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Tin-Can Animals

by The Brain of Lazarus

A man can get lonely out in space.

The Dahga Bloom had been traversing cosmic waters for the better part of three weeks now, having left one of the Moon's many skeevy orbit-posts with a belly full of sweet, crystallized lunar ice. It was slogging its way towards the only mid-station between Earth and Mars, and beyond that was some odd shot of two, maybe three months of travel, if the cargo vessel was lucky. And it usually wasn't. The only reason it maintained a course guaranteed to be filled with long nights of boredom and bad VHS imports was because water fetched a high price. Anywhere.

So Jazz Sepper didn't mind the loneliness. That much. He would've counted his crewmate, Loo, but you see one scaly face dozens of times a day and you start discounting the company.

This was all part of the job, anyway. If you wanted serious, hard-knuckle work as a spacer, you had to have proper expectations. Long space travel. Little company. Lots of homesick feelings. Lots of psychotherapy and isolation-mania check ups (and if you were a human, forget it, you didn't have a choice), lots of relapse full-body microtears as you re-adapted to hard gravity vs. simulated. And animals. Everywhere was animals. Ever since Human's Disease, you saw less and less of your own kind.

A man can go mad out in space.

Jazz never thought much of it though. The stars called to his mystified brain ever since he was a kid. If there was a time where his only talk was hearing Loo's recollection of his favorite CRT animated show from some obscure 1900's era and the sound of Dahga's fat hull shields deflecting wayward solar wind, so be it.

The work, and payout, had always justified the periods of isolation. Especially the payout. All thanks to the "New West" and "Water Rush" that had taken the Moon by storm for the past several years. Those were archaic, though accurate terms, because the lunar body wasn't just some empty rock, it was deep with pockets of frozen water patches that were estimated to be billions of gallons in total, maybe more. Better yet, the joint colonies Victory_and _Columbus couldn't even justify hoarding it all, there was simply too much. So out came crazy Earth-born spacers like Jazz who sunk hundreds of thousands of investment credits into old hull models and went digging.

He was just a scavenger, one part to a dual mining team, yet outward colonies treated junkers like him as a hero. To their credit, water was essential. Lunar water was about the only kind of liquid you could import; human loyalists would be damned if their own water was gonna be used elsewhere. And on Mars? It was an even bigger deal. Mars was a lot of things, but not an ocean. Neither was the Dahga Bloom, but it certainly had something to offer.

Jazz had to smile, looking over the analogue to the single-bridge control yolk, eyes patrolling over the black and green CRT readouts. The old dog of a system was sporting some mighty sexy numbers. Fatty was sitting at some odd half million in gallons. Almost full. The brother tank, Schoolboy, was snoozing at one fifth that. Assuming things went well, these would sit at about 100 credits per gallon. He'd sell the excess on Schoolboy first, see what the market felt like.

But damn, this was gonna be one hell of a payday.

A distorted whistle caught his attention. He'd pull down the bulky feed screen that linked to Loo, who flickered in with his lazy, crocodile smile.

"We're at about seventeen steady, honey"

Jazz sniffed, skeptical. "Yeah? You wish. It's gonna take another thirty just to get through scans and security."

The croc tilted his head. "Since when baby? Water jockeys always got a free pass, didn't they?"

No. Not since. . .

"Regulations," Jazz reminded him. "Remember? Earth time, last Thursday. More trade laws relating to cargo. Red tape. Joint colonies are getting wise to all the liquid profiteering, trying to hassle us, discourage new competition."

God help you if you were new to the game, interplanetary visas tripled in processing fees and time.

Loo gave a lazy "oh."

"Boot straps always gotta get their jollies off with paperwork. More reason to get n' go, honey."

A perimeter ping indicated the nearby station in question, the Dahga's com processor whirring and buzzing as it began barking at peace servers.

Jazz wasn't paying attention. "What? I just spent the last month jacking off to pirated VBO signals, I'm not straddling in just to lock myself up again."

Loo sounded less than thrilled. "I wanna get my payday, baby. Black and stars ain't a good look for me."

Jazz scoffed. This had been a subject of friction for the two in recent times. Loo was aiming to get out of the spacer business soon. Or take a really long holiday. But where one was fading, the other was committed.

"Yeah yeah, calm your croc cock. Some of us can't pass the time in cold sleep for days at a time. I just need some hard gravity and a good stiff to settle it out, alright?"

