Pairs of Pumpkins #07: A Half-Baker's Dozen

"Buns In The Oven. Come Back Tomorrow!"

The hanging sign rattled on the glass of the bakery door, telling the city of Zentia that "Booker's Baked Goods" had closed for the evening. Portia slumped against the wall and rolled back her head to rest.

"I forgot how much work baking is," she sighed and brought her gaze to Booker the Baker, a handsome, brown and grey mink a decade or more her elder. He looked up and smiled but said nothing, counting coins on the countertop, mouthing the numbers to not lose his place.

Next to him stood her daughter Marina, still something of a stranger after an unusual rescue from a brothel led them to first meet two weeks before. She mopped the floor with uncertainty and awkwardness, her slinky appearance and vaguely mustelid-like traits suggesting she might be the result of if Portia and Booker had a child together, if such a thing were biologically possible. Several customers had asked if she was Booker's daughter when her mother wasn't in the room but when she had been, it was obvious enough which one of them she descended from.

The fur revealed by her elegant and kitchen-inappropriate dress caught the light in peculiar ways. Marina looked nearly monochromatic, her fur a mahogany shade inherited from 'Donor 13: Mink 01' according to her stolen records: a combination only possible through magics she'd never previously thought possible. Without the typical patterns of any fox, either Vasiljev, arctic or red, only Portia's signature, peppered markings had come through in the white specks, sparsely marking the girl's cheeks and muzzle.

Her long, straight, head hair was darker than the rest of her, still carefully groomed after her time on the road. The half-mink's upbringing toward the service of men gave her an attention to her own appearance which didn't go away after her rescue like her sister's had. The only boldness of color beyond the light, pepper spots was her pink nose and bold, green eyes, like her mother.

The remarkable thing about Marina's fur was the feel of it: impossibly soft, even for a mink. Touching any part of her was a delight and she was boldly aware of the effect it had on others. The girl had grown casually touchy with her new family, even after so few days together. Several times, Portia had witnessed her lack of awareness for personal space make Booker uncomfortable as they hustled about behind a counter, especially with the teen girl only slightly less busty than her mother. It was entertaining to see his awkward reactions but also reassured her that the mink had a good-conscience and intentions. Her family would be safe with him.

"Marina, have you ever mopped before?" Her sister, Anya stepped out of the kitchen and chuckled at the sight, the swinging door behind her unmuffling the sound of giggling children from the room beyond. It hadn't fully dawned on Portia how tall her part-bear daughter was until they started spending more time around other people and seeing all the men she towered above, including Booker.

Marina paused and shook her head. "The servants did all the cleaning. They wanted to keep our hands soft for the..."

"I'll show you another time, sis. Why don't you go help Edgar and Evita with the dishes?" Anya smiled and extended her open hand, stepping aside from the doorway.

Marina gave a gentle nod. "I don't know how to do that either but I'll try." She passed over the mop handle before brushing past her older sister with a touch of her arm and slipped through the swinging door.

"Your two youngest children are going to teach your teenager to wash dishes?" Booker raised a brow while keeping his focus on the coin-counting.

"Edgar was thankfully too young to start as a breeder so they kept him as a houseboy," Portia said, pushing off the door to stand on tired feet. "Evita was training to be a Lord's wife. Both have their share of dishwashing experience under some fairly demanding conditions.."

Booker gave a huff from his nose and his head, a shake. "This whole situation is still very confusing to me."

"I don't think it's much clearer for any of us," Anya shrugged, positioning herself to mop before she raised it for inspection. "It's dry." With a laugh and a roll of her eyes, she retreated back to the kitchen. "Joseph! Fetch me some water!" she called out as the door swung shut behind her, leaving Booker and Portia alone in the store front of the bakery.

"She's right," the vixen walked behind the counter, brushing past the older mink along the way. "There's a lot to take in. I didn't think I had any family at all."

"Well, your cousin," the mink corrected and the vixen recalled with some apprehension. She didn't remember how much of that story she told him last time. Likely not the whole of it, since he was willing to help her again.

"I mean immediate family. I had brothers and sisters, sure but what woman gets surprised with children?!"

