Natal Philopatry and You

I really enjoyed AlexaVillacotta's "Wild World" series, and had an idea for a story based on it‌--primarily based on the events in "Mated by the Alpha Male." It became a kind of nagging brainworm, so I decided to put it to paper if only to get it out my head. It frankly turned out kinda weirdly sad, and for that matter sadly weird, in places. As always, all characters herein are aged 18+, etc. etc.

*****

Alex wasn't quite sure what to expect as he knocked on the door of the little downtown brownstone walk-up. His breath turned to clouds of mist as he shrugged his scarf up around his neck; even his thick, dark brown fur couldn't completely shut out the winter's cold. On sunnier days, when the light hit his fur just right, one could see lighter, coppery, deep reds mixed in haphazardly into it, but in the flat light of the overcast day, it seemed a solid, black swathe. Errant drifts of snow, gusting in brief, thin sheets through the chilling wind, found their way into a fine dusting over his darting, pricked-up ears and the lighter brown fur of his fuzzy snout. Dressed in a black track jacket, a t-shirt for a long-defunct local thrash band, and thick black sweats, he struck an odd picture in this part of town; an imperiously tall canine beastman, he stuck out like a sore thumb in this well-to-do area. Beastmen were "low class," and for the most part, his kind was only seen near these nice places if they were delivering food or mail. Such was the case in some cities; stratification just kinda naturally set in.

He looked over the cracking paint on the faux ionic pilasters of the home: Its slate grey stairs, its brass knocker and mail slot. It was a far cry from his squalid uptown crash-pad. Alex wasn't here carting groceries, though; he was here on more important business. He was looking for his biological mother.

He didn't know why it felt so important to see her. She had given him away, after all; like so many beastmen, he had grown up a ward of the state, stressing the system to the limit as women who couldn't afford to take care of his fast-breeding kind gave them up for adoption. He'd had a hard childhood, and spent his fair share of time in juvvie--good preparation for the real, hard time he'd do later as an adult. Mercifully little, considering; but now he was on the straight and narrow, holding down a job waiting tables, just a few months over 21.

*****

Searching for his biological parents had never occurred to him until fairly recently. He knew his mother had been human; that much the agency had been legally obliged to tell him, as beastmen born from human mothers tended to have different immune characteristics; to be vulnerable to different diseases. This knowledge hadn't encouraged him, though. All his life, people around him had either joked about or derided the sort of woman who liked beastmen; clannishly grouped up with the other canines around school or juvvie or work, he'd gotten a chance to hear all the nicknames. Puppyslut. Knot-pocket. Breeder-bitch. Litter-box. Paw-stitute. At the very least that last one made him laugh, a little. Every now and then one of his friends would show off one of them who really had it bad; some piece of new arm-candy that had embraced their preferences publically, and been subsequently shunned by other humans as a result. He thought idly back to the little pinay number a roommate had kept as a plaything for a while, picking her up at one of the bars where humans "like her" liked to hang out: Bronze skin. Bleach blonde hair. Tiny titties. And of course, the defining feature that had probably first captured his roommate's attention, being a self-avowed ass-man: The little black pawprint tramp-stamp which peaked above her short skirts, declaring to the world her preference for dog-men.

The colorful, stylized collars she proudly wore from time to time changed so often, he wondered if she simply had a bucket full of them in her entryway.

She held down a part-time job at the local college she was taking classes at; a humdrum clerical gig. Her professors probably had no idea what she did in her spare time. His roomie had shown him a snap from her once on his phone, laughing hysterically: There she was, backlit by the dry, cold fluorescents of an office space, pulling back the collar of a long woolen turtleneck and offering at a peak at the mocha-brown flesh beneath. Hidden away from view was the hot-pink leather band he had put around her neck a few days earlier, along with some other fading marks he'd no doubt also left as a parting gift. Her little pink tongue stuck out from her lips teasingly, while her other hand was demonstratively circling the rim of a glass fishbowl full of multicolored plastic wrappers atop the desk behind which she stood‌--condoms. If he squinted, he could read the little label in printer-paper taped to the side: "COURTESY OF STUDENT SERVICES: PLEASE TAKE ONE."