Loo smirked. "Easy honey, I'm only givin' you a yank. You're the captain."

Sepper wasn't completely convinced. "Just cool it. I only need a day or two and we'll scoot."

He didn't let the reptile respond and swiftly conked off the analogue feed. Better the burly brute sleep it off, or something. It never seemed to sink in that humans, or Jazz at least, needed movement and variety beyond import shows and gray ballistic hulls.

_Eighteen_minutes later, Jazz noted with an eyeroll, and the long, lonely floating hub station started spilling into view. It was impressively sized and housed thousands of travelers, ranging from civs to fellow junkers to, hell, even hard-knuckle mercs. "Red Saga" it was called, dedicated to simulating as much of natural Earth as it could. Tilted at that familiar 23 degrees and even rotated on the same days with fully mimicked night and day cycles. Marks of human orientation in design.

_Dahga Bloom_had been barking with the peace servers for a while, pinging credentials and travel information as the captain's control yolk whistled with the 'welcome hail.' Jazz gave the fat cargo-vessel some credit, it automated things that even slick traveler ships didn't bother with.

After some back and forth between Red Saga's control dock tower and security clearance, and Sepper was able to hole up the front fuselage in one of the many available entry ports. There was, as he'd expected, some time for extra security checks, but Loo had called it on this one at least. Water jockeys got processed faster, looked like. Everybody needed a drink.

Back cracks, stretches, and punching in of bulky-keyboard numeric later, Dahga Bloom had docked safely and Jazz was eager as all hell to move his legs around. Hard gravity hit him like a welcoming hug. Hurt at first but eased off soon.

Walking through the streamlined, white hallways dotted with holographic tech, advertisements, and tidbits of information concerning the Sol system entirely, Jazz felt a little out of place. More so if Loo was with him (lizards and humans were a rare sight), who decided to stay on ship for a while. But, even without, the one piece "variety suit" he wore, with its faded green color, scanner apparatus and old analogue wiring made him a visual sore thumb. The backwards academy cap he wore had its fare share of sun bleaching, making him appear as some walking relic of Earth's first spacer days. Walking extinction.

He caught a few intrigued glances mulling through the halls, all sorts of unfamiliar gene breeds staring like he was the oddity here. He remembered watching history vids when that had been different.

Jazz eventually came to his dive bar of choice, at least the one he'd heard about through word of mouth back home. Some elevator flights down the long cylinder-shaped station and Bloody Jacket popped into view, with its characteristic blocky pink-neon lettering slumped on the entrance. Owner was a real fan of old era classics, sold VHS imports and refurnished CRT monitors on the side, along with a cache of Earth brand beers, ales, lagers, whatever. Clearly a person of taste.

Walking inside was kind of like stepping in a rectangular time machine. The place was modeled after taverns that experienced economic booms right after_Victory_ became an established colony. Lots of familiar architecture, emphasis on neon line-lights, massive square televisions sporting damn beautiful scan lines and replaying pre-spacer era channels, down to the damn news. Best part though? The stiffs. Drinks from Earth were almost impossible to come by once you hit atmosphere, because the export fees were outrageous. Somehow the owner made it work.

Sitting comfortably on one of the square bar stools, he was greeted shortly after by a. . . squirrel, looked like? Jazz had a hard time with this, it still unnerved him when talking gene breeds were so casual about their whole, well, existence. He didn't hate them like the majority of humans, but still, it was always odd looking at your replacement in the face.

"Hey stranger," the squirrel said with a small smile and ear wiggle. Buck tooth smirk. "Welcome to Bloody Jacket. What can I get you?"

Jazz sniffed. He wasn't one for bitterness. Call him stubborn or unable to evolve but he never acquired a taste for beer.

"Angry Orchard?" he asked hopefully.

The reddish male squirrel's smile didn't fade. "Of course sir. Seasonal? Or regular brand?"

Ah, Jazz was glad to hear it. Seasonal though, he couldn't recall. Hard cider was good enough.

"Normal's fine."

A nod and the squirrel retreated to fetch Jazz's drink of choice, while the spacer pulled out his FICs to pay. The nice bottle of brown popped into view, etched with the artistic rendition of, well, an angry looking tree.

