Pairs of Pumpkins #08: Pridemoon's Precipice

"You alright, miss?" Someone touched her shoulder and she tensed but didn't move or look back.

"GO AWAY!" she snarled through gritted teeth and was released. Some of her previous, sexual encounters bordered on public but this was a different depth: masturbating in a crowd, in broad daylight and recycling memories she wished she could forget.

Her back arched, instinctually at the recollection of Marina's tongue, Joseph's vigor and Anastasia's incredible size. How full she'd felt, impaled between her tremendously-hung children. "You sick bitch," she cursed herself through gritted teeth, her muzzle muffled into her cleavage.

A few heads around her turned at the restrained grunt that followed as she brought herself to a ragged, empty orgasm but their eyes found the weapons on her back and moved along from the cloaked stranger.

Dame Darcy's Debrief

Portia woke again, in the bed alone, her muscles sore and fur, damp and cool. A turn of her head toward the window revealed night had all but passed and the sun was about to pour over the city at dawn. She started to sit up, only to freeze and wince at a sudden abdominal pain and her hand clutched herself, landing in a cool, slimy slick.

"I guess that happened."

The pain dulled enough to sit up, finding herself in a pool of cooled semen, yellowing at it dried on the haphazard bedsheets and all over her inner thighs. The feeling was nice against her battered rump.

She winced again, finding her pelvis also sore while she moved to the edge of the bed and hung her feet over the side. She stood on shaky legs, finding her armor and gear neatly placed by the door. There wasn't a trace of anyone else except for the mess they made of her, which the room's mirror confirmed was thorough.

Nothing had been left in the room to clean up with, so she wiped herself off as best she could with gathered sheets before getting dressed and equipped again. Other than some cum-spiked fur between the bottom of her skirt and the top of her boot, the mess was mostly inconspicuous when fully clothed.

She started to walk and winced again, the pain deep and dull yet exciting. Recalling just what had happened was enough to set her nerves alight and she silently thanked herself for waking up alone.

The pace was an uneven hobble. Normal injuries, she could hide well enough but this room knew much worse secrets. She opened the door out, unsure what or where was beyond.

A quick survey found herself looking at Dame Darcy's office from a different angle. This a doorway she'd seen earlier. The Kangaroo Sorceress sat at her desk in her custom chair, supporting the bulk of her massive tail. "I'm afraid I have other engagements to consider, Princess... Pridemoon. That took quite a bit more time than I expected but I think you have your answer."

Portia held the relagite charm in her hand, around her neck. "Do I?"

"It's not in your bloodline but in your head. It's the idea that drives you so insatiably wild."

The vixen took a slow and heavy breath.

"So this is something wrong with my head? I'm...crazy now? Because I accidentally fucked my son?"

"I think you're crazy with lust because you loved fucking your son."

Portia's fist's clenched as she trembled, gritting her teeth.

"Miss Pridemoon, this is a breakthrough. You have the answers you came here for. Not everything you don't want to accept about yourself is the fault of some, external force like blood or magic. Some things you just like. Some things you can't help."

"If this is who I am now, I don't want to be me."

Dame Darcy shrugged. "You could try a magical brainwashing but even the best wizards never seem to get that totally right. I don't attempt it myself, unless the person is a danger to themselves or others. The memory could be removed but that first time with Joseph is so intertwined with your first meeting with him, Zarron and the discovery of your ledger... you'd probably forget you have a family at all."

Portia drew a breath before answering. "I don't want to rule out any options."

The kangaroo steepled her fingers and pondered for a moment. "Perhaps a Counselor can help you talk through this. I can recommend a good one who doesn't serve the Lord directly and I will cover the expense. I just want you to understand this. Understand yourself. Then consider that it doesn't make you as awful as you think."

The vixen deflated and relaxed. "Fine."

"There is a blue manor at the end of Errington Lane. Go to the tunnel in front of it. You're looking for a groundhog named Sebastian. Tell him I sent you for immediate treatment."

Portia nodded headed for the door wordlessly, her head hung and heavy.

"Oh, Portia. One more thing: I know you've been on a bit of a tear with random men but you've figured out your problem. Can I suggest you tone down your promiscuity here? There's... something going around."

Portia squinted and the kangaroo waved a hand. "You know it's not going to work without Joseph. Or Marina. Anastasia. Evangeline. Anya. Or maybe Jasper? Stop wasting your time with the men who keep failing you and don't neglect your mission for too long. Stusport is growing dangerous."

