An hour or so before Illiana’s blindingly bright climax, Mother Lorn and Barnaby stumbled into the Church of Harvestia. Mother Lorn leaned heavily on the skunk-tailed knight, her body increasingly weighed down with milk while lust sodden thoughts dripped through her mind.
Neither of them saw the simple but elegant construction of the pews that faced a podium and the smiling visage of the goddess of the Harvests and her overflowing bosom. A descriptor that now applied to Mother Lorn’s breasts. The surging energies within had brought her closer to her god in that aspect. The shifting of her species, not so much.
“In the back,” she accented the words with a small moo.
They shuffled, swayed down the long, empty aisle, leaving a trail of milk drippings in their wake. Finally, they made it to the rear of the church, where a wooden door stood off to the side of the main entrance. Mother Lorn pressed a two-fingered hand against it. The door opened on silent hinges.
“The traveler’s shrine.” She said as the pair stepped into the room. Candles flickered to life, each one illuminating a carved effigy set into the six alcoves. The gods of the imperial pantheon watched the pair with unblinking eyes. Barnaby left Lorn’s side to fall to his knees in front of K’arl the Just.
“My lord…” he whispered in desperate pant as he pressed his palms to the floor and his forehead to his knuckles in utter supplication. In so doing, his tail sprang upward, arching over his back and displaying the folds of his very wet sex to the open air. The shine drew Mother Lorn’s eyes.
“I’m in need of your…” Barnaby shook his head to try to clear it of the fog. Usually when he prayed, the image of K’arl and his chiseled abs formed in his mind. Now, in the dark of his eyes, a swirling mass of stars greeted him. Even grasping for the proper address of his almighty Patreon brought lewd words to his lips as his loins burned with an unfamiliar want. Their order wasn’t chaste, but this want… K’arl had taken the lusts from him last night, but he had to remember the words.
Meanwhile, the weight of Mother Lorn’s engorged breasts and udder slowly pulled her down to the floor of the chapel. Need filled her. The need to feel hands around her aching teats, the want of her nethers to be parted, a desire to press her face into a bale of fresh hay as the weight of a mate pressed down across her back. Yet, the teachings of Harvestia were well rooted in her mind. In order to receive, you must give, to the soil, to the animals you keep and finally to the land itself. In Barnaby’s tail posture, wetness of his pussy and the straightness in his hanging cock she saw a need she could answer. She dragged herself toward him as he stumbled over the words of his prayer. Something about it made her own loins burn hotter as she approached, the sheer pungency of his want. Mother Lorn’s bovine muzzle opened to extend her thick, muscular tongue toward it.
“For the cause of justice, oh great mercifrrrrrICK!” Barnaby cried out as the massive tongue slid across his feminine sex. He pressed into its delicious roughness. “Yes yes! Fill me!” he pleaded as Mother Lorn gifted him with another long, slow lap. Then, turning her head sideways, she pressed the tip of her tongue to the lips of his slit, then pushed through, causing a squirt of juices.
“Aaaaaah yaaaaaa!” Barnaby screamed as he was penetrated, then bent his head back down to endure the toe-curling pleasure as the huge tongue stretched him completely. Mother Lorn twisted it around inside him, savoring the sweet taste of his flooding juices.
“Yes, fill me, fill - scrrrreeeeee! Srcccck!” Barnaby’s words fell into animal squeaks and groans as Mother Lorn tasted the full depths of his pussy and shattered his mind with impossible pleasure. Blinded by it, his claws tore blindly at the floor in front of him. Eventually as Mother Lorn inched him forward, they hooked into the toes of the K’arl statue. In the spasm of orgasm, he jerked it from the alcove, it toppled down next to him with a crack, the statue splitting like a log.
The noise jarred Mother Lorn out of her fugue, and she sat up with a loud, “Muuuurmooooooo!”
Absent her tongue, Barnaby practically melted into the floor.
“Such justice,” he murmured.