He handed the FIC over happily and let the cider hit him. Cold, crisp, tasty, then harsh. Caused Sepper a quick shudder. He yanked off his junker hat, setting it on the table as he let work and future plans fade away, at least for a while. The suited squirrel cast him a warm glance but eventually faded from sight to serve other patrons. As for Jazz, the fetishes and ambiance made him feel distant, then familiar. Like he was back home.

Halfway down the cider, his mind losing itself to remembered oblivion, a charming, squeaky voiced piped in. He thought the squirrel had something else to say except this tone was feminine.

Half irritated and half thankful, Jazz pulled his head to see a mouse. He could figure that out at least. There was no mistaking the soft round ears, wiggly nose, long whiskers, and thin skinny tail.

"Uh. . ."

She was a girl of soft satin fur that appeared to have the lightest hint of violet when light hit her. Or perhaps it was the neon lighting. Eyes though, no mistake there, they were a striking, violent purple, like a supernova staring at him. Wide and curious. Expression enthusiastic and full of wonder. Jazz recognized the feeling from the first time he breached atmosphere.

"Hi! You're a strange stranger aren't you?"

One piece jumper, clean blue. Figure. Whew. Hourglass, the seemingly impossible kind. Thighs, waist, hips, bust, all leaping out at the water jockey.

He took another sip. "I'm sorry?"

"Stranger. You. First time I've seen a human down here. I know a lot faces, but yours, not so much. And you're covered with first gen hardware."

She stressed human like he was some kind of miracle. Maybe he was, disease considered.

"Yeah," he replied, regaining himself. "I've never been this far out on a cargo stretch. Mars trip, first time. Needed a break from all the space."

She turned more to him, leaning an arm on the bar, smiling the ocean. Breasts were kind of. . . flattening on the wood, squished, Jazz noted.

"That's a new one, since space is space. Oooh but I envy you, colonies out on big red are real pioneers. What'cha hauling?"

Hmm, Jazz paused. Wasn't much her business. Nor did he like espousing the fact he trucked some of the most sought after cargo out in the wild Sol. Still, the mouse seemed harmless. He'd let it slide.

"Rock water. Lunar." Short reply, hoping to ease away from the topic. Not so much luck.

The girl almost gasped, wide eyes going wider. Her skinny black tail straightened a moment, then relaxed.

"Wow! A water jockey? You guys are hard. Heroes even."

Jazz chuckled. Well now. "I don't know about that. Just, you know, found what's wanted and sold it. Big government will get to it in time and I wanna' be sitting easy when it happens."

He sipped again. Why did he tell her that? He scanned the bar over, looking for rough, leering figures. Someone in the dark, nearby. This far out, robbery in space was guaranteed if you didn't use your head. He didn't notice anything suspicious but felt wary.

"No really," the mouse insisted. "I have a brother. . . well half-brother, out on Mars, making his claim. He couldn't live out there if it weren't for guys like you."

Jazz didn't feel like being layered with applause or thanks. He took a closer look a the curvy mousette.

"I'm not doing it to be a hero," he said flatly. "I'm doing it for profit. I doubt I'll meet your brother, and I don't even know where the --" he avoided saying water "cargo goes. I go where the money is, nothing else. Get it?"

That didn't flatten her enthusiasm, at all. "What ever you say, jockey."

"Jazz."

A giggle. "Okay,Jazz. Well I'll thank you anyway. Just saying, people need water."

Sepper mentally sighed. He'd concede to it then.

"And what bores you so much you come to talk to a junker like me?" he asked, jumping away from the subject.

"Bores?" Tilt of the head.

Sip, then gesturing around with bottle in hand. "You know, what do you do, uh. . .?"

"Irene."

He gave a tired smile. "What do you do, Irene?"

"Botanical engineering," she said almost too excitedly. "I work on hybrid plant life that can grow under extreme, interplanetary conditions. All part of naturally enforcing planet atmospheres, habitats, that sort of thing. Very. . . exotic."

Jazz scratched his chin, thinking of the bottom. Bottom line. "Any money in that?"

"It's not about the money," she recanted with a wry smile. "It's about helping people."

The spacer finished off the rest of his Angry, remiss the bottle was vacant so quickly.

"You're a real saint then, huh?" he said, shaking the glass for a few last drops of cider.

For a moment the mouse didn't reply, and turned so the whole of her front was spilled towards Sepper, one hefty breast half-resting on the hard bar wood.

