Manners dictated Adson's actions, so he'd waited for permission. Thankfully though he sat quite swiftly, undoing the heavy clamp of his overcoat. His studious green eyes, though distracted by the trinkets and treasures that surrounded him, would briefly go to the motherly opossum. She was quite pretty, caught in the rays of ghostly gray sunlight, her body rife with experience and grace. Gaze would begin to drift down a bit, going to her-

"You've been away from Pepperwood for a long spell, Mr. Tolus,"

The young man shook his head, brushing away flustered thoughts.

"Long enough to set up somewhere else. You came back only for this Mank business?" Fleur inquired. They were curious words, not of accusation.

Adson cleared his throat. "Correct, Ms. Mapelle. I hadn't the mind or hands for the country, so I thought it best to pursue my strengths. Ironically that's brought me back here."

She would turn, coming to rest at table, setting down filled cup for Adson while she briefly sipped on her own.

"So it has," she added warmly, lowering her glass. "I trust things are as you remembered it?"

Mimicking, young Tolus would also sip at tea, greeted by the immediate bite of sugary leaf, mixed with warm honey. It was much like this home; well made and of fresh earth, putting him further at ease.

"Oh it is, save for a few things, Ms. Mapelle,"

She gave a soft chirp. "Oh, gracious, call me Fleur. Miss just hints at tax season."

The young man chuckled, accepting. "Of course. Well Fleur, aside from this Ontigo business, little has changed these six years,"

The opossum would cross legs, side nodding. "Little should. Many in Pepperwood rely on that consistency and routine. Even Mr. Ontigo's visits became the norm for a duration."

Adson would glance to her pensively. "Indeed? I am certainly curious about him,"

The lass would chuckle and take another draft. "So you are. And why is your Culler clan taking such a fascination with Mank?"

"It's a touch unclear, but, he disappeared naught but two weeks ago. He was overseeing a life saving surgery of one Lord Breegus, that no other surgeon could perform. On that particular day though, he'd vanished,"

Fleur would pause, her cut tail swaying. "Vanished?" she pursued with raised brows.

"It's as much as I know." The answer was flat, hinting at no other detail. "So I take it from that, he hasn't mysteriously appeared recently?"

Though quite trusting of her, the city son would be studious of her response. Mallicus was a master surgeon for a reason, so if he had stopped by for whatever purpose, he'd cover his tracks with persuasion and bribery.

"I wasn't expecting him for another month. Man demands his timeliness. Always sharp in the morning, paying prompt, taking his inventory and leaving," she replied saltily, as though Ontigo's haste was a form of insult.

The response was helpful enough. So he was still, up until his 'departure,' purchasing undisclosed herbs. Adson mentally mulled it over, but did not ask what specifically. Such an approach, he felt, was rude and far too brutish for his tastes.

A sip. "You didn't know this was his routine?"

The Tolus boy shook his head. "Not at all. As you could likely tell, he was a private man. Everything he did and said was planned with an almost inhuman precision. Not only are we ignorant of his budget, we can't even find evidence of him being killed, kidnapped, or just up and quitting town."

The concept was frazzling to Adson, his fingers going through curled raven hair. He mirrored the motherly opossum, taking a swig of the dandy liquid to calm himself. It was stressful, when he could not figure things out. That was the reason for his leaving of Pepperwood, because he was supposed to have a desirable analytical mind. But just how was he going to connect all these nebulous dots? What was logic doing for him here?

"I never thought our first conversation would be over the supposed demise of a man who never said hello," observed Fleur.

Adson's careful green eyes darted back to Ms. Mapelle. Careful, because for a split second, they flashed downward, noting her cloth white apron and then her. . . generous cleavage. To milky baskets of white fur squished together in the untouched embrace of fabric, lazily lolling with her calm breaths and-

"Oh, alas. Perhaps not the most fortunate of ice breakers. My own fault though, I used to think books were the best listeners."

He shook himself free of wandering thoughts.

Yes, yes, she's a beautiful woman with wide plump hips and a heavy pair of-

The approach of thunder, and the light tempo of incoming rain. Adson grit his teeth to focus himself, this was not the time or the place for such rudeness.

Throat clearing. "But now, seems there's time to catch up?" he quickly asked, working away from lingering ideas.