* * *

The crowd was quite full now though most were against the far side of the bridge, where the giant ship, Behemoth would approach from. From their excited sounds, it was already on its way. The seaside, where she hunched, was more sparse but small groups and families, making sure they had the best spots to watch when it sailed out to the horizon. For her visible weapons, hooded face and her slouched posture, the citizens of Stusport gave Portia her space.

Tender nerves still tingled from her self-induced orgasm but in the aftermath, a pit of guilt gathered in her stomach, falling right on top of the deep soreness that Anastasia and Joseph had left her with. The pain brought a flash of the memory and the memory made her consider doing it again.

She pulled herself upright with both hands, if for no other reason than to keep them occupied, and she gripped the railing tightly, looking out to the sea. There was gentle chop from up here, the kind that drew tiny caps of white. It looked harmless from so far above but she could see the waves crashing against the docks and ships being loaded and unloaded, occasionally spraying the ant-sized people bustling about the boardwalk, so far down below.

The pain in her pelvis flared and only then did she realize how hard she was mashing herself against the bridge's railing. The memories were relentless. Joseph. Marina. Anastasia. Her mind drifted to the countless hundreds of other handsome sons she's never met. So many sons. So many possibilities. She gripped the railing tighter before pulling herself up to sit on it, knees to her chest for a moment before draping her legs over.

"Can I sit on the bridge like her, Mommy?" a young girl nearby called out loud enough to be overheard. Portia didn't look over, beyond the extents of her hood.

"No Gia, that's very dangerous. Adults should know better." The woman sounded as ugly as she was judging, and she coughed out the last few words with a dry rasp. "Come on, we'll see the Behemoth better from the river side of the bridge."

Portia considered a snide remark and one loaded at the tip of her tongue. How the woman should be inside before she gets sicker but what was the point? Boot heels kicked against the outside of the bridge, hanging over as tall a precipice as she could recall staring down. Leaning forward filled her lap with her bulging breastplate and she peered over her chest, beneath her open knees to see how far above the river delta she was.

The water was dark and greenish, likely quite deep. Good for the biggest of ships that passed beneath but it wouldn't help anyone who fell or jumped from the bridge. The water might as well be stone from this height. She recalled watching Anya's captor, Wilhelm fall from a much shorter tree and the gruesome mess that had awaited them at the bottom. At least the sea might be merciful enough to hide a body, broken by the fall.

Portia had made many enemies over her long career and if any of them were to recognize her distinct silhouette, they were a shove away from easy revenge. Her chest already had its extra weight against her knees, her hands out on the edge as if that might somehow brace her better. This wasn't safe. She didn't care.

The ledger of her children's buyers was strapped to her backpack, a helpful counter weight and in it listed hundreds of future enemies. The rich, decadent and powerful's every purchase of every child. Each one saved would be a new enemy made. She'd be watching her back forever and the backs of all her children. How could she hope to protect them all? How could she provide for them all, if she could?

Did they all need to be saved? Surely not every buyer and adopted parent was a tyrant! Portia would be rescuing them for decades, all the while resisting her perverse urges. She would be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, both from her enemies and from all the laws of decency. Laws that might have her hanged for immoral crimes she was sure to repeat.

What would happen to her reputation if the world discovered what she'd done? A twenty-year legacy of heroism against all expectations would be unraveled by scandals. Her name would spoil from Hero of the Oppressed and a role model for overcoming adversity to a villain and a pervert, to be shunned, just like so many expected her to be.

She finally looked out of her own bubble to the gathered crowd, giving her space enough and excitedly awaiting the ship's passing. Parents and children. Happy and normal. Even the worst of what her children could be experiencing would be better than her.

She was no mother. She was a degenerate. A sex-mad, incestuous pervert. All the guilt of her upbringing that she'd buckled for years through her self-emancipation came crashing back and the pit in her stomach threatened sickness. She had no business being around impressionable young minds, let alone raising and molding them. She needed to be as far from her children as possible.

The thought crossed her mind to jump. No. Those children may not need her, but she hadn't ruined her legacy yet. The kangaroo said she could make her forget that she'd ever discovered her family and maybe that wasn't such a bad option. Life was good before all this started to unravel her. They would survive. They'd be better off without her.

Portia reached back to slip the ledger from it's sleeve and wedged it into her lap. Both hands gripped the book at first but her fingers relaxed slowly. It didn't move. Her hands came away entirely but the thick book was pinned between her breasts and her thighs. All she had to do was lean back. Then run straight to Darcy to have the entire thing ripped away. A warm comfort of hope tingled. She could have her life back.

The crowd cheered behind her. She knew it was for some silly ship but in the moment it felt like a sign.

The vixen stared out over the water, exhaling her longest breath.

To Be Continued...