"Mmmmm. A saint? I don't think so. I like to think of it as atonement really. My work."

It took him a moment to realize the heat of her stare was on him. He caught those cosmic violet eyes, sniffing.

"Hmm?"

Her expression wasn't one of regret, sadness, anything that would associate with the term 'atonement.' Rather it was more intense, quietly feral. Her smile had faded, but to a suggestive, mousey smirk.

"I hope this isn't the part where you tell me you like, murder people, or something." Half joke. Jazz hadn't really been invested in this conversation, though his curiosity was certainly roused.

"I've never been convinced to do something like that." she'd say. Still smiling. Sweet little lips glistened at the hazy touch of pink neon. They were. . . glazed, Jazz noted.

"A botanical engineer is kept to standards, you see," she'd continue, leaning only a touch. Leaning, so that, when Jazz would glance back to her, the sudden press of her ample cleavage was easily visible.

"And well, I don't always behave like a good florist should. So I atone for that, simply put."

The water jockey wasn't sure what to make of all that. The Angry Orchard was sifting through him now. Not enough to get him buzzed but, enough to slow him at the wheel just enough. That combined with the exhausting trek of space flight left him off balance.

"I didn't realize standards mattered much so far out in space."

Irene gave a head tilt. "Isn't it so? We're far from civilization, Earth law, colonist law. How far does that all extend, really? Including standards, ways to behave. We are, after all, just animals in a tin can, waiting for something to shake us up."

Heh, shake. Jazz mused over the thought of Irene's busty breasts giving a shake and. . .

Where was this even going? The sounds of the bar were starting to blur and fizzle into background static. Sepper was off kilter. He didn't have the mind for semantics and philosophy.

"You never did say what you were atoning for."

Irene giggled. "As I say, Mr. Jazz. Sometimes I flounder from standards I'm expected to hold."

He'd give her a dry, puzzled stare. That was becoming annoyingly cryptic. Irene appeared to catch on to that, cheeks turning a shade of something. Hard to tell under the black.

She leaned, close enough that the pink nose arbitrated its wiggly wiggles, that the twitch of whiskers could be practically felt, that the heavy, heaving breasts could almost be cupped.

"Perhaps I like exotic things, a little too much. And a human so far out here? Draped in first gen society? Carrying mankind on his shoulders? Oooh. That's exotic."

He blinked, frowning. Then, kind of. Kind of getting it. Wait.

"On top of that," she'd go on, helping the dense human out, "Here I find this exotic human is indirectly responsible for the health of my sweet brother. My goodness, I really should thank him, yes?"

Now she was grinning, and her dainty palm would rest on his knee. Squeeze.

Even with a weary brain coated with hard cider and pensive irritation couldn't miss that. Strange they were, but Jazz had to appreciate the overall directness of chimera. Aesthetics, courtship, jobs, background, everything about human relations they tossed out the window and got to the point. Having realized this, Jazz looked at Irene, again. Scanning over the body a second time. Imagining things. Bouncy and hot things, wondering.

Okay, shit, why not?

"Well, I guess you should," he'd agree, playing her game. Yeah. The more he thought about it, the better it seemed. Hard cider was one path to getting refreshed. A mousette was another altogether.

Irene hopped off the square bar stool, bosom giving a timid wobble. With that subtle movement her body language and expression shifted. Her eyes were wandering with lusty intent, her actions generous and purposefully suggestive. Closeness, bends, breathing. She'd grip Jazz's hand and lead him out of Bloody Jacket, as he grabbed his hat and thanked for the drink, to no one.

Sepper was quietly enthusiastic, tugged along by that dainty dark hand, watching her hips gently throw themselves and bottom bounce under the greedy grip of one-piece suit. It really did hug her body, exaggerating all those curves, seductive in what they hid.

Then came the elevator, and up they'd go. Up Jazz would go. Without words Irene would tease him further, pressing the cleft of her fat rump into the flat of his groin, letting him feel the warmth of mousette. Floor by floor would pass, no interruptions, Irene tossing her rear every time the numeric changed.

"Damn, woman," Jazz would mutter, watching the covered cheeks dip and dive over his increasingly aching loins, "should send your brother a whole cargo load of water. . ."

In a blur he'd follow until they'd reached Irene's room, one of the flats for those who decided the Red Saga was worth an extended stay. It was mostly simple, clean tech and flora that suited a "botanical engineer," but the couple wasn't here to discuss rose mutations.