Booker smiled and pushed the stacked coins carefully aside. "I know you're not the settling down type: at least you didn't use to be."

"Still not."

Under a sideways glance to her, his smile was weak and fake. "For what it's worth, I think you're good with them. Good for them. As long as them being here isn't putting them or you in danger, they're welcome to stay."

Portia smirked with nonchalance as she picked up a rag and started to wipe down the counters. "Oh, you don't mind the sales boost that came with my two beautiful, big-breasted daughters, helping you sell bread and pies?"

Booker grinned and shook his head. "Hey, you came to me for help! Again!" He paused and leaned in closer to lower his voice. "And I think we both agree that Marina is pretty useless in the kitchen."

"But she sure can hand out samples on the High Street! You didn't have a line around the building when we showed up yesterday."

"Business hasn't been better since you were last working for me," the mink conceded. "I'll pay them all a fair wage, minus room and board while they're working. Even if it gets a little bit crowded around here."

"I appreciate that, Booker. You're a good man." She placed her hand on his shoulder, her chest against his back and arm in their closeness. " I'm sorry I can't take them all with me."

He gave a deep breath and flattened his hands on the counter-top, hunching forward. "The stories of the kind of trouble you get into make me worry, Portia and I'm sure you don't tell me the worst of it. I know you're capable and I understand that having a bunch of kids and untrained teenagers tagging along on these rescue missions is a bad idea."

Portia's smile faded and she swallowed visibly before slipping away. "Rescuing Edgar was a wake up call. Even the older ones like Anya: they're not used to this life."

"Not yet," the tallest of the vixen daughters emerged from the swinging door in perfect timing, carrying a freshly wet mop and bucket. She looked to her mother before giving the long handle a skillful twirl, whipping water across the both of them. "Did she tell you how she said I'm a natural with a staff? Or that I have a ring that can shoot fireballs?"

Booker perked with concern. "That sounds terrifying."

"Did she tell you how she almost killed a few of Redwall's city watchmen by blowing a hole in the town wall?"

"The actual, Red Wall?" the mink perked and Portia gave a single, deep nod.

Anya huffed and slapped the wet end of the mop to the floor. "Nobody died and we did escape through it!"

Portia's jaw pushed aside and she watched her under furrowed brows. "Well, she is going to be training at Westerkerk in the fall. I'm sure she'll be able to take on her old mom after that."

Booker's mouth went crooked with restraint. "Westerkerk huh? They'll teach you to fight, that's for sure."

"I care less about the fighting and more about protecting myself, my family and other innocent people. Being an asset, not a burden."

"I'd like to tell you you're barking up the wrong tree but it all still sounds like fighting," Booker shrugged. "Try not to buy too much into their politics."

Portia stifled her grin. "We've talked about it: learn the objective stuff, ignore the ideology and keep her mouth shut. Come back when she's done. Put that education to a better use than they do in Westerkerk. I already taught her a few tricks, to make sure the other cadets don't give her any trouble."

Anya smiled back to her mother while Booker stood, incredulous, his eyes volleying between them.

"That will be nice when she can help you. It'd be better if you had some backup and well, I only have so much space. I can house maybe three more short-term and only put one more to work before we're all stepping on each other. Marina doesn't seem to mind much but it's not right. People talk."

Portia's ears flattened back and she took a deep breath. "We're lucky Marina's head is screwed on straight at all, all things considered."

The mink didn't know what she meant as they'd all agreed it was probably best to keep the details of Marina's previous situation from him and he had discretion enough not to probe. He nodded but his attention was undeterred. More quietly, he spoke: "I assume you're thinking of a longer term plan as you save more of these kids? I want to help as much as I can but you said hundreds? You're going to need your own village."

Silence followed and Anya paused, her eyes on her mother, then the floor. She lifted the mop and bucket before she moved to the far end of the room, away from them before Portia spoke, her nose dipped near her bosom.

"I'm working on it."

* * *

With the shop locked up and the blinds closed, bedrolls were laid out around the bakery with Anya offering to stay with the children in the large pantry, with Joseph in the kitchen and Marina upstairs in the living room of Booker's small, personal quarters. Portia stayed upstairs as well and the others likely had their suspicions but only Marina knew that meant his bedroom.

