Salamander MILF

"Listen," Chris said, brushed her hand with his, "I didn't know that was gonna happen either. When you texted me last year excited to be having kids, I didn't think past that. I'm sorry if seeing some of your eggs failing upset you." He hearkened back to the conversation he and Trace had before parting ways. As they talked, the memory was tainted by the news. No longer wholly positive.

Chris let her breathe, giving her the necessary head-space to compose herself. The movement of the two babies squished against her inviting chest brought another wave of fatherly joy to the young man. He took a sip of water from the glass on the table.

"So — uh — how many am I the proud father of?"

Trace looked him the eyes and smirked. "Eleven."

Chris spat out his drink. A spray of mist descended upon Trace and two of his prodigious progeny. "Out of how many eggs!?"

"Ahem...thirty-eight."

He went weak at the knees.

"Eleven," Chris whimpered. Eleven? Holy shit there were more in her spawning pool pictures than I thought!

"Obviously, I can't take care of every single of 'em all the time. I'm not Supermom. Some of my girlfriends help out." Noticing Chris' raised eyebrows she clarified: "we're all a big family here at the ARC, and it shows."

"Hmm, yeah...you tend to notice those signs of inbreeding."

She glowered at him.

Chris switched to a defensive posture, arms raised. "Relax," he chuckled, "I'm kidding. Don't dish out what you can't take."

"I can take it fine, sweetheart," she said, emphasising her snark with a quick flick of her tongue, "but if you're cracking jokes about my friends 'round here, they might not have the same tolerance for ribbing as I do."

"Got tough friends, have you? Any I've met before?"

"No," said Trace, pausing to adjust herself, "but you've heard of a few. Bill, for instance. Piss him off and that mountain of a toad would pick you up and snap you like a twig." She snapped her fingers for effect. "My gym partner, Tyson, would also give you hell if he thought you were mistreating me. I can bench plenty but him? Phew — you should see what he can do on the machines!"

"Ouch. And all that for an off-colour joke."

Trace tilted her head. "Weeellll...I could just be sayin' that to scare you. Assert my dominance. Show how tough I am to be besties with pure hunks of muscle."

"Talk like that a little more," he said, dropping to a sultry growl, "and we'll have to put these two into daycare as well. Give mommy and daddy some...private time."

Trace finished breastfeeding, slowly negotiating Devon and Sally's disconnect from her exhausted mammaries. Pert, holding onto their firmness despite bearing young, they bounced before Chris, tantalising...plentiful. She caught him staring.

"What!?" he protested, "I'm only human."

Trace gave him a look that said: 'later perhaps, if you play your cards right.'

Chris took time to hold the pair, nuzzling them with his nose and eliciting giggles from the year-old spawn. He followed Trace's swaying ass as she plodded towards the kitchen, tail sifting side-to-side, shielding the entirety of her sweet, silky apple-bottom from his prying eyes. Cursing her anatomy, Chris focused instead on her motion. Elegant. Practised. Lacking any signs of insecurity he'd seen last time they were face-to-face. The changes to her body had been extreme, but she wore them without regret.

Trace opened a cupboard and began preparing lunch. She'd saved Chris some food more suited to his human palette — ham, bread, various condiments. She withdrew a large algae shake and popped the lid, slurping the refined nourishment. "Whew! I was hungry," she gasped, in-between drinks. Another cabinet opened. A jar passed into her hand. Slick noises emerged as she unscrewed the top, and withdrew a something living. The unknown aquatic creature, about the size of a fist, writhed about before being tossed into her mouth. Jaws clamped shut, and a loud crunch followed as she chewed her meal.

She looked aside. Chris stared at her. "What?" she snorted. "Best way to keep 'em fresh. I need meat every now-and-then."

After hearing no response, she continued: "do you want to try one?"

"No-no-no!" Chris quickly replied. "Just a gut reaction. I wouldn't find something like that delicious. Same with eating anchovies."

"Don't like those. Too salty."

"We can agree on that," he smiled. "I'll just make myself a sandwich and leave you to your...slimy things."

* * *

After lunch, the doorbell rang. Both got up to meet the ringer, each attending to one of the two children in their immediate presence. Chris wondered about going to the daycare to see the rest. He was already seeing how much effort it took to 'convince' Sally and Devon to sit and be quiet. Imagine the hassle of herding eleven, even with help! Maybe she's bringing herself down, he thought, regarding Trace, maybe she is a 'Supermom'.