Once the door shut and slide-locked, Irene yanked the water jockey further in, giving him a once over in a more. . . animal fashion. Wanting, hungry, curious. Fascinated.

Jazz didn't even realize his own jumper was being tugged away until the soft breeze of cool air hit his chest.

"Hey, careful, I can't replace that stuff. . ." he'd say in a half formed grunt, watching Irene work her ways to knees, unzipping him, taking off the clips to his analogue feeds and other apparatus.

Her thick cleavage was quite visible now, more so when she tugged down on the zipper holding it together. The fabric gave another buckling heave, like those mountainous orbs were trying to fight their way out. Jazz shuddered, watching her rest on knees, shoes poking into full, round rump, her supernova eyes looking up to him in demure fashion.

"Ohh that's not good then. Gen one gear is pretty rare nowadays, mm?" She'd pull on a cord, toss away a gray-bodied device, pull down the rest of his one piece as he helped by shifting out of the worn green clothing, down to nothing but skin and briefs.

"I guess I really have to make it up to you, don't I?"

Her gaze would travel downward, smirking at the stiff tent assaulting his briefs. Digits would linger at the threshold of the undergarments, pulling, though not quite tossing off, leaning to plant a soft kiss at the covered tip.

"Apparently, yes," Jazz grunted, the kiss sending shivers through him. "If I knew girls like you would line up to suck me off I would've. . ."

He trailed off, Irene now pulling away his briefs so thick, plump sized mast wobbled out, rudely swatting her nose with a 'tap.' He wasn't one for playful banter, at least not now, alcohol making this all seem like a murky dream.

The mousette giggled, taking him in hand. "Would've what? Exploited them more, was that what you wanted to say?"

She'd toy with the length, firmly squishing it into her plush glazed lips, creating more low moans from the junker, pursing her lips and circling it around muzzle. Whisker twitch. The succulent entry almost stuck to the masculine inches, Irene wrapping her mouth about the tip, bequeathing long, soft smooches, wide eyes staring up in submissive attention.

Smack, smack. Jazz felt his chest heave, shaky, hot breaths leaving as Irene did her work. Smack. Long, stern mast would collide with cheeks, the mousette tossing the plump human cock into face, battering her visage mercilessly.

"I-I dunno about that," he'd stammer, tensing every time his flank gave the botanist a good swat.

"Mmm, no? Are you sure, Mr. Jazz? That you wouldn't want a nice, slutty girl under your control deck, swallowing cock for those long space flights?"

Strong words. Odd to hear them squeaking from such a demure little mouse, Jazz thought. He also thought, yes, maybe a girl around wouldn't be so bad to have around, but. . .

"Gnnf!"

Her cheek would caress and stroke against the inches in an almost worship fashion, her tongue sliding against the sides in achingly long strokes, free hand giving his peachy stones a light fondle, jostling the weighty testes. She'd wrap gentle lips around the tip, chuckling sultrily, loud sucks and slurps echoing as the crown enthroned itself in her petite, welcoming maw.

A little, sloppy 'pop' rang off the walls, a bridge of saliva tethered to Irene's lip.

"Oh my yes, such a specimen you are. Any girl would be lucky just to be on her knees for you."

That was a bit much, Jazz half-thought, ego certainly appreciating the mental blowjob. It was clear this frisky little rodent had a thing for humans.

She'd release him momentarily, the familiar zip of an undone one-piece hitting Sepper's ears, Irene slipping off the rest of her suit as heavy, fat full orbs came spilling out. She'd cross her arms, letting them squeeze and shove against the grip of limbs, before dropping away to let the thick, plump sacs fall and wobble, audible claps tickling Jazz's ears as they tossed against the other.

Again the member was in clever rodent digits. Like a batter taking full swings, this time the engorged cock would come smacking against her head-sized mantle. Tip would be shoved against hot, darker midnight nips, rolling the crown over cleavage, every hefty hit inciting careless wobbles from the fat mousette tits.

"Didn't think I was so chesty, did you?" Irene would tease, abusing her flowing frontal mounds with male root, incessantly thumping them with heavy loin flesh.

"Didn't," Jazz admitted. A mouse wasn't synonymous with size. Irene though, well. "Christ, are those tits natural?"