The vixen had stripped out of her ill-fitting, borrowed blouse and skirt and he, his chef's clothes before they had slipped into bed together with the familiarity of having been there before. She laid on her back, folding hands behind her head and he crawled up alongside, resting his head near hers.

"I miss you, Portia. And I miss this ridiculous, magnificent chest of yours!" he chuckled and dipped his head down, tiny kisses planted over one of her breasts, half-flattened by gravity in her current posture.

A smile cracked her muzzle and she traced down along his stomach, the mink baker's body firm and lean for his age and chosen profession. Further down, she found his manhood and gingerly wrapped her fingers around it, thick but still limp. "You can give them a quick shake before we sleep. We just have to be quiet for the kids."

Booker chuckled. "Right, the kids. When we first met, it was pretty much impossible to imagine you as a mother. You were sick, sunken-eyed and wasting away."

Her attention left him for the ceiling and she took a deep breath before her smile faded to nothing. She remembered the story which led up to that moment from her past, for all the similarities to this one.

Ten years ago, her cousin, Andreas had slipped away from his home in the Pale Lands, excited by the forbidden rumors and stories about the bold Princess who escaped her courtly fate for a life of adventure. He wanted the same and managed to track her down and join her on her storied adventures.

Her cousin turned out to be surprisingly capable in his efforts to emulate her and made a promising companion. It was fire for an ego that was harder to quench back then, that he practically worshiped her based on stories he heard and more that he built up in his head. She'd been his hero. Portia had loved the way he looked up to her, especially at a time when she still felt she was trying to prove herself as an adventuress, something her appearance and figure made quite a challenge. Attention and admiration became affection and before long they were intimate. In some ways, it was worse than the current situation: the incident with Joseph two months ago, beyond being very age-inappropriate, had been an accident but with Andreas it was deliberate, consensual and repeated. Cousins were different, she told herself back then. She was infertile anyway.

The blur of events which followed were less clear but at some point either she or their affair had drawn the attention of an incubus, a lust demon and one who could convincingly change his appearance. He deceived her into thinking he was Andreas, seducing her away from all friends, companions and obligations for a weeks-long streak of total depravity, the likes of which was still unmatched by anything before or since. Over a month passed before the real Andreas tracked her down again and killed the demon. It was the first time since training for her adventuring lifestyle when she needed to be saved, a stain on her pride she would never forget. Fleeing that place had led her to the widower, Booker's Bakery the first time. The parallels were uncanny

Booker didn't notice having lost her to the memories and continued. "Now, I can see you as a mother. You clearly matured a lot since then." Ten years ago she was having sex with her teenage cousin. Now it had been her own son. "This isn't bad, is it? Domestic life?" Her tail tucked and she turned her head to see him. "The kids are all great."

"I didn't raise them."

"And Marina? It's uncanny. She looks like if you and I could have a child."

"We can't. And she's not a child anymore, she's very much a woman."

"That's true. She's young but so sure of herself, with the confidence of her mother. Anya's quite impressive as well. You're going to let her run off to a military academy? Do you ever think of just being a family?"

"Booker, I barely scratched the surface. I have hundreds of children and it could take years to rescue them all. I barely know what to do with five of them!"

"Are you sure they all need rescuing?"

She paused and considered for a moment. "All of them? No, I'm not sure. Maybe some are happy and safe? I don't know but the log book is full of daughters and sons bought to be slaves, breeders, unwilling husbands and wives, workers, soldiers and gladiators. I can't rest until each one of them has a choice."

"You said they were all owned by the rich and powerful. You're going to make some enemies. Someone's bound to come after you."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. I just have to try to not be caught and keep moving. When I get them out, I have to get them as far away from their old homes as possible."

"Well, if business keeps up like today, there might be potential for expansion to other cities and towns. If I can teach the children to bake, we could have a small empire. Perhaps rename the place, for all the foxy foxes: Booker's Buns?" He waggled his eyebrows and grinned boyishly.

Portia rolled over on her side to face him, still loosely holding him by his maleness which had slightly thickened and her fingers squeezed. "I do appreciate the offer and it would help in the short term. Longer term? I don't know that my kids were looking for this kind of life when they agreed to come with me. I need to give them a choice too. If that's what they want, then perfect!"