Taps of water droplets would begin to rattle along windows, the persuasion of nature keeping Adson indoors. Not a terrible thing, he surmised.

Fleur's ear would flick to the outside ruckus. "So there is. How long are you in Pepperwood, Mr. Tolus?"

"Hmm, I'll be here a week at least. Storms hold the roads, I'm told, so one way or the other I'm staying for a bit. And you can call me Adson," he said with a hint of optimism. Fleur smiled, though from length of stay or mutual use of first name, young Tolus couldn't tell.

"Oh? Well, Adson, I hope it isn't the storms that keep you. Pepperwood may be small, but it's a beautiful simplicity."

Tone of appreciation soaked her words like the encroaching showers, and Adson didn't disagree.

"Merely an impractical scenario should an emergency occur," he assured, "but, I have doubts there's anything particularly urgent. Pepperwood is still as lovely as I remember."

Fleur gave an approving gesture, before rising from chair. She'd briefly saunter to a stone-craft oven, opening its frame a touch, no doubt checking on her sweetbread.

"I'm glad to hear it. And how have things been in the city?" Fleur asked with an earnest chime to her voice.

Adson was about to respond, but it was here his eyes drifted. And stopped. Motherly Mapelle would lean, checking the baked loaf, while her healthy, mature curves sprang into view as backside pushed outward, generous in supple thickness. Young Tolus felt his chest hammer like a searing iron, watching the white fur slopes jostle from the opossum's graceful movements.

Perhaps it was because chimera-make had different ideas of prudence, or that the curvaceous lass found no shame in her bareness - a respectable trait - but indeed, Fleur had been in nothing but apron this entire time. Adson certainly couldn't ask her to clothe herself, and had resigned to ignoring it best he could since his arrival, but currently neglecting the wide, plump fullness of her rear was a fool's errand. Though it was a brief sight, a handful of seconds, it was enough to stir up the cold gears of the city son's mind.

Again, he scrambled to focus himself. "Busy, mostly." he answered shortly.

Fleur paid it no mind and continued. "I've never been. Briefly traveled into Ochreton to attend classes, but nothing like where you live,"

The motherly opossum, much to the brief dismay of Adson's gaze, would close the oven and return to chair, swirling her tea cup.

"I'd hear gossip all the time though. Parties, theater, music. A chaotic way to live, I'd think," her body leaned, hefty cleavage subtly squished into view, "Any truth to that Adson? Do you drink away the nights and drive girls crazy?"

His head would lift. Thoughts were slightly fuzzy, so he couldn't tell how much of that was sincere or joke.

"Haha, oh there's simply no time for that. Culler Investigations has me working too much, it's rare I even have weekends off. I wouldn't begin to know how to fit a relationship in all that."

There was a brief silence, Adson considering his next words carefully.

"I imagine you've had plenty of suitors though, if Obach's compliments were any indication,"

Fleur shook her head, the mildest hint of her cheeks flushing.

"Not quite. Most men have settled down, and the others are either too young or uninterested. The rest are, frankly, a dull shovel in red clay," she said in painless fashion.

"Obach doesn't help my case," continued the opossum with a chuckle. "My husband passed seven years ago, and since then he seems to try and protect me. I have to wonder how many perfectly interesting men he's run off with his handling."

Adson took note, but did nothing to emphasize or stress the loss of her husband. He opted to till the conversation further.

"A good ambition, perhaps, but clumsy in execution," he said, agreeing.

Ms. Mapelle would briefly lean, taking her cup and Adson's, before rising to put them in sink. No doubt young Tolus had scooped a view of her bouncing hills, and the images were getting to him even more.

A clang of dishware meeting metal, followed by a light sigh.

"He means well enough, but, the seasons don't lie. Things have been a challenge. My son left for academy not too long ago, and, well. . ."

Thunder rumbled loudly, sheets of rain having picked up, bathing the windows in a heavy drizzle. Adson blinked, once again looking the woman over but, less so for her 'assets.' In that moment he saw how the pale afternoon light touched her rich, white fur mixed with the sleeve pattern of darker gray. She was a refined shape of stout, practiced muscle with succulent bosoms and full rounded rump, a matron that had seen the years and aged like a priceless wine. Such grace Fleur had, in both conversation and body, and a blooming boyhood crush was starting to take root within the city son.