“I gave, now you must give meooo! That is just!” Mother Lorn panted, grabbing a fistful of Barnaby’s fat furry hip and rolling him over. As she crawled on top of him, her heavy, milk-laden breasts dragged over the smooth surface of his breastplate. The coolness of the metal felt good against her burning skin, and on instinct she pressed hard. Her long teat nipples sprang to rigid attention as milk shot out in solid streams to either side.
“Moooooooooo!“ She cried as milk flowed. It felt so good, but not as good as the sensation of fingers around her nipples. Lifting herself, she gasped with relief as the sensation of tautness in her skin subsided. Plenty of milk remained, but the all-consuming tightness had subsided some. Enough to move on to other needs.
Below her, Barnaby blinked muzzily, his eyes straining to see in the dim light. An inhuman face bore a muzzle probably filled with sharp teeth, sharp horns indicating sure infernal origin. Thick, powerful arms flanked his head.
“You will… give me your justice, Sir Knight.” The demon demanded.
Ah ha! The demon knew her own wretchedness and called on him to dispatch her. He reached, but did not find his hammer. No matter, he reached up to throttle her neck but found himself curiously restrained by the edges of his breast plate. His broad shoulders were inside it, making it difficult to reach forward, rendering the demoness’s neck far out of reach. Failing his hands slapped against her breasts.
The demon lowed as if pleased by the touch. Surely a tactic to distract him from her weaknesses. His hands slid down to find her long nipples. He seized them with as much strength as he could muster and pulled. Bellowing, the beast collapsed on top of him. He grinned, victory loomed. The demon’s exposed neck lay inches from his nose. He tried to reach up, but his arm only moved an inch, held to the floor by soft but heavy flesh. His arms were pinned by her massive breasts.
“Give me… Give me…” She panted.
Barnaby felt a jostling below, his cock moved against something warm, yet dry. It made soft friction sounds as she worked the thing upward and he felt a familiar pressure build. Wait… Thoughts burbled as memories replayed, Mother Lorn’s hand grasping his. The heat of his own cheeks as he quoted the scriptures. The desperate need that pressed out all thoughts.
They needed to pray, to purify. They needed to-
Warmth coupled with wetness engulfed his cock. Such blessed pleasure.
“M-m-mother- scrik!” Again words failed the knight as the big bovine woman began to grind herself against him. Such pleasure! The movement around his cock along with the kiss of their pussy lips.
“Its… okay. You can call me your moooommy.” Mother Lorn sat up to thrust her hips across Barnaby’s sex. It freed Barnaby’s hands but only for them to cling to her nipples. “So long as you give me your justice. All your justice.”
Yes. Justice. He had to give her justice. Deliver justice to everyone. Barnaby’s thoughts slurred under the constant waves of pleasure. Justice defeated evil, this pleasure, the building pressure behind his cock. That was justice. He had to give her justice!
Barnaby pulled hard on her nipples. His fingers slipped down their lengths, causing streams of milk to erupt. Drops of the splashing liquid fell into his mouth as Mother Lorn bellowed. Rich, creamy. He wanted more. Lifting his head, he attempted to bring the nipple to his mouth, but Lorn leaned further back, stretching her breasts taunt and bending Barnaby’s cock back. His body fluttered with an orgasm that coalesced into mind-pressing pressure.
“That’s it. Give me it. Give it your moooommy her justice!” Mother Lorn squeezed hard around Barnaby’s cock.
“Give mmommy… all my Justice!” Barnaby echoed. Something started to give way inside of him, and with it a bubble of clarity rose. He saw in his mind’s eye, his shrunken, fuzzy form, the turning of muscle to curvy, eye-pleasing fat. He watched his surrender invoked the magic that curled within him. Took it as permission to pull something from his soul and tuck it into the gathering pressure just as the seal holding it in broke.
Barnaby screamed as he experienced his last male orgasm, fluid mixed with pieces of his soul shot up into Mother Lorn’s waiting womb. In a mighty last stand of his maleness the stream was thick and strong as the cock rapidly shrank away and his pussy expanded, growing deeper and broader. Nipples sprouted on his belly, a line that continued up under his breastplate. The stream tapered off suddenly as the hole sealed, the tubing within her disentangling. Sir Barnaby fell back, panting as the afterglow spread through her, bathing her in satisfaction. Justice delivered.
