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René was going to die. And painfully. So much for friendship, camaraderie, brothers-in-arms. Bastards in arms more like, cunts bound for hell. He'd spit and curse their name if he could even manage to speak a word or collect any saliva.

What he'd do for a drop of water, or some godforsaken shade, or to not have a quarrel stuck in his chest and leg. At first, when he fell, the pain was minimal. He just couldn't move. As the struggle between his mercenary company and the local army continued, more and more of his company fled in pursuit of them. Chasing the rout, he could bare through that.

The field medics would come for him, René thought. Then early morning turned to midday, to afternoon, and now to dusk. He couldn't move, the pain was so bad now, and so gone was the hope of being patched up.

He had half a mind to pull out the bolts embedded into him, but he was told not to do that. So he didn't. He was left to lament, and suffer. Would his strength return? Or would he die slowly and painfully up against a tree?

His mind drifted to his companions, to the knight-errant with the blonde hair that had joined them and been captured almost immediately. To the fervency of their enemy, charging with tusks and spears and crashing into their formations fearlessly.

René had hours in which to suffer, to bitch, to be soberingly accepting, and to be sobbingly regretful. It was with tear-streaked cheeks and a hopeless disposition did René notice a lumbering, large figure. His first thought was a battlefield scavenger had come. He'd put a few down himself. And he knew they weren't the kind types.

Bitterly he tried to grasp his sword. He didn't want to be put down like a dog by a corpse looter. But, it wasn't who he expected. Sleek black fur, streaked with white spots and lines. A badger! A female one, judging by the chest and hips. Adorned in plain, simplistic clothing. She was peering around the woods with a basket around her left arm.

"Deary me!" The woman said, in a soft and low voice that barely rose above a whisper. René slacked, relaxed. Hope blossomed in the infertile field of despair he'd been sinking in. He tried to call out to her, but to no avail. No words squeezed from his throat.

She approached, and she was massive. He reckoned she was taller than him even if he were standing, and broad too. But soft, kind. she was saying something, soothing words. He couldn't quite hear them, but seeing her try to help him made him relax.

Not the best thing, really, if she hadn't been more careful his relaxed state may have led to his death. The badgerwoman, Constance, had no easy time carrying the small human back to her lodging in the woods.

More and more, the conflict between her country and its neighbors had drawn closer to her isolated home. At first, it was a polite request to assist with her medical expertise. Then it turned to a less polite request, unfortunately with less pay. Then it was the threat of violence and no pay. None were appetizing propositions.

Lytria wasn't going to stop advancing though, and it was only a matter of time before they came knocking on her doorstep, asking for her aid. She doubted they'd even begin with the politeness.

That mattered little, what did was the dying man only a few meters from her home. Seeing how sedate he was becoming, she quickly began to engage him in talk. It was clear he understood little, but even so, her melodious talking was just enough to keep his eyes open and on her.

She had no clue, but the scruffy and older badger looked like an angel to him. Dark fur struck with greyish tips. Her beauty was marked with the patina of age, but he couldn't complain. He clutched to her shoulders as she carried him.

He wasn't heavy, not to her, not even in his full kit. But carrying him through the underbrush and fallen soldiers was unwieldy.

What came next was routine for Constance and a blur for René. His injuries weren't all that bad, she quickly learned, but they needed to be tended to in haste. She cut open his shirt, removing his clothing around the wounds. When tending to the fabrics in the way, her eye was caught by the faded yellow armband on him, a marking for his mercenary company. It was familiar, but she put it out of her mind and focused on the injuries.

She examined them and determined the solution. She'd removed many arrows and quarrels, and branches and daggers. These would be no different, and this young man would live, at least through the surgery. The rest was in the gods' hands.

Unfortunately for him, neither of the bolts could be pushed through his body given their location. If he'd been lucky, they could be shoved clean through and the wound bandaged and tended. Wonderfully, though, his ribs weren't cracked or broken, and his lungs not punctured.

In this state, however, he'd have a large wound on his chest and leg both. Higher risk for infection and complication, but she would tend to him as best as she could. That is, if bravado didn't demand he storm out as soon as he could stand. Constance had seen many young men throw their lives away to get back into the fight.