This time she released the junker, wobbling cock batting her in the nose a few times before heaving up the weighty black orbs, abruptly smashing them together against the seething human loins. Jazz gave a long, slow groan as the mousette ran her milky, frothy front over the sides of his flesh, massaging with a soft velvet sensation.

"I dunno, you tell me."

Jazz swore and had to grip her head. His cock was practically choked by the tight meeting of weighty bosoms as they rolled and caressed every single inch of his hungry malehood. Irene giggled with bemusement, shoving her hands inward, squeezing harder, letting supple mantle rise and dive with slow, fluid motions. Those vast oceanic tits were so deliciously immense his flank disappeared in their embrace, only the crown popping out to receive a few generous mousey licks.

Jazz would observe with much fascination, how the positively jiggling hills of midnight wrapped around his loins like he was deep inside. . . well, mouse pussy. But now he was growing hungrily impatient. More wanting. His length was still, for the most part, unforgivably dry. And well, if big busty mousette wanted to worship his malehood, who was he to deny her such strong wants?

"Enough," he said dryly. He'd yank her head back, not harshly, but firm enough to make her yield. Her head craned, eyes sparkling in curiosity.

"You're getting me riled up, miss," he'd almost hiss, shoving her muzzle against the plump tip of his pike. "So let's settle it."

He'd start to push her into his root, but was resisted. "Whoa!" came her squeaky reply.

"Hey, eaaaaasy stranger. I like your cock but uh, remember, mouse here? I could barely fit you in downstairs much less my mouth. Besides, I just want to play with your lovely ma-"

He cut her off. "Are you kidding me? Did you really just drag me up here, get me all hot and bothered and then say more is too much?"

She giggled, like it was a game. Maybe it was.

Irene would slosh her fat tits around again, perhaps trying to appease him. "Okay, easy rodger. I'll eagerly lick you clean but you can't expect more than that, come on."

"Know your limitations," she'd nod, looking up again with a devious, challenging smirk.

Jazz snorted. "You sure do like talking."

Alright, girl, I'll play.

"Well I do have a lot to saaAAGHMMFLLK!"

Tired of all the chit chat and proposals that this was nothing more than a dry hump between some bust, lovely breasts though they were, Jazz proceed to slam his hand towards him as his heated root sunk angrily into Irene's oral chamber, the mousette sputtering a loud, gurgling protest as the fat cock plunged deep, bulging her throat and forcing that petite mouth wide. Her lips were sublimely soft, wrapping around the brutal length like that mouth was designed for this, space enough where buck teeth didn't even scrape against the sensitive flesh.

"NnnnGGG. Sure got the right mouth for this," Sepper would chide, watching as his mast completely sheathed itself down her oral tunnel, throat plumped out from the dipping inches.

Whether or not Irene was actually trying to push away was hard to tell. She was a mouse, so she might've been weak. Or, this was all what she wanted. It hardly mattered though, as her wriggling, struggling mouth was stuffed to the brim with cock, wiggly nose pressed into the threshold of the junker's loin. He'd keep her there for a spell, her tongue struggling helplessly against the underside of his flesh, sloppy suckles from her attempts to pull breath through mouth bouncing off the small station room.

"Bmbmf! BMFM!"

She'd squeak haplessly, tail going rigid, cheeks flushing red, eyes tearing a bit, before Jazz finally released, her dome leaping off his now soaking pike, coughing and sputtering as trails of sticky saliva clung to her soft lips. She took in gulps of breath before regarding him. . . not with irritation, like one might expect, but something else.

"G-god, fuck, what is your problem?" she'd chitter noisily, hot squeaks tumbling out of her drippy maw.

A sensible girl would likely get up and leave. Irene was a botanical engineer, so granted she was in a tier above 'sensible.' Yet there she stayed. Jazz shook his head.

"The better question is, what's yours?" he'd say with a feigned frown.

Just as the mousette began regaining herself, breathing and all returning to normal, Jazz would grip her by the sides of that cute head and ram her onto him once again. His cock spilled into her throat a bit more easily now, though there was plenty of slick resilience as the thick mast pummeled her throat, as she squeaked loudly when the abusive inches buried themselves in moist mouth.

"Hmmflk! GMMF! GLLK!"