Yet even in that, her yawning sex tingled with fresh need. Barnaby understood. Her new purpose was to receive justice. To earn the justice of others.
Above her, Mother Lorn gave her own groan of satisfaction.
“Now, for your next service, knight. I demand that you mi-”
A thunderous knock sounded and cut her off.
“Mother Lorn! Help us! We need your help!” someone called.
“I’m fine, Father! It's just a tail!” A second voice punctuated the sentence with a feline hiss.
Mother Lorn gave a long sigh of one used to putting aside their passions for duty. Rising up onto her hooves, she wobbled a bit. Did the room seem smaller? With one hand she lifted the shaggy hair from her eyes to peer at the traveler’s shrine. Milk beaded and dripped from every surface, and she felt the divinity of the room curdling. Oops. She’d have to-
Another knock interrupted the thought. Deciding she’d deal with it later, she spun and exited the room.
“Coming!” she called as she cast about for something to cover herself with that wasn’t her milk-sodden habit. She debated running back to her bedroom, but she doubted she had any clothes that fit her anymore. Why would that be? She pushed the question aside for later and tore a tapestry from the wall. Plain other than the symbol of Harvestia, it would serve for now. She wrapped herself in it like a cloak, tugging it over her head to form a makeshift hood. It would be unwise for one of her flock to see her face. The reason evaded her, but she was sure her reasoning was sound.
So wrapped, she slid the stout bolt aside and cracked open one of the church’s double doors and peered out. There stood the thick-bodied, one tusked Innkeeper of the town, Nash. He held the forearm of his daughter, Hettie in a white-knuckled death grip. The girl bared sharp fangs at her father, her dentation oddly uniform for the family. Instead of the usual mix of human and orcish teeth, these all looked sharp. Her eyes reflected the glow of the everlight crystal that illuminated the front of the church.
“Mother Lorn?” Nash’s brows lifted in hope, then moved together as he attempted to penetrate the murk of the nun’s hood.
“What seems to be the problem that’s so urgent it cannot wait till morning?” Mother Lorn said in her best ‘I’m busy’ voice.
“Terribly sorry, Mother Lorn something is very wrong with Hettie.” He said, glancing away to glare at his daughter.
“Mrrrewl! Nothing is wrong with me.” Hettie tried to pull her arm free, but her father held on, the pair engaging in a brief tug of war. The motion disturbed the braid of Hettie’s hair, exposing spotted skin on the back of her neck.
A roar split the air. Mother Lorn’s ears flicked, and she turned toward the sound. It came from her house! What the hell was that? Additionally, she saw Sir Barnaby watching her from the doorway of the shrine, looking totally disheveled. The knight’s breastplate hung awkwardly from shoulders that were far too narrow for it. The curve of Barnaby’s hips screamed female, and the plush black lips between the legs showed zero evidence of the cock Mother Lorn had just ridden.
“Is something the matter?” Sir Barnaby asked, her black lips smirking. The face very similar to the one Lorn remembered kissing, but it’s hardness gone, replaced with softness.
“Everything is fine.” Mother Lorn said automatically, but it wasn’t fine. That was okay. It was her job to make it fine. That wasn’t the person she’d bedded, prayed with. That wasn’t fine either! A woman in her position wasn’t supposed to bed random knights.
Another wildcat scream came from the front of the church.
And what the udder fuck was that?
“Mother Lorn?” Nash asked as the door creaked behind her. She spun toward the voice and felt the heavy milk slosh in her udder and breasts. Harvestia, she needed a milking. A needy moan escaped her as her hoof slipped on the smooth wooden floor. Mother Lorn crashed to the ground.
“Mooooo!” The violent churn of the milk drove the sound from her lips. This was wrong. It was all wrong.
“By the gods?” Nash rushed to Mother Lorn, letting go of his his daughter. She gave a victorious chirp as she ran off. Still, he barely noticed as he knelt down next to Mother Lorn.
