FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

My latest customer floated away downriver, heading straight for St. Louis. Me? I still required visiting outposts as far as Lacrosse, Wisconsin to sell off the rest of my wares. As one last goodbye, we honked her horn twice in succession, and from the tugboat’s port side, I spotted an arm waving back at me.

“Weight capacity’s still under max, Skipper,” a baritone growl called from the hallway past the kitchen/living room behind me. “I’ll head up. Keeping watch.”

“Very good, Trevor!” I shouted back, spinning the steering wheel to continue heading up river, our engines fighting against the downstream current. “By the way, Trev, remember not to point your gun unless you’re certain they’re hostile! I’m a merchant boat, not a merc boat!”

My thick beaver tail smacked frustratedly against the hardwood floor, worn and scratched yet sturdy after years on the Mississippi River. Especially five years into the ongoing end of the world. Overhead, I heard the forty-something alligator smack his own heavy tail on the floor. No doubt he was inspecting his weapons on the second floor where he stood watch.

“I told you I was sorry, Mr. Beaumont,” he replied from the shortwave radio hanging on the side of my instruments. “Force of habit with strangers when they approach. Especially since they didn’t have a Nation flag like ours. I promise it won’t happen again.” Before I could inform the reptile about how lucky we were that I calmed the customer down, even managing to secure a few transactions in the process of apologies, Trevor mentioned, “In all fairness, this is the first time I’ve been this far away from St. Louis. All I hear about is how dangerous it is traveling up and down this damn river…”

“‘Dangerous’ is an understatement,” I replied into the handheld radio, one paw clutched on the steering wheel. “That’s why I hired ya. But not everybody on these waters are hostile. Good chunk of ‘em are customers, and I can’t pay ya if they’re getting scared off by a rifle.”

“I understand,” he answered back. “The minute I think they’re hostile, I’ll ask them permission before I start shooting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Save the sass for payday,” came my retort. “And tell me if you see any points of interest. Somewhere to loot.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper!” Trevor chuckled.

My tail thumped again on the hardwood floor. I suddenly regretted mentioning to him that my middle name happened to be Gilligan.

Nothing but fine weather surrounded us. At least, compared to the spring rains and horrible summers as of late. Thin rays of sunlight pierced through the low-hanging clouds overhead, sometimes striking the Mississippi itself, sometimes directly at my houseboat’s windows. It didn’t bother me though, not with the rest of the river seemingly empty as far as the eye could see. I didn’t feel nervous navigating my tiny vessel along the expensive, murky waters.

I sailed on a real beauty: the S.S. Wayfarer, a 2013 Montecristo houseboat that stood eighty feet long, outfitted with a crafted sailing mast capable of folding over, and carrying various supplies to trade. Some perishable goods, nonperishables, seeds for farming, medicine, tools, electrical equipment, and bits of silver, gold, copper, etc. Whatever ended up making me richer by the time I returned to either St. Louis or what was left of New Orleans. Another possibility involved traversing the Ohio River to connect with Huntington merchants of the Appalachian Republic. Wherever the business ultimately led me.

To my right were a series of collages taken from screenshot photos, stickers of crude sex jokes, and pictures/illustrations from dirty magazines. Most, if not all of them, showcased naked males. I had a shirtless photograph of one polar bear porn star Jason Glacier from ten years prior. I had a juvenile sticker of an anime-styled wolf twerking. Plenty of them did more than enough to cause my confined cock to stir under the fabric of my trousers.

Out of all the other preserved photos and drawings glued to the wall, none of them held a special candle to Timothy Peaches. It stood out among the rest, not just in size but in history, the one I held the most affection for set not too far from the window in front of the steering wheel of my boat. It was a centerfold from Play Sissy magazine before it’s bankruptcy in 2008, depicting a handsome German shepherd in his late twenties. Alluring, seductive, showcasing his naked butt while craning his neck towards the camera with a tongue sticking out in a teasing fashion, Mr. Peaches possessed the ass of an angel. He had been the one to make me realize I could never be straight, and I made it a corny tradition to kiss my fingers and brush his ass for good luck while out on the waters. Which I did even before the collapse of civilization.

The radio crackled to life. “Boss, there’s a house coming up with armed men on the docks,” Trevor explained. “No Nation flags and no smiles. But I do see the mother-load of all Don’t-Tread-on-Me’s hunt tip to toe on the flagpole…Question: does that count as a Nation flag, actually?”

I replied into the radio, “Negative. Unless there’s a snake with blue and green on the color scheme. Or it’s got a magnolia of some kind.”

At some point in time, I heard rumors that the Nation government—if one could call it that—planned to adopt a rule making the historic Gadsden the river community’s. It would tie both to heritage as well as separation from the dead United States. The idea likely got scrapped, however, once it became clear that every wacko survivalist and their trigger-happy families also waved said flag. It was important to distinguish ourselves between proper river folk and the isolationists who shot first, asked questions later.

“Well, they’re eyeing the Wayfarer awful fierce,” Trevor mentioned.

“You said they had those yellow flags flying along the entire flagpole, Trev?” I asked. “Can you see the house? Is it a three-story cabin with shuttered windows and high walls surrounding it inland? And the men, are they all otters?”

“Roger on all counts,” he answered after a moment. “You know them, Mr. Beaumont?”

“That’s just the O’Briens,” I clarified, turning the boat to the right side of the river. “Long as we don’t fire and keep far off, they’ll leave Mississippi Nation boats alone.” My tail tapped nervously against the floor. “They won’t fire, I’m sure of it.”

Nevertheless, I brushed my kissed fingers along Timothy Peaches’ curves. Just in case.

My worries would be for naught. In the end, the O’Brien otters didn’t fire their weapons or throw anything up, including insults. The bulkier of them simply glowered at my vessel and the flag I flew as I went upriver. Then, the dock departed behind us as I navigated away.

Ancient garbage and debris would sometimes drift downriver like a rogue iceberg. I made sure to always avoid them. A town or riverside city occasionally emerged and disappeared beyond the tree line. None of them appeared to be stable settlements wielding a familiar emblem or flag like the one draped along both sides of my vessel. Plenty of the settlements simply lay abandoned, some buildings ruined or underwater after years of flooding, and plenty of structures barely recognizable due to parasitic kudzu camouflaging them into the overgrown trees. A few towns appeared abandoned even before the Collapse, or even when the power went out one final time across America half a decade ago.

Sometimes, a derelict house or mausoleum village would tell a clear story. I only needed to gaze out my window to guess how the first or second post-Blackout winters went for them. I considered it an absentminded way to pass the time since the Internet and cellphones no longer existed.

One such example always came to mind during those moments: a riverside house somewhere north of Memphis, Tennessee. It was the sort of large home where the previous owners wanted to flaunt their wealth. It came with a wooden dock house in disrepair, a beautiful boat half-underwater near the murky beach, a freshwater pool long since previously used, and a pristine Antebellum-style house ransacked until not even the wiring remained.

I imagined the owners either fled to parts unknown or starved to death after being unable to turn their cash into lettuce.

