Pairs of Pumpkins #01: Family Ties

"You don't know who rules The Pale Lands?" she folded her arms and his young eyes fell down to her chest as he shook his head. "Everyone knows that."

"I don't get to leave much. Or talk to many people." He spoke to her breasts unapologetically and in the front of his robe, the billowing folds stirred.

She huffed, bemused and perked a brow. "See something you like?"

The comment smacked him back into the moment, and he tore his eyes away, brandishing the dagger. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?!"

"There's been a bit of a misunderstanding. Your equine friend here answered the door then just fainted, and he's too heavy for me to move. Will you help me bring him inside?"

"Master Zarron could move him with ease, but he would be angry to find an uninvited guest. He might do bad things to you. I've seen." Misunderstanding or not, the traveler had called this the home of a dark sorcerer and it warranted some investigation after coming all this way.

"Your master might notice if we don't get the door closed. Help me move him then I'll leave, okay?" She took a step back and untied her cloak then waited for his reaction, aware both of the warmth of the interior and the persuasive power her chest had on boys and men. The opened cloak revealed her leather breastplate , supporting and restraining the rounded bulk of her exceptional bust while protecting the entirety of her chest. The only fur exposed was a crevasse of squeezed cleavage framed by a triangle-shaped window, a sort of vent with a flap she could open to keep cool but close before battle. His eyes fell to them again, widening this time. She gave a wink then turned with a twirl of her cloak and moved to take one of the horse's bare, hooved feet in her arms.

He set down his weapon and hurried to join her, grabbing one heavy, hooven foot as she lifted the other, the two of them shoulder to shoulder. He smelled incredible, like fresh lavender essence, something that would be contraband in The Pale Lands. Cleanliness and hygiene were highly valued in the Queendom but anything resembling a perfume was forbidden as a thing of vanity. He didn't know who the Queen was, he didn't get to leave much, but his scent was like a flower that couldn't grow in this climate. Perhaps Mikke and Augustina were uninvolved in this but the situation was too peculiar to not warrant further investigation.

Both foxes pulled, planting feet firmly in the floorboards and tugging with their whole bodies. The limp horse moved slightly within his clothes and armor until the friction caught against the floor, and he would no longer budge. They tugged harder still at the resistance, muscles flexing and teeth gritting in strain but the horse proved all but immovable from this method.

Joseph's added strength didn't help much at all. The unconscious horse was easily several times her weight and by the time they gave up, they'd both broken out in a sweat. For her, it was mostly from the dramatic change in temperature from the freezing outside to the balmy interior and being quite overdressed but for him, it was entirely from the effort. They both stepped back to reconsider but Joseph went straight to shrugging off his robe and tossing it aside, revealing the long, purple nightshirt he wore beneath. Another vanity item forbidden in The Pale Lands were dyed textiles that served no practical function.

It hung down his lanky form by an ill-fitting collar and down to his knees, the fabric thick enough not to reveal or obscure not every detail but the flickering oil lamps cast harsh shadows. The remnants of the earlier, concealed reaction in his robe was evident: the fox's manhood wasn't entirely inert. His masculine bulge had started to tent from the vague but girthy, conical outline of his sheath that crowned a triumvirate of blatant masculinity, his testicles huge and obvious, perhaps as large as her hand would be while holding his.

She looked on as he disrobed, a form revealed that reminded her he was young but very much a man and not the brother she had expected. Only then did she realize that euphoria she felt at the mistaken connection had not retreated at all and it's origin seemed less alien now, with her better grasp of the situation. It tingled in the tips of her fingers. In her stomach and lower still, to her feminine center and her mouth watered like he was a meal. For the vixen heroine, sex was as much a part of embracing true freedom as the rest of her life of adventure. She ran away from a strict, puritan life of shame and repression, a virgin with a head full of pure delusions and ideas about sex that had soured without release. The outside world was brimming with opportunities for a busty, headstrong, teenage vixen to prove herself and from her first time with a man she'd just met, sex was an act of defiance from her culture and a reclamation of her agency from the obligations of royal life. How had no one among the courtly help back then, not noticed she was physically incapable of bearing young? What kind of Princess could not give their Queendom an heir? No, fate was quite in support of her chosen path of true independence. Children, marriage and even love: they were more obligations and expectations. Traps in life to navigate, the same as she would a perilous dungeon. Every act of loveless, childless sex became a tiny rebellion, the ultimate expression of her femininity, power and freedom. As she came to gain some notoriety as a capable heroine and adventuress over those early years on her own, the stories of her promiscuity followed shortly behind.