She gave him a drink of some medicinal waters, treated with a tincture that would make him sleepy and relaxed. The pain was severe enough that he remained half-lucid. While she tended to his body and removed the bolts, he called for his mother and grasped at her.

It made her heartache, but by the time his wounds were cleaned, a poultice applied, and bandaging around that, he was out like a light. She looked over his form.

He seemed small, at least compared to her. On her work table he looked so frail. He was just a young man, she sighed, the thought bringing some sadness to her. It was agonizing to heal again and again, and only see more injuries. Those incurred from work, or illness, didn't weigh on her as heavily as those from war. She saw it as senseless and easily avoidable.

His hair was a brown shade with flecks of light colors. His face was tear-stricken and a bit swollen from his crying and struggling. Humans were always a little cute, she thought, even the ugly ones.

She leaned over and gave his forehead a small kiss, before picking him up and settling him into her own bed for a rest. With him sleeping, she organized and set aside his clothing and possessions. She carried on as normal for the rest of her day. Knitting, cleaning, cooking, and drying herbs. The only difference being she made a little extra food, in case her patient woke.

By sun up, she was surprised he was still sleeping. Not that he didn't need the sleep, but she had expected his pain to rouse him. He had hardly moved on her bed in his rest, laying on his back, head buried to her pillow. She knitted by rushlight, humming softly, just waiting.

If not for his labored, audible breathing, she'd be worried he was dead with how motionless he was.

His first word made her chuckle, but she quickly stifled it. "Guh," his dry voice called out. "Whaguh."

She had assumed he wished for water, but he wanted to know where and what and how, and why. He tried sitting up, which she immediately discouraged.

"Some water, dear? Just hold there."

She rose and fetched him what he needed, a cup and pitcher of water. She held his head to the cup when she realized how difficult it was for him to sip. She urged him to take it slow and steady. Swallowing may not be painful for him directly, but it probably agitated the wound on his chest.

He swallowed hard, closed his eyes a moment more and nodded, "thanks."

Her hands were large and soft, dexterous for their size. She lingered in holding his head, a comforting touch. Appropriate bedside manner was just as important as the appropriate salves, roots, and clean bandaging. At least she thought so. She left him the cup and pitcher both, on the nightstand, and stood a moment, having turned to go back to her knitting chair.

"Where?" He asked, his boyish voice making the question a little silly sounding.

She smiled pleasantly back down at him. "Not far from the tree line I found you by."

"The Boars?"

She shook her head no. "None of them came back."

"My cuh... company."

"I'm sorry dear, it's only been a single evening. They haven't come back as far as I know."

She watched with a sympathetic eye as he squeezed his fist in anger. "They left me."

She could only solemnly nod. Unless he was very foolish, he probably was guilty of that very same thing. Merely a fact of life. In the fever pitch of a battle, they don't always remember to go back for each and every head.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"René," he nodded his chin up at her, in a manner that suggested she give hers.

"I am Constance."

He managed a weak smile, his eyes wincing shut in a sudden flash of pain. "Pretty name."

"Thank you. Which company do you belong to, René?"

"The Yellow Stripes."

Constance's face betrayed her befuddlement, which René didn't catch onto. He was too busy fighting back the steady and pulsing pain in his chest and legs, staring at the hatching of her ceiling.

No wonder the armband seemed familiar. She'd worn one for three years. How'd she miss it? She couldn't help but return to his belongings and look it over. Though, she wasn't going soft in the head, there was a reason she didn't pick up on it immediately.

"The Yellow Stripes, young one? Why doesn't your armlet have any black stripes?"

He shrugged. "Only the officers have those."

Well, things change, it had been over a decade since she retired from that life.

"Who is the medical officer, is it still Croaker?"

This perked him up. "You know... er, knew Croaker?"

"Know him! I trained him. Is he well?"

"He's dead," René said bluntly, a sorrowful frown playing at his lips.

Constance wasn't happy to hear that. Croaker was a young fox, prematurely grey but still spry. He shouldn't be dead. He should be up and nursing René back to good health.

"You trained him? I'm sorry to be bringing bad news... and all that," he added clumsily. Not from lack of care so much as lack of tact.

She'd dealt with plenty of young soliders so she brushed his faux pau off, but the news of Croaker's death made her chest feel tight and burdened, the pain of loss manifesting itself in her bosom.