Her solid black pool eyes stared absently out the kitchen glass, half tail tucked about hip and the watching Adson was beside himself. The stress of his occupation incited new feelings, a mix of desire and want for something more, and there stood this down to earth woman of mature mind and body. He could not imagine the difficulty of having family, only to lose them slowly with no way to heal.

Thoughts of his investigation subsided. He rose, uncertain that his next act was appropriate but, it was a worthy risk. Going to her, he put a kind hand to shoulder, palms immediately met with warmth and soft fur.

"It's difficult," he offered, "being surrounded by so much but still feeling, well, totally alone."

He thought to the city. As loud and laden with heavy populace it was, isolation was his only company. It must have been harder, in a community like Pepperwood, to be reminded of loss.

The opossum did not react, and for a time maintained her posture, idly staring with ponderous eyes, allowing young Adson's touch. Eventually, though, her head would turn, and own gentle hand would come to lay atop the young man's fingers. It sent a wave of nurturing warmth into the young man, bewildered that she returned his action.

"I was thirty two the last time a man touched me." she intoned flatly. The way her fingers began to twirl with Adson's own gave a vastly different meaning to this 'touch.'

"Fleur?"

The Tolus boy only blinked, the words blunt and catching him off guard, though he did not retreat. He could see her satin eyes glide toward him, and her flesh-toned tail would quietly tug around his ankle. His logical resilience was giving away, and the heat of being so close to this curvy, mature opossum began to melt away the icy investigator composure.

They were both adults, with needs like anyone. Much like her, Adson hadn't been with a lady for a good long while, and for a time he neglected his desires and resided to it just being a nonexistent factor in his life. But now everything shifted. The scent of home and earth rekindled his spirit, and the beckoning body of Fleur stirred a long unsatisfied part of him. She was experienced, knowledgeable, educated. He longed to have and heal her, drawn to her plight of a lonely soul. It almost enraged him that such a gorgeous woman in thought and spirit was left unsatisfied.

A crackle of thunder.

Adson could take no more. Like a floodgate his desires lay siege to his controlled demeanor, and at once his frame pressed into the opossum's lovely flesh. Free hand came to wide hip, and lips hungrily grazed along white fur neck, nibbling lightly, voraciously kissing with passionate presses. Fleur audibly gasped, quivering from the abrupt tender touches, frame buzzing with the invigorated hunger.

The city son could not help but taste and grace himself with every bit of this incredible woman, his free fingers roving along the supple contours of her waist and plump hip, pecking cheek, other palm daring to nudge under stained apron. He could feel the give and weight to her rear, bouncy bottom pancaking at the seam where hip met hip, the urge to grind and till brewing through him.

Fleur shuddered, gripping the hand that danced under apron, guiding it over lush belly, nudging it down to seek finer earth. Her head would crane to the side, letting those wild kisses ravage her nape, ushering out seething breaths, hiss moaning her delight. Her body would almost tremble, having nigh forgotten what the sensation of young, exploring hands felt like, rejuvenated from the act.

She'd press own lips to the Tolus son, binding them together in a feverish series of lip smacks, hungrily tasting, wanting.

"Touch me," Fleur would whisper in between throes, pushing the young man's hand into the velvet softness of her womanhood. It was hardly a command, and more plea, one that Adson was more than happy to oblige.

Pleasing a woman, he felt, was like painting, and Fleur was the canvas. When free digits climbed into her mountain bosoms, gliding over white fur hills, they could cup and caress the frontal fruit with stern but tender control, brushing the foundation. Adding detail, digits would carefully nudge and lightly pinch her tented peaks, feeling the nips stiffen at his playing motions. Meanwhile, his other hand would hold and rub the treasured cleft of the Mapelle woman's juicy nethers, adding the layer, fingers roving over her mother pearl, causing excited groans to escape the opossum.

Fingers would pursue this oasis of pleasure, dipping into her chalice walls, stroking the erogenous tunnel, feeling warm honey wet the path. It encouraged him to hear the chirps and shivering moans quiver the opossum's voice, and he longed to please her, union with her.

"Nnnh, Adson," Her voice sizzled with arousal, losing its cool, passive tone. "Upstairs. Bedroom."