Even with her head momentarily swimming with dirty thoughts, she had learned discretion in her staring unlike the teenage fox and when he turned his attention back to her, she ripped her eyes away. The combined heat of all of it was now quite uncomfortable.

"Good idea."

Portia shrugged off her backpack first, the adventuring gear she kept light and efficiently packed, with the tomahawks she fought with in deadly engagements hanging from it. Their long reach complimented by a two-weapon fighting style and allowed her to use them with ease in broad chops from above or outside, in gestures that her obtrusive chest would not interfere with.

She shed the heavy cloak next and sighed in relief to be free of the warmth and weight of it before she hung it up on a stand by the front door, with several other cloaks . Her light, leather armor was built for a more moderate climate and protected her while revealing the natural shape of her that her cloak had obscured. Fur-lined gloves were up to her elbows and their outer shape suggesting some kind of forearm reinforcement. They matched her thigh-high boots in design and material, which had similarly reinforced shins and toes. Only a thin stripe of strong, ivory furred thigh could be seen before they disappeared up under a skirt formed from a layered array of hard leather strips with studs at the ends, providing her legs and lower torso with protection that emphasized mobility. From her waspish hips, her belt hung, supporting her mace and a sheathed dagger but also a number of assorted pouches, pockets and purses.

Her top was the most remarkable piece. It covered her from her shoulders to her stomach, protecting her upper body but engineered to restrain the tremendous bulk of her chest to be rigid, predictable and as out-of-her-way as possible. A breastplate in the truest meaning of the word, it held her abundance high and proud, jutting out as far in front of her as her elbows would reach with her arms in full extension. The sculpted leather had still more pouches attached but most remarkable were the three, heavy belts across its front, to hold it closed and ratchet them as tight as she could bear. With a relieved sigh, she turned back to the wide-eyed and staring Joseph. "I'll lift from the head and you, the feet."

"By the Gods, you've got breasts like my sisters! They're huge!"

Portia gave a wry, proud grin and a cocky shrug.

"Evangeline, anyway. She's as big as you are. My other sister, Anastasia is way bigger. Maybe even twice as big!"

"People keep saying that." Portia sighed and looked down at herself, befuddled and tapped her elbows against the outer curves of her breastplate, trying to visualize the idea.

"Yeah, she's really clumsy. She can barely use her arms, and she can't run more than a few steps without losing balance. But you're not my sister. We're.... Not related," he said with a sudden self awareness that drew her eyes down with his. In the front of his nightshirt, his cock pushed forward and out like a ship launched from dry dock, tenting dramatically before the weight forced it to fall. It was hardly less dramatic as it hung, the shadows cast suggesting a thickness like her forearm, down past his knee.

The sight dumbfounded her, pushing aside the uncommon, jealous thoughts of other women she'd not met. She stared for a long moment as his maleness developed before her eyes, a monster shifting and swelling in concealment until it angled forward enough to snag the bottom of his nightshirt.

Drinking in the rest of his body with her eyes, he was lean and fit. Very much still a teenager but in the moment, a sexually mature man. His massive, masculine appendage had swelled to life, well beyond what decent people considered well- endowed and into the domain of the freakish and impractical.

The headstrong vixen had developed an appetite for all manners of challenges as the world repeatedly underestimated her and rebellious sex was no exception. The greater the deviancy of an act, the more gleefully she blasphemed the oppressive orthodoxy that had molded her. Strain, discomfort and respectful perversion during coitus became her preferred flavor, a perfect cocktail to pleasure her body, mind and pride at once and so she had developed quite an appetite for the most absurdly- endowed of men.

She'd taken quickly to equine lovers for their naturally challenging size and had been with many men like the unconscious brute at her feet but over time, experience and travel, she'd learned to spot the most generous bulges and codpieces in males of all species.