"Yes, I did train him," she slumped back into her chair. "He was an excellent pupil. If a little snarky."

This brought a laugh René quickly regretted, mewling out an, "ow."

She smirked at him, worry creasing her brow but that was diffused after he spoke.

"That's a good word for it. 'Oh how'd this one happen, trip and fall into a spear point?', 'Loose lips sink ships, they'll also give you clapiers.' Stuff like that."

"That one about the lips and ships, I taught him that one too."

René's cheeks got a little red. She hadn't a wonder why, with the amount that blades for hire whore she'd have figured any shame would have been beat from him by pure exposure. What she didn't realize is, he had quite a soft spot for motherly types, and talking about the clap with the person who saved him wasn't what he expected to be doing.

"I cannot believe you were in the Yellow Stripes."

"Believe it!" She smiled proudly. She stood again and fetched an old tin, a box of things she wished to forget but could not let go of. It was rarely ever of use, she fished out her own armlet. It was a bright and vibrant yellow struck with diagonal black bars.

She handed it off to him, and René felt it between his finger tips. It was of a sturdier, thicker, better dyed fabric. Years of use and it was still bright yellow. He thought a moment about how much his had faded in just a few weeks, and after a few months it was pale and meek.

It was emblematic of the entire company, going downhill steadily. Care, camaraderie and brotherhood was in low supply, about as low as the wages for footmen. Officers collected a pretty sum though, bleeding the beast dry before leaving it to rot just as they had René. Nothing honest, normal warriors like René or genuine caretakers like Constance could do to fix such things, though, even if they knew about them in full.

René was impressed with the fabric, and handed it back. His eyes couldn't help but drift to her breasts. They were legitimately huge, bigger than his head. Larger than he'd ever seen. Not such a surprise, though, considering she was nearly 200 centimeters tall.

She caught him looking and said nothing, merely closing her eyes in acknowledgment with a sly smile and turning to stow her armband.

"How bad, the wounds, Constance?" René ventured, his voice with a searching pleadingness.

She didn't answer right away, which made a panic buzz in René's chest. The pregnant silence was broken by her soft, parental tone, finally, "the wounds will heal if they are tended to. They need to be cleaned and disinfected frequently."

"When will I be able to leave?"

"You may leave as soon as you like. I cannot guarantee you will not suffer from an infection once outside of my care."

René gulped, thinking a moment. "How long will it take to recover?"

"A few weeks."

"Weeks? But I, the... my... "

She didn't interrupt him, she wasn't sure what he was thinking. And, really, neither was he. His primary and immediate concern was money, and then his companions. Even though they'd broken their brotherly bonds by leaving him to die, he still wanted to go after them. To rejoin them.

He had seen rot set into men, though, and looked woefully at his leg - bandaged. He realized only then that he was in nothing but his undergarments. He didn't have the energy to feel any shame.

"How much?" His earlier panic had dissipated, but was quickly being replaced with the all too familiar fear of lacking the funds for some essential part of life.

"For my services?"

"Yes."

"When you can move and stand, you will carry your own weight about the house by helping with chores. Otherwise, free."

"Seriously?"

The great badger woman nodded, smiling. She was happy to help someone in need. It was a small bonus he was a handsome someone.

René looked distinctly relieved, and he stopped tensing his muscles, which actually caused a minor amount of pain. The relaxation offered by easing himself outweighed that new and small ache. It was nothing compared to the deep and sore throb of his wounds.

"I didn't see your weapon around, I am sorry to say I didn't fetch it. Even if I saw it, I had my hands full carrying you."

René nodded and exhaled. "It is fine. I am a spearman. A foe broke it and--," he cut himself off, exhausted with the thought of battle and not wishing to relive the injuries he took.

Constance was more than understanding, she didn't push it more than that. She knew how physically and mentally painful it could be to speak on injuries.

He suggested a different topic, "how did such a gentle woman like yourself join the... Yellow... ," he breathed raggedly, then rolled his wrist, as if to say 'don't wait for me to finish.'

She thought a moment back to what caused her to join up. She tried her best not to smile at his compliment, but was happy to hear it regardless. "I had just finished my training at a shrine to Mylial, the goddess of clean water and medicine."

"She has the statues with the long dresses and the," he makes a round shape by his belly.