They walked to the door, ears primed for a follow-up ring. Time enough to guard their kids' ears, lest they start bawling at the loud noise.

Fortunately, their peace was not disturbed. They reached the door and opened it. Chris was greeted to the sight of a uniformed ARC attendant — a young lady with pulled-back hair, her name-tag reading 'Kate' — and a familiar-looking anthropomorphic frog, clad in a tight, skimpy bikini.

It was only now he noticed Trace's still-exposed chest. Worried a scene was about to be caused, he tensed up. However, both guests were unfazed by his lover's overt endowment and thick, milk-swollen nipples.

Trace broke the silence with a delighted yip. "Hey dudes! You're here."

The two newcomers took a step forward. The human female checked a small clipboard held in her arm, subtly glancing at both Trace and Chris, and scribbling on whatever form dwelt in front of her. The frog met his gaze, her red-green eyes dazzling him for split-second, before an elbow from Trace put paid to his dalliance. "Aren't you gonna introduce yourself?" she asked her boyfriend.

"Um...yes! Hi, I'm—"

The frog's arm shot out meet his. They shook firmly, and Chris wanted to remark on the smooth feel of her skin, but thought it inappropriate. "You don't need to be so formal," she said, winking at him in full view of Trace. Her figure was far slimmer and more petite than Trace's, and through the olive green complexion that covered her whole body (the parts not hidden by a bikini — but we can make some assumptions based on the available evidence) he saw her blush. "You must be Missy," he said at last.

"Yep. That's me. Trace's oldest and best-est friend!" She then whispered, a hand at her mouth: "and occasional rival when it comes to love interests—"

"Knock if off Missy," Trace said, "he's mine. Besides, you picked a team, and I don't see you going back on your word, eh?"

"Too right." She hopped closer. "I may have eyes for girls and girls alone," she said to Chris, "but you're awful handsome!" Kate smiled knowingly, a couple of feet from the crowd of three.

Missy leaned close to Trace, sending words of encouragement her sister-in-species' way. "Trace, your kids are gonna be tight as fuck if he's their papa." Chris may have a swimmer's build, leaner than what one might call musclebound, but beneath his sensible appearance lay a strong core. Missy had some fun sizing him up.

"Come now," the frog beamed, "hand over the fruits of your copious amounts of lovemaking."

Chris' confusion soon abated when Trace passed Devon over to Kate, and Missy held out her own arms to receive Sally. He complied, handing over the rambunctious bundle. "Hey there," Missy said to Sally, "miss your Aunt Missy?"

"If we could take a moment to finish the paperwork," Kate interjected, conversing with Trace as she tried to stop Devon climbing all over her. "Here." Handing the clipboard to Trace, she gave Chris a pen. The couple looked at the document.

"We need you to confirm your fathering of this...well...litter," she explained, "just got to have your signature for record's sake."

"Of course," said Chris, signing his name with a flourish. Satisfied, Kate took back the clipboard and tried her best to contain Devon. "We better get a move on," she said to Missy.

"Hang on..."

Chris watched Missy approach him again. "Listen," she said, speaking slowly as Trace put a hand on his shoulder, "despite my jokey personality, I wanted to let you know how grateful I am for giving Trace a family."

"R-really?" he stammered.

Missy nodded. "Yes. Trace is my friend, and seeing her so happy has made me happy. I never thought she'd make amends with you for her past life, but it seems you've taken to her without doubt. Okay...maybe her sexy curves helped seal the deal — wink-wink — but you're a good guy, Chris. And I bet you'll be an even better dad."

"See, Chris," said Trace, "see how much this means to me. I can never repay you properly for breeding me."

"You don't have to."

"Pish-posh!" Missy slapped his cheek gently. "All this stud of yours has to do is give you some of that fine human lovin' he's so renowned for."

A nervous laugh came from Chris.

"Missy," Trace said, frowning, "enough."

"Fine," she grumbled. "I've got places to be anyway. Once we get Sally and Devon to the daycare they're Kate's problem! Now if you don't mind me, there's a new resident in the Caecilian section of the centre with the cutest butt I've ever seen. I just have to introduce myself. Oooh, those overlapping dermal scales on phat set of thighs are just perfect for cupping dem cheeks!"

"It seems my colleague has her break scheduled and planned for already," Kate remarked. "Trace, we'll let you know if anything comes up."