"She knows I don't bother with those," he said, nudging Alex's arm as his laughter faded into sporadic chuckling "dumb bitch."

He was ashamed to admit he'd beat off quite a few times to the sounds of his roomie ploughing and knotting her night after night, her cries carrying through the thin drywall as though it wasn't there. He'd gotten them in trouble with the landlord more than once for noise complaints, letting go completely from time to time when he knotted her and issuing forth a long howl to announce his conquest. It was cringe as hell, but the girl loved it; his roommate insisted she never came harder than when he'd "give in" like that. He kept fucking her until the inevitable finally happened: She was soon sporting an undeniable baby-bump that had begun to bulge with his litter. He strung her along a bit longer in order to savor a few last tastes of her pregnant pussy, and then discarded her. Bastard.

He felt a pang of shame roll through him. He couldn't really talk, not after what he'd done.

She had come by a lot, trying to see his roomie after the breakup, of course; he had heard all sorts of shouting matches. One night, though, his roommate was out. Trip out of state. Take care of my pet fish. Yadda-yadda. Alex had been glad to have his solitude for once.

He knew it was her; leaning on the old piezoelectric buzzer downstairs like she'd taken to doing. The building was too old and too run-down for a real intercom, so the grating, annoying old system for ringing up residents remained in place, ancient and nigh-unbreakable, as most things from its time tended to be. He was trying to study for something, and after the first thirty seconds of the loud buzzing filling the room, simply couldn't take it anymore. He went downstairs, intent on solving his roomie's mess, hopefully once and for all.

She'd looked so sad out there in the street. The dim, yellowed haze from the old sodium-lamp streetlights the city never seemed to have the budget to modernize fell over her chocolate skin in a way that made her feel like some sort of dark, golden specter; the effect only intensified by the fact that she'd gotten the usual crying out of her system early this time, and had grown quiet. Her stomach bulged over her teeny denim cutoffs, stuffed with a litter of puppies; her pink crop top looked like a sports bra, packed with her brand new breasts. They had swollen up with milk for what was to come, her little brown nipples visible through the overstretched fabric in a way that betrayed a lack of a bra--they had probably filled out so fast, she hadn't been able to keep up. Her body knew it would have a lot of mouths to feed, soon.

He'd intended to shout at her, to drive her off; but he couldn't bring up the will to do it, now. He tried to explain that his roomie wasn't home; tried to make up a lie, say he'd moved out. She took it about as well as he'd expected. At length, he found himself hugging her and stroking her hair, lying to her that it would be alright. He didn't know what else to do.

Suddenly, she surprised him; he felt her trembling little hands closing tight around his erect cock. He hadn't even realized he'd gotten hard, the fat, newly awoken beast printing obviously through his thin, shitty surplus PT shorts without him gronking on it. He hadn't even bothered with underwear that day; he was at home on a weekend, who cared?

He tried to stammer an apology; she was just so close, so warm; she just smelled so -good-... he didn't know what to do when she looked up at him with those big brown eyes and asked, "Can you stay with me for a while?"

He had never been with a human girl before then, but as he savagely ploughed her from behind in her little apartment after walking her home, he finally understood. He got it. It scared him how easy it was. Her scent was delicious, filling his sensitive nostrils; it had been hard enough before, smelling her fertile and horny scent when she visited his roommate, but it was a different, unique drug now that she was stuffed full of pups. It was like his body knew the scent of a confirmed whore for beast cock; knew that he need only take, not ask. Worse, she all but worshipped him for giving in and fucking her pregnant pussy; it was clear she had gone into withdrawal after so long without being touched. Pounding her into the sheets, that cute little butt he'd seen stuffed into so many skimpy outfits now bouncing repeatedly off his thrusting hips, she was vocal in her appreciation for the fix he was giving her. She knew all the right buttons to press: She told him how much bigger and thicker he was, how she needed him to knot her, how she would let him put as many of his own puppies in her as he wanted if only he would just keep giving her his dick.

It lit a fire in him; for the first time, he felt the visceral rush of conquering another man's woman. He was better. He would make her cum harder than she ever did with his roomie. This bitch was his now. Between moans, she would dissolve into her unintelligible tagalog, unable to handle how roughly he was using her.