“We got a vessel, Mr. Beaumont,” Trevor’s voice uttered through the radio, adding, “It’s tall, big, and see it poking up over the tree line in the next bend.”

All thoughts about eating the rich (and possibly avoiding them too) washed away as my paw grabbed the radio. “Can you spot a Nation flag?” I answered back, trying to peer above the tree line on the upcoming river bend. Ten seconds passed. “Trevor, do you copy? Can you spot a Mississippi Nation flag or not? Do you copy?”

Shit. Did I have to go up there myself?

“Sorry for the silence. Couldn’t see any flags at first,” Trevor replied, chuckling. “They’re Mississippi Nation like us, but you’re not gonna believe who it is, sir.”

Glowering and impatient, I clicked on the button. “Don’t be dramatic, Trev. Do you recognize that boat?”

“It’s a steamboat. Outfitted and full of activity and people,” he said, then clarified, “It’s the Southern Flower floating brothel.”

Both eyes widened like lucrative saucers. My beaver tail thumped repeatedly hard against the floorboard. It became my turn not to answer back on the radio, thanks in no part to me trying to remember everything in the ship’s inventory, and if I could interest Mrs. Jasmine Delight herself in my wares. The thought of doing business with the Mississippi Madam herself left me wearing a wide, buck-toothed smile.

“Mr. Beaumont? Sir, do you copy?”

I recalled the signal lamp nailed on the top deck with Trevor. Mulling once more over my inventory, then remembering what I possessed regarding medication, my thumb pressed down on the radio.

“Send a Morse code identifying our vessel,” I ordered Trevor, “and request that we get permission to board the Flower. Mention that I’ve got items to trade.”

I let go of the radio, temporarily turning my hopeful gaze back to Timothy Peaches. I kissed my fingers and lightly brushed the tips of them along that perfect ass.

***

Many ships and boats floated up and down the rivers of the vast Mississippi Nation. The need to escape harsher winters after autumn and the brutal summer months once spring began forced some survivors to rely on the great rivers for travel, which in turn led to settlements such as St. Louis and what remained of New Orleans popping up. Those who didn’t settle down in the Nation’s cities stayed off dry land, only stepping onto shore to resupply or trade goods.

Some fleets and specific boats gained a reputation over time. There was the S.S. World’s a Stage, an outfitted barge owned by a Shakespearean troupe of performers based in St. Louis. There was also Captain Warren and his all-otter crew that patrolled New Orleans and the surrounding waters for renegade outlaws. Who could also forget the Book Barge, which went about buying, collecting, and selling pre-Blackout paperbacks to whoever needed them.

Then, there was Madam Delight, and the Southern Flower: a popular brothel operated on a river tourism steamboat, filled to the brim with beautiful and scantily clad women.

Unlike the other infamous boats across the Mississippi River, almost everybody knew about its captain’s backstory; an iconic porn actress who once had an affair with a sitting Vice President, Jasmine Delight retired not long before the Blackout, then decided to open up a brothel in our brave new world.

The caracal stood at the end of the boarding blank, dressed in a fine purple dress and examining me as I boarded her vessel. Although appearing slightly older than her last known photograph, those bright emerald eyes remained sharp as ever. Beside her stood two imposing bears. One gripped a pistol in one paw and a spiked back along his shoulder. Another held an assault rifle with both calloused paws. They sneered directly at me, but I ignored them in favor of their mistress.

“Awful eager to message me, sir,” the madam spoke like Southern grape wine. “With whom do I owe the pleasure of speaking with?”

My, my, I did not know the mistress was so formal.

“Charlie Beaumont, Esquire,” I graciously extended a paw. “It’s an honor to meet you for the first time, Mrs. Delight.”

“Esquire, hm?” She politely shook my paw, then cocked a curious eye. “I take it you’re a lawyer, Mr. Beaumont?”

“Was,” I clarified, sighing. “Up until the power grid dropped dead along with the US government. I no longer practice law when there are no more lawyers across this land. I still like the name, is all.”

She chuckled amusedly. “And you’ve heard of me?”

“Sure have,” I mentioned. “You’re well-known around these waters. Your establishment too. It’s a beautiful thing, your Southern Flower.”

“Aren’t you a real gentlemanly beaver,” she mused, and motioned to the Wayfarer behind me. “Your crewman mentioned on the code that you can resupply me with some essentials for me and my girls, yes?”

“Whatever you require, madam,” I said with a salesman’s grin. “I have plenty of pre-end times items, some of them still in their packaging and wrapping. Tampons, undergarments, makeup, birth control pills, condoms, you name it!”

“Mmhm, I’ll need to see what you have down below before we can start bargaining.” She gestured to her ursine guards behind her. “You don’t mind if they come along, do you? I promise you that John and James don’t cause trouble.”

“Long as they don’t cause trouble and don’t mind my gator friend with the gun who’s guarding my wares,” I said, then offered her my arm. “Let’s see what business there can be between us, shall we?”

Safe to say, the gorgeous caracal possessed quite a talent for haggling. Not only did she know how to navigate someone’s sexual desires, toy with it too, but Madam Delight knew how to perform business. She didn’t flinch or hesitate at discussing my wares, what I had, and where I’d gotten each box or package. My attempts at convincing her to barter certain items I wanted to be rid of, like sleeping bags, gallons of honey, maple syrup, a box of chocolate, all of which I sold for high prices sometimes fell on deaf ears. One of the first deal we did make was her trading a pound of aluminum and copper wiring—which I could trade a legitimate currency back in St. Louis—for an unopened ten-year-old bottle of champagne.

“My, my, Mr. Beaumont.” She handed it to her guard, who in turn held it in awe. “Drinks like this doesn’t usually survive long after the end of everything.”

“Quite the tale, actually,” I informed her. “Long story too. Let’s just say I know a few hidey-holes around these here parts, and they stocked up really well prior to the Blackout. Nowhere near as much as the enclavers up north and out east, but still…”

“Speaking of which,” she mused, “what do you have in terms of weapons, Mr. Beaumont?”

“Sorry, but I’ve already sold my wares.” As we left the room, I cleared my throat. “Anyway, might I interest you in a recently acquired haul of cucumbers and—”

“You mentioned having fresh packages of medicine and pills, am I correct, Mr. Beaumont?” she asked, and I nodded. “I might wanna have a look at those then.”

“Right this way,” I motioned further down the lower-deck hallway. Mrs. Delight’s looming pet bears continued to snarl at me. I rolled my eyes and returned to my salesmanship charm. “If you’ll look in this here room, you’ll not only see we have medication, but also…”

The tour of my wares went on for another twenty minutes, her consultation with her guards on what they had to barter lasted ten minutes, and negotiations continued for another twenty. In the end, Jasmine Delight and I came to a series of agreements. The champagne bottle, a bundle of flour, and two gallons of cooking oil would cost a large bundle of copper twine, aluminum, a tiny bag of gold nuggets, and five gallons of gasoline. Ten boxes of unused tampons, two bottles of perfume, and four sealed containers of ibuprofen would cost another bundle of copper twine, two bags of salt, and seventy-eight fresh mandarins from their kitchen. I’d be lying if the thought of fresh fruit didn’t tempt me to give them a discount.