"Wait!" Missy shouted, raising her finger. "There's one last thing." She looked at Chris and struck a pose, angling her shoulders and hips to maximise sexiness. "Do you think I make a good impression in this?" she asked, tugging her bikini-strings. The beleaguered male watched helplessly as he was forced to judge the bufonid's beauty. Trapped, and at a loss for words, he froze up.

"S'good," he said, suppressing his discomfort.

Trace sniggered. "Relax, Chris, she's fucking with you. God, how did I end up with such a dweeb!?"

"Okay, okay," he said, "I see what's going on. Missy, you look wonderful..."

"Thanks!"

"...and Trace, haven't you done enough to torment me already?"

"Clearly not," she scoffed, "if you still have free will."

"Oh, I get it. There's no hiding your master plan from me anymore," he joked.

The two guests departed with Sally and Devon, Missy blowing a kiss over her shoulder at Chris, who steamed 'neath Trace's burning intensity. With the door shut behind them, they were alone. Nothing in the apartment made a sound except for the low breathing of the mated pair. Human and salamander; love across species, thanks to the relentless march of science.

"You can tell they're a handful," Chris said, embracing her.

"Yeah, Missy can be an acquired taste, but I love her."

"Them too, but I meant the kids."

"Oh you haven't seen the half of it babe. Not even half, the 'fifth' of it."

All he could muster to say was 'wow'. And that was just two of them.

Two of his...children. He was a father...

"I'm way too young to be a dad!" he blurted out.

Trace moved back, with a surprised expression. "Speak for yourself Chris! I'm barely a year older than you. If anything I'm the one who should be shocked. I've been the one caring for them. But...when Mother Nature calls..." She hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, her bare breasts buoyant in the corner of his vision. Chris held her close, feeling her curves squish against him, until the cords of muscle lying deep below came to be all that opposed further pressure.

"I missed you."

"I did too."

"Mmmmmmm." Trace nuzzled his neck. She inhaled calmly, letting the flow of air across his chest soothe her human partner.

Chris kissed her snout. "Wanna?"

"Later, there's so much to talk about."

"Kids are taken care of," he pointed out, hoping hope really did spring eternal, "c'mon."

"Nuh-uh-uh," Trace said, nibbling his earlobe. "Good things come to guys who wait."

"Then maybe stop...stimulating me so much."

"Huh?" Trace ran a finger down his spine, causing him to gasp. "You feelin' sensitive? My precious human..."

They teased one another for a while. Eventually, sobriety won out.

"What should we do?"

"What I'm gonna do, is take a bath. Have a swim in my pool. Meditate a little. Chill my vibes."

"And what'll I be up to while you're 'chilling your vibes', huh?" Chris guffawed, making air quotes.

Trace cradled his cheek. "There's a rec room downstairs — Area 46-B — and a bar for staff and residents. You can hang out there until I come get you."

"Hmm? That's it? We've only just been reunited and now I'm being told to leave you to your own devices?"

"Shhh! It sounds teeny bit rude, but it'll make sense soon, trust me."

"I—"

Trace placed a finger across his lips. He tasted her — faint notes of rivers and grasses and ponds in her flesh, mixed into the very fibre of her being. She looked amazing in the natural light.

"Trust me."

* * *

Chris had joined in on a game of pool (pun not intended) at the recreational centre after another denizen of the ARC dropped out in frustration. It'd been ten minutes since he entered, and Greg — his opponent, a large darkly-coloured red and purple salamander wearing nothing but a tight thong — was showing him up by going easy on him. Several other amphibian hybrids hung around, not paying much attention to the ongoing game between one of their own and the human stranger.

"I can see why the other guy gave up," Chris said, "you're deliberately playing badly."

Greg winked. "Was it that obvious I'm just letting you win?"

The human nodded.

"Suppose there's better games to play if you think you can take me on," the anthro said, picking one of the potted balls from the pocket. The smooth sphere glistened with moisture after being handled, a bright white spot painted on the upper-right corner. Travelling down his arm, Chris noticed a waterproof watch strapped to his wrist, its digital display ticking away without a care.

Chris scratched his neck, propping the cue against the table. "You're very competitive, uh...Greg."

"You noticed?" He gave a short laugh and cleared the table. "Our animal sides are more pronounced than yours. Males like me love a bit of competition. My streak's a mile wide." He stepped to the side, sauntering around the table. Chris shied away from him, hoping he disguised his move as much as possible. It wasn't just his size — no, though he was buff as all hell — it was the awkward bounce of his huge, dangling bulge straining the tight material of his thong. Full to bursting. Facing him directly.