The Tolus boy paused, his breaths quick, his heart a furnace. It took him a moment to realize what she meant. Fleur would wobble, standing up right and loosely gesturing to a staircase parallel to the kitchen.

"Need to get the sweetbread."

He nodded. "Right," he responded hoarsely, stepping back and slowly going towards the steps.

The climb gave him time to ponder, if briefly. All of this was moving quickly but, it was wonderful all the same. No reason to stop, no desire to either. Adson truly wanted her, mind, body and soul, as though a deep seeded admiration had finally come to sow. Like the stairway, steps to knowing Fleur had just begun, as he entered bedroom.

He was swift to uncoil frame from the tethers that bound him so, escaping their lock of cloth and expose himself to the cool room air. In other scenarios his analytical mind might observe and drink in information about his surroundings, but thoughts were searing, clouded, ambitious with lust. Down in hurried fashion went dress shirt, belt, trousers. Off the polished shoes, socks, briefs. Bare was he, under this living tree, fidgeting fingers with youthful enthusiasm to unify with that matron Fleur.

It didn't take long for footsteps to indicate her coming. With nervous glee, Adson watched the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, before a bare, full figured woman appeared, as hazy eyed and wanting as he. There were no words that could properly channel what they wanted, nay, what they needed. Her gentle hips swaying, Fleur immediately went to Adson, embracing him with nake frame as she gingerly pushed him back, into a sink of velvet bed sheets.

He fell into that haven, observing the approach of this bountiful miss, her soft, supple breasts bouncing in spry jubilation as she came to him, on all fours.

"You're a beautiful woman," Adson would utter, struck by admiration. The truth was all he could muster, words failed him.

Her cheeks would flush but, like him, she had little in the way of banter. So much of their actions were driven by carnal satisfaction. Swiftly, perhaps to taste the root, Fleur would go to the young man's groin and nude his flesh with nose, licking the tip of his manhood. It shook a small groan from him as her plush gray lips wrapped about the length, her thick hips raised in hair, whilst her maw suckled and gripped around his inches. Here she would marinate him, slick his primordial flag, with a tongue that slid along the under flesh with practice and polish.

Adson's hands would grip bed sheets, watching her in amazement, her own gentle palm jostling and caressing his precious Tolus stones. Quite briskly was the young man's pole at full attention, twitching and engorged, filling into the moist warmth of Fleur's mouth. Her cut tail would wriggle and curl, a perverse maestro conducting her actions as her satin eyes watched the male's tense writhing, drawing further grunts of animal approval.

With a randy 'pop' she released him, hot breaths gracing Adson's crown.

"Sturdy and young," she commented, "You're a handsome one."

To hear the words from a lass like Fleur was enough to put the young man over the edge, his cheeks blushing visibly. He maintained though, as the opossum left his wet groin and proceed to crawl over and top him, her milky bosoms bouncing lightly as her thick, ample rump came to sit along his hips.

Masculine palms would go to sides and Adson felt the massage of nether lips along the edge of his flank, his body tingling in pleasant response. Her large, bounding rear was delightfully sized, jostling ever so neatly as it teasingly massaged the root between the white fur split. In the meanwhile, Fleur would hungrily kiss and touch with tongue upon this beloved Tolus boy, the young man happily returning the lip smacks.

Palm slid to her healthy buttocks, groping and tossing the rolling width of hip and thigh. Fleur's own womanhood would rise with legs, as she nestled into a comfortable position, the entrance to her lower chamber suckling Adson's crown, an inviting tease that promised love and bliss.

"Gnnn. . ."

A tense grunt, causing ears to flick. Fleur though, much like him, had no patience for further foreplay, and slowly sank her lower frame onto the young man, until they were linked at the threshold. Adson could feel his root buried in the fleshy, choking grip of her inner walls, a flexible but still snug hold.

She did not waste time. The motherly opossum began the gentle upkeep of slow, steady grinds, rolling piston motions that ended with the crash of her bubbly, wobbling backside into the masculine flank, audible smack and clap of flesh echoing throughout her bedroom. Through her rolling, tossing motions, Adson would catch view of her enormous rear bouncing and colliding off shaft, amazed that such a woman coaxed and serviced his flesh in such a way.