By the third trade though, we came at a standstill. Jasmine Delight wished for my entire supply of birth control pills, boxed condoms, all the makeup I had. She wanted it all. Even as we stood against the railing of my boat, the soft breeze kissing our faces and sunlight peeking through a cloud, I didn’t relax my stiff posture. I held firm.

“My girls worry enough about STDs, but these condoms and birth control pills will be more than enough to keep us stocked for the next year,” she stressed. “Maybe two.”

“And I tell you,” I reminded her, “I can’t just trade it all for a couple hundred oranges, porno magazines, and DVDs. Or that lovely pearl necklace you mentioned buying in Paris once.”

She groaned. “I can’t run a brothel and a daycare center at the same time, Beaumont.”

“I’m afraid all that’s not enough, ma’am,” I apologized.

“Do you really think that you’ll need to keep all those pills, condoms, and makeup kits in stock in case you stumble across another settlement that hosts sex as often as we do?” she asked.

“Now, now, I’m not opposed to emptying it all for you, Mrs. Delight,” I clarified to the frustrated caracal, “but you must understand my situation. What if I come across other poor souls who need the pills, the condoms, etcetera, and they can trade me something you can’t?”

“What if you were to slice the pills in half?” she inquired. “Or would it not work?”

I shook my buck-toothed muzzle. “Not like Viagra. The dosage makes the difference.”

“Ugh!” she groaned again. “There must be something I can give you to even the trade!”

“Take as long as you need. I can wait.” My tail tapped patiently on the deck behind us.

The entire time, I did feel nervous about her armed guards standing not too far away. It wouldn’t take a genius to consider the madam suddenly deciding to have her goons shoot me in the back, then loot my entire ship for everything not bolted to the floors. Luckily, Trevor’s presence eased my ill-concerned worries greatly.

“Would a working DVD player close the deal?” Mrs. Delight asked after a moment of thought, her arms cradled on the railing. Was she trying to seduce with her posture? “It’s hardly been used. Some of my clientele love to watch old movies while sleeping with my girls. Says it makes them think for a moment the old world’s still operating again. Well?”

“Hmm,” I mulled it over. “Maybe, but I don’t think a DVD player will be useful to sell with electricity being scarce as it is…”

The older caracal continued to think, then perked her tufted ears up high.

“Y’know,” she suggested with a sultry smile. Her nose gestured to the menagerie steamboat anchored beside us, specifically to the occasional faces and muzzles peeking from behind the window sills. “I bet it gets lonely on this river. And my vessel has company as far as the eye can see…”

I held up both paws, realizing her suggestion. A nervous chuckle escaped my lips.

“Don’t get me wrong: y’all are beautiful—gorgeous, even!” I gently informed her. “It’s a shame I can’t consider it part of negotiations. See, I’m not a, uh…”

“Fond of ladies in general?” she finished my sentence, then sighed. “I figured, Mr. Beaumont. Your choice in wall decorations near the wheel is rather unorthodox.” I laughed at her choice in words, and she chuckled lightly. “What if I were to give you male companionship?”

My laughter sputtered down. I stared at the caracal madam in disbelief.

“Are you serious, ma’am?”

She chortled. “Sure am, sir.”

“You have a male concubine on your payroll?” I asked, to which she nodded. “I’d never heard of you housing make prostitutes. Is this new?”

“His name’s Lee,” Mrs. Delight explained, standing up all sultry and grinning with a confident posture I’d been sporting mere moments earlier. “He’s a shy young feline, and normally just helps my girls get ready between shows and private evenings with clientele. Picked a few daffodils himself before learning he prefers being picked himself, if I do say so myself.” She chuckled amusedly. “Anyway, Lee doesn’t often sell himself though. He is willing and able to if the situation calls for it, and if he’s interested in the man who rents him.”

I nodded with a wry click of my tongue. “Would I, perchance, be one of those men?”

“Well, he does like the older gentlemen, and you have been nothing but gentlemanly so far, if a bit shrewd,” she said. Noticing my look of offense, she conceded, “In all fairness, you’re right that business is business, and these are trying times we live in. Tell you what: if you agree to giving me what I want, I’ll give you all the mandarins on the Flower, that pearl necklace I mentioned, a couple DVDs of your choice—I’ve got a few fur flicks with gay actors, now that you mention it. I think one with Jason Glacier, rest his soul, too—plus, an hour and a half of your time with Lee.”

“Hour and a half, eh?” I questioned, slowly smirking. “What’s his age and species?”

“Caracal, like me,” she described. “Male, turned twenty-eight last week, has a limber body and white fangs. He has a small limp, but it doesn’t slow him down at all. My last customer who had him literally tried to buy him on the spot afterward. John and James to toss him on overboard when he got too desperate and loud.”

“Must be the lad, Lee is,” I mused aloud. “So, can I do anything I want during this hour and a half?”

“Up to an extent,” she smirked back, then extended a paw, “What do you say, Mr. Charlie Beaumont, Esquire? Do we have ourselves a deal?”

Admittedly, the thought of having a pair of masculine lips wrapped around my beaver cock sounded tempting. The business side of my brain tried rejecting it outright, arguing how I’d not even seen Lee yet. I didn’t know if the lad would be adequate at best or inexperienced at worst. Truth be told, I didn’t even know if the S.S. Southern Flower had decent rooms.

Then again, the brothels in St. Louis and elsewhere did charge quite a bit, and most of them wouldn’t have a handsome twenty-something male caracal. Let alone a male to begin with.

“Book me in your best room with this Lee,” I counteroffered, “and you got a deal.”

***

Let me say, seeing the steamboat up close was one thing, but stepping inside it was another.

The S.S. Southern Flower once operated as any other red paddle-wheel steamboat in the modern day, providing tourists and passengers with wondrous views and iconic destinations up and down the Mississippi. Three stories of Antebellum-themed luxury and woodwork made it look no different than a sternwheel beauty you’d find cruising throughout the continent’s connected rivers. Somehow, they’d even managed to keep the paint from chipping too much.

Granted, not all of it. As I stepped inside, I spotted a bullet hole in a wall. A former sunroom was stripped to the bone of furniture, being used as a storage area. It also wasn’t too hard to spot the window shutters ready to be dropped from the ceilings. Crates of hand weapons and firearms were visible behind corners, well-guarded by either a random mammal or one of the dozens of well-groomed ladies who smiled at me and the madam they served.

Speaking of whom, Mrs. Delight and one of her bear guards escorted me through several hallways after she’d whispered something to a vixen in her bathrobe. The vixen hurried off, then reappeared from around a corner as soon as the female caracal and I reached a bedroom.

“And this here’s the presidential suite, my good man,” Mrs. Delight chuckled. “I can’t say we’ve had presidential

“He’s getting ready inside, ma’am,” she informed her mistress. “Lee will be ready in five minutes.”

“Thank you, Vanessa,” she said, watching her scurry off down a hallway before turning to me with a seductive smile. It didn’t work, but she did try. “Shall I get John and James to carry our items aboard, Mr. Beaumont?”