"Yes, she is usually depicted as a pregnant woman. Either a human, or a badgerkin, or a Worg."

René nods in approval. "There was a temple in my town that held festivals in the summer and taught kids. Mylial and Agrumon."

Constance shook her head and made a small face, indicating she wasn't sure who that was.

"Human god of commerce."

"Ah. Well, I am pleased to hear summer festivals are commonplace where you grew up. I have very fond memories of organizing them. It brought me so much joy to see all the children enjoy the streamers and decorations we made."

"And the food," René chuckled, which he regretted immediately.

"And the food. Honey and nut biscuits, pressed into flaky bars, right?"

René licked his lips and nodded with as much enthusiasm as his tired body could manage. “Yes but, the drops of chocolate added to them were the best. Or the fried dough with powdered sugar atop."

"The Yellow Stripes came by the shrine with wounded, and we were obliged to help them. I saw a very handsome human man among them and, joined up immediately."

Her patient was taking a sip of water which he promptly spat up in surprise. "I'm sorry, you what?"

Constance shrugged, a coy smile creasing her lips. "I was a young nun will very little exposure to the rougher sex."

Her description of men wasn't helpful to his attempts to stop choking. "Well, what happened with him, the man?"

"We didn't work out, and he quit the company. I was making more money than I knew what to do with, and helping people, so I stayed. It was bloody, awful, tiring work. And sometimes the lads came on a little too strong for my tastes, but it was often very rewarding. Many of those men needed a woman's careful touch, and not in a lewd manner, I mean."

He, surprisingly, nodded with a knowing expression. "Lonely work it can be, even with all your friends around. I was never much for whor--, err, for ladies of the night."

She perked her eyebrow, "whoring you mean? I'm not shy. I've seen and heard it all."

"That's true. I was just trying to be polite."

"Don't worry about such things. Don't worry at all. May I ask why you are reluctant to seek the pleasure of a woman? Do you perhaps prefer swords and spears to sheaths?"

"No, of course not! I just, it's just, I... I am... it doesn't," René muttered and fumbled, leaning for another pull of water from his cup.

"It doesn't feel the same."

His eyes widened and he waggled and pointed his finger approvingly at her while he sipped and swallowed. "Exactly. Sure makes the cock feel good, but sex isn't anything without an emotional connection. Even if it's a thin one."

Constance agreed whole-heartedly, saying as much. She stood and set aside her knitting implements. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"You should eat a little something either way. Even if its just a bit."

"Could we keep talking while you cook? It's distracting me from the pain."

"Of course we can, dear."

Constance made way to the kitchen too cook them both something. She'd made food early, so took that and reheated it, adjusting it slightly to fit a more conventional 'breakfast' meal. She enjoyed eating, there was a reason she was plump. René was happy to talk, even if he had to elevate his voice and listen closely due to the distance.

His only real complaint was not being able to watch her ass while she worked. They'd just got done talking about hollow lust and yet still he felt the pull of arousal when he looked at her.

She was soft, gentle, full figured and motherly. Ticked every single box he had. He'd always liked older women, fur or no. If it weren't for the injuries he'd have been sat up enjoying her body with his eyes as much as he could.

As it stood, though, he had a little breakfast and a pleasant, if aimless, conversation with Constance. She was an interesting woman, experienced and wise. And she found René both innocent and aware in fair measure. She took joy in the surprise she felt when he'd say something more mature than what she expected from a young mercenary. And, a similar happiness when he showed his more tenderfooted nature.

He napped by midday, and slept often the coming days. They talked at length when he was awake, and she wasn't busy. He'd even convinced her to read him portions of a story. A fairytale, nothing too complex, but it set him at ease to hear her husky and mellifluous voice.

Worryingly, one night, he awoke with a fierce fever and thrashing in pain. It came as a frightening surprise. Constance had cleaned and observed his wounds twice daily, and not at any time did he have the slightest indication of infection.

Like tending to her own pup, she doted over him. Dampened rags over the forehead and kind, whispered words late into the night, until the fever abated. The fight bled into the early morning hours until he began to cool down. René smiled at her with a dry, sweaty face, pale in color. It made her nervous to see him in such a state, but he fell into another sleep.