Now the sight of an imperfectly huge cock made it difficult to concentrate when she wasn't under immediate threat. Compounded by the strange, familiar excitement of his presence, her stomach floated and her blood rushed like crashing, river rapids, coming to soak her loins with arousal.

It was easier to dismiss him as too young before such a presentation, even as he stood there, small with unsure posture and frozen with embarrassment. "Uhhh, are you okay?" he managed to stammer out, trying his best to ignore what was happening to his body. 'Snap out of it!' "Quite a thing to notice your sister's breasts," she said with a coy grin, ignoring the nervous dampness that clumped the fur of her face and hair. She squatted down, resting her bosom on the back of the horse's head before the boy's envious eyes then she hooked his wrists underneath his armpits and straightened her back, bracing to lift, flexing her thick thighs. "No! Ewww! Disgusting!" he said with a vigorous shake of his head. He rushed up to help, squatting down and hooking both of the horse's legs under his arms. In this position his swollen maleness aimed right at her, the rough outline of his canine erection mimicking a third knee. Her eyes fixated on his adolescent monster again and she pushed her hips softly into the crown of the horse's head, grinding subtly. It was just for a moment while she looked back up to his youthful face and innocent eyes. He was too young. She had a job to do.

"Lift!" she barked and they both did, their thighs easily getting them halfway up but gravity resisted beyond that. Gritted teeth and straining faces followed as they struggled with the weight. "Hnnnnnghhhh!" the young fox groaned with the effort, making a face she imagined would preclude his explosive orgasm and pictured for a moment those legs he cradled being hers. 'Stop thinking about fucking this kid!'

It was easy for her good sense to say, as if it didn't share a body with her thirsty loins or eyes staring down the obscured form of a gorgeous, huge dick. In her haste to get there, she hadn't taken a lover since the beginning of this quest and a more objective part of her brain reminded her of how many weeks that had been. She grunted too, channeling her sexual frustration into the lift and the horse finally started to clear the ground. "Walk back! Walk back!" They shuffled in disorderly semi-unison, a few feet until the young fox lost his footing and fell back, pulling Portia off balance as well. The young fox landed on his rump and the vixen on the back of the horse's thighs, face first and splayed out across him, the horse's trouser-clad rear in front of her face.

"Did we clear it?" he asked with some embarrassment, and she lifted up herself enough to look back over her shoulder.

"We did!" Portia planted her hands on the stallion's broad rump, stealing a grope before she pushed herself back to her feet. She turned to face the door, the invisible line that held the snow out holding strong as it piled higher. "Magic," she muttered then gave the door a tap with her foot to swing it closed, before she looked back to the boy. He had stepped back to the table and retrieved the dagger, a still more comical threat now that he had an erection bigger than his weapon. "Tell me what's going on here," he said with wavering confidence, and she bared her palms, out and open. "Master Zarron tells us when we are expecting company, and he didn't tell us to expect you."

"No, he wouldn't have," Portia said, standing tall and proud, being sure to keep her chest pushed out. "I heard that maybe you and your sister were being held against your will and I'm here to see if you needed help." She took a small step forward and lowered her voice. "Do you need help? Were you kidnapped?"

Joseph was clearly confused more than he should have been by this question. "I... we... no. We were all born here. We've lived here all our lives. At least, I have."

"But Zarron. He's the raccoon, right? Where are your parents?"

The questions were causing him to panic, and he raised the dagger again. "I don't think you're supposed to be here. You should go."

Portia gave an innocent but crooked smile and took another step closer, speaking with a tone she had cultivated over her years to melt men. "Is that really what you want? For me to leave and you to never see me again?" He shook where he stood, obvious in his conflict. "You're asking a lot of questions. Master Zarron doesn't like me to talk unless I'm spoken to." "I'm speaking to you." "By him. Or my sisters."

She offered her hands, palms out and open. "I just want to know what's going on here. Make sure everyone is happy, safe and free. Make sure that your Master isn't hurting anyone. Can we go, sit down together and talk? It's cold out there and I'm obviously not here to hurt you."