“All but the pills,” I cautioned. “The deal’s not solid until I get my fill, isn’t it? Trevor will know and guard ‘em until I say otherwise. Just in case, is all.”

The Mississippi Madam chirped contentedly. “Good point,” she said, motioning to the cushioned bench against the hallway opposite the closed door. “I’ll be coordinating with my boys while you have fun. Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll know, Mr. Beaumont.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” I told her. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she chimed, shining her fangs at me as her guard followed. “Enjoy.”

The wait was the worst. There I stood, too excited to sit down and too bored to do anything other than make slow paces as I waited for the door to open. Would it be the perfect time for the madam and her guards to steal me outright? Perhaps. Then again, Trevor wouldn’t allow any of that to happen. The moment either that gator or one of the stoic bears fired a single shot, I’d hear it immediately, no matter how far off the closest windows were.

The door abruptly went ajar, then opened wider, and a beautifully naked caracal emerged from a dark room. My maw went dry upon seeing him; well-groomed russet fur with traces of tan and faint charcoal stripes that hinted at tiger, plus wide hips that did not distract from his long legs or lithe stomach. He flashed a pair of white fangs under adorable whiskers and a cute button nose.

“You must be Mr. Beaumont, yes?” the male nymph inquired with a coy tilt of his head. “I’m Ashley, but you can call me ‘Lee’, if you wish.”

“You can call me ‘Charlie’ then,” I beamed at him, my lecherous gaze trailing up and down his body, from his toned legs to the well-groomed scrotum under an erection beginning to throb from the attention, then to his delectable nipples and that inviting smile. “I insist. Mr. Beaumont is the name of my father, and God knows I already feel old enough as it is.”

He placed both paws on his hips. “You’re not that old, sir.”

“Why, thank you, sugar,” I said with a wink. “Calling me ‘sir’ is also fine. Now, I believe I have you for the next hour and a half, if I recall correctly. May I come in?”

Lee’s beautiful green eyes (familiar green eyes?) sparkled upon hearing my words.

“You may, Charlie.”

The handsome young caracal turned his back and walked inside the darkened room. His short, swaying tail compelled me forward like the watch of a master hypnotist. I stepped past the threshold just as a lumbering figure—a mean-looking bulldog, I believed, lumbered down the hallway to our door. It promptly closed shut, bathing Lee and I in darkness, save for a balcony door with the curtains shut. The room seemed standard for a suite, with one small hallway leading towards what I presumed to be a king-sized bed, a decent bathroom, and a walk-in closet.

“Do you mind the darkness?” He leaned close enough for me to smell the lavender on him. “Most customers I’ve had like having the lights off. They like to pretend I’m a girl.”

“I don’t mind,” I chuckled, though warily eyed the shut door. “I take it the bouncer is outside?”

“So long as you treat me right, Tom won’t disturb us. It’s Madam Delight’s main rule once the door closes,” he explained, eyes gesturing to said closed door as he smiled seductively. “Anyway, don’t worry about Tom. I’m here, you’re here, and I can think of a few reasons why, yes~?”

“Well, one of them includes this delectable southern flower on this Southern Flower, sugar,” I murmured with a lustful grin. “A pretty flower too.”

His ears shyly perked down and then straightened back up. “And you’re a handsome man.”

“Flatterer,” I scoffed.

“It’s true, sir,” he whispered. “Where you going after this? St. Louis? La Crosse? Appalachia? I can imagine you’ll be popular with the other local gays in Huntington.”

I didn’t mention already planning to go back to St. Louis, then make a trip along the Ohio River for Huntington, where I hoped to meet prospective buyers associated with the Appalachian Republic’s armed militia. They desperately needed military-grade ways to defend against Detroit and Pittsburgh enclavers encroaching on their territory.

Instead, I simply muttered, “Mmmm, you are the flatterer, heh.”

My paws wandered from the rich fur on his feminine shoulders to up those cheeks, then grasped two ears that felt as hot as soft velvet under sunlight. God, those tufts too. Fondling and caressing them felt just as divine as leaning in for a reciprocated kiss. We fell so deep that our wet noses touched, and our breaths flared against each other’s.

His lips tasted like fresh strawberries. Mandarins too, his breath smelling more akin to flowers. How appropriate. They overwhelmed my taste buds and nostrils while I leisurely snaked my tongue past his parted lips. It had been a long time since I last kissed another man, either romantically or like a starved carnivore.

Lee moaned into my dominant maw, suckling on my tongue, and tried to wrap his two arms around my torso. Thanks to my height and girth though brought about by middle age, the purring caracal could only nimbly reach my buttocks. Not that I minded it though, especially when he gave up and started to knead under my tail as it tapped on the plush floor.

We broke our kiss, panting and drooling. Me more so, to the point that Lee felt compelled to lick up my chin and let out a giggle as he pressed his leaking crotch to mine. I moaned at how hard my cock curved in my pants. It begged for freedom, to feel Lee himself, who squirmed as I squeezed down on his pulsing ears.

“Mmmm!” I rubbed his hot ears between hungry exhales against his lips, which made him purr more and more. “Mmm, ya like that, sugar?” I whispered. “Can you blame me? They’re so soft…”

Lee purred louder, nuzzling against my palms and partially sticking his tongue out. He too blushed like a red magnolia.

“Wait until you feel my tail pussy, sir,” he moaned, fingers already unbuckling my belt. “As soft as feathers and tight as a vise. I’ll be able to turn the straightest man gay and your wildest dreams come true, sir, I promise you that. Hehe.”

“We better get started then,” I hummed with a deep chuckle, “or I might be tempted to give a discount to have you a while longer...”

“Mmm,” Lee giggled. “Follow me then, and I’ll get you ready. You don’t mind a little head, do ya, Charlie?”

I smirked, “Sure do! Lead the way, kitten.”

“Right this way,” he purred again, taking my paw and guiding me through the dark and into the bedroom, which had a nightstand lamp faintly glowing beside the luxurious bed frame. Next, he gave a glinting smile and wordlessly shimmied my pants down, boxers included. My beaver dick pulsed in the cool, musky air, yearning not just to be touched but to be tasted too. “Lay down on the bed, sir.”

I didn’t mind letting him take charge. I nodded and stepped out of my pants while unbuttoning my shirt and setting it aside. My attention remained focused solely on Lee, on how his paws slowly trailed up my once-pudgy chest and cupped my pectorals like a pair of lady’s breasts. My nipples hardened under his palms. His velvet fingers squeezed them, held them, and then rubbed both thumbs across the hard nubs until I let out a moaning shudder. It made my tail smack against the foot of the bed, then tap incessantly on it as I fell backwards and scooted up along the finely cleaned blanket and soft bed sheets. Where they satin? They felt too good to be anything crafted by paw after the Collapse.

Lee’s purrs broke me from my relaxation. He licked his tongue while kneeling between my spread legs and atop my large beaver tail. He weighed surprisingly less than I expected, just enough to put a little pressure and weight on my flat tail, but not enough to distract my cock. I had to be leaking a gallon of precum down my shaft. It throbbed even harder as I felt caracal claws run up and down my leg fur, a caracal tongue lap agonizingly slow, all the way from my inner right thigh straight to my neglected ball sack. My scrotum needed so much attention. The previous time I had ever let another male go near them, it had been during the previous winter, when a severe polar vortex froze the Mississippi River solid for several days, and desperate for warmth and company, I’d visited one of the seedier gay brothels while the S.S. Wayfarer remained forcibly docked by Mother Nature.