This time, Sepper wasn't content just to shut her up a spell. Primordial desires came bubbling through him like an angry Jupiter storm. He'd slam her head over his coaxed flank in such loud smacks, her pink nose hammered to the tuft of his groin, gurgling, gagging suckles emanating from her tightly fixed mouth, glazed lips leaving a glistening trail as they were forced to service the cock with an almost slutty precision. As if her entire mouth was oriented for this. Maybe it was.

Irene's eyes watered up from the lack of efficient breathing and the no doubt strange sensation of having her hot throat expanded with rapidity. She was staring up at him, hands to his waist, still attempting to "push away" as Jazz certainly went animal on that mousy mouth. Each harsh throw of hips pummeling into small girly maw sent spurts of saliva and pre dribbling out of her, her choked mumbles and grunts only spurring the human on to grind faster.

God, he was close. It had been a while. Jazz certainly couldn't remember the last time he'd had his wick dipped far in a woman's throat. Faster he spurned his loins, Irene gagging helplessly, the crash of stern thighs so consistently rough they'd shake Irene down to her fat, wobbling tits. The sounds and sensations were enough to overwhelm, and finally, head craning up and body locking, he'd find his release.

"JezizFUCK!"

That warm, all consuming high octane orgasm seared right through his loins, while his hands roughly clamped to the black furred rodent, keeping her tightly bound, those big eyes widening in either shock or. . . enjoyment, as thick ropes of hot seed flooded her orifice, oral chamber deluged with sticky, salty issue. It was almost too much, the kind of pleasure that aired close to pain because of the intensity, and Jazz had to keep her stuffed full of cock, needed to.

A long, tedious patch of seconds rolled on before Jazz finally released the black mouse from his grip. She coughed, gurgled and sputtered once more, her pretty lips now a mess of nectar and issue. Rather than spitting, she decided to swallow.

"Fuck," she'd whisper, feeling her throat and giving Jazz a reprising gaze. "Happy now?"

He'd shrug. "Not a word I'd use. Satisfied, more like."

With a shake of her head, Irene would stand, starting to drift towards what Jazz assumed was a bathroom. He grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"Where are you going?" he'd ask innocently.

"What? To clean up," she'd reply dryly. "You made a mess, water jockey."

He blinked. Oh, so it was water jockey now? He shook his head, this time he the one to tug her, gently pushing her towards the bed centered in the room.

"H-hey!" she'd squeak.

"You hey. You wanted to thank me for all the water toting. Those were your words."

Another push. She nearly tripped, falling on her busty breasts as her fine, plump round rump of soft black fur jutted into view. Instead of decidedly springing off the bed and promptly kicking the human out, Irene instead looked back to him, like she was powerless.

"There are_limits_, Jazz. You can't. . . I don't. It just won't. . . you're too big, is all, okay?"

His flank had softened after releasing itself into her squeaky little throat, but arousal was already starting to work him over again. He'd smirk, stepping closer to the prone mouse, launching a finger into that succulent little snatch of soft mouse pussy, lips soft and warm, folds delightfully sodden.

"Nh!"

Wordlessly the junker would start working the hot puss over, dipping digits into the mouse tunnel, twisting and gliding, feeling her inner thighs tremble around him. Each rousing movement from digit would send shivers through the fat titted mouse, her words molding into squeaky heated breaths. Human he was, but hell, even Jazz could sense the ambrosia of heat flooding from her.

"Doesn't seem like that'll be a problem," he'd say with an unseen smirk.

Now his bulging shaft was at full attention again, utterly throbbing at the proximity of moist cunny. Stepping to, his tip would come to rub and nuzzle the juicy nether entrance, Irene letting off a mix of excited yet entirely apprehensive squeaks. Warm tingles erupted along his crown, pressing, nudging, not quite entering yet, taking handfuls of her thick, plump rump, smacking to watch the cheeks erupt with wanting wiggles.

Then he pushed, in one slow, slick motion. Irene was so unashamedly soaked there was no resistance. . . except that.

"Fuck, you _are _tight," Jazz would gasp, pressing further. That greedy, suckling snatch practically choked the human length as inch by inch he sunk in, every little centimeter felt by the squeaky, wailing mousette.

Finally he buried the whole of his loins in the hot, supple cunny that oozed sweet nectar, the mouse trembling and gripping bedsheets as she shook in little gyrations against his mast. Jazz was panting but couldn't help admire the sight of that big fat bottom impaled on his human root, how snug he was despite the protest of the milking inner thighs.