"Oh god Fleur," he'd intoned hotly, her skilled hips rotating in such perfect dives and falls to pull wild groans and breaths from him.

Her gray hued chalice dripped with the rich nectar of arousal, the sex glistening and coating the male spear, rising in pace, quickening.

"Nnh! Eah!"

Fleur would yelp and shudder with decadent chirps, having that long un-tilled womanly earth finally receiving the work of a good tool. The young Tolus son obliged with finer strikes himself with every crash of thighs, his own loins rising in unison to meet the opossum at the apex of their actions. She would rise then, jiggling atop the seething pole that coaxed her inner walls, her milky breasts bouncing with thick, hefty thuds, Adson gripping with free hand while the other interlocked with dainty digits.

This was the unison they craved, long ignored by events and work. Fleur's form was in a state of perpetual motion as she drove herself further towards peak, bringing young Adson with her as crescendo neared. Though flesh was rattled with pleasure it brought the city son great joy to see the Mapelle lass in a place of heavenly estate, her face rosy accompanied by long, sublime moans. He wanted her to come, but not only for himself.

Finally, they both gave way. There were certainly dozens of subtle ways and playful manners to drive the other wild, expand in the territory of sexual wonders, but for now, this swift, quick coupling was enough. Fleur would rapidly smack her fat full rear onto the young Adson, who gripped feminine thighs as his root sputtered and burst, explosive with jets of seed and issue. Miss Mapelle's own seething release was not far off, flooding in unison as their nethers bathed in salt and sweetness.

There was a slow, drawn transition of mild thrusts and humps to stillness and heavy breathing. The opossum eventually fell along side the invesigator, her cut tail wrapped around his bare leg. Adson kept her close, letting toned yet delicate arm lay across his chest, letting Fleur find breath as she nestled under chin.

"By the earth, it had been so long," she would say, in her returning, observational manner.

"It has," Adson would agree. "You deserved better."

Fleur would smile. "Oh? Then, you'll have to make up for it, yes?"

The afternoon drifted to evening. Showers continued with heavy storms at full strength, whistling past the Mapelle's grand oak tree home. Regardless of the outside turmoil, the pair had never felt safer, caught in the grasp of each other's arms. There would be idle chatter, playful back and forth, and more engagement, their sexual appetite renewed with the fresh hour, again and again, until they cleaned and settled for dinner.

That night, Adson did not return to No Salt On Earth, and for the first time in years, did not spend his slumber alone.

-*-

When dawn came, Adson had a great deal of things to contemplate. The evening he spent with Ms. Mapelle was nothing short but passionate heaven, though he could not make sense of its ends. Dare he linger, or was this all a short lived happiness that would wash away like the spring storms? There was only so much time he could spend in Pepperwood, after all. Though yes, if he desired a relationship with this woman, he could retire to the Tolus name home, yet he knew his mind would grow restless in the natural steadiness of this town. His soul was torn, bound to the vibrancy of city life yet caught up in his affection for Fleur.

He would huff. Parts of him had to realize this was not all about his wishes. Chimera were different in their handling of relationships; some considered mateship an unspoken binding when they coupled. Others were simply forward and that courtship relied on bluntness and pheromones. It would be crude, if not soulless to take advantage of Fleur's sexual hospitality and not bother to realize the connection that existed.

Adson had to wonder. He desired to be with her, for certain. However, he could not ignore his obligation to Culler Investigations and the Montigo case, nor could he upturn his estate of living. He could ask her to come with him but, it was an uncomfortable notion and only appeased him. The city son found it thoughtless, more than anything.

It was until the motherly opossum calmed him that these troubling thoughts subsided. He would be in the kitchen, scribbling down notes over what Fleur had told him while she busied herself with breakfast. When she'd set a plate down for him, her arms would go over his shoulders, embracing him from behind. It felt incredible, and filled him with a renewed sense of gusto.

"Have any breakthroughs yet?" she would question, glancing over his notes. The Tolus son chuckled.

"One." he'd reply with a glance to miss Mapelle. "I think it's going to take me. . . a long time to figure this out. Perhaps even longer than a week."

She would lightly laugh. "Maybe they'll forget about you."

It was jest but, Adson wondered if he sensed hopefulness too.

Yes. Or perhaps I'll forget about them.