Not that I complained then, and I certainly didn’t complain now. I was not voicing complaints, no sir. Only carnal compliments.

My nostrils flared. “Oh, fuck! Just like that…!” I let out an amazed groan at feeling both caracal lips and caracal tongue worship my balls. They swelled and swelled and swelled with each lick. The Southern dialect in my voice cracked. “Git ‘em! Git ‘em good, sugar! Oooohhhh!”

Lee’s tufted ears tickled my stomach, sometimes my cock, whenever they twitched along both. I hung my head back to let out more gutter old grounds, licking my back tooth and biting my lower lip with it to stifle anything louder. God, that tongue. It reminded me of my feline boyfriend from years back, a tiger my age named Davis, who left the Mississippi to settle down somewhere in Appalachia. Lee’s ball service felt just as rough, if not rougher, than that teasing Bengal. Particularly when he started to stroke my member with one paw from base to tip between intense scrotum licks. I was about to suggest to the caracal that he start giving me head when he suddenly slowed down.

I lifted my head to look at Lee. “Something the matter?” I asked.

“Do I smell…ice cream?” His eyes then dawned with realization, looking up at me. “Oh yeah, you’re a beaver! Beavers have that weird vanilla musk…Mind if I…?”

“Be my guest, kitten,” I chuckled. “Just don’t indulge yourself too looooohhhh~!”

A ravenous slurping noise echoed around the room, mixing in with the pleasurable noises I produced.

If I were a betting man, I’d wager my boat and kidney that it had been years since Lee had tasted ice cream. The way he devoured my tailhole and inhaled my musky scent proved it. His cold nose against my taint made me grunt with ecstasy. I arched my aching back and how he timed his twirling tongue with every stroke of my cock. So much prey literally soaked those nimble fingers. My webbed toes curled tightly and spread wide. I pinched one of my nipples in attempted unison as my other paw scritched behind one of Lee’s bobbing heads.

Just when I was about to cry out again, to warn him I was about to cum, he stopped. I was left panting and licking my lips as I stared down at the drooling angel who slowly continued to stroke the base of my dick. His eyes glinted wide, as if he had just devoured a delicious morsel of food. Vanilla-flavored, most likely.

“That was delicious, sir,” he confirmed my guess with a deep purr. “Lovely vanilla ice cream, but suddenly, I’m in the mood for sausage. Do you mind if I try yours~?”

I laughed between lustful pants, nodding. Part of me wanted him to go for the “beavers love wood” pun, but that died down the instant I felt caracal lips and tongue lather my cock tip. He gave just enough suction while providing slobbery drool after sucking down every inch and then rising up for air. He lapped again and again at the leaky underside of my cock head as if it were saucer of cold milk. He winked at me, then slowly lowered his lips back down my length until my tip reached the back of his throat.

My body went rigid, then spasmed. “F-F-Fuck! Oh, fuck…!” I trembled and moaned.

I was left speechless, crashing my head back down against the presidential mattress as I rolled my hips forward, trying to push deeper into that experienced maw. Lee’s hot throat had no gag reflex whatsoever! I was left panting even heavier by the time he bobbed back up for air, kissing the tip only to worship again. Ever been given a blow job with a coarse tongue and by someone who could purr? No wonder straight men questioned their sexualities around this caracal, and no wonder why that one man tried to beg him to marry him. My homosexuality pulsed and threatened to burst out of my dick any moment!

Suddenly, it did.

Lee felt it too, gasping and then wrapping his throat around my dick until finally, I thrusted my hips forward and tell his whiskers and nose buried itself in my pubic fair. The caracal, purring so loud that I think it made the bed frame itself vibrate, effortlessly swallowed every last drop without complaint.

“Ahh!” he exhaled, smiling at me. “How’re you feeling, sir?”

I let out an incomprehensible affirmation. He somehow translated it correctly to, “Spectacular!”

I gasped and haggardly asked, “How…y’all suck…without…many…clients?”

“I practice on the bouncers without anyone knowing,” he chirped. Suddenly, the prospect of becoming a bouncer aboard the S.S. Southern Flower seemed like the most incredible job in the apocalypse.

Meanwhile, I lay sweating and satisfied along the bed. Trying and failing, I gathered my thoughts only when I heard a loud noise outside the suite’s window.

“Huh?” Lee sat up, frozen and ears perked very high. “You hear it too?”

“Yeah…” I slowly hefted myself to kneel on the bed, trying to make out the strange sound. “Is…Is that…Is that a fucking helicopter?”

Our eyes bulged in unison.

That was when the gunshots began firing, and we scrambled for our clothes.

***

Before the apocalypse, mammals depicted the end of civilization like it was a lawless land ruled by anarchy. Y’know, with multi-colored highlights, punk clothes, mutated monsters, the works. Filmmakers didn’t know survival would be a larger priority than fashion trends.

After the apocalypse, that lawless anarchy did come to pass, but it came with caveats; some of the rich and wealthy mammals didn’t just flee to bunkers but banded together with hired private military companies to conquer several abandoned cities and transform them into walled-off fortresses. Its patron residents basically operated like post-societal oligarchs; they hoarded food, clean water, medicine, resources, and military-grade weapons while living in relatively advanced luxury. I’d heard the horror stories spoken by those who managed to escape these ‘enclaved cities’. Anyone who didn’t toil and work within the walls were either shot on sight or eventually raided to grab supplies during search parties. Just the sound of either planes or helicopters—an especially extreme rarity in the new dark age—could terrify any owner of a river boat along the Mississippi.

Which was why I feeling my heart drop like a stone the minute Lee and I emerged on the Southern Flower’s rear deck, and we saw not one, but two helicopters above the tree line.

“Sir!” Trevor shouted from the S.S. Wayfarer’s top deck; his large machine gun pointed in their direction. “We’ve got three hostiles! Minnie enclave, I reckon!”

My eyes wandered to the deck. Wooden chairs had been turned over and assortments such as cups, pillows, and a chair had been tumbled over. Two of the boxes I recognized from my sold inventory were chalked with bullet holes. Large ones too.

“They’re turning around!” somebody bellowed from the Flower’s crow’s nest.

“Lee, get in here!” Madam Delight screeched behind us. “Mr. Beaumont, you too!”

“Trevor!” I snapped at the alligator, “Fire if they get close!”

“Aye aye, Skipper!” he replied.

Faster as I could hobble, Lee and I fled back inside the steamboat’s main room—the living and dining area, where dozens of girls were congregating around Mrs. Delight. She ordered her girls to lock themselves inside their rooms, reassuring them they’d be safe and to follow their drills. The beautiful caracal said all of that as she held up a decent pistol and cocked it. Meanwhile, her bear guards and several bouncers began arming themselves by the windows, which now had the shutters lowered, save for a porthole and a space to fire their rifles from.