"See, n-not so bad,"

Irene didn't have much to respond with, not this time. Her sloppily spattered maw was now eeking out little squeaks and mumbles, eyelids snapped close, feeling every twitch and throb of cock plunged deep inside her. Each shake of fat rump only coaxed the male further, as slowly but surely, his hips began to grind in steady piston gyrations.

She was so damn tight. Jazz could see those cunny lips spread and wrapped about the length of his cock, soaking him in mousey heat and nectar. He'd grip her heavy, full ass and pull it near him with every thrust, bucking harshly back in, little spasms of pleasant jiggles rumbling the weighty cheeks. He'd grunt. That was nice to see. So Jazz smacked the rear again, much harder, procuring a loud, girly squeak and another series of bouncing jiggles, all the while his throwing pace became that much faster.

"Mmnnn!"

Eventually, Irene's chitters and loud yelps arranged from her protesting loins started to merge into pleased, softer moans, each strike of hips causing those wails to be more and more enjoyed. Jazz would lean, the flat of his chest molding with the soft curve of the mousy back, her thin tail wrapping around one of his legs whilst his hands greedily gripped the mountainous rack squished on the bed.

More loud smacks, sending drips and dribbles of pre and nectar spilling out of the hot mouse pussy. "See?" Jazz would say.

"Ended up lovin' it after all," he'd say through near-clenched teeth into those perky round ears, every buck and slam of his loins causing thick bosoms to jiggle in his grasp.

"S-so big. . ." Irene would mumble out, some half formed thought trying to rebuttal. Wasn't much good though. The submissive, primordial drive, the one that clung to lust and breeding, oozed into her thoughts, her conscious, making her a shivering, wanty mess.

Harder now. Jazz was utterly smashing himself into the generous ass, his crown beating against rodent cervix while the sodden puss eagerly accepted every stroke. Hard, vicious claps from where male hips would smack to thick bottom echoed from the coupling, rolling off the walls, Jazz tossing and squeezing the sumptuous mantle that totally eclipsed his hands.

But it had been a while, and this damn bitch mouse had gotten the water jockey riled up. He could feel himself creeping towards second peak, the hot shudder of his cock brought with stronger fury every time he'd stroke himself within those choking pussy walls. Steamy, hungry grunts left him, as he bit down in smooth, soft mouse neck, clamping his arms around her shoulders as his orgasm finally hit.

The renewed rush burst from his length in long sticky ropes, without falter, soaking the hot mousy mound with issue as her welcoming tunnel flooded with salty marinade. Jazz would continue to thrust through his peak, smacking harshly as drips and rivers of mingling juices messily spattered the soaked puss, pooling in the sheets as the junker groaned through his final thrusts.

Eventually, the motions ceased, and eventually, Jazz regained his breath. Tediously he'd pull away from the moist cunt, watching seed spill from the tight entrance as the nether lips suckled him achingly, trying to keep him in.

Irene could feel the warm spill leave her loins, but was pleasantly pumped full of human seed, touching her belly as she rolled over, regarding the human with a limp glance.

"Ah jeeze," Jazz would mumble, shaking his head and feeling cool air hit the sloppy mess that was his groin.

"Damn, woman. That was. . . different." In a good way, he mused.

Regaining herself, Irene watched him curiously. "Never been with a chimera, have you?"

"I should say not."

She smirked. "Sure did feel that way. Human cock fits so nice though, what a shame. How different species are complimentary to each other."

Jazz would wipe sweat from his brow, eyeing the bathroom door, picking up his one piece.

"Now don't start with all that again or I'll shut you up," he'd say, half serious and half joking.

Vortex violet eyes rolled. "Maybe I'd let you."

After a pause. "I should probably get back to my crewmate. You uh, mind if I borrow your shower real quick?"

The black mousette stood and went to the flat's kitchen, stirring up something to drink. "Five minutes," she'd say.

After he bathed, Jazz said his farewell and grabbed the girl's number for. . . well, whatever future had in store, if anything. He decided to look up her brother and cut him a deal on the tanks, maybe just toss a few hundred gallons in for free. That would be a while though.

He returned to_Dahga Bloom_ and caught some well deserved sleep, the glum of travel having been fucked right out of him. Loo was happy to see him in brighter spirits and, a day later, the clunky cargo-vessel made leave and started its long several month trek towards Mars. Jazz didn't mind it so much this time.

A man can grow to love space.