His color returned over his rest, and so too a second wind of such vigor that he was happy sitting up. Though she wondered if it had anything to do with trying to hide the tenting erection he'd woken with. Constance made out like she didn't notice, but she had been eyeing it in the mornings when he rose to relieve himself.

Badgerkin grew tall, so it wasn't the largest shaft she'd seen on a man, but it was certainly making her cogs turn. Something about seeing his hard-on press against his undergarments made her flush with desire, wetness even. She stemmed that arousal, no way a young man would have any interest in such an old, saggy badger. Besides, they'd both agreed that a sexual encounter without an emotional investment was useless.

The following days were filled with Constance nursing René back to health enough to move around the house, and then outside the house. In no time at all he was following her on her morning walks and only in pain a little.

Surprising to her, they spoke only sparingly about the mercenary's life. It seemed to her René was happy to forget it awhile. When they spoke, it was often about healing, or the stories she had read him the night previous. Or how she found herself all alone in the woods.

That topic she skated around, but he was being awful persistent. He couldn't always do a full walk, the pain wasn't so bad but he found himself easily winded. So, sometimes he'd softly pat her arm and then return to her home to lay down.

Their current sleeping situation was driving Constance mad. She brought it onto herself, after all. She had only a small cot for patients as she never held any overnight. If illness or injury was bad enough to require overnight observation she was usually doing it in a house call. She refused to have René sleep in it.

Her reasoning for such was how uncomfortable, unsupportive, and coarse the cot was. And in her age, all of those things were doing her back in. But, she tried her best to endure it. As much as she could, at least.

He noticed, he noticed her wince and grab her lower back when making dinner. And he noticed how much longer it took her to sleep. He couldn't stand it! The bed was big enough for both of them, and even if he'd tell her to swap, or to just join him she always refused.

He was worried she wasn't as interested in him as he was assuming. Why else would she keep declining? Was her sense of duty and professionalism that strong?

Making her chuckle on their morning walks or throughout the day made him feel quite warm and fuzzy. He felt incredibly indebted to her, and couldn't stand to see her in such discomfort. Not to mention the strong want to lay beside such a warm and furry woman.

He'd not had much time to get settled and get off, so over the last week, a sincere and pressing arousal had begun mounting in him. Constance's body was, to put it directly, thick. She was proportioned in a buxom way from chest to hips with a weighty figure that had a pleasant fatness to her midsection.

René was just as desperate to lay his head across her tummy and hug her waist as he was to plunge his sword to her sheath. Even the thought of it had his mouth running dry, finding a release inside her after such a trying couple weeks.

René helped her make a dinner that had become very common in the household. It was a radish soup of dubious paletteability but not from Constance's poor cooking skills, and more from how often it was served.

He remained sat up in a chair and they conversed a bit, eschewing the reading of a story this evening. Talking was a bit slow, sitting up still caused a little pain and so he had to be direct and focused when speaking.

"I am surprised you had only a cuirass of leather and mail underneath."

"Oh, why?" René asked, briefly reminded of the fact that his battle kit was severely damaged and would need repair.

"That seems light for an infantryman."

"I told you I did scouting, didn't I?"

Constance nodded her head, eyes closed. "Yes, I suppose you did."

"Were you ever on the field yourself, or just tending to the wounded after the fact?"

"Mostly after, but sometimes it was required for me to be in the line of danger."

"So, did you have any armor? What did you wear?"

"Nothing at all."

René smirked, and couldn't help himself from letting slip his next comment, "I'd have liked to see that."

Constance snorted a laugh that exuded appreciation and a bit of coyness both. She had to avert her gaze from the level look of her patient. "Not in that manner, boy. I meant that I had no protective elements. Just clothing. I learned how cumbersome my priestess' robes were very soon, and switched to something more practical quickly."

"Robes get dirty easily?"

"I am not afraid of getting dirty," Constance said, letting the statement hang a moment. It was true, René had seen her get into the earth to collect herbs she needed and didn't shy from unclean tasks if they needed to be. But, he couldn't help but hope there was a slight flirtatiousness to her words. "The robe's hem would catch on bodies and terrain too easily. I got accustomed to trousers and boots."

"You wear dresses now, mostly."

"Well, yes, they're comfortable if you're not on the battlefield."

"And sightly."

"Are you sure it's not just the woman within the dress that makes it sightly?"