“Now, go! We’re going to be fine, ladies!” Mrs. Delight ordered. As they complied for their mistress, the female caracal’s eyes lit up upon seeing us. “Ashley, you’re safe!”

“Mom!” Lee approached her. “Did you or anyone get hit?!”

“I’m fine, but Kimmy and January are being bandaged with cuts in the infirmary.” She patted his cheek. “They’re both fine. Our concern is whether or not those helis are for us.”

My brain finished short-circuiting long enough for what Lee said to register.

“Wait?!” I gaped at Lee and motioned blindly to Mrs. Delight. “You’re…I…”

Holy shit. I’d been kissing, sucked off, and rimmed by Jasmine Delight’s own son!

“That’s not important at this moment, Beaumont!” Mrs. Delight hissed at me, glancing between me and the windows manned by her armed bouncers. “Both those helicopters could’ve blown up your boat and mine to kingdom come, but they didn’t. That means those enclaver motherfuckers want what we have!”

“You’re probably right.” I nodded in understanding. “They either want my supplies, your girls, or both. But what in the world are TWO of their helicopters doing this far south?”

“I dunno, I don’t listen in on ‘em!” she let loose her own Southern dialect in sheer frustration. I couldn’t blame her. “Ain’t no way we’ll shoot ‘em down before we’re all sunk!”

“They wouldn’t sink the Flower if they want our stuff, would they?” Lee clutched his mother’s arm. “Just enough holes in this old boat’ll make it hit the bottom of the river.”

“Tell them that!” Mrs. Delight muttered, then lit her eyes up. “Beaumont, do you have anything that can take those things down?”

I was just about to say that I only had machine guns and a few hand grenades, only to fall silent as all thoughts turned to my secret cargo in the bedroom. I could’ve just shrugged my shoulders, took a gamble, then hoped for the best in surviving without losing the goldmine I’d been wanting to sell in Huntington. Such actions would label me a suicidal bastard.

The whirling of far-off helicopter rotors quelled any impulse to lie though. “Grrr, goddammit! I do!” I bolted for the door and leaned out to shout at Trevor, “Trev! Git ‘em with the launchers in my room!” The stunned alligator shouting something I couldn’t hear, so I snapped, “Just do it! It’ll take ‘em bastards down! Go!”

I did manage to pick up, “Aye aye, Skipper,” which made me unironically smile.

Spurts of water burst on the waters ahead. Yelping, I disappeared back inside and went to an unoccupied, shuttered window to peek through the peephole. I caught Trevor disappearing into the boat house just as one of the helicopters passed overhead and disappearing downriver, the other stalling several dozen feet upriver with a clear line of fire. At the Wayfarer or the steamboat, I couldn’t tell.

I felt movement nearby, smelling two caracals shift next to me.

“What’re you doing, Charlie?” Lee whispered.

“Did you say to fire them with launchers?” Mrs. Delight’s voice oozed with anger. “You mean to tell me you have rocket launchers, Mr. Beaumont?”

“You didn’t ask about genuine rocket launchers,” I tried dismissing.

“Rocket launchers?” Lee gawked.

“Yep,” I answered with a nod.

“You liar!” his mother hissed at me. “You said you were outta weapons to sell—”

“Well, I guess I’m out now!” I interrupted angrily, then stifled a sob. “Oh, I was gonna sell ‘em to the Appalachians. Now, I’m wasting them to save our tails…”

Suddenly, a blaring noise cut through the relative silence. A bored voice talked through a loudspeaker coming from the stationed helicopter hovering above the river.

“Attention pirate vessels,” the pilot shouted. “Under the authority of the Minneapolis Enclaved City Council, lay down your weapons and prepare to be boarded. Your ships, contraband, and lives are now the property of the citizens of Minneapolis! Failure to comply will result in needless death. You are ordered to surrender!”

One of Delight’s men responded by firing his gun at the windshield. Everyone ducked as the helicopter’s bullets struck the shutters, making our ears ring and a few present girls shriek.

“I repeat,” the pilot ordered. “Surrender now, or be destroyed!”

I gasped. Trevor arose on the top deck.

“Eat shit, enclavers!” he shouted, then fired.

The Kestrel rocket launcher had been something I’d scavenged from a National Guard base somewhere along the Arkansas River. Everyone and anyone close by had already looted the armory and supplies for their worth, but I somehow managed to find a container for the Kestrel peeking beneath a pile of rubble. I’d hoped to keep it for a client willing to trade enough precious metals to set me for life.

KA-BOOM!

However, seeing the Minnie helicopter transform into a fireball that disappeared into the river waters behind us…it did make me and the others cheer. I felt it was worth the waste.

Well…almost worth the waste. The other helicopter suddenly surged closer to us, and I saw Trevor reloading the Kestrel launcher a second time, only to miss. The gator ducked just in time to be missed by stray bullets.

“Y’all have any idea how much each of those costs, Trev?!” I barked at him through the peephole. “Git him!”

“I’m trying!” he growled back.

I almost laughed at Lee’s words as he screeched through the peephole, “Try harder!”

Dread draped my shoulders like a quilt, and terror filled my lungs as I imagined that helicopter calling in reinforcements. Best-case scenario? We would lose, get shot, sunk, and die. Worst-case scenario? We’d lose, get captured alive, then work to death for the enclavers for the rest of our lives. I imagined that the oligarchs would be more than eager to make Madam Delight and her staff into personal sex slaves.

I dared not imagine it. Not of it happening to them, or even Lee. I saw the primal fear in the poor caracal’s wide emerald eyes when I glanced at him. The thought caused a pang deep in my chest.

However, it lessened when his eyes locked with mine. “A-Are we—” he tried saying.

“Trev’s a good shot!” I half-lied. “We’re safe, sugar.”

“Are you flirting with my son right now?” Mrs. Delight frowned without looking away from the peephole. “Of all times?”

“I almost fucked him several minutes ago,” Lee huffed, “and that’s where you draw the line, Mom?!”

Another volley of fire bounced against the shutters. We flinched and hit the deck. I heard another whoosh indicating the alligator fired the Kestrel. An explosion lit up our hopes, but a glance through the peepholes shattered it. Trevor did fire, but the helicopter dodged it, leaving a mid-air fireball behind it. Another volley of fire was directed at the S.S. Wayfarer.

I gasped. It looked like he’d been shot!

Everyone practically bit their lower lips. I impulsively screamed, “Trevor!”

The helicopter approached faster and faster. It drew closer and closer. At any moment, the pilot would be sinking us, supplies and women be damned! Just as I felt the urge to pray to God though, my good eye watched through the peephole as Trevor appeared again, and lifted the Kestrel on his left shoulder, the other bloodied.

He readied it.

He aimed.

He fired.

It whooshed through the air like a grappling hook. Then, the rocket struck its target.

KA-BOOM! The explosion was close enough to make the windows tremble, and the resulting explosion that struck the waters caused the Southern Flower to bob at an odd angle. At last, our tense grunts and heavy breathing dissipated. No more whirling motors or gunfire. Only happy laughter, a few cheers from the men and women, and loud cricket noises overlapping the river’s waves as they struck our boats.