His eyes finally succumbed to the pull of her breasts again and he replied directly to them. "Five minutes. Then you have to go." Joseph paused and looked down at himself and his brazen erection. "I need my robe. This is embarrassing."

Portia waited for him to fetch the it, resisting the urge to stop him. It would be easier to get to the bottom of whatever oddness was going on here if she couldn't be distracted by his tented, eager maleness. While he put it back on, she made her way to a couch in front of the home's hearth, leaving her cloak, pack and mace behind at the door.

She draped her arm over the back of the couch and glanced back as he approached. The boy was apprehensive as he sat down some distance from her, adjusting to pin his erection between his thighs, his attention captured again by her chest. Gloved fingers took a grip on the back of the couch and she scooted closer until her knee touched his, her hanging hand nearly at his shoulder. "Now, tell me about your parents. Where are they?"

"I don't have parents. None of us do," he said, looking towards the fire, keeping his hands in his lap with his knees pushed together, helping to stop his stiff cock from springing up toward the ceiling.

Portia froze for a moment. "No parents? You never met your mother and father?"

He gazed to the floor and gave his head a small shake.

Were they all orphans? Was this something to do with the supposed dark sorcery?

She took her hands back to slip the relagite medallion from around her neck. The nervous boy glanced over the metal charm that bounced against the tops of her breasts before she removed the necklace. She offered it to him, without much thought of what could happen if he had been some magical creature but perhaps the anti- magic effects of it would tell her something. "Hold this."

He sat uncomfortably, legs outstretched from the couch, slouching deeply. Charcoal-furred hands took the offered medallion and inspected it without any apparent reaction. "What is this?"

"Just an amulet. It protects me."

"Oh, I see," he said, handing it back to her. She replaced it as he watched, squirming a little in his seat and wincing in discomfort. She was quite familiar with these kinds of reactions.

"You're in a lot of pain, aren't you? You don't need to hide that from me. Go ahead and take it out," she said with a quieter tone, pursing her lips with curious anticipation.

She wanted those words to come from a place of mercy. He was young, awkward and suffering, and she, a benevolent adventuress, full of kindness and grace but her pulse had been racing since she met him. The revelation he was not her younger brother allowed the curious connection she had felt so immediately with him to have become entirely sexual. Her jaw hung open slightly, feeding hungry lungs for quickened breaths, heaving her heavy bosom in a way that had intense gravity to his teenage eyes. Mercy had nothing to do with it.

His eyes tracked her chest so securely that they rose and fell with her while his ears had flattened back and his brow crumpled in disbelief and indecision, his mouth trembling as if searching for words but only a whimper eventually came. His head dipped down to look at himself, releasing a loud sigh before his knees relaxed, launching his trapped monster upwards like a catapult, flinging his nightshirt off it, only stopping when it smacked his sternum. Relief hissed from the boy's lungs but Portia's attention was fully on his revelation.

Presented to the open air and dominating his chest stood his red, canine erection, freakishly massive like his tent had hinted, twice the size of what should be proportionate for this young man of less than five feet in height. It was long and thick like his forearm and glossy with the wetness of his sheath, with a pointed tip atop a taper that came to full thickness quickly and maintained down to the clenched ball at the base of it, which promised to swell up larger still into a canine knot to lock himself into his lover the moment before ejaculation. The testicles beneath were bigger than his fists and evoked images that such ejaculations could be spectacular. It was perfect.

'Focus Portia!'

The vixen darted her eyes back to his, finding them studying her face with fearful uncertainty. How long had she been staring at it? "Why are you so hard? Because of me?"

"I don't get to leave here very much. I'm the caretaker of this estate. Only when Zarron is here and needs something then he takes me with him sometimes but that isn't often at all. He rarely has guests, and he and my sisters spend months at a time in the south, leaving me here all alone to take care of the place."

"Is he here now? Or are we alone?" She interrupted and edged closer. "Everyone is here but they barely ever come downstairs. Except Darren," he said with a gesture back to the unconscious horse, sprawled out on the floor. "But they almost never come down. Anastasia studies magic with Master. In the South, Evangeline tends to our other brothers and sisters but Zarron doesn't bring them here so usually, she just sits in her room and reads."