“Nash, I need you to… To milk me.” Mother Lorn said, looking up at him as her blankets fell away. It seemed like a reasonable solution.
The man recoiled, staggering back and ramming into the door.
“Please! I can’t do it myself anymore.” Mother Lorn held up her clumsy, thick-fingered hand. Nash’s eyes grew wide to panicked rings.
“What happened to you?!” he asked.
“Nunno. Mmmmilk moooo first. Then we can thiiiink then.” She leaned back to show him her udder, the four teats with beads of milk collecting on the teats.
Nash tore his eyes from Mother Lorn, they landed on Barnaby who continued to watch with a detached bemusement.
“Did you to this to her? Are you in league with that devil-born?” Nash pushed off the door, his large hands curling into fists as he advanced on the skunk knight.
“C-cinder?” Barnaby asked dreamily, taking a wary step back from the angry questions.
“That’s the one! Where is she? Tell me now!” Nash rushed forward, and with a dainty eep Barnaby whipped around, bending over. Nash’s fingers were stabbing into the fluff of the black tail when the pink vapor hissed across his midsection. He held on to the tail for half a second before both hands slapped across his nose and mouth. Far too late.
“By the gods!” He gasped, reeling back, the pink vapor pluming out from his apron, enveloping both him and Mother Lorn in the swelling cloud. One of his hands was already grabbing for his crotch when he tripped and fell.
“Mmmmilk mee!” Mother Lorn demanded, clambering on top of him.
“Mother Lorn?! Fuck! I!” He sputtered.
“Milk now, then fuck!” She said, placing his hands on her udder as she straddled him.
Another roar came, long and draw out, it grew in volume, nearly a howl.
A wave of light washed over them all.
Hettie had just leaped the fence and landed in the field beyond when the wave reached her. The mix of anger and confusion that had been swirling around her head disappeared in a flash of heat and light. Her footfalls slowed as she came to a gradual stop, blinking at the waist-high waving wheat. What was she doing? How’d she get out here?
Why? Why was she so hot?
Reaching for the chest of her dress, she pulled at it, trying to get some airflow over her body. Yet she didn’t feel the tingling of opening sweat glands. Instead she panted lightly, turned her hand over and licked it from wrist to knuckles. The coolness of her saliva felt good on the steaming skin. A longer lap, from elbow to finger tips felt even better.
Still hot. Far too hot. She licked her other arm, again and again. Black and Golden yellow hairs sprouted from her cooling skin, now mottled with spots. A growl of frustration escaped her. The relief of her arms only made the rest of her hotter by comparison. Growling at it, she pulled her dress and slipped it over her head, freeing her body of the sweltering confines. Her spotted tail lashed free as she sank a hand between white furred thighs. A strangled bark-chirp escaped her as she rubbed her clit. Hot. So HOT! Fingers gave no relief. Needed more.
Sinking down to the ground, she spread her legs wide and bent her body down toward her smoldering slit. Her tongue flicked out into empty air at first before her spine began to crackle, her spine pressing against skin. Slowly, her back lengthened, Hettie’s tongue and pussy gap narrowed. She rowled softly when she first tasted her own folds, then eager sounds of pleasure leaked out of her mouth as she drove her tongue deeper and deeper within her own sex.
“Mmmmmmph!” Her cry of orgasm was muffled by her own sex, triggering a bristling of her long tail.
She sat up, panting, her mouth covered in her juices. Still hot, now aching in deep parts her tongue couldn’t reach. Her eyes beheld the answer before she began to form the question. A large red rod glistened. It extended from a sheath of light green fur. Underneath it hung a sac that contained globes the size of grapefruits. Attached to his glorious cock was a curious blend of man and rodent. A large bushy tail waved behind him. Behind him, a much larger canine woman panted with a vacant expression.
“Will you be a new wife for my tribe?” The creature asked. “Bare us many chittlings?”
Hettie did not answer, she only wanted. She wheeled up onto all fours and presented her sex. Hoping only that this creature cool her burning innards.
She was not disappointed.