We did it. We were alive.

***

Half an hour later, our joint vessels floated further down the river until the sun began to set. The Minneapolis enclavers would no doubt wonder where two of their working helicopters crashed, then send enforcement for retribution for any poor dinghies in the area. The S.S. Southern Flower and the S.S. Wayfarer probably floated just ten miles north of St. Louis by the time that we felt safe enough to anchor.

An hour of negotiations after that, Mrs. Jasmine Delight and I had come to an additional agreement, given the events of the previous few hours. We happily shook paws, exchanged the typical Southern pleasantries, and her uninjured men got to work loading up the rest of her requested items.

As a reward for Trevor saving her steam boat, Mrs. Delight gave the arm-bandaged alligator a free woman of his choice to spend the night with. Quite a few of the beautiful ladies were eager to sleep with the Southern Flower’s own savior, believe it or not. I recalled one of them pressing her breasts against his chest, which made the gator almost have a nosebleed. By the time I’d finished negotiating with the madam, I’d spotted Trevor grinning shyly as a curvy, half-dressed vixen in a purple blouse eagerly led the tall reptile down a hallway.

Also, Mrs. Delight not only agreed to reinstate my promised hour with Lee but gave us the entire night in the presidential suite. It became Lee’s turn to eagerly pull me back down a corridor. We shed our clothes in record time too.

***

“Ready, sugar?”

“Mmm, ready, sir!”

Licking my lips, I thrusted an inch inside him, and Lee squealed beneath me with gasping breaths. The smell of applied corn oil and beaver musk wafted from my crotch as I pushed every further inch deeper into my lover for the night.

I drank in everything—the scent of lavender on his rich fur, chirping crickets and faint water beyond the moonlit window, the caracal’s legs wrapped around my torso, my paws pushing into the mattress as Lee flinched under, his clawed fingers gently grasped my arms, his tail tickling my balls and taint as I rocked my thick hips back and sink deeper inside.

“Haaaa, fuck!” I imitated a growl, losing my eyes and relishing the walls around my cock. “You were right earlier…soft as feather and fight as a vise. So tight…!”

“Ahhh!” he meowed in pleasure. Then, let out a grunt with each thrust and moan in-between. “Ahhh! T-Thank—Ahhh! Y-You! Mmmfph! Sir!”

I grinned like the lecherous beaver I was. Without hesitation, I lowered my buck-toothed muzzle and connected it with the caracal’s lips, trading passionate kisses and feverish tongue. His licked at my teeth, tasted my gums, then danced around my maw before yielding to me—the dominant partner, who aggressively nibbles on his jaw when I made one big thrust. It made the seemingly inexperienced feline purr with delight, rubbing his nose against my forehead, then pulling me back into another passionate kiss.

I did not slow down my rolling hips or firm thrusts. Just hours prior, I not only had my fun time with a caracal prostitute rudely interrupted by the Minneapolis enclaver’s own jackboots, but also had a good employee injured, my own house boat partially damaged by bullet holes, and the Kestrel’s ammunition wasted and then used to take down said jackboots in their helicopters. The fact that nobody on the Wayfarer or Southern Flower died during the encounter was a miracle on its own, but me? I desperately wanted to take full advantage of the rest of my allotted time with Lee. I deserved it.

Admittedly, the adrenaline of surviving the ordeal certainly raised my libido mid-coitus. The combination of that and a heavenly tail hole squeezing around my shaft caused my beaver cock to feel as hard as stone. I almost Hilton him each time my pubes met his buttocks. He would sometimes push back. I would push forward. We would synchronize our movements, and greedy paws would wander over trembling limbs and fondle sweaty regions. It drove my older lust wild, hearing the lad purr and moan into my lips, feeling it vibrate in my neck, across my back, and down my thick tail. I dared not to pause our rough lovemaking.

Wait, this is Jasmine Delight’s son, I thought out of nowhere. Her son.

Remembering that this caracal underneath me was related to the owner of the brothel somehow sent a jolt of excitement up my entire length, then made my hefty orbs—slapping repeatedly against his taint—tingle for release. I forced myself to hold back though. If I was going to cum inside the young man, I wanted to get all my money’s worth.

Our thrusting slowed. I raised my snout from Lee’s lips. He mistakenly kissed my bucktooth, but I still smiles with incredible lust before planting another kiss on him. I could fall asleep on his purring and perfect body, where I instead a mammal of smaller build and we had all the time left in the world.

He let out a curious trilling noise. “A-Are you close…C-Charlie…?”

“Maybe,” I muttered, chuckling as I adjusted my cock’s head within him. “Mmm, I’m just…drinking y’all in…So fuckin’ beautiful…Wanna pound ya…”

Very reluctantly, I slowly pulled my hips back until the very throbbing tip of my girth plopped out of that warm, slick hole of his. Lee produced a gasp.

“Oh God, p-please…” he whimpered. “F-Fill me. F-Fill me a-a-again. Please…”

I planted one more kiss on the cat. This time, on his wet and whiskered nose. He wrinkled it without breaking off his emerald gaze, pleading for me. My palm lightly smacked his right butt cheek without looking away.

“Flip over.” My words came out less as a request and more like a command. “I’m gonna pound your ass so hard, the other ladies will be jealous. Now, flip.”

Lee nodded. He lowered his shaking ankles from my hips, shifting around as I scooted back to allow room. Within seconds, the handsome feline buried his nose into a pillow, tail raised expectantly high, his spectacular ass presented and spread. The scent of caracal musk mixed with faint corn oil and spit used for lubrication. I scooted forward, my own fingers kneading those russet-furred globes until I aligned myself back to those boy pussy lips.

They parted. I thrusted back inside as satisfaction and desire washed over.

“Ahhhhh, fuck! Fuck me!”

“Still…mmmfh! Fuckin’ tight!”

Momentum returned alongside my yearning to fill up Lee. The mattress and bed frame screamed. Lee did too, but out of orgasmic cries and spectacular purring that filled my ears. I could barely hear anything over his purrs and the squelching slaps I made between powerful, desperate thrusts. I winced in ecstasy. I grunted and drooled like a feral animal. His tail danced against my stomach and tickled my nipples.

I felt my balls hurt every time they slapped against the caracal’s own scrotum. They bounced against each other so much that it drifted between pleasure and pain before settling on pleasure again. If it bothered the feline, he never said it. In fact, he didn’t say anything other than purring snarls and hissing moans that became its own language I couldn’t decipher. I understood the basic message though: more, faster, harder.

Those velvet walls clenched suddenly around me. I snarled and grasped onto his hips for support without slowing down my movements. I felt Lee howl with pleasure throughout his ejaculation. I felt every incredible second, from his balls convulsing to the first jets of caracal spunk stain the satin sheets. He melted into a puddle as I continued to breed him like a proper pussy.

Finally, it became too much. I let out guttural noises from the deepest part of my throat, hilted that ass one final time, then emptied my balls inside of him.

Enough willpower remained in my satisfied yet tired body to slowly pull my member out, then collapse on my side next to the fiercely purring feline. We could barely say any words. Sweat drenched our entire bodies. It stained the satin bedsheets, bathing us in our smells and the stench of sex without a care in the world.

Hell, I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot, even as I felt the strain of exertion in my legs and my pounding, sweat-soaked chest wanted to first open at any moment. Especially as a certain caracal nuzzled against my chin and wrapped a wayward arm across my rising and falling stomach. His form hugged me close as we gathered our collective breath.

“Oh…my God…” he panted and purred dreamily, “Best…sex…ever!”

I chuckled. “Flatterer…”

We lay together and drifted in and out of happy reverie. The Sun had set earlier, leaving moonlight as the only source of illumination trickling through the port window. It bathed our legs like a blue spotlight amid our collective afterglow.

At some point, Lee asked, “You ever been to New Orleans?”

“Why, yes,” I replied with a wry grin. “Many times…”

I felt a cold nose tickle my chin. “What’s it like down there?” he purred his question.

“It’s beautiful, really,” I said, then went on to describe my home away from home. “It was beautiful before Katrina, before the Collapse, and it is still. Imagine a port city remade for aquatic mammals like me. The office buildings and houses that aren’t underwater are kinda like the ones in St. Louis. But if y’all wanna see something new, I recommend holding your breath and going under the waters. The otters, beavers, platypuses, muskrats—they made an aquatic community of sorts beneath the waves. I’m talking about air pockets inside rows of houses.” I smiled before clearing my throat. “Anway…It’s a sight to see if you and the Southern Flower ever go that far south…”

“We won’t,” Lee exhaled. “Mom doesn’t take the Flower close to New Orleans. We go as far south as what’s left of Baton Rouge, and only during Old Man Winter. Only time I’ve seen the city’s been at the airport, when Ma and I were waiting for flights to see Disney World.”

I gazed down at the cute lad’s right ear tuft as it twitched in the air. “Mind if I ask…y’know?”

“How Jasmine Delight’s got a son nobody talked about?” He let out an amused giggle when I struggled to reply. “No worries. My bio-dad’s a sleazy director Mom knew back in the day. Denied I was his despite us being the same species and timeline adding up. He disappeared into South America to avoid a drug charge though—don’t know if he’s alive, dead, or died before the world went to Hell in a handbasket—and Mom’s relatives raised me until I started high school. I didn’t blame her, even back then. She didn’t wanna have me deal with paparazzi learning I’m the son of a notorious porno star.”

“Thank Christ that no longer matters, eh?” I inquired. “Imagine if newspapers still existed. I can picture it now: ‘Jasmine Delight’s Son Sleep with Sleazy Southern Beaver! Limited Edition!’”

Ashley Delight and I laughed together. My stomach caused the spry feline to bounce, then fall further on my side. By the time we calmed down, sighing together, Lee climbed back onto my burly belly and nuzzled his whiskers under my chin. His purrs and light licks against my Adam’s apple cause me to start growing erect.

“Y’all trying to seduce me, boy?” I asked coyly. “Tsk, tsk. So impatient.”

“We got all night,” he pointed out. “And we better make the most of it before sunrise. Then, ya’ll are leaving, and I won’t have a gentleman like you to keep me company at night, sir.”

“If you’re trying to convince me to go for round three, it’s working,” I chuckled, grabbing his ass with my left paw wrapped around his body. I squeezed it, feeling remnants of my cum drench my fingernails. “God, if only I could take you with me.”

“Would you?” Lee cocked his head, lifting it up to look at me. I couldn’t tell how serious he actually was. “Say I wanted to join your crew. Would y’all let me, Charlie?”

The thought of having a handsome young caracal warm my bed, day and night, winter and summer, on the river, anchored, or docked, made my beaver cock harden back again. I did possess enough self-control and forethought to consider the option thoroughly.

“Mmmm…” I mused, then sighed defeatedly. “It’s tempting, but I can’t afford you full-time. Crew or concubine. Besides, no doubt your mama would castrate me if I brought it up. And I bet the minute she learned y’all skedaddled off with me and Trevor, she’d fight the enclavers’ armies themselves just to getcha back.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lee pouted. “Oh well…it’s not bad on here. Just boring sometimes.”

“Aye,” I shrugged. “Must be difficult. But like y’all said: let’s make the most of it.”

“Let’s do that.” Lee smiled softly, leaned forward to kiss me, then crept downward. I grinned for the rest of the night ahead, and neither of us would catch any sleep by dawn.

***

Madam Delight’s staff woke us all up to a delectable breakfast feast. Not only as additional thanks for shooting down the enemy, but as a way of bookending their hospitality.

The steamboat’s talented cook utilized the cooking oil and flour we traded to bake pancakes, fry a dozen salmon they’d fished a couple days prior, and an attempt at making some beignets, though we didn’t have enough sugar. I even donated the maple syrup I’d been keeping, and we drizzled it on our pancakes.

There we sat in the dining room, the girls and bouncers already finishing their meals while me, Mrs. Delight, and Lee were engaged in conversation. Trevor and the vixen he’d been with the entire night were trading whispers and flirtatious glances. I did the same with Lee, though it got awkward as soon as his mother asked an important question.

“Did you treat Ashley well last night, Mr. Beaumont?” She stared at me across the table, ignoring how mortified and blushing deeply her son was next to her. “Mr. Beaumont?”

“He did, Ma!” Lee groaned. “You don’t need to—”

“I’m just looking out for your well-being.”

“Please, call me Charlie,” I said, putting on my Southern gentlemanly charm once more. After slicing another stack of pancakes on my plate, I smiled at Mrs. Delight, then to Lee. “I had a wonderful time with him, ma’am. Not just in the carnal sense. Your boy is a smart, well-spoken, and curious young man. I can see why you care about him, though I do have to wonder…”

“The secrecy?” Lee finished my sentence. He and his mother exchanged looks.

“Pretty much,” I answered.

“A force of habit,” she replied with a shrug, chewing on a beignet before gracefully setting it down on the table. “Mm. Y’all won’t go bragging about it to your future clients now, will you?”

“I would never,” I said honestly. “On two conditions though: one, that we don’t be strangers and can trade again sometime in the future. I’ll likely have a full inventory again by next season. Don’t forget repairing and fortifying the Wayfarer too. And two,” my paw motioned over to Lee, “if it’s fine with you and with Mr. Ashley Delight, we can include an…exclusive discount like last night in our next barter. Yes? What do y’all say?”

Our surrounding employees watched with quiet yet rapt attention. Trevor especially seemed expectant, almost visibly pleading. No doubt hoping that he would be given the chance to once again visit his vixen friend, or maybe dalliance with another one of the fine ladies who either waited for Mrs. Delight’s decision or simply ate their meal while waiting.

The caracal madam ignores them all. She turned to her son. He trilled happily, glanced at me, and nodded with a smile behind those adorable whiskers. She smirked at me, then extended a firm paw.

“You got yourself a deal, Charlie,” she replied with my same satisfied smile. “And please, call me Jasmine.”

I shook her paw. “I think we’re going to have a fine business relationship, Jasmine.”

“That we shall, Charlie. That we shall.”