Flipping her over after a minute, he found himself growling appreciatively at the absolute treasure which had fallen into his lap. With this tight little body finally spread out beneath him, he could really drink in the view for once; no more furtive, fleeting glances as his roomie hustled his favorite piece of tail into his room so he could start devouring her in private. Her tiny, bald innie pussy struggled to accommodate the girthy, veiny red canine cock being plunged in and out of it; her tiny cutoffs, discarded along with the black thong that lay beneath them, sat strewn next to them on her little twin mattress. As he threw his whole weight down into her with each thrust, pressing her body into the bed and causing the frame to jump and dig scratches into the old linoleum floor, they, as well as the rest of their discarded clothes, continued their inexorable journey to being jiggled off the sides of the bed and on to the floor, forgotten. Seeing her fully naked for the first time, he found himself greeted by the other half of what he now realized was a matching pair; there, just above the nicely waxed pussy he was busy pumping in and out of, was another little pawprint tattoo. Centered above her mons, just low enough to hide beneath the waistband of a skirt, the indelible reminder that this girl was a devoted receptacle for canine seed looked altogether too appropriate beneath the bouncing, heavy bellyfull of pups swaying above it. Her bellybutton had been popped out somewhat by the teeming mass of life within her, and the little piercing hooked into the round ring of flesh glinted in the streetlight filtering in through the window every time his hips slammed down to meet hers; it had been a gift from her boyfriend from back when she wasn't yet showing too much. A tiny, cartoon-stylized bone, its white enamel interior rimmed by a shining silver outline that caught the light as his heavy body's impact against hers sent it flopping up and down crazily against her big, round belly.

He wanted to pity her crazy devotion to dogmen, but he couldn't really talk while he was taking full advantage of it like this. As he watched her face, contorted in blissful agony in the dim light as she squirmed and grabbed at the sheets around her, it was hard to pity someone who was obviously having such a good time. Her mascara, once carefully shaped into those sharp-edged protrusions out toward the ears that seemed so in fashion among human women these days, had been well and truly fucked up by both her earlier crying as well as the slobbery kisses and licks he had been applying to her face and neck. The effect was strangely beautiful in its own way, on that face contorted in pleasure; a beautiful thing that had been ruined by an animal. Kinda like her, he reflected guiltily.

It wasn't too long before Alex simply couldn't take anymore. The desperation of his thrusts into this bitch he'd coveted from afar for so long, the heat and tightness of her needy insides‌--he was fighting a losing battle. She moaned absolutely salacious things into the night as he worked her slime-covered clit in tiny circles with the fleshy patch beneath the thumb of his free hand, the other wrapped around her legs to hold them up and together to provide a good handhold for his thrusts; the slew of sensations was pulling him inexorably toward his orgasm like a runaway freight train. Giving in to the sensations crashing over him, he plunged his knot into her tiny pussy and began bathing her insides in his swimmers.

Only too pleased to finally get what she'd been after, her little body locked around him like a sprung trap--her orgasm milked him like a machine, making his vision go white as her hungry little cunt desperately reenacted the events that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Letting go of her legs and falling over her, weakly trying not to crush her belly with his weight as his head swam with the repeated heights her spasming pussy was pulling him toward, his balls hurting from how hard they were contracting up in his nutsack with every jet of thick cum her clenching body was wringing from him. Finally, it was too much; he felt himself passing out beside her, still tied at the knot.

When he regained consciousness, it was to the sensation of her darting little tongue playing over his sore member. She was cleaning the remains of his salty cum from his cock as though it gave life, already trying to coax him back to attention for round two. He looked down his snout at those eager, focused brown eyes, glinting in the light as she bobbed enthusiastically up and down his rapidly rallying cock, not knowing where to go from here; he'd successfully "comforted" her, that was for sure, but the strange wrongness of it all had begun to nag at him again now that he had gotten a load off.

For her part, seeing he'd woken up, she increased her pace; finally, after three long descents that swallowed more and more of his growing length, she pulled off of him, making sure to keep a tight suction fit all the way up the taper of his cockhead, no doubt pulling the final vestiges of his load straight out of his urethra and into her hungry lips as she came off him with a pop. She beamed up at him, looking, somewhat absurdly he thought, like a kid who wanted to be praised for having cleaned her plate.