"I am certain it is, in your case at least."

Constance chuckled and clicked her tongue. "You don't need to butter me up to remain here during your rest."

"I'd not dream of it. I speak only the truth."

"Well, your truth is pleasant to hear," the healer replied.

René tried to lean back smugly and proudly, to show his confidence, but the pose made his chest throb and he groaned, having to curl up slightly. Constance cooed a sympathetic sound.

"Is it time to lay down?"

René nodded, rose, moved right past her, and laid himself directly onto her cot. She said nothing for a moment, mostly out of surprise. "Come now, up into the big bed."

"I am afraid not!"

"And why is this, that you are suddenly defying the wishes of your caretaker?"

René smiled and blinked his eyes closed, delicately crossing his arms over his chest to show he wouldn't budge. "I have seen how sore this cot makes your back and neck, the past two days especially."

By reflex of pain, Constance touched her lower back and winced, she could not deny it. It didn't help that her tits were so large. A blessing for the eyes and hands and cocks of men, an absolute curse for her back.

"Take rest in your own bed for a night."

René left it at that, there was a hope that she'd invite him to the larger bed with her. It was large enough for two of him and her, plenty of space. But, even if she didn't he was content to let her rest peacefully there.

"No, into the large bed."

"I will not."

Constance growled. "I must lure you there, then, is that the case?"

One of René's eyes shot open, peering at her.

"Keep your eyes closed, until I say so."

Her firm tone and husky, wonderful intonation made his spine tingle. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," she followed up, with a sultry lilt to her voice that had René's blood pumping.

There was only sound and scent he could take in now. And by sound he detected the falling of cloth to the floor and that a bedsheet was being shifted. His mind was already spinning with possibility. Was it something lewd, was she disrobing? Or was she merely making some sort of accommodation with the bed for both of them?

Scent gave him another clue. Being a human, his nose was fair but far less developed than that of Costances, Lupines, or many other beast races. Far better eyes than many, to appreciate the wonderful details of beastkin, but not much in way of smell.

Even so, the air grew heavier with the distinctly female notes of Constance, a developed and alluring smell of pheromones that was cut with the scents she bathed herself with. Constance kept fastidious, as a healer should, but René couldn't deny that pleasurable scent of a woman she held.

"Turn your head toward the bed, and open your eyes when you do."

Given that the cot was, currently, set by the wall facing the bed's side, this wasn't a difficult task. René turned his head, and opened his eyes. And when he did, he was met with a sight far more impressive than he expected.

It was enough to make him salivate. Constance, the wonderful, older woman who'd given him succor and care and shelter, holding aloft the bedsheet, inviting him to be draped in it with her. And, of course, she was entirely nude. Her massive tits were even more lovely of a sight laid bare, large and pink nipples (with smaller rows of five beneath that). Her darkish black fur hid the nipples partly, and it also hid the minute details of her nethers, but she was completely bare.

If it weren't for his injuries, René would have pounced from his position on the cot.

"Come on, going to stay in that roughspun cot, or come to bed, with momma?"

René felt the air empty from his lungs in extreme desire. He didn't even bother with words his brain was such a soup of arousal, rather, standing and woozily getting to the bed.

"Ah, no. You can stay in that cot if you're coming to bed with clothes on."

René thought his knees were going to give out. He nodded in knowing, and tried his best to be a bit sultry when undressing. His injuries made that hard, causing him to wince and slow down. He had the lithe, firm figure of a mercenary who ate what he could get. That is to say, quite a bit thin and wiry, but with the definition of muscle in his arms, legs, and core needed for thrusting a spear.

But, imperfect, wounded, and all else that the scout was, Constance looked at him with an approving and desiring expression. And, of course, he was erect. How could he not be?

She unabashedly looked at his cock, running her tongue over her lips to emphasize the want she held. It was of an average size, and René had heard no complaints from those he'd bedded. However, Constance was large, and he had a small fear it'd not be enough.

His fears and apprehension melted away with the delicious tone she used to invite him to join her. She didn't accept him laying beside her, no, she grasped him by the arm and made certain he didn't lay down.

He was placed right between her thighs, supporting himself with his arms, his spear barely half-an-inch from her gates. He could feel the warmth of her thighs and cunt radiating off her body. Her soft, careful hands ran up his arms, biceps, and across his chest.