Jesus, he remarked internally, taking note of the other beings present, these salamander dudes are fucking ripped...and packing!

Greg turned away from him and bent over the pool table, rolling the remaining balls off the clear green surface. His ass squeezed the thin string of his thong, tensing with muscle as he hovered over the tabletop. Chris' vision went blurry under all the beefcake on display, threatening his perception of masculinity. He gulped quietly, inching back from the stronger male.

"So, how's your visit?" Greg asked.

"Huh?"

"The booty call," he said, winking once more.

Chris looked away, his face red. "Uhhh..."

"You're Trace's boyfriend, right?"

Understanding, Chris answered 'yes'. Greg smiled and slapped him on the back. The force of the impact jostled Chris, causing him to lunge forward before finding his footing. All the air had evacuated his lungs, and he inhaled, giving his impromptu companion a disapproving glare.

Boyfriend? Likely more than that now. "When you put it like that," Chris mumbled, "how did you know? I didn't tell you."

"My girl, Beth, is a friend of hers. She works at the nursery."

"Oh, cool."

"She's minded your kids on many occasions. You and Trace really knocked it outta the park when it comes to numbers."

Chris' blushing returned. With a vengeance.

Greg, as if noticing the human's embarrassment, sought to lubricate their interaction with a dash of liquid courage. "Can I buy you a drink? Your choice."

"Okay, yeah." Chris and Greg walked across the room to the bar, where he placed an order with the thin frog manning the counter. As their glasses were being filled, Greg made small talk — casting a few wry jabs his direction on matters sexual. Chris didn't know how open folks were at the ARC, so deigned to leave his antics with Trace up to his fellow male's imagination.

Once they had their alcohol in-hand, they found a place to sit. "Man," Greg sighed, resting his firm body after what had been a long day on his feet, "it must be really weird for an outsider like you to come here."

Chris took a sip. The scotch burned his throat, but it was worth it. He asked what Greg meant.

"Well, everything. The ARC is a very...special place for people like us."

"Were..." Chris began to speak, but stumbled as a cough rose from within. Hacking, he apologised to the salamander seated opposite. The viscous phlegm that'd seized his throat held fast, until time weakened its hold on his vocal cords. Another cough and it was cleared. He continued: "...were you originally human?"

Greg reclined, throwing his arm behind his shoulder and resting it on the top of his chair. "I told you I have Beth. Getting a drink with me and getting to know me isn't an invitation to dive into my pants."

"Can we be serious for a second?" A sense of impatient took Chris, a tiredness reflected in the waning of the day.

"Just keeping things light. I dunno how much you've adjusted to us, so a joke or two ain't amiss, now is it?"

I've banged one of you, Greg. I think I've adjusted enough.

"But to answer your question," he said, downing his drink in its entirety in one sudden swallow, "I was human once. Got changed years ago. Like Trace I remember being an ordinary guy (though he/she went further than I did). The generation of true-born hybrids haven't matured yet — all our kids are still young. Well...I say 'our', but Beth and I haven't tried for any. Yet."

"I wondered how many were and weren't," said Chris.

"Yeah." Greg yawned and shifted in his seat, widening his stance. The packed bulge of his manhood, outlined in every contour and incline of the pitch-black thong, wobbled proudly. An unconscious manoeuvre, to give him the benefit of the doubt. But one that brought shyness to the fore, and the question in Chris' mind of where best to look. To the side? His feet? His chest? Eye contact?

The silence was shattered by a friendly laugh. "Chris, man. Don't try to hide what's bugging you. I know from what I'm wearing I'm making things awkward. But that's who we are now, we don't feel the same way you humans do about clothes."

"I can tell," he replied sheepishly.

"Am I making you feel small? 'Cause I can't exactly change my physiology. Not that easily, at least. And why would I?" His words were careful, chosen to coax Chris though his hang-up of being stuck face-to-face with a broad-chested, thickly-muscled demigod. Despite this, he still got on Chris' nerves. The rec room shrank, closing around him, until it was just him and Greg. He averted his eyes, staring at the floor. No luck there — the wide spread of his webbed toes and the powerful legs sprouting from the ankle upwards kept reminding him of one word: inadequacy.

What am I doing here? he asked himself. His primitive side taunted him. Whose idea was it to start mingling with the people here?