He nodded, starting to swell in her grip. "Well, I'll take care of them, teach them some job skills and wait for your return." He paused for a moment, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "The way Marina and Anya came to be I assume was some sort of magic? Is it repeatable?" There was a spark of implication in his eyes that she didn't appreciate but still, she had gotten hot and wet in their closeness and with his touch.

"It was some crazy wizard. I don't know how he did it." Portia glared before she could catch herself but it quickly became a smile to pacify him. "You're welcome to try the old-fashioned way." It had been two torturous months of bad sex in the aftermath of her accident with Joseph but this was her first reunion with an old lover since. She stayed with Booker for weeks, in that very bed and recalled how attentive and giving a lover he had been all those years ago. Though it had been some years, she could finally test if she was having uncommonly bad luck or was properly cursed.

His soft, mink muzzle moved to her neck, planting small kisses along it. Hands began to wander over her body tenderly, like few lovers had the care to do, fingers seeking more than selfish groping. "I know this life may not be your style, Portia but I can see you're a good mother to these kids. I would be a good father."

She took the sheets in her fingertips and dragged them slowly down until they were both uncovered to their thighs. Vixen fingers found his mink hand, holding him by the fingertip. "I know you would be, Booker and that's why I'm trusting you with them. What I'm good at is this..." she traced his fingertip down a long scar over her right breast.

"Fighting?"

Portia dipped her head. "...and this." She led his finger down along herself and beyond until she pulled him back up, pushing him inside her wetness.

Booker gasped and bore a smile decades too young for him before lunging in to kiss her. His free hand took her head and held it while their muzzles met, his tongue eager and dancing with hers.

They kissed long and deep with familiar passion and his hand fell from her cheek to trace her silhouette, tenderly. She didn't remember him being so affectionate and she had not been kissed with such intention for a very long time. It was more than an 'I want to fuck you' kiss.

She pushed him away by the shoulders with a force gentle but firm, his demeanor momentarily stung but that melted away quickly enough when she climbed on top of him, straddling his stomach and sitting upright. The vixen's smile coaxed curiosity from him then dropped to all fours, bringing the weight of her breasts on his sternum then turning herself around with a giggle, climbing over him to face his feet. She stared down his erection, inhaling it's strong scent then as she eased herself back into his face, her tail wagging high above and bosom bulging out in all directions between them. He was lapping at her sex in an instant.

After a sharp inhale from his intimate contact, her open mouth descended on him, nearly distended as she sucked noisily, smearing his length with a liberally slobbering tongue. With a series of shallow dips and bobs, she plunged his vein-riddled cock as deep into her muzzle as she could and it ran along the roof of her mouth until his pointed tip was near her throat and she was staring down another two fists-full of length from his sheath over orange-sized testicles. Nostrils flared and she inhaled in his musky scent from his day's work, running around between the kitchen and the front counter.

Pleasure washed through her body as the mink's tongue lavished attention, his nose pushing her folds apart to present more of her flower for him to lick. He was not entirely practiced at this but fully committed to pleasing her, reacting to her movements and noises. This could work! Oral had done the trick last time.

The moment of promise was short-lived. While he got her close, the now familiar blockage kept her there, a plateau short of where she needed to be, dangling release just out of her reach and now Booker's tongue was getting tired, she could tell from the change in eagerness. She slumped and perhaps he would have picked up on her changing demeanor but she was still sucking his cock. Her mink lover was doing everything right, completely focused on her pleasure but he couldn't do what Marina had two weeks ago, the only orgasm with a partner since Joseph. In a drought of satisfaction, that moment had been an oasis but was it actually so much better than anything before?

No. Something had changed. She had broken. There was no other answer at this point but she couldn't be absolutely certain unless she tried it again. She squirmed with desire at the thought, imagining the cock between her lips and the tongue in her pussy was Joseph's. A guilty moan escaped her at the depravity of her imagination but the thought alone inched her closer to release. The vixen's attention fell to the floor, knowing he was somewhere beneath it and for a moment, she considered the ways that she could go visit him in the night without waking the others. If it worked, there was no way she was going to be able to stay quiet.