"Good boy, want to bury yourself deep inside mommy?"

René took a deep breath, and nudged himself forward, brushing his cock against the damp labia of her nethers. "I've been waiting since the moment you saved me off the battlefield."

"Is that so?" Constance didn't wait for him to find his way in, instead, grasping his shaft and slowly guiding it in. Warm, wet. A pussy, very common in general feeling to his previous experience.

The joy wasn't in her somewhat loose cunt. It was in the slow, steady, guided plunge she took him on. In the eye contact, she made with him, seeing the details of her face light up with pleasure and surprise and joy as he explored deeper with each centimeter.

Her hand left his dick when she'd reduced her grip, finger by finger, to just the thumb and pointer. That last little segment he thrust in and let himself relish the tingling pleasure the raw touch of her walls gave him.

"Been awhile?" She asked.

He nodded, breathing heavily, drawing out partly, and slipping back in. "Like coming home after a long walk."

"Hnm, that's a good boy," she rubbed his back, drawing a leg around his and keeping him close. "It has been longer for me, I'm sure of it."

The wounded soldier held his breath, and then exhaled. He leaned forward and did what came naturally - thrusting into her slowly while cuddling her neck.

She draped her arms over his back and held him close, humping back up with him. Their fucking was gentle and slow, connective, and mercifully for René not too overly stimulating. A week and a half without ejaculating had him on an edge after just a moment of sex.

"Easy, nice and easy, use mommy just how you like," Constance whispered to his ear, nibbling it and laying pecks across his neck and cheek. Words like that had him simply melting in her arms.

René wished he had something better than the moaned curses he offered back, he couldn't even fathom that this was real. How could his fantasy become reality so perfectly?

"Did you just twitch inside momma?" Constance huffed, her voice rough with a developing arousal of her own. "You can cum inside her, you know? Empty your seed into her, right against her womb. Breed her all you want, that hole is yours, boy."

René whimpered just like a boy, indeed, his cock throbbing with a surge of arousal and twitching desperately.

"I'm--"

"You're what?" She said, cupping his neck and invading his mouth with her tongue, kissing and making out with him using an intensity her hips kept up. He was pulling back, on the verge of cumming, and she was humping toward him with a controlled and steady pace that had his stamina crumbling. "You're going to empty those heavy human nuts into my badger-pussy? Do it then, cum for mommy."

He moaned against her neck, muffled by the fur of her coat, laying himself close to her pillowy chest and absorbing every minute sensation brought by his orgasm. He did just as she asked, cumming inside her with short, little thrusts because of how over-pleasurable she felt.

After a few seconds, he tried to withdraw, but she held him tight and close and shook her head. He was still hard, though beginning to soften after releasing. One of her hands drifted down passed her belly to her clit, palming and rubbing at herself while she kept her patient still and inside her. Her free hand dragged her blunted claws up and down his bare back, making him shiver with the pleasant feeling.

She didn't take more than a moment or two to bring herself over the edge, and he could feel every convulsion and squeeze of her pussy as she thrust back up at him. Best of all were the pleasured expressions she was making, filling him with a level of satisfaction atop that of the load he'd blown.

Constance let him go, gently helping him lay on his back aside her. He was surprised how heavily he was breathing, even after being relatively still for several moments.

"Good?" she asked, turning to face him and hug at his side. That felt deliciously good, near-smothered by her fur, being draped by her warmth and weight. And, though they throbbed with the dull pain of his previous effort, she made special note not to touch or disturb his wounds.

He'd almost forgotten to answer her, he was in such a relaxed and sleepy state. "More than good."

She murmured and agreement. "First time with one of my kind?"

"I could ask you," he took the pause of a breath, "the same thing."

"I like retaining some mystery," the sultry lilt to her tone gave him some tingles across his scalp.

"Same."

There was a pause before he spoke again. He was barely holding onto consciousness, pleasantly dazed. "May I stay awhile longer after my recovery?"

She took her time replying, René doing what he could to keep himself awake enough to hear the answer. He put a hand to the thigh curled up by his chest and brushed it back and forth. Her coat was thicker than the sleekness let on, soft...

"May you stay longer? You don't have any choice, boy. You're mine now."

A final nibble on his ear settled him to rest.