"Good doggie." he heard her whisper. Still holding the base of his shaft in one of her little hands, she stuck out her tiny pink tongue, slapping his drooling, pointy tip against its wet, curving surface with an emphatic series of *PLAP*'s.

At that point, he would later think in retrospect, he should've probably realized he was in trouble.

By the time it was her turn to pass out, it was morning; Her body was a mess of beast cum smeared over her round belly and across her thighs, leaking slowly from her well-used pussy, soaking into her sheets. He had left her covered in marks; bruises where he'd roughly held her in whatever position suited him, pinprick ovoid patterns of teeth closing down over flesh. No turtleneck would be covering this one up, not any more than it could cover up her ponderous, beast-bred belly. He didn't feel hungry at all, despite having missed dinner, because he had drained her fat puppyslut milkers dry even as he took advantage of them as pawholds to better drill her, eagerly drinking from her bountiful body. It had been thick, rich, delicious; her body chemistry changing to better suit the exotic clutch of bastard offspring growing within her.

Back to his senses, now, he felt a slew of competing impulses, staring at the mess he'd made: Pride. Satisfaction. Shame. A rising urge to wake her up with another round, plugging the tight, alluring little knot-pocket which even now slowly leaked his seed down her asscrack, reddish and swollen with abuse.

He forced down the clusterfuck of feelings within him, deciding on what seemed like the most sane choice of sneaking out and heading home. Running from problems had worked on a surprisingly wide variety of shit over his lifetime, and he didn't see any reason to stop now. On the way there, he dropped in at the cornerstore to douse himself in rancid, offensively strong body spray to cover up her smell, not wanting to risk his roomie picking it up in the apartment when he got back.

He felt ashamed; he'd taken advantage of her. He'd lied to her. Not just that, he was afraid at how willing she had been. How willing -he- had been.

*****

For better or worse, he never heard from her again. Later, he'd heard rumors she'd gone back out west to live with her folks. Hopefully, she kept the kids; no one deserved to grow up without parents, like he did. He tried to shut out the shameful memory, and to calm down the twitch he felt it bring to his cock. Regardless of the circumstances of his birth, or what kind of woman she had been, his mother had to be around forty-something, now. She'd had time to grow, mature; become a different person. Maybe she could give him some answers; some closure.

Alex hadn't known what to expect when the door opened, but it certainly wasn't this. Robin was remarkably well-kept for a woman her age; a bit on the thicker side, but in a pleasant way, carrying her plump bosom and behind in a way that betrayed ample exercise to keep it that way. Behind her, the flash of bright pastel free weights and a neatly folded running outfit on one of the end tables reinforced the notion. Only the barest hint of wrinkles played across the corners of the face before him, wreathed in coppery red hair which flowed down over the white, fluffy knit cardigan the woman drew around herself against the sudden rush of cold air. She looked up at him expectantly, and smiled. Striking blue eyes, so much like his own, stared back up at him. A long, gravid moment passed as Alex fidgeted, not knowing what to say. Finally, he settled on it:

"...Mom?"

*****

They were both glad to be inside. Alex glanced around the well-apportioned place as she led him through to her kitchen, sitting her down at a table with two chairs. It wasn't palatial, but it was certainly well-to-do: Photos everywhere of different places and people in nice frames. A flower arrangement. A nice clock. An honorary degree from some college somewhere; a small photo appended to it with a paperclip. It was of her, much younger, smiling in front of some dorm house, the little Greek letters too small to make out. She was definitely pretty well off, so abandoning him because of financial hardship had to be out, right? Lost in his thoughts, he almost jumped in his chair as he came back to reality; having not been listening to a word she had been saying, lost in his own world. He came to with his eyes firmly glued to the pleasant plumpness of his biological mother's ass bending over before him, the denim of her well-fitted capris creaking as she folded at the waist to search a low cabinet. He felt a sudden, rising urge to pounce on the scene before him; to grab those wide hips and sink his teeth